The table was loud. As always, mealtime in the cult meant some kind of argument—this time it was about whose turn it was to clean the crypts. Heket slammed her fist on the table (a plate rattled). Leshy was already snarling at Baal. Kallamar had flopped forward dramatically, claiming stress-induced unconsciousness, and Shamura was speaking in slow circles to no one in particular, threading words like silk into webs only they could understand. In the middle of it all, the Lamb was happily eating mashed pumpkin with their little gold fork, tail wiggling contentedly.

Despite being the only reason any of them were alive, the Lamb had a strange effect on the Bishops. They were… relaxed around them now. Maybe too relaxed. After all, the Lamb was small. And soft. And smiled more than they snarled these days. Occasionally, one of them would even pat their head like they were a particularly clever pet, not the Godslayer they all remembered dying to. That was, until the Lamb gently dabbed their mouth with a napkin and looked up.

“You’re all very cute when you forget,” the Lamb said softly, smiling wide enough to show just the hint of fang. “But I did kill you once. All of you. Ripped your hearts out with my little paws.”

Silence. Total, ringing silence.

Leshy blinked, stiffening in place. His leafy tendrils twitched. “We were just—uh. Bantering,” he said. “Affectionate banter.”

Heket, after a pause, rolled her eyes—but immediately lowered her head, one webbed hand pressed to her chest in a quick, formal bow. Kallamar, who had just returned to the conversation by dramatically fanning himself, went rigid, then launched into terrified pleading.

“I—I never doubted you, Great One! You are very strong! And mighty! And horrifying! You could crush me like an oyster! Please don’t—don’t—”

Shamura tilted their head, eyes glowing softly. “Time is a knife. You carved us open with it. You carved me open with it. The pattern unravels,” they whispered, calmly chewing on a spoon they hadn’t been given. No one acknowledged it. It was just Shamura Things™.

The Lamb blinked once—twice—then smiled again, wider this time. “Good,” they chirped, returning to their plate and stuffing their cheeks with a happy hum. “Just wanted to remind you.”

And just like that, the tension shattered. The Lamb went back to their mashed pumpkin and honeyed bread like they hadn’t just threatened four literal demigods with ancient murder memories. They even offered Leshy a cinnamon bun with the same wide, innocent eyes. Adorable. Violence. Adorable.