《Morningstar - Book One & Two Completed》
[CH. 0001] - The Initiation
¡°He was still too young to know that the heart¡¯s memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.¡± ¨D Gabriel Garc¨ªa M¨¢rquez, and we do not steal this novel from royalroad.com from the author Lara Zanatti Reis, is just rude tsk tsk
Nord''s awakening was a slow ascent from the depths of slumber, accompanied by a throbbing ache in her head¡ª as if reminiscent of a hangover''s aftermath. Yet, her mouth held a lingering sweetness, as if kissed by the refreshing touch of mint and caressed by the subtle warmth of sun-soaked earth. The warmth of her bed contrasted with the eerie chill that permeated the room. As she blinked her eyes open and rubbed away the remnants of sleep, her surroundings greeted her with an emptiness that seemed to stretch into the void.
Sitting up, she cast her gaze around the room, searching for any sign of life beside her cat, stretching at the edge of the bed. The emptiness seemed to echo back at her. She couldn''t understand what was missing.
With a yawn, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The cold floor sent a shiver up her spine, making her acutely aware of the room''s unwelcome frigidity.
Why was it so cold?
As her eyes adjusted to the light filtering through the curtains, she scanned the room once again, her gaze pausing on the emptiness that seemed to hang in the air.
Making her way to the closet while her cat, Kirara, rubbed herself against her ankles, she opened its doors in search of her outfit for the day. But a strange disarray greeted her¡ªhalf of her closet space stood bare, while the other side was crammed with clothes pushed to their limits.
Confusion knitted her brow. How could her belongings exist in such disarray?
It was then that she realized her state of undress, clad only in an oversized t-shirt that belonged to someone else. The disorienting reality left her momentarily stunned.
"Hello?" Her voice pierced the quiet, reverberating within the walls of the apartment, but the emptiness remained unbroken, a silent witness to her solitude.
Frustration crept in, her senses heightened by the bizarre circumstances that surrounded her. "Is anyone there?" But her words were met with the same unyielding silence.
A sudden, unpleasant sensation underfoot jolted her senses. She looked down to find herself stepping on something slimy¡ªsomething that, upon closer inspection, revealed itself as a used condom.
Her shock was audible in her muttered exclamation. "What the fuck?"
The room seemed to close in on her, its emptiness taking on a sinister edge. Her gaze darted around once more, searching for any sign of an intruder or an explanation for the unsettling scene before her. "Hello? Is anyone there?¡±
The silence remained unbroken, a haunting reminder of her solitude in this bizarre reality. The soft hum of the kitchen lights greeted Nord as she stepped in, a sanctuary of familiarity and routine. The methodical process of making coffee ¨C the aromatic grounds, the hiss of the kettle, the warm mug cradled between her hands ¨C always brought a comforting cadence to her world. However, the sight of her packed suitcase and Kirara''s travel box disrupted the ambience. The juxtaposition of the every day with the evident signs of an impending journey created a silent tension in the room. The odd thing was, she couldn''t recall when she had packed. Had it been the night before in a bout of unexpected efficiency? Or perhaps in a dreamlike state, her subconscious preparing her for the journey ahead?
As she reached for a mug, the emptiness of her cabinets loomed at her. The shelves, which should have been a mosaic of cups and dishes, looked like they had been robbed of half their contents. Yet, as she mentally catalogued the items, everything seemed accounted for. There was no tangible absence, but the unsettling feeling persisted.
It was as if the shadows of objects once there lingered, a spectral memory hinting at a past event. The sensation was akin to stumbling upon an old photograph and struggling to recall the moment it captured. A haunting pang of d¨¦j¨¤ vu.
Nord shook her head, trying to dismiss the eerie feeling. Perhaps it was just pre-travel jitters or the early morning haze playing tricks on her. But the lingering unease, the inexplicable void, stayed with her, whispering of a forgotten memory or a moment lost in time.
At that moment, as she stood amidst the disarray of her belongings and the chilling emptiness of her apartment, Nord was left to grapple with the surreal and unnerving unknown that now enveloped her world until it was interrupted by the stubborn buzzing of her phone. South was calling her.
The cool draft of the salon''s air conditioning kissed the back of Nord''s neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Little sounds filled the room: the soft hiss of a straightener, muted conversations, and the ever-present hum of hair dryers. Nord was beneath one of those hair dryers, her inky-black tattoos spiralling like stories around her limbs, the culmination of years of artistry. Her brown, dark eyes, halfway lost in another world, suddenly met her sister''s, the reflections of two opposite worlds. South''s bubbly voice broke through, "Nord? Why the gloom? Looks like you''re attending my funeral rather than my birthday."
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Hearing her, Nord blinked and jerked away from her own maze of thoughts. "Oh, it''s just¡ this trip," she shouted above the whirr of the hairdryer, the warmth fogging up her thoughts. "It''s a big deal, you know? Just nervous... I guess"
South''s eyes sparkled like twin suns, contrasting with her moonlit pale skin. "C''mon sis, you''re a masterpiece. They will love you! I mean, look at you! Both the canvas and the artist. This world summit for tattoo artists? They''ll be blown away. But today," said South with a singing voice, "Is all about me!"
¡±You are only eighteen once," a smirk edged onto Nord''s face, looking at South, whose ethereal glow felt worlds apart from her own dark, artsy vibe. Their ten-year age difference often fooled people into thinking they weren''t related. But here they were, bound by blood and an unbreakable bond.
"Oh, by the way, did you already pack for the trip?" South inquired, teasingly tossing her freshly styled hair.
"Everything''s set. Kirara will stay with Mum after your Initiation, and then I''m off to the airport and will sleep on the plane, I guess. My dress is safe in the trunk, but still smells like the dry cleaner''s," she leaned to South''s ear and whispered, "I will not embarrass you, don''t worry."
As South twirled in her chair, showing off her newly coiffed blonde tresses, Nord whispered in awe, "You look like a new-born witch, fresh out of a legend." But there was an undercurrent of bitterness, a silent storm, threatening to drown the joy of the moment.
The Morningstar Manor was a grand structure, carrying centuries of history within its cold stone walls. Its high ceilings and echoing hallways spoke of family legacies of powerful guarded witches and whispered secrets from bygone eras of powerful spells and rituals. In one of the manor''s opulent rooms, adorned with intricately designed wallpapers and golden accents, Nord stood gazing into an ornate, full-length mirror framed with dark mahogany. The soft glow from the chandeliers overhead cast shimmering highlights upon the dress she wore.
The reflection staring back was of a woman dressed not just in clothes but in history, intrigue, and sheer elegance. But amidst the vintage allure, the edgy undertone of her makeup and combat boots added a note of savage defiance.
As she was lost in admiration of her ensemble, the sudden creak of the door jarred her from her reverie. The silhouette of her entrance brought a quickening of her heart, her radiant smile revealing an anticipation for someone specifically but unknown. Yet, as the figure stepped into the light, it was just her mother. The twinge of disappointment in Nord''s eyes was unmistakable. Her mother took a moment to absorb Nord''s appearance. ¡°Too much?¡± Nord playfully questioned, seeking her Mother validation.
¡°Never too much,¡± her mother replied, moving closer, the rich black fabric of her own gown rustling with every step. ¡°You¡¯re a vision. You have your father¡¯s spirit, that same fierce, undeniable presence and his magic.¡±
Nord smirked, eyeing her mother''s reflection. The striking platinum blonde hair, neatly tied in a bun, contrasted starkly against Nord¡¯s olive skin. "That doesn''t necessarily sound flattering." Her mother chuckled, "Your father was a force to be reckoned with, just like you. As for the boots...¡± she hesitated, glancing at the rugged footwear peeping beneath the dress. ¡°They¡¯re for the trip, mum,¡± Nord quickly defended, sensing the brewing critique. "I have a long twelve-hour flight ahead."
With a fond smile, her mother conceded, "Regardless, you¡¯re every bit the Morningstar heiress I would expect. You wear our legacy proudly with beauty and defiance.¡±
¡°But no witchy thingy,¡± Nord''s gaze shifted, her mind momentarily wandering to the guests awaiting her presence downstairs, her pet Kirara, and her yearning for a glass of the manor''s finest vintage. "I should head down, greet everyone, see Kirara, and maybe get some wine." ¡°It will come, Nord, be patient, you used to¡¡±
¡°I was a kid mother. I saw and heard nothing. It was all in my head. I¡¯m not a witch."
"Ah well, someone spoke about wine," her mother sighed dreamily, linking her arm with Nord''s, "Always a Morningstar favourite. Let¡¯s descend together." And with that, the mother and daughter made their grand entrance, ready to take on the evening''s festivities.
The vast ballroom of the Morningstar Manor was abuzz with chatter, laughter, and the soft hum of a distant orchestra. The room was bathed in a golden glow from the magnificent chandeliers overhead. The grandeur of the occasion was palpable, with guests dressed in opulent blacks, each garment a testament to wealth and power.
Yet, amidst the sea of dark elegance, South Morningstar stood out like a beacon. The brilliance of her white gown made her seem otherworldly, a serene angel amidst mortals. The orange leaves crowning her head shimmered with every tilt and turn, symbolizing her rite of passage. She looked regal, every inch deserving of the attention she garnered.
Nord watched from a distance, sipping her wine. She should have been swelling with pride, watching her younger sister shine and ascend in the covenant¡¯s hierarchy. Yet, an unfamiliar weight bore down on her heart, a shadow she couldn¡¯t shake off.
The haunting strains of Devil''s Trill Sonata began to play, each note reaching deep into her soul, magnifying her emotions. The beauty and sorrow of the composition threatened to break the dam of tears she had held at bay. Desperate not to cause a scene, Nord quickly refilled her glass, using the action as a brief respite from the overwhelming emotions.
The chatter and laughter around her became a distant hum as she lost herself in her thoughts. But her introspection was short-lived. The authoritative voice of the Morningstar Matriarch echoed through the ballroom, its tone signalling the commencement of something sacred.
¡°It is time,¡± announced the Matriarch, her voice demanding attention.
The crowd began to move in a synchronized manner, heading towards the ritual room, an area of the manor reserved for the most occult of Morningstar ceremonies. Nord took a deep breath, steadying herself. The Initiation, a ceremony as old as time itself within their family, was about to begin. She hoped that whatever was weighing on her heart wouldn¡¯t overshadow the significance of the evening for South, but still, there was a whisper in her ear - Brace yourself, get ready!
[CH. 0002] - The Initiation
Eat good wine, drink good food, laugh with good friends and live like there is no tomorrow left! - Nord Morningstar
The ceremonial chamber stretched out, a vast expanse of dimness, lit only by the flickering flames of a sparse collection of candles. The room was stripped bare, its walls swallowed by shadows, allowing the faint illumination to dance and play across the rough textures. Positioned at the northern end was an altar, an austere structure crowned by a small leather-bound box.
Gathering in a deliberate formation, the participants took their positions, forming a tight circle around an intricate pentagram drawn with vivid red salt. Among them, a cousin guided South, whose eyes gleamed with uncontainable excitement. She couldn''t help but bear a wide, eager smile, her happiness palpable.
A presence of authority and command, the Matriarch positioned herself behind the altar, poised and composed. "Sisters and Brothers, Mothers and Fathers, Children and Orphans, welcome!"
Her proclamation pierced through the silence, her voice authoritarian, compelling the room into hushed stillness, the sole interruption being the faint, steady crackling of the candles'' flames. The Matriarch''s hands hovered over the enigmatic black box.
"Tonight, we once more open our doors to the Hallow!" Her voice carried a deep resonance, filling the chamber. "Tonight, we bestow upon our child the gift of Oblivion. No longer will she be confined to mere flesh and bone, for she shall become one with the Book of LaVeyan. One with the Hallow. Let us celebrate our child''s transformation!"
The response was a thunderous chorus, a unified stomping of feet against the floor that sent ripples of vibration cascading through the very foundation of the room. As swiftly as the sound had come, it dissipated, replaced by a calm that was as dense as it was serene. The Matriarch''s hands rose again, and silence descended upon the assembly like a heavy curtain.
"Now, let us mourn the loss of our beloved Rosemary Elisabete Mere Morningstar, the stalwart guardian of the Hallow until a decade passed. Rosemary left us, but the Hallow returned home. Though our tears may flow, we must not waver in our purpose: to shield the world from the threat, the insatiable hunger of the Hallow. Since the beginning of time, our Covenant bears the weight of this solemn mission, and today, we press onward!"
South''s gaze discreetly shifted in Nord''s direction, her smile still affixed with enthusiasm and curiosity. Nord nodded, her thumb raised in encouragement.
"Who presents this child to be consecrated?"
Nord''s Mother moved, stepping forth from the circular formation. Her voice, while soft, carried authority. "I do."
"What name did you bestow upon your child?"
"South Anne Lilin Morningstar."
The Matriarch''s voice was gravely stern as she continued, "What do you seek from this Covenant?"
"I beg the Covenant to accept my child as a sacrifice and vessel to the Hallow. May her last breath protect our flesh and House and free our spirits."
South''s radiant smile faltered, fading slightly when she heard the word sacrifice as she left the circle''s centre and approached her Mother. Her voice was a hushed inquiry, laden with concern, "Mum, what does this all mean?"
"South, my dear, do not interrupt. Return to the centre," her Mother whispered gently, "Hush."
"Mum, but... sacrifice?"
Before South could inquire further, a hand from the crowd drew her back to the circle''s centre, forcing her to redirect her attention to the Matriarch.
"You have beseeched for your child to be granted to the Hallow. In this act, you acknowledge the relinquishment of her physical form for the sake of our devotion to the Hallow. Understand that you now must abstain from teaching her the commandments of our Covenant as inscribed within the Book of LaVeyan, which emphasizes the love for our blood and the love of our House. Are you fully cognizant of the gravity of your undertaking?"
"I am," Nord''s Mother responded, her voice quivering.
"My beloved brothers and sisters, let us entreat the Hallow to look upon this young vessel with mercy, to gaze upon this child who has been chosen for the ultimate sacrifice."
"I am," all voices echoed, resonating through the circle.
As the words reached South''s ears, her gaze sought the comfort of her sister''s, and her confusion turned to bewilderment. Wide eyes searched for answers as she realized that this event, this gathering, was not the celebratory birthday she had anticipated. It was not a time for joy but a time for sacrifice. Her sacrifice.
"Mum? Mum!" South''s desperate pleas filled the tense air, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. She was beginning to realize that her very life might be forfeit, her fate sealed to be an offering on the cold, crimson floor of the salt pentagram.
"Quiet!"
Nord''s heart clenched as she saw the terror in her little sister''s eyes. Panic surged through her, a chill running down her spine. She couldn''t let this madness unfold. The Matriarch''s question hung like a dark omen, "Does anyone oppose this offering?"
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Something clicked, something broke. Nord felt a surge of heat course through her, the world around her blurring into a chaotic haze of figures and distant voices. She had to act. Her voice, no longer hers, emerged as a low, husky male tone, an unexpected presence guiding her. A shiver raced down her spine as she felt the tension in the room escalated.
"I do!" The words were out before she could fully comprehend them, her voice manipulated by forces beyond her understanding. She watched the scene play out as if watching from a distance a grimdark movie as her own body moved forward, eyes no longer dull brown but now a deep obsidian, a fiery orange spark burning with rage within them.
"You foul witch! How dare you!" The words surged forth, venom dripping from each syllable. "She is blood from your blood!"
"She''s possessed!" A voice in the crowd cried out, panic spreading like wildfire.
"Reveal your name, demon!" The Matriarch''s voice trembled, the fear evident in her tone.
"Naming me would be an honour you don''t deserve," Nord''s smirk held a calculated edge, understanding the witches'' vulnerability without a name to wield against her.
"Arco Neh Aeon!"
Nord''s lips curled in defiance. "Not even close!"
"Levi Amon!"
"Cold, so very cold."
"Emma O! Gorgo Marduk! Nija Pan! Bil¨¦ Fenriz!" Random names of old demons emerged from the crowd.
"Baal Berith!" The murmured words rippled through the frenetic crowd, drawing Nord''s attention to their source. South''s heart pounded in her chest, her emotions a maelstrom.
"Baal Berith!" South''s voice repeated, breaking the tension, her tone trembling but resolute. She locked eyes with Nord, a mixture of fear and hope swirling in her gaze. Nord felt a pang of guilt for her sister''s involvement, but there was no turning back now.
"You have no idea, child, what your sister sacrificed to protect you, to give you a second chance. All the happiness she gave up for you to have a future. I hope it wasn''t in vain. She loved you more than life itself."
Nord returned her attention to the Matriach and advanced slowly toward the altar, escalating tension.
The coven joined hands, forming an unbreakable bond of unity. With The Matriarch leading them, they began to chant. Their words weren''t from any known language. They were a series of sounds and syllables, birthed from pure emotion and intention. It was an improvised spell, something never before spoken but whose purpose was clear to every witch in the circle.
As the chanting reached a fever pitch, the ground beneath them began to tremble. From the earth, red salt started to gather and rise. The granules danced and swirled in the air, collecting and compacting, taking shape before their very eyes.
The form that emerged was terrifying, a gargantuan gargoyle, its features sharp and menacing, crafted entirely from brilliant red salt. Each detail of its form was perfectly chiselled ¨C from its powerful, sinewy limbs to the terrifying snarl on its face, every fang and scale meticulously crafted. Though made of the same red salt, its eyes seemed to hold a fiery life of their own.
There, amidst the chanting witches, the beast stood, perched on muscular haunches, wings spread wide in a display of dominance, poised to strike. Its target was Nord.
But she wasn''t alone in this battle. She crouched, her hand making contact with the salt-strewn floor. "I summon the Key of the Protector! Stand by my side, defend in my name across the realms you tread. So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
The Matriarch and her coven, so focused on the gargoyle they had summoned, had not noticed the tattoo on Nord''s forearm ¨C a complex and intricate design etched in dark ink. However, as the beast readied its strike, an azure glow emerged from the tattoo, casting a light that seemed to challenge the room''s shadows.
The glow intensified, and from its brilliance, a young elf woman began to materialize. As her form solidified, the ethereal beauty of her face contrasted sharply with the fierce determination in her eyes. The coven members gasped, some stepping back in instinctual fear. This was no ordinary woman but a pure guardian made of mana, the power of raw magic.
As her final form took shape, it became evident she was a warrior of unparalleled skill. Her armour shimmered and glinted in the soft candlelight, lending her a mesmerizing and almost otherworldly appearance. A magnificent shield, adorned with symbols and dents that seemed to tell a story of bravery and sacrifice, was firmly gripped in her left hand. Her right hand wielded a sword, its blade flashing with an edge that looked sharp enough to cleave reality itself.
She lunged at the gargoyle without a word and with a swiftness that defied her ethereal emergence. The creature, caught off-guard by this sudden adversary, roared in anger and lunged back.
Their ensuing clash was nothing short of epic. Every move the gargoyle made, the guardian seemed to anticipate, her shield deflecting and her sword parrying. With each engagement, the candlelight caught the glint of their respective forms, creating a dance of light and shadow.
For a moment, the Matriarch and her coven were mere spectators, watching in disbelief. The guardian''s movements were fluid and precise, each strike purposeful. Her sword slashed through the gargoyle''s wing with a mighty swing, leaving a trail of red salt particles in the air.
The creature howled in pain, attempting to retaliate, but the guardian was relentless. With a final, well-aimed blow, she drove her sword through the creature''s heart. The gargoyle let out a last, mournful cry before crumbling, disintegrating into a pile of red salt, its essence returned to the floor from whence it came.
Once filled with the ominous energy of the coven''s chanting, the room was now dominated by a charged silence. All eyes were on the guardian, who, after ensuring the threat was vanquished, turned to face Nord, giving a nod of acknowledgement.
Nord''s command cut through the silent chaos. "Bring me the box!"
The warrior moved to the altar. The Matriarch clutched the box to her chest, a defiant stance, but Nord wasn''t deterred. "This ends now!"
The guardian, her duty not yet complete, gracefully moved towards the box. Each step was deliberate, her armour making a soft, harmonious clinking sound. The coven watched intently, some with fear and others with a blend of awe and curiosity. She reached out, took the box and approached Nord, her every move exuding an ethereal grace. Without a word, she handed her the box, her posture one of deep respect and submission.
Surprised by the sudden deference, Nord carefully accepted the box, feeling the weight of its power and importance.
She looked one last time in the South direction and said, "Eat good wine, drink good food, laugh with good friends and live like there is no tomorrow left! But mostly¡ be happy."
"Nord?" South whispered, frozen in place, when she watched her older sister opening the box.
This defends and protects those who invoke and cause to come. When they appear show them this Key, and immediately they will obey. - Baal Berith
[CH. 0003] - The Initiation
¡°You will be hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with ourselves.¡±
¨D George Orwell
The box''s energy throbbed, alive and almost sentient, pulsing with a mysterious rhythm that seemed in tune with the very essence of the universe. Its dark wooden surface danced and gleamed in the soft moonlight, casting a hypnotic spell on anyone who gazed upon it. The delicate etchings on its sides twisted and turned, moving like smoke rising from a fire, weaving a story of ancient wisdom and forbidden secrets.
With a wary grace, the Matriarch moved closer to Nord. Her eyes bore dread, a dark understanding of the unfathomable power within the box.
"The box, my child," she said, her voice trembling, "is a relic of ages lost, an echo of the primordial darkness that once enveloped all. It harbours an energy beyond our kin, a force that even the wisest have failed to tame." Her gaze drifted to the pulsating artefact, "Many have tried to harness its might, to bend it to their will. But most..." Her voice trailed off, her face paling as memories flooded her mind, "Most were consumed by it, devoured by the very power they sought to command. They died!"
Her eyes met Nord''s again, and in them was a plea, a desperate hope that Nord would heed her warning and turn away from a path that had led many to ruin. But in the depths of those wise eyes, there was also a glimmer of fear, a fear that perhaps this time, the darkness might win.
She lies. She doesn''t know.
Nord''s fingers closed around the box, clenching it so tightly that the whites of her knuckles gleamed in the pale light. Her heart thumped wildly, resonating with the pulsing energy of the box as if it were a living being calling out to her. The sensation was intoxicating, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once.
The air grew cold, a chill seeping into the night, emanating from the very core of Nord''s being. Her breath misted in front of her, swirling in the frigid air, a manifestation of the ancient power she now held in her hands.
A compelling and overwhelming magnetic pull gripped her. A longing gnawed at her very soul. The box wanted her, needed her, and she felt herself losing the battle to resist. Her heart raced, pounding in her chest, a drumbeat of excitement and fear that echoed in her ears. It was a dance with the unknown, a flirtation with something far beyond her comprehension, and she was caught in its spell, unable to look away, unable to let go. The darkness called to her, and she knew, at that moment, that she reached the point of no return.
"Nord, give me the box. Don''t listen to this demon. We can still save you!"
She lies.
Caught between the stern warnings of the Matriarch and the soft, insidious whispers in her mind, Nord''s emotions spiralled into chaos. The dichotomy tore at her, a storm of uncertainty, anger, and fear raging within her. Her breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps, each one a desperate attempt to find some semblance of control in the face of the overwhelming power that beckoned her.
"Why should I trust you? You were about to give South away! She is still a kid!" she spat, her voice raw and jagged with emotion, her eyes flicking wildly between the Matriarch''s wise, sorrowful gaze and the dark, entrancing box. "All my life, I was called a witch, hidden me away from my own potential! Bullshit! I am not what you say! I''m not like you! I''m just... me!" Her voice cracked, the pain of years of confusion and neglect breaking through, "My sister will be someone! She... she will be happy! You''re not taking that away from her!"
The Matriarch''s expression softened. "The very power that flows in you, Nord, is why we had to choose your sister. The Hallow is an ancient force. When unleashed, it seeks out the strongest magic to bind with, and you... You are that beacon. Don''t allow it to feed on you."
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The seductive voice in Nord''s mind whispered again, "You are doing good, don''t doubt yourself. You can do it! Trust me. Trust yourself."
Nord''s grip on the box tightened. She could feel the power within it beckoning her. "I''m scared."
Don''t be. I''m with you as long as I can.
With a sudden resolve, reckless and courageous defiance, Nord began to inch the lid open, the air quivering with anticipation. The box seemed to sigh, a soundless release of ancient energy, and the patterns on its surface danced more fervently.
The Matriarch''s reaction was instantaneous. Her face contorted with terror, she lunged forward, desperation in every line of her aged body. But before she could reach Nord, the guardian stood between them, the summoned elf warrior wielding a shield and sword. Her eyes, voids of endless wisdom, were fixed on the old woman, and its sword was pointed directly at her heart. A silent warning, a declaration of intent.
The room was charged with an otherworldly energy, a palpable tension. The Matriarch''s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as she faced the guardian. Her hand reached out, trembling, towards Nord, a plea for understanding, a cry for caution. "Please..."
But Nord''s eyes were locked on the box, her body moving with a purpose transcending fear or reason. The lid creaked open further, and a whisper of power escaped, a taste of the darkness within.
The moment was frozen, a tableau of destiny and choice, a dance between the old and new worlds. The guardian''s sword gleamed, the Matriarch''s eyes glistened with tears, and Nord''s face was set, determined.
The lid gave way, and the chamber was transformed into an explosion of blinding light. Shadows stretched long and twisted, reaching like dark fingers across the walls. The very air was saturated with power, a torrent of raw energy that pulsed and thrummed with an ancient, primal force.
Nord''s eyes, once dark, turned pure white, the pupils obliterated by the intensity of the Hallow''s embrace. It was as if ink had flooded her veins, the raw obsidian power seeping into every pore, every cell, merging with her very essence. Her body trembled, not with fear, but with an understanding, an awakening to magic that transcended time and reality.
The Matriarch''s shout of horror was lost, drowned in a cacophony of ethereal whispers, voices of ancient civilizations, echoes of empires long fallen, and songs of magic that had witnessed the birth and death of countless races. They were the melodies of the Hallow, a hungry library of darkness that had consumed knowledge and power from the dawn of existence.
It was not merely a force, a pool of energy to be tapped and controlled. It was an entity, a living, breathing embodiment of chaos, an emptiness that yearned to be filled. It was darkness and death, a void that could never be sated, a hunger that was eternal.
Nord was a part of it now, a vessel for its insatiable desire, a conduit for its terrible beauty. She could feel the weight of millennia, the ebb and flow of civilizations, the rise and fall of gods and demons. The Hallow was in her, and she was in it, lost in a symphony of power that defied comprehension.
The chamber was silent. The guardian''s sword lowered, the Matriarch''s eyes wide with awe and terror. Nord stood transformed, a being of pure magic, a daughter of chaos, a child of the Hallow. She was the Hallow, and the Hallow was her.
With a wild look of desperation in her eyes, the Matriarch turned to the covenant, her voice cracking with urgency. "Gather around. We must open the gate''s mouth!" she cried, her hands outstretched, trembling with the effort of what must be done.
The participants, a mixture of seasoned witches and young initiates, joined hands in a circle, their voices rising in a chant, a cacophony of sounds that defied understanding. Words of power, phrases from languages long lost, the very fabric of magic woven into a spell of containment.
Nord was lost, completely engulfed in the raw mana that had consumed her. The chamber began to shake, a strong wind swirling, growing in intensity, until even the candles were torn from their sconces and swept towards the gaping maw that opened beneath Nord''s feet.
The chant grew louder, more frantic, the grand door swinging open with a deafening crash. Nord''s suitcase and her cat holder skittered across the floor, caught in the relentless pull of the magical vortex.
Nord could feel herself sinking, drawn towards the darkness below. Her body felt weak, drained of strength, unable to resist the pull of the forces that sought to claim her. Her eyes, wide with terror, searched the room, landing on the figure of her little sister, chanting with the innocence and purity of a fairy angel.
And then she was gone, swallowed whole by the abyss.
The chamber fell silent, the wind dying down, the door slamming shut with a finality that resonated in the very bones of those who remained. The Matriarch''s face was pale, her eyes haunted, the realization of what had been done settling like a heavy weight on her shoulders.
They had saved Earth from the Hallow once more, perhaps, but at what cost?
[CH. 0004] - The Arrival
¡°Our contract has been fulfilled¡± - Baal Berith
Nord? Nord, wake up! You must wake up!
Drifting through the void, Nord became part of the waters that ensnared her, her mind drenched in dread and acceptance. It was no longer about understanding or fighting. It was about becoming.
Then, Nord understood her surroundings was not ethereal but deadly real. The lack of oxygen and the pressure in her ears and chest were not figments of her imagination but signs of a deep-water environment. Panic began as the realization hit her. She was sinking into the abyss. Her struggles became frantic as she sought to reverse her course, her body reacting in sheer terror to the impending danger.
But the more she fought, the more the water seemed to pull her in, a force intent on claiming her. The pain intensified, with it, the horrifying understanding that she might not escape this fate. Her mind raced, and her limbs flailed, but the abyss was relentless. Her thoughts turned dark, and as the pressure continued to build, the hope began to fade.
The chill of the deep water seeped into her very core, numbing her body and clouding her mind. Every attempt to ascend, to escape, was met with failure. Her energy drained away, sapped by the cold and the desperate struggle for survival. The urge to breathe became an all-consuming agony, a torture that clawed at her insides and drove her to the brink of madness.
Her limbs were heavy and unresponsive, her vision blurred by the lack of oxygen and the pressure of the depths. Hope had abandoned her, leaving only the crushing weight of despair. As the dark waters closed in, her mind wanted nothing more than to succumb to the inexorable pull of the deep, resigning itself to the fate that awaited.
Her limbs were lifeless, her mind weary, and her soul aching for rest. The struggle had become too much, and the temptation to sleep, to give in and let the darkness claim her, was irresistible. The water caressed her, gentle and loving, understanding her needs, wants, and desires. It was a mercy, a gift, a way to end the torment.
Slowly, she succumbed, her body relaxing, her mind quieting, and her soul ready to drift into the eternal night. It was an acceptance, a resignation to the inevitable, a choice to find peace in the awaited oblivion. She wanted it, she needed it, and finally, she embraced it, allowing the darkness to take her, to wrap her in its cold arms and carry her away.
Nord! I command you! Wake up!
The tranquil surrender was shattered, replaced by an immediate and terrifying understanding: she was drowning. The darkness that had once been a comfort was now a suffocating nightmare, and the cold embrace of the water was a death grip.
Wake up!
Water filled her lungs, choking and robbing her of life with every agonizing second. Panic was a wild, uncontrolled beast that tore through her mind and drove her to claw and thrash in terror. The sensation of losing control of her body was horrifying.
Her survival instincts kicked in, primal and powerful, but her body betrayed her, weakened and unresponsive.
Fight!
The darkness loomed, ready to claim her, but she was no longer willing to go quietly. The fear was raw, the desperation palpable, and the fight for life became a frantic struggle against the inexorable pull of the deep. Her mind screamed for air, for life, for another chance, but the abyss was relentless, its cold grip tightening, dragging her further from hope and closer to oblivion.
Come on! Fight!
The mysterious and powerful words echoed in her mind, a lifeline in the midst of chaos. There was someone, something beyond her understanding, yet deeply connected to her very being. In the horror of drowning, the pressure, the cold, and the relentless terror, those words were a beacon, a guide, a source of strength.
Fight!
And fight she did, the words fueling her, empowering her, transforming her fear into determination, her despair into hope. They were a command, a challenge, a promise, a truth that she clung to as she struggled against the pull of the deep. They were her salvation, her anchor, her reason, her purpose, her everything.
Death would not claim her while those words rang in her ears. She would rise, live, and conquer, for the words were with her, and they would not let her fall. They were her strength, her courage, her will, and she would not be defeated.
You need to swim! Swim up! Up!
Every movement was a battle. Each attempt to rise met with a force that seemed intent on dragging her down. Her legs were heavy, weighed down by the depths, encased in a grip that felt like lead. The effort to kick, push, and ascend was more than a Herculean task.
The struggle was exhausting, the odds insurmountable, the situation desperate, but Nord would not yield. She would fight, strive, and defy with a roar. She redoubled her efforts, summoning the last reserves of her strength. The water responded, parting before her, yielding to her will, allowing her to rise, to break free of its suffocating embrace.
Slowly, painfully, she began to ascend, each upward thrust of her legs bringing her closer to the surface, closer to life, closer to hope.
She would not be defeated.
She would not be denied.
She would live.
Gasping for breath, Nord broke the water''s surface, her body wracked with coughs as she expelled the water from her lungs. The air was cold and tasted sweet, a sharp contrast to the brackish, choking liquid that had nearly claimed her life.
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But as she looked around, she found herself surrounded by inky darkness, a void so complete it was as if the world itself had been swallowed up. Desperation clawed at her again, a gnawing fear that she was lost, adrift in an endless sea of nothingness.
With a grim determination, she began to swim, her arms and legs moving in slow strokes, every muscle in her body straining as she propelled herself forward.
And then, finally, when hope was beginning to wane, her hand brushed against something solid, something real. Land. Solid ground. A promise of safety.
As her fingers barely grazed what appeared to be a combination of rock and weed, an unyielding grip fastened around her neck, yanking her violently down to the dry ground. Her surroundings were still blinded by darkness, perplexing her about the malevolent force at play. The weight of an indiscernible presence bore down on her, accompanied by the warm exhalations of its breath caressing her face.
Struggling against the unfathomable power, she attempted to push it away, only to find it was an unassailable might. Her face was manoeuvred to the side, her neck exposed and vulnerable. An instant, a sensation akin to innumerable needles puncturing her skin enveloped her. Her heart raced faster with each puncture, and her strength drained away like sand slipping through her fingers.
Despite prevailing over the initiation, vanquishing the Hallow, and conquering the abyssal depths of water, she now faced defeat against an unknown creature that defied her comprehension. Weighed down by exhaustion and fear, her eyelids drooped heavily. In a feeble murmur, she admitted, "I''m scared."
I know.
"Will you stay with me?"
No.
"Why?"
Our contract has been fulfilled, Nord. I''ll... miss you... goodbye.
A soft heat seeped through Nord''s eyelids, provoking unease. She moved to the other side, escaping the invading brightness. All she desired was another five minutes of sleep. Yet, even though the light ceased, it assaulted her face, and a sickening stench overtook her senses.
Despite the light no longer touching her face, a nauseating odour invaded her nostrils, a foul and loathsome blend of putrefaction, decay, and the cold scent of death. It was a smell that could not be ignored.
Her yearning for sleep was forgotten, replaced by a growing sense of unease, a deep and unsettling feeling that something was amiss. The smell was more than an unpleasant odour; it was a harbinger, a warning, a sign of something dark and dreadful.
Sitting up suddenly, Nord took in her surroundings, her senses assaulted by a room that seemed to belong to a time long past. The compact space was tidy, meticulously arranged, and adorned with antiquated furnishings that spoke of an age gone by. A dark, ornate rosewood theme prevailed, rich and heavy, with opulent floral designs.
The sole element that provided respite from the room''s heaviness was the pale beige curtains, allowing a semblance of breathing space. Yet, the oppressive stench shattered any idyllic scenario, turning the reverie into a nightmare.
Rising from the bed, she became aware of her attire¡ªa cotton nightgown enveloping her form. Yet, she had no recollection of changing her outfit. Her last coherent memory was of being submerged in water, and then...
A shiver coursed through her as realization struck. She had been bitten.
Hurriedly, she dashed to the mirror hanging above the dresser, her eyes locked onto her reflection. Her heart raced as her gaze settled on her neck. There it was¡ªan immense, discoloured bruise, a swirl of blue and purple, punctuated by two conspicuous puncture wounds. The area still throbbed with pain in a persistent sting.
She stepped out of the room and recognized the setting as a vast manor. The corridors stretched long and wide, lined with numerous doors, reminiscent of a grand hotel or an opulent inn. The architecture exuded a sense of luxury, dominated by wood and velvet textures. Bizarre portraits showcasing a realm of fantasy adorned the walls. That she should have paid more attention.
Descending the stairs, Nord found herself in a magnificent hall. Her eyes took in the gleaming bar counter, the silent promise of the piano, the waiting anticipation of the stage. The room was filled with elegance and sophistication. Yet, it seemed to be waiting for something, standing still in a moment of paused beauty.
There was an underlying quietness, a calm that settled over the room as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to begin or perhaps for someone to arrive. The hall was a contradiction, a blend of grandeur and silence, magnificence and stillness, a place of promise and emptiness.
To the left, a door stood ajar, revealing a glimpse of an empty and quiet kitchen beyond. Tentatively, she called out, "Hello?"
She continued her exploration until she opened a door that led to the back of a store. The room was filled with shelves lined with various trinkets and relics, the organized chaos of a working space. And amidst the surroundings stood a young man with white hair.
He wore formal trousers, but his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his suspenders were down, hanging loosely at his sides. He seemed out of place, a figure that didn''t quite belong here.
His arm was extended, passing through a ray of light that filtered through the window. The light caught his pale hair, giving it a luminescent quality, and highlighted the contours of his arm, creating an ethereal and striking visual like a Renaissance artwork.
He seemed lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the beam of light as if he were trying to understand something profound or seeking an answer to a question that had been bothering him.
Nord''s presence went unnoticed, or perhaps it was simply ignored. "Hello?" she said once more, daring to come in.
His attention shifted to her as she entered dangerous territory, her voice threading cautiously into the conversation. His bloodshot eyes fixed upon her, sharp and penetrating as if trying to read her very soul. His canine tooth teased his lower lip, a habit or perhaps a sign of something more, an unsettling detail she couldn''t ignore.
"Hello?" she inquired, aware of the delicate ground she was treading.
"It doesn''t burn," he spoke, his arm idly swaying under the sunlight.
"The sun?" she queried.
"Why doesn''t it burn me?" he pressed, the confusion evident in his tone.
"I see. Was it LSD? Shrooms? Cocaine? Do you need help? You look like you might," she offered, ready to retreat and distance herself from the stranger.
In an instant, her world turned topsy-turvy. She found herself forcefully pinned against the wall, his body rigidly pressed against hers, his hands immobilizing her. "What are you?" his voice demanded, a fierce intensity in his crimson eyes.
"What?" she stammered.
"What are you?" he repeated.
"Huh, I''m a tattoo artist, I..."
"What are you?" he cut her off again, his persistence unnerving.
Her voice trembled as she responded, "Am I in danger?"
He released her, pacing behind the counter. His frustration was palpable. He muttered, "Fifty years, unable to feel the sun on my skin. Fifty years! Do you even comprehend how incredible it feels?"
"I''ll just go check my things," she muttered, edging backwards slowly. "I''ll be back soon, okay? Everything''s going to be alright. You probably just need to stay hydrated, and... well, I''ll be right back," she assured, stepping out and quietly shutting the door behind her. Her pace quickened as she rushed upstairs.
In a frenzy, she swung each door on the upper floor, one by one, revealing meticulously arranged rooms that appeared ready for guests. Each space was a picture of pristine and grace, awaiting occupants.
Swiftly, she repeated the process, her movements frantic, her pace unrelenting, driven by the urgency to find her suitcase, Kirara and her mobile device to call for help.
Then it hit her. An overpowering stench of decay gripped her senses, penetrated her being, and stopped her in her tracks. It was a smell that couldn''t be ignored, a smell that couldn''t be denied, a smell that demanded attention, that commanded investigation.
Hesitating for a split second, her mind recoiling, her body resisting, she swung open the door from which the noxious odour emanated. The sight that met her eyes was one of horror, shock, and disbelief.
There lay a figure, lifeless. Dead.
[CH. 0005] - The Arrival
"Oh, sweet eldritch child, you have no clue where you are,¡± - Adamastor
Nord stepped slowly into the room, the overpowering stench hitting her nostrils like a punch in the nose. A noxious cloud of decay and rot filled the air, invading her nostrils and threatening to overwhelm her senses.
She tucked her nose under the collar of her nightgown in a desperate attempt to shield herself from the smell, but it was no use. The odour was too strong, too intense, too all-encompassing. It was inescapable, undeniable, unignorable.
With suspicion, she moved closer, her eyes inevitably drawn to the figure on the bed, her heart pounding in her chest. An old woman lay there, her face sunken, her body withered and frail, her skin dry and cracked. Time had ravaged her, age had etched itself into her very being, and death had come to claim her at last.
The old woman appeared to be asleep, her expression peaceful, her demeanour calm and relaxed. Her white hair framed a face that seemed almost gentle in repose. She wore a nightgown very similar to Nord''s.
Nord''s gaze roamed the room. Everything was untouched, in perfect order. Clothing was meticulously arrayed, closet doors stood slightly ajar, and the furniture was free of dust. It was as if time itself had halted, preserving this room in a moment of stillness. Or someone kept the room clean and neat.
Everything was in place. Except for the body.
It was an anomaly, a contradiction, a paradox. It didn''t belong, it didn''t fit, it didn''t make sense. It was a question, a riddle, a puzzle. How long had she died? The woman on the bed seemed old. It was as if she had been there for years.
How long ago had she died?
"I haven''t managed to arrange a fitting funeral since the mortuary shuts during the night. I kept hoping someone would show up and I could beg a favour, and help me, but no soul appeared. Strange, really, as she was adored by everyone."
Nord peeked over her shoulder, watching the man from earlier casually propped against the doorframe.
"What''s her name?" Nord asked.
"Rosemary. She ran this establishment," the stranger replied.
"Rosemary?" Nord echoed, the name ringing some distant bell in her mind.
"Morningstar, Rosemary Morningstar. That woman was a friend, the truest friend. She never turned away anyone who knocked at her door, any time, day or night," he declared, breaking into a chuckle, "damn it, she even helped me!"
"How long has she been... like this?"
"Ten years, more or less. Pretty sure she went peacefully in her sleep. After Frank''s death, she wasn''t herself. Mournful all the time; I reckon she was just biding her time to be with him," he mused, moving closer to the bed, "Such a gentle soul she was. Frank, that lucky Hobruin got a fine woman for life."
"A what?" Nord interjected, bewildered.
He gestured towards a wall adorned with various picture frames depicting a joyful couple. Photos from their wedding night, in front of a steam train, some with friends, others of the two of them alone. But one figure stood out the most prominently - a bear. A fully garbed bear stood beside a captivating fair woman with flowing blonde hair and the widest smile. A striking resemblance to Nord''s sister, South.
"Frank was... a bear?"
"Hobruin."
"What?"
"I didn''t ask your name, did I?" he interrupted, extending his hand, "Adamastor, by the way."
Hesitatingly, Nord shook his hand, "I''m Nord."
"Nord?"
"Nord Morningstar," she added.
At the sound of her name, Adamastor jerkily withdrew his hand, "You''re a Morningstar?"
"Yeah..."
"You don''t bear any resemblance to Rosie... not in the slightest!"
"I hear that often, but she shares a strong likeness with my younger sister, South," Nord explained, a bashful smile playing on her lips.
"So you''re the next one in line?"
The question seemed to hover over her. "Next?"
"Everyone''s aware that the Morningstar''s are the wardens of the Hallow, aren''t they?"
"Yeah, something along those lines," she mumbled, her eyes wandering over the picture frames. Images filled with curious characters caught her attention: people with cat ears, antlers, pointy ears, and more large bears, all immaculately dressed in blouses, blazers, and fedora hats, just like a steampunk Victorian era.
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She couldn''t determine whether they were the product of Photoshop or some elaborate cosplay. Perhaps AI art? The imagery was so convincing, so authentic, yet it couldn''t possibly be real. Could it?
Nord''s focus snapped back to Adamastor. "Help you?"
"With the funeral! Now that you''re here, I can head into town! We might even be able to reopen the inn store; it''s been closed for over ten years."
"Thanks to me? What are you talking about? Am I supposed to stay here and make sure a corpse doesn''t run off?" she inquired.
Seeing her puzzled expression, Adamastor suddenly understood Nord''s confusion. "Where do you think you are, sweetheart?"
"States... somewhere in San Francisco, I think? I''ve never been here, so I have no clue."
"Ravendrift."
"Ravendrift? Which state is that?"
Adamastor face settled into a look of final realization. "You''re right; I''ll go to town myself. You stay here, take a bath, relax, and we''ll figure things out from there."
"I don''t have any clothes!"
"Kitchen. I stashed your suitcase there."
They both made their way to the kitchen, and Nord''s impatience bubbled over as she approached her suitcase. But before she could open it, her attention was caught by her cat carrier, completely torn apart.
"Kirara?"
"Who?"
"My cat! My cat was in here. Where is she?" Her voice edged with panic. She peered inside the mangled carrier, then dropped to her knees to search under the counter for any sign of an orange tabby. "Please, please, where is she? Kirara! Kirara!" She cried out, hoping the little feline would emerge from some hidden corner. "Come to Mama, come on, come here!" Her voice broke into a desperate plea for her cherished pet.
"You brought a cat?"
"Yes, she is orange, with green amber eyes, she...she... has half of her lips black. She seems small for her age. She is ten. She... where is she? Did you see here?" She asked, standing up and piercing with despair into Adamastor''s eyes. "Please, she is everything to me. She has been with me for so long. We..."
"Darling, I didn''t see any cat, thank the Atua, or I might have sucked her up until her bone marrow."
"What?" Nord asked, disoriented. "How can you make a joke like that?"
"Oh, sweet eldritch child, you have no clue where you are or what I am. Look, she wasn''t inside that... that..."
"Carrier?"
"Yes! She wasn''t inside, so she probably escaped. She might be out in the woods, or perhaps..." Adamastor¡¯s voice trailed off, and he visibly regretted his loose tongue. "What I mean is cats are smart. Sooner or later, she''ll turn up."
Nord''s attention shifted to her suitcase. The blue polyester fabric was still drenched, and she had little hope of finding any dry clothing inside. But when she opened the case, what she discovered was not at all what she had expected. The contents, or the lack thereof, left her stunned, a new mystery unravelling before her very eyes. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, but comprehension remained elusive.
"What is this?" she mumbled, taking the first item out of the bag, her fingers tracing over the unusual contents.
"Those look like two fancy daggers," commented Adamastor, his tone matching Nord''s puzzlement.
Indeed, where she had expected to find clothing, there were only sealed plastic bags, each containing an item that seemed entirely out of place. It was as if everything had been prepared with the foreknowledge that she would end up in water, all her belongings protected and preserved.
The daggers were just the beginning. Something was very wrong, and she couldn''t shake the sense that she was being drawn into something much larger and more mysterious than she could have ever anticipated.
"This is not mine," Nord stated, her voice tinged with disbelief as she took the blades out of the plastic bag. The two daggers seemed identical, with short blades, sharply tapered points, a curving central spine, and two cutting edges sharpened the full length of the blade. An ellipse-shaped hole was in each, and one blade was marked with her name, "Morningstar," while the other bore the word "Berith." When she placed the two daggers together, she could read "Morningstar heart Berith."
"That is so cute," Adamastor commented, a note of sarcasm in his voice.
"I don''t know any, Berith," she mumbled, her confusion deepening. The daggers, the words, the entire contents of her suitcase ¨C none of it made sense. Who had prepared these things, and why? And what did it mean for her? The questions swirled in her mind.
She yanked her suitcase open and unearthed a notebook. Ripping it out of the plastic bag, she impatiently flipped through the pages adorned with pencil and pastel drawings. The motif remained consistent: a young man with unruly long hair tied back in a haphazard half ponytail.
"Are you sure?"
"This isn''t right. I don''t know this person. I didn''t draw this!"
Adamastor¡¯s finger pinpointed a tiny scrawl beneath the last stroke of the drawing, and he murmured, "N. Morningstar. Sounds like you."
"I didn''t... I don''t remember. And it''s like the same guy on every single page," she muttered while skimming through each sheet. A peculiar detail caught her attention - the character''s features. His eyes were completely shrouded in darkness, with a vacant white expanse in the centre in the shape of a flame.
"That''s a demon," Adamastor stated matter-of-factly.
Nord brushed off his comment and shifted her focus to the other items laid out before her. Among them was a smaller plastic bag containing an object resembling a pen, yet thicker and devoid of a pointed tip.
Intrigued, her curiosity overcame caution, and she retrieved the object from the bag. Its central feature was a simple button, and driven by her curiosity, she pressed it. In an instant, the small tube extended, stretching about a meter from both ends. The sudden motion prompted Adamastor to swiftly lean back, narrowly avoiding the blade-like edge that emerged, a hair''s breadth away from piercing his ribcage.
"Be careful!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with concern. "What are those things? Are you preparing for war?"
Nord pressed the button once more, and the metallic rod retracted to its original form with a decisive snap.
"I... I don''t know..."
Inside the suitcase, her eyes fell upon the rest of the tantalizing array of tools that resonated with her everyday job. A wireless tattoo machine rested there, and beside it, a bag brimming with plastic vials of ink, a vibrant spectrum of colours - black, white, green, red, blue, purple, and yellow. These were familiar companions, yet her gaze lingered on the novelty of the machine. It looked brand new, never used.
Amidst this collection, a portable solar charger took the form of a foldable notebook. Then, a brick-like object, resembling a fall-proof mobile phone, stood nearby.
Nord''s fingers tore through the plastic bag, revealing the treasure within. With a swift motion, the screen of the device flickered to life, illuminating her face. The message that materialized on the screen held an air of urgency - "Don''t forget!" it declared, a cryptic directive that hung in the air like a whisper from the past. But what past?
Yet, the heart of this technological enigma proved to be as unconventional as the tools that surrounded it. The phone''s operating system diverged starkly from the familiarity of Android or iOS. Instead, it bore the markings of a relic, a fragment of a bygone era - a Windows phone.
Nord''s curiosity was now a blaze, "Don''t forget what?"
[CH. 0006] - The Arrival
Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality. - Edgar Allan Poe
"Are you okay?" Adamastor''s voice intruded upon Nord''s swirling thoughts.
Nord''s contemplation was momentarily broken, and she met Adamastor''s concerned gaze. "Yeah, I guess," she responded with a touch of detachment. "It''s just that nothing here seems to belong to me, or at least that''s what I remember. It''s baffling that I didn''t pack essentials like clothes, makeup or a toothbrush! And this phone... It''s the only thing that feels familiar. It might help me reach Bobby."
"Bobby?" Adamastor inquired, clearly intrigued.
Nord''s lips curved into a wistful smile. "My apprentice. He should be at the convention already. Damn it! This was meant to be our big debut."
A plan began to form as she continued, "But right now, what I need most is a bath and some decent clothing. If that''s possible."
A helpful offer emerged from Adamastor, "I can fetch some clothes from Rosie. She wouldn''t mind."
Nord''s response was tinged with practicality, "I was hoping for something that... you know, something that doesn''t carry the scent of the grim reaper... If you''ve got trousers and a shirt, even if old, that would be perfect."
As Nord collected her trinkets and stowed them back into the suitcase, the logistics of her temporary lodging came into focus. "And where''s the bathroom?" Nord queried, eager for a change of scene.
Adamastor gestured to the upper floor, his piercing eyes making contact with hers as he began to explain. "First floor, third door on your right. You can''t miss it. If you want warm water, just make sure to initiate the stove."
"Stove?" she questioned, perplexed. Her eyes flickered with doubt as if she were mentally preparing for another obstacle.
Adamastor chuckled, the sound tinged with a certain excitement she couldn''t quite place. "Trust me, you''ll figure it out. It''s straightforward enough. Now, I''ll head into town. Need to make arrangements for Rosie''s funeral and maybe gather some resources."
The mention of Rosie''s funeral dimmed the brightness in his eyes for a split second. Still, it was quickly replaced with that strange anticipation again. "Then we see where things go from there, right?"
She nodded, still unsure about the odd gleam in Adamastor''s eyes. Was it excitement for the trip into town or something else she couldn''t quite grasp?
Serve to bring to effect and to grant things which are contrary unto the order of Nature; and which are not contained under any other head. They easily give answer, but they can with difficulty be seen. - Baal Berith
As the front door creaked shut behind Adamastor, she found herself alone in the manor. It was unsettling how a large place could feel so oppressively empty, the very air thick with the lingering scent of decay. She shook her head, attempting to dispel the morbid thoughts that haunted her and headed for the bathroom.
When she opened the door, her eyes widened. The bathroom was immaculate. Spotless tiles, a polished mirror, and pristine fixtures. A thought occurred to her. Who was keeping this place so clean if Rosemary had been dead for ten years? Her eyes narrowed, suspicion settling in. The most plausible answer was Adamastor, but the idea of that man scrubbing bathtubs and polishing sinks seemed almost laughable.
She shook her head, puzzled but not ready to dwell on it. Right now, the more pressing issue was figuring out the stove Adamastor had mentioned. She needed that warm water, a temperate, deserved bath.
Nord''s eyes scanned the room, her gaze landing on the cylindrical iron stove beside the porcelain bathtub. Its vintage design was split into two distinct compartments: a large door concealing dry wood and a smaller drawer underneath for ash collection.
"All I have to do is light this damn thing," she muttered under her breath. Her fingers fumbled with a matchbox, finally pulling out a single matchstick. With a swift motion, she struck it against the box, and a tiny flame emerged. She brought the flame close to the wood, but it flickered and died, finding no kindling to feed on.
"Damn it." Nord huffed, her frustration reaching a boiling point. She frantically looked around for anything flammable ¡ª paper, toilet tissue, even a piece of cloth. The search yielded nothing.
"Shit!" she cursed, slamming her hand against the cold metal of the stove. It was going to be a long, cold bath at this point.
"Shit!" she mumbled again, her eyes scanning the immaculate bathroom for anything that could serve as kindling. All this elegance and attention to detail, yet not a scrap of toilet paper or even a twig to be found. She groaned in frustration.
Her gaze landed on the ash drawer beneath the stove''s fire chamber. Perhaps, she thought, there might be some remnants¡ªtiny bits of charred wood that could catch fire more easily. With a mixture of hope and scepticism, she pulled open the ash drawer. It was clean. Impossibly clean.
"Of course it is," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
Her mind raced for solutions. The fire was crucial for warm water, but what could she use to get it going? Her eyes darted around the room, finally settling on a small, decorative wicker basket that held a collection of scented soap bars.
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An idea flashed across her mind. She grabbed one of the soap bars, peeled off the thin paper wrapping, and twisted it into a makeshift tinder. Cautiously, she placed the twisted paper beneath the stacked wood and struck a match. The paper caught fire instantly but never touched the wood before the paper vanished in ashes.
Nord''s eyes locked onto the lifeless wood inside the stove. She let out a sigh of surrender, then spun on her heels and bolted toward the kitchen. Her feet pounded against the stairs, but she barely noticed; she''d grown accustomed to the length of the climb.
Once in the kitchen, she grabbed and returned to the bathroom with her notebook and flipped it open. Her intent was to tear out a couple of useless pages, perhaps filled with doodles or inconsequential scribbles, to fuel the fledgling fire. But as her eyes skimmed the pages, she found no such thing. Each page seemed to bear the weight of her emotions, thoughts, and experiences¡ªessentially, it was her diary.
Nord''s eyes moved across the sketches she had filled her notebook with, captivated by the progression of the young man''s illustrations. It was as if he had aged alongside her thoughts and feelings, maturing on paper just as she had in life.
The early sketches showed him with wide, naive eyes, almost childlike. But as Nord flipped through the pages, those eyes seemed to transform, becoming deeper and more knowing. What was once a broad, innocent smile now shifted into a knowing smirk¡ªa secret shared between artist and muse.
His hair, initially a short, messy tuft, had elongated over the pages as if each strand had captured time itself. And that once-shy gaze? It seemed to evolve, page by page, into a direct, unwavering stare that felt as though it could pierce right through her.
A chill ran down her spine, but not from the cold room.
Nord stood there, notebook in hand, unable to tear out even a single page. She turned her gaze back to the stove, its empty cavern taunting her need for warmth. With a self-mocking smile, she waved her hand dramatically over the stove and announced, "Hocus pocus, fire workus!"
As expected, the stove remained cold lifeless. A puff of air escaped Nord''s lips as she chuckled at her own absurdity. "Well, I guess I''m no witch," she said, rolling her eyes at her foolish whimsy.
But beneath the humour and irony, something simmered within her¡ªa gnawing, restless energy, as if a muted scream had been echoing in her for years, waiting to be unleashed. It was an indefinable urge, a raw hunger for something more, something transformative.
Nord''s palm rested on the notebook lying on the cold floor. Her lips began to move almost without conscious thought, uttering words she didn''t fully understand: "I summon the Key of Chaos! Break the order of Nature, concede power in my name across the realms you tread. So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
As the words left her lips, something tore from her throat¡ªthough not as sharp as it had felt the night before, but still electric and tangible. A jet of flames burst forth from her mouth, hitting the dry wood in the stove and erupting into a stable, glowing fire.
Nord stood there, eyes wide, unable to pull her gaze from the now roaring fireplace.
"Did I... did I just do that?" she questioned herself, her voice tinged with disbelief and wonder. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, a mix of exhilaration and a slight edge of fear.
Nord sank into the porcelain bathtub, feeling the warmth seep into her bones and muscles. She''d chosen a room far enough away that the stench permeating other parts of the manor didn''t reach her here. As she lay in the bath, her neck still throbbing but more relaxed than before, her thoughts drifted to her unexpected situation.
She was in a place she didn''t understand, in a manor full of mysteries, including her own inexplicable actions. But despite the strangeness, the bath provided her with a temporary sanctuary, a moment of respite to gather her thoughts and steel herself for what lay ahead.
With other people rumoured to be arriving at the manor soon, Nord hoped that among them might be someone who could help her, someone who could provide answers to the questions that clouded her mind¡ªespecially the most pressing one of all: how to get back home.
Slipping into a pair of oversized trousers and a white blouse that belonged to Adamastor, Nord felt oddly comforted. The clothing carried a unique, orangy scent that she couldn''t quite place, but it was pleasant¡ªdifferent, yet welcoming in its own way.
She picked up the mobile device from a nearby table and powered it on. The screen lit up, and once again, she was greeted with the enigmatic message: "Don''t Forget!"
The words glared at her from the screen, meaning as elusive as ever. She pondered over them, wondering what they implied. Could it be a warning, a reminder, or simply a cryptic piece of advice?
Nord squinted at the device''s screen, considering for a moment that the "Don''t Forget!" message might just be some sort of branding or advertisement. A quick scan of the service indicators showed absolutely nothing¡ªno bars, no ''Emergency Calls Only''¡ªjust emptiness in the notification bar.
Her eyes caught sight of a series of folders neatly organized on the home screen. Among them was an isolated movie file, standing apart from the others: "Play_me_first.mov."
Curiosity piqued, she tapped on the file to open it. The video started playing, and there she was¡ªher own face staring back at her from the device''s screen. But something was off. Her hair was different¡ªlonger and sleeker than she remembered. And she was in a familiar setting, the back office of her tattoo store, a place that felt both close and distant all at once.
But what really caught her attention was the black hoodie she was wearing in the video¡ªa piece of clothing she had lost nearly ten years ago. Yet, the video seemed way recent, maybe five years ago. Nord couldn''t make up her mind.
Her finger hovered over the screen, contemplating whether to pause the video or let it play. With a mix of trepidation and anticipation, she chose the latter. "Play," she whispered, her voice barely audible even to herself, and let the video roll. What secrets would this old yet unfamiliar version of herself reveal?
Nord watched, captivated as the version of herself in the video spoke. "If I''m seeing this, I survived. How does it feel? I can''t imagine it. First things first. Number one, I did good. I saved South from the Hallow. I also probably pissed off every Morningstar that exists," Video-Nord chuckled, rubbing her hand on her neck as if the reality was too massive to grapple with in one sitting.
Her video self''s tone shifted, growing serious, "There is no easy way to say this. But you, who is me in the future, are no longer on Earth. I paid a fucking huge price for it." Nord saw the hint of tears in her own eyes on the screen. Was she crying? The vulnerability, even if it was her own, was jarring to witness.
"So let me go straight to the point. You are no longer on Earth. You are on a planet called Nyu, and we probably landed in Tear Lake, which is in Ravendrift." Video-Nord paused as if allowing time for the news to sink in. "Now, I don''t know how I will react to this information, but if you don''t believe me, go check the sky."
Nord stared at the screen for a moment. She paused the video, absorbing the enormity of what she''d just heard. It was a lot to take in, this idea that Nord was no longer on Earth, that she was on a completely different planet called Nyu. And yet, despite the surrealness of it all, she couldn''t shake the feeling that it was true.
With a deep breath, she walked over to the nearest window and looked up. The dusk sky was unlike anything she''d ever seen¡ªtwo moons, one larger than the other, hung like celestial sentinels against a backdrop of unfamiliar constellations.
"Nyu has two moons. Earth has one."
[CH. 0007] - Two Moons
The greatness of a community is most accurately measured by the compassionate actions of its members. - Coretta Scott King
Nord''s ears perked up at the sound of footsteps echoing through the manor. The distant murmur of voices grew louder, punctuated by the occasional shout and even a woman''s cry. Her curiosity piqued, she pressed her ear to the door for a moment before cautiously cracking it open to peek into the hallway. Her eyes widened as she saw two men enter Rosemary''s room across the way. They emerged moments later, carrying a lifeless form draped in white sheets. The sight sent a chill coursing through her.
Cautiously, Nord tiptoed closer to the staircase, her eyes darting to ensure she remained unseen. As she descended a few steps, the volume of the conversations below increased. Voices engaged in hurried talk, punctuated from time to time by the distressing cry of a woman.
As Nord descended the staircase, each step seemed to amplify the tension in the air. The murmur of voices came into focus, a m¨¦lange of tones and accents she couldn''t place. The crowd in the foyer looked up as she reached the bottom step, their eyes a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and, in some cases, outright awe.
Adamastor stretched out his arms in her direction. "And as I told you, the new Morningstar, this is Nord. She arrived last night."
A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd at Adamastor''s proclamation. Nord felt dozens of eyes examining her, measuring her worth and assessing her place in this new, bewildering landscape. It was overwhelming and somewhat disconcerting, yet she also felt a glimmer of something else¡ªrecognition? A sense of destiny unfolding?
"Nord, allow me to introduce you to Doctor Sirona, the Town''s Healer," Adamastor gestured toward an elegant woman with a regal bearing and a circlet adorning her brow. Sirona extended her hand toward Nord, her eyes not just looking at her but seemingly through her as if gauging the depth of her soul.
"A pleasure, Nord. Your arrival has been... quite the talk among us," Sirona said, her voice imbued with a note of solemnity that suggested that being the subject of ''talk'' among folks was no small matter.
Adamastor glanced at the sheet-covered form that had been carried out of Rosemary''s room. "It''s been a night of significant change, for better or worse."
Nord felt the weight of the room''s attention upon her as if each individual was a node in a vast network, and she was the latest, most unpredictable element. The notion was both exhilarating and terrifying, but Nord found a strange sense of clarity in this moment of collective focus.
She was not on Earth but a stranger in a bewildering new world. But the people around her, in some sense, are now her new community. And if the words of her future self were to be believed, Nord had a role to play here, one whose outlines were only now beginning to emerge from the shadows.
Feeling both humbled and emboldened, Nord nodded at Sirona and Adamastor. "The pleasure is mine. It looks like we have a lot to discuss."
A chubby old man with the most friendly face she ever saw, holding on his vest, greeted her, "I am so glad to see you, Miss Morningstar. You have no idea how much this town needs you! I can''t wait for the Morningstar to reopen its inn and salon!"
"Excuse me?"
Adamastor chuckled at the old man''s enthusiasm before turning to Nord. "Nord, this is Mayor Paxton. He''s been holding down the fort in the absence of a Morningstar."
Mayor Paxton beamed, his eyes twinkling like stars against his ruddy complexion. "Ah, yes! It''s been far too long since we''ve had a Morningstar among us. Why, the inn and salon have been practically gathering cobwebs!"
Nord blinked, perplexed. "Inn and salon? I''m afraid I''m not following."
Adamastor cleared his throat and gestured for Mayor Paxton to elaborate. "Well, the role of the Morningstar is not just about holding the Hallow," the Mayor explained, adjusting his vest with a flourish. "You also serve as the steward of the community. The Morningstar Inn and Salon are part of that. They''re... gathering places where folks can come to seek your guidance or just enjoy some respite in exchange for precious relics and trinkets to keep the beast at bay. And by the beast, I mean the Hallow, of course."
Nord raised an eyebrow. "So, I''m expected to run a hospitality business on top of... whatever else I''m supposed to be doing here?"
Sirona chimed in, her voice tinged with amusement. "Oh, don''t worry. It''s not as mundane as it sounds. The inn and salon are more like a no man''s land between all races. They offer sanctuary and serve as a conduit for magical trade between humans, demons, and Puck, to name a few. The Morningstar''s presence keeps them... in check."
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Adamastor nodded. "It''s a tradition that goes back generations, and it''s been sorely missed since Rosemary... left us."
Nord''s head swirled with thoughts, each one jumbling over the other like waves in a stormy sea. She took a deep breath, trying to centre herself as she listened to the man''s declarations.
"This is the family business!" The Mayor''s voice was vibrant, filled with an almost evangelical enthusiasm. His eyes sparkled as he continued, "And this inn, this store, keeps you far away from the grasping, wretched fingers of the Hallow. But have no fear; we''re all here to help. Things will return to normal. As they should be!"
Nord paused, taking a moment to absorb the man''s words before asking, "The town needs the inn?"
"Oh, absolutely," the man replied, his hands forming energetic gestures as if he were conducting an invisible orchestra. "This inn welcomes travellers and adventurers from every nook and cranny of Nyu! It''s not just a building; it''s a landmark of Ravendrift!"
Nord''s eyes narrowed, scepticism seeping into her gaze. "If it''s such a landmark, such a cornerstone for the community, why did you let Rosemary rot for a whole decade?"
The Mayor''s ever-present smile dimmed, if only for a moment, and his eyes flickered away. "Ah, well, not all questions have easy answers, do they?"
The weight of the unspoken history settled in the room like an uncomfortable fog, obscuring the easy camaraderie that had been present just moments before. The woman, her eyes still red from recent tears, broke the silence. "When Frank left us, Rosemary changed. It''s as if the Hallow latched onto her sadness, draining her spirit. Nobody could get near her. We didn''t even know she had passed until it was too late."
Nord''s brows furrowed, her eyes flashing with an unfamiliar fire. "So you just left her? An elderly woman suffering, and no one thought to check on her? Adamastor told me she was loved by everyone, yet what I found was a woman who died alone. Every human being deserves the dignity of a funeral!" Her voice crescendoed the words crashing through the room like a torrential downpour.
A man stepped forward, uneasily adjusting his collar as he spoke. "Miss Morningstar, I understand how this might look to someone from the outside. But you must understand once the Hallow starts to feed, it''s not safe for anyone to interfere. It''s just how things are."
Nord stared at him incredulously. "What rule is that?"
"The next of kin is responsible for burying the previous vessel," the man said, almost as if reciting a long-standing law.
Another voice piped up from the back of the room, "It''s perilous work. Even for someone like Adamastor. It''s a miracle the lad survived the ordeal."
Nord clenched her fists, the tightness in her grip mirroring the swirl of conflicting emotions within her. Finally, taking a deep breath to centre herself, she asked, "When will Rosemary be ready?"
"Tomorrow. We should be able to give her a proper burial then," Sirona replied, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and lingering sorrow.
"Is there anything else expected of me?" Nord''s voice took on a steely, almost stoic tone.
"For now, no, Miss Morningstar, we..." Mayor Nord began, but he was promptly cut off by Nord.
"Then, if you''ll excuse me, tomorrow will be a full day for everyone, and we all need our rest."
"Nord..." Adamastor''s voice quivered as he spoke her name, disbelieving that she was, in effect, dismissing everyone.
"I said goodnight! Or do I need to be clearer?" Nord''s voice turned icy, her patience worn thin.
The room fell into a heavy silence, each person grappling with their own thoughts and regrets. One by one, they filed out of the room, leaving Nord alone in the growing shadows. She remained standing there, her thoughts a tangled mess, until the door clicked shut behind the last departing guest.
Only then did she allow herself to exhale, the pent-up breath carrying with it an intricate medley of emotions: relief, anger, and a tension that refused to dissolve.
"Nord, you need the support of these people," Adamastor said, his eyes reflecting a depth of concern.
"Seems like this place, despite its two moons, operates just like Earth. Is everyone really this self-centred? Is this what my ancestors have become? So, let me get this straight: I fulfil the town''s needs and, in return, get some odds and ends to keep the Hallow at bay? Is that the gist?"
"That''s the arrangement, yes," Adamastor admitted.
Taking another deep breath, Nord finally said, "I don''t regret stepping into my sister''s role. But everything here tastes like a nightmare."
Adamastor leaned against the railing, contemplating her words before responding, "There''s goodness here too."
"Name one thing," she challenged.
Adamastor''s face softened, his eyes wandering as if lost in a distant memory. "Well, Rosemary found happiness in Frank. She was truly happy for a time."
"She was abandoned, Adamastor! The moment she no longer served a purpose, everyone left her to rot!"
"People were scared," he countered softly.
"You weren''t," she shot back, her eyes locking onto his.
"My condition is different," Adamastor said, almost as a confession.
Nord stared at him for a moment longer, her eyes searching his as if looking for some elusive truth. Finally, she sighed, her posture relaxing ever so slightly. "Different or not, you remained. That has to count for something."
"Ask me," Adamastor prodded.
"Ask you what?"
"Ask about my condition," he said, his gaze a blend of challenge and resignation.
"Is it important?" Nord raised an eyebrow, curious but cautious.
"It might be, especially if we share the same roof. And perhaps, once you know, you won''t want me here anymore."
"Then why risk telling me?" she questioned, puzzled by his insistence.
"Because of you, I went into town today. I felt the sun''s warmth on my skin, and it didn''t harm me. It didn''t burn. I can''t guarantee I''ll have the same experience tomorrow, but... You have no idea what a gift you''ve given me, even if it''s just for a single day."
Nord furrowed her brow, trying to unravel his cryptic words. "I don''t understand."
Adamastor''s eyes met hers, intense and brimming with a vulnerability he rarely showed. "I''m a spawn, Nord. A vampire-spawn."
[CH. 0008] - Two Moons
¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your throat.¡± - Astarion
Nord''s gaze was unwavering, her eyes drinking in the man before her¡ªa mosaic of contradictions, beauty tainted by a darker nature. Adamastor, in return, waited for her judgment, his crimson eyes a window to a soul that had weathered half a century ago of solitude and stigma.
"A vampire?" she finally said, breaking the heavy silence that had enveloped them.
"A spawn," he clarified, "All the thirst, but none of the perks," he chuckled, "No power, no magic, no ability to turn anyone into an abomination, as I said, all the thirst without any fun."
She instinctively touched her neck, still tender from the sensation of needle-like fangs piercing her skin. The memory of it brought an uncomfortable shudder to her body.
"It was me," Adamastor confessed, his voice a mixture of regret and desperation. "I was hunting; I saw you, and something overcame me. I don''t have words to explain. It was completely out of my modus operandi. I never attack humans or any sentient beings, only animals, I swear. Boars, deers, and, on an unlucky day, chickens and cats. But last night, I lost control. You were... enticing." He watched her intently, hoping for some reaction, some sign of forgiveness or perhaps damnation.
Nord, however, stood motionless, her eyes still fixed on his. She seemed lost in thought, her hand absentmindedly rubbing her sore neck.
"Please, say something," he urged.
She finally spoke, her voice surprisingly calm. "There are two moons in the sky."
Adamastor blinked, baffled by her response. But then, he remembered she was an outsider, new to the complexities and oddities of this world.
"Yes, they''re just two moons," he agreed.
"Don''t they have names?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No one ever thought to name them, I suppose."
"That''s sad," Nord mused, her voice tinged with a melancholy that seemed to seep into the room. "Everything here is sad. And to think, I believed my life was shitty. It was shitty. Or maybe it''s me that only sees sadness."
Adamastor looked at her, moved by her insight. "Then maybe, just maybe, we can find something less sad together."
Adamastor watched as Nord''s eyes flickered from his face to some far-off point behind him as if she were trying to reconcile the reality of him¡ªa vampire spawn¡ªwith her own disorienting experiences since arriving in this strange world.
Nord looked back at him, her eyes sharpening with newfound clarity. "But doesn''t naming something give it importance? Doesn''t it make it matter?"
Adamastor pondered her words, feeling the subtle shift in their conversation from a revelation that should have been shattering to a discussion of what it means to matter¡ªto exist with purpose and meaning.
"Perhaps it does," he finally admitted.
Nord folded her arms, hugging herself.
"You gave me more than light, Nord. It was freedom, even if ephemeral. And in my long years, freedom has been a rare commodity," Adamastor said, his voice tinged with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel, let alone express: hope.
"And your freedom came because of me?" Nord''s voice wavered between incredulity and a hesitant wonder.
"That''s my theory, yes," Adamastor conceded, "I guess it was your blood."
She sighed deeply, seemingly weighing her next words carefully. "Are you going to..."
"No! Never!" he said louder than intended, " Unless... well, not without your consent."
Her weariness was palpable in her next words. "I''m really sleepy."
"You may rest in peace," he assured, already planning his nocturnal task. "I will take some clothing of Rosemary and wash them at the Lake. With luck, they will be dry in the morning."
Curiosity stirred in her. "You don''t sleep?"
"Among other things."
Her inquiry continued, driven by genuine interest. "Like what?"
His explanation unravelled with a touch of vulnerability. "I don''t eat food nor drink water. I don''t feel tired, so I don''t sleep. I''m always awake, but it doesn''t mean I don''t feel exhausted. I just can''t find a place to rest and silence my thoughts or hunger. I''m always hungry... but I guess one teaches themselves to control it with time. Otherwise, I would have gone blood rage in town." Shame tinged his words, but he didn''t push on.
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"Well... I still need to rest. I''m exhausted, I''m... I don''t know..."
She moved towards the stairwell, ready to ascend, when his voice stopped her. "Nord?"
Pausing, she replied, "Yes?"
"It will get easier. It''s not that bad, I guarantee you. There will come good days."
The scepticism in her response was raw and real. "I know you''re trying to be kind, but... I don''t think so. I don''t think things will get better."
Adamastor watched her, his centuries-old eyes taking in her exhaustion, her emotional weight. "I understand why you''d think that way, given what you''ve seen so far. But, Nord, life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it. At least, it has to me..."
She paused at the foot of the stairs, looking back at him. "Like sunlight surprising a vampire?"
"Exactly like that," he said, a small, sincere smile crossing his face.
She nodded, not entirely convinced but perhaps a little more hopeful than she had been a few moments before. "Good night, Adamastor."
"Good night, Nord. May your sleep be peaceful and your dreams unburdened."
Her gaze shifted from the flickering candlelight to the shadows dancing on the walls. Everything felt surreal like she had stepped into the pages of some fantasy novel. The name Nyu echoed in her mind, punctuated by the faces of the people she had met earlier. Mayor, Adamastor, Sirona. All seemed willing to help her, yet also carried an air of expectation.
Two moons. The words from Nord''s own video reverberated in her thoughts. Could she really be so far from home? The notion unsettled her, twisting her stomach into knots.
She sat up, pushing the covers aside. The candlelight seemed to beckon her closer, its flame flickering as if in sync with her racing thoughts. Her hand subconsciously reached for the mobile device on the nightstand.
The message "Don''t Forget!" was still there, taunting her with its ambiguity. She rubbed her temples as if that would clear the fog of confusion.
Nord sank back into her pillow, staring at the phone as if it held some untapped wisdom. Vampires and spawns¡ªshe tried to reconcile the words with the myths and stories she knew from her world. The idea that these beings were real, and she was sharing a house with one, felt like a script from a gothic novel.
Adamastor, was that his real name? He seemed more subdued than the voracious bloodsuckers she had read about or seen in movies. A true Cullen. She wondered if he glittered under the sunlight. The idea made Nord chuckle.
He had mentioned something about "spawns" being different, less menacing perhaps. Still, her thoughts were too scattered at the time to fully absorb the nuances.
The humans here seemed all too familiar, a blend of self-interest and hypocrite. Mayor Paxton had looked at her as if she was some kind of saviour, yet no one had thought to check on Rosemary for years. The irony wasn''t lost on her.
She let out a long, weary sigh. Her fingers clutched the soft bedsheet as though grounding herself in this new reality. She''d always been adaptable. She had to! But this was something else entirely¡ªa leap from the known into the unfathomable.
Nord rolled onto her side, mentally jotting down the priorities for the next day. She felt an emptiness thinking about Kirara, her beautiful orange tabby cat. She had her for ten years. It wasn''t just about having a pet; Kirara was a piece of her past life, a life that seemed more and more like a distant dream with each passing minute.
"Kirara, you better not be messing with any spawn or whatever they have here," she mumbled to herself, knowing full well that the cat couldn''t hear her. "Just come back to me."
She was resolved to venture around the manor grounds and the nearby Lake. Even if the worst had happened, she needed closure. The not-knowing was a weight on her mind.
As for the second point, understanding this world called Nyu was crucial. She couldn''t afford to wander aimlessly in ignorance. Adamastor had mentioned something about the Morningstar business and how resourceful it would be to keep the Hallow at bay. Maps would give her spatial context, but she also needed to understand the culture, the people, and the potential dangers.
What had she gotten herself into? It was overwhelming, like stepping into a book mid-story and trying to catch up on the plot. She couldn''t return to her previous chapters but could certainly strive to understand the current ones. And with that thought, she pulled the comforter up to her chin.
Nord''s thumb hovered over the screen, her finger trembling as it touched the play button. The video resumed, her own face staring back at her from the device.
"But if you don''t believe me, go check the sky," the video version of her advised, her voice thick with urgency.
Nord furrowed her brow, her eyes flicking from the screen to the window, contemplating.
"I can''t spill everything all at once; it''s a massive info dump, and even I can''t imagine how I''d handle it," continued the Nord in the video. "But I need you to know that I''m doing everything I can to remember. God, I don''t want to forget."
The words hung in the air like fog, dense and opaque, making it hard to breathe. Nord''s eyes blurred, and she felt a tear escape, tumbling down her cheek as she clutched her phone tighter.
It wasn''t just a tear; it was a catalyst. She felt it coming, a swell of emotion too powerful to name. Her eyes swam with tears, clouding her vision until she was enveloped in a murky world of her own making.
The sob that erupted from her was unlike any she''d ever known. It wasn''t a simple cry born from a singular pain. No, it was complex, knitted together from threads of sadness, confusion, and a profound sense of loss. It was a cry that cut deep, as if she''d been hollowed out and was now echoing with emptiness.
"What did I forget?" she whispered to herself, the words nearly inaudible under the weight of her emotion. "Why does it hurt like hell?"
With her finger hovering over the screen, Nord felt a heaviness grip her chest. The Nord in the video seemed so sure, so resolute, even while fighting back tears. And yet here she was, a fractured mirror image¡ªunsure, anxious, and now, inexplicably heartbroken.
She pressed ''play'' again, but her doppelganger in the video had already said her piece, leaving her in silence with her thoughts. The weight of her words lingered in the air, haunting. What could be so agonizing that her past self, clearly so much stronger and more resilient than she felt now, would break down?
Nord felt a tear escape, sliding down her cheek. It wasn''t a tear of self-pity, nor was it born from the confusion and disorientation that had marked her last 24 hours. This was a tear for the unnameable, for the intangible emptiness that had seized her, for the losses she couldn''t remember but somehow felt so keenly in her bones.
She wiped the tear away and took a deep, shaky breath. Whatever she had forgotten was lost in the past she could not yet recall. A hollow space in her memory that her past self seemed to hint was critical.
"And why does it scare me so much to forget?" she wondered aloud. Was it a person, a place, an experience, or perhaps something even deeper¡ªsome vital essence of herself that had been left behind?
[CH. 0009] - The Protector
"If you''re here, I am not lost; I am found.¡± - Finnea
The sizzle and clang of utensils grew louder as Nord navigated the labyrinthine hallways of the manor, her boots making soft thuds on the ornate carpets. The aroma of fried eggs and toasted bread guided her like an invisible hand. With each step, her heart pounded faster, a bubble of anticipation building inside her.
As she reached the kitchen door, she hesitated. Her hand touched the wooden frame, her pulse throbbing in her ears. A feeling, not quite definable, held her back for a moment. Was it excitement? Hope? She shook off the uncertainty and pushed the door open, almost running through.
But her heart sank as she stepped inside, and her eyes met the figure standing over the stove. The vampire back turned to her and was flipping an egg on a skillet. The bubble burst, deflated by a sudden, crushing disappointment.
She had no idea who she had been expecting, but it wasn''t him.
"Good morning, Nord, you''re up. I made breakfast," the man said, turning around to smile at her.
But Nord felt a knot tighten in her stomach. "Thank you," she managed to say, her voice devoid of enthusiasm. She sat at the kitchen table, her eyes wandering from the bowl of fresh fruit to the jar of homemade jam, then finally to the sizzling pan on the stove.
But her mind was elsewhere, tangled up in questions she couldn''t answer. Who had she hoped to see standing there, flipping eggs and buttering toast? Someone from a memory she couldn''t recall? A face to fill the void left by last night''s emotional whirlwind?
Adamastor''s smile was warm as he completed the breakfast spread, placing a variety of dishes on the table with care. "I wasn''t sure about your preferences, so I made what Rosemary usually enjoyed."
Nord took her seat, eyeing the meticulously prepared table. "This is more than fine. You didn''t have to go to all this trouble."
"I like keeping busy," Adamastor replied, sitting down across from her with an empty plate in front of him. He served her eggs, placed a few slices of orange beside them, and added a strange-looking jelly slice to her plate. "I hope it''s to your taste. I can''t actually taste anything, so I had to rely on the cookbook''s instructions."
"Thank you," Nord said, picking up her fork and sampling the eggs. They were cooked just right, the yolk a golden, gooey centre surrounded by fluffy whites. She savoured the flavour before glancing up at Adamastor''s empty plate. "Why have a plate if you''re not eating?"
"It makes the company a bit less awkward, I suppose," Adamastor said, his eyes twinkling with an amicable light.
Nord chuckled softly, taking another bite of her eggs before moving on to try the jelly slice. It was a unique blend of tangy and sweet, a culinary experiment that paid off. "The outfit you left in my room¡ªit was perfect," she finally said, addressing the elephant in the room. "It was you, right?"
"Yes, it was me. I''m glad you liked it," Adamastor replied. "It belonged to Rosemary, but I thought it would suit you as well."
For a moment, the air was heavy with unspoken questions. Nord felt her mind retrace the morning''s steps, from the unexpected outfit to the mysterious scent that filled the air. Adamastor seemed like a benign presence, but Nord still felt a sense of caution, an awareness of the gaps in her understanding.
Nord took another bite of her eggs, savouring the flavours before setting down her fork. "Yes, thank you. Do people always dress like this here?"
Adamastor looked slightly puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"The long dresses, the corsets. Is this common attire?"
"For women, yes. Men usually wear trousers," he paused, searching for the right words. "Rosemary had albums filled with photographs of herself, Frank, their friends, and townspeople. Maybe those could give you a clearer idea. I don''t know how things were in your world."
"We used to dress like this a long time ago, so it caught my attention," Nord said, picking up her fork again to tackle more eggs. "Is there a map of the area in the house?"
"In the study, yes," Adamastor replied, "There''s one on the wall."
"I''ll have a look later. I want to scout the surroundings."
Adamastor''s eyebrows rose, a tinge of curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Why?"
"I want to find Kirara," Nord said, her voice tinged with determination.
Adamastor nodded, sensing the weight of her intent. "Kirara? Is that someone important to you?"
Nord paused, a flurry of memories and emotions surfacing, but none she could fully grasp. "Yes," she said softly, "Very important."
Stepping out of the manor, Nord found herself captivated by the landscape that unfurled before her. The expanse of Ravendrift was a rich tapestry of vibrant greens, a luxuriant meadow that seemed to stretch infinitely. At the horizon, where the emerald fields kissed the sky, the outline of a forest took shape, its foliage an even deeper shade of green.
A worn path caught her eye, its presence contrasting with the untouched nature around it. Adamastor had mentioned it led to Tear Lake. Even the name seemed to carry the weight of sorrow. Nord couldn''t help but wonder if the sadness that seemed to permeate this world was intentional or coincidental.
Taking a deep breath, she began to follow the path. The air was crisp and fresh, tinged with the earthy scent of grass and soil. As she walked, her boots made soft crunching sounds, each step a rhythm accompanying her thoughts.
Clutching a small plate of fresh chicken ham, Nord ventured further along the path, her eyes scanning the landscape intently. Every few steps, she''d call out, "Kirara!" Her voice pierced the stillness, resonating through the acres of open land.
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She stopped occasionally, hopeful eyes searching for any movement¡ªa flicker of fur, a scurrying shape¡ªanything that might indicate the presence of her lost companion. But each pause was met with silence, the empty landscape offering no response.
Nord continued her trek, her steps growing heavier with each call for Kirara that went unanswered. Her eyes were now glued to the ground, scanning for any sign¡ª a tuft of fur, a paw print¡ªanything that would give her a clue to her pet''s whereabouts.
She reached the edge of Tear Lake and began to circle its perimeter. The setting sun''s reflection on the water was almost poetic, but its beauty was lost on her. All she could think about was the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, the gnawing dread that she might not find Kirara alive.
Nord suddenly peeked at a figure close squatting over a campfire, her heart pounding. She picked up her skirt and sprinted toward it. As she neared, the silhouette by the fire stood, revealing a young elf woman. Her ethereal beauty was arresting, but it was the intense, determined look in her eyes that truly captured Nord''s attention.
"Excuse me," Nord panted, catching her breath as she approached the camp. "I didn''t mean to startle you. My name is Nord, and I''m looking for my lost pet, Kirara. Have you seen anything? She is an orange tabby cat."
The ethereal glow of the elf''s armour made her appear as if she had stepped out of a tale of legends and heroes. The intricate details on her magnificent shield and the lethal sharpness of her sword imbued her with an air of formidable prowess. It was as if she were a guardian spirit, a protector of some sort.
Caught in the spell of the woman''s awe-inspiring appearance, Nord found her voice faltering. "Hi," she stammered, her eyes darting from the elf''s shield to her sword and finally meeting her gaze. "I''m sorry to bother you, but have you seen a cat?"
The elf''s eyes remained unyielding, her face impassive as she scrutinized Nord. Her voice was laden with a kind of ancient authority when she finally spoke. "I''m waiting for your command."
Recognition dawned on Nord. She had seen those intense eyes and that battle-ready stance before. "You helped me," she stated, her voice tinged with disbelief, ¡°At the Initiation, you helped against the gargoyle!¡±
"No, I obeyed you," the elf corrected sharply, her grip still firm on her shield.
Confused, Nord glanced around the serene landscape, contrasting it with the urgency in the elf''s demeanour. "Are you lost?" she inquired.
"If you''re here, I am not lost; I am found," the elf responded, her tone tinged with what could only be described as an otherworldly sense of duty.
"I see," Nord mumbled, scratching her head in bewilderment. "This conversation is going nowhere."
"What is your command?" the elf reiterated, her eyes locked onto Nord''s as if awaiting some great order that would define her very existence.
Shaking off her confusion, Nord got straight to the point. "Look, I''m very grateful you helped me, but I have no idea why you''re behaving like an outdated AI. Have you seen my cat?"
"Yes."
The one-word response was like a key turning in a lock, instantly sharpening Nord''s attention. "Where? Where did you see her?"
The elf finally moved, shifting her weight and pointing her sword towards the forest''s edge. "She ventured into the trees at dawn. Seemed curious but cautious calling your name."
A mix of relief and apprehension washed over Nord. Kirara was alive, but the forest was a vast and unpredictable place. "Thank you," she muttered, her eyes meeting the elves again. "I need to find her."
"Shall I accompany you?" the elf asked, her eyes still locked onto Nord''s.
Nord hesitated, still unsure how to handle the elf''s intense subservience. But time was of the essence. "Yes, please help me find her."
"As you command," the elf said, sheathing her sword as she fell into step beside Nord, her armour shimmering with every step they took towards the uncertainty of the forest.
Their footsteps were the only sounds that broke the silence as they crunched over leaves and twigs, both lost in their thoughts. Nord followed behind the elf, her gaze frequently darting to the woman leading her. She noticed the elf''s deliberate steps and how she remained slightly ahead, leading the way but never waiting.
"Do you have a name?" Nord finally broke the silence, the question hanging in the air like a fragile bubble.
"Do you wish me to have a name?" the elf retorted without missing a step, her voice almost a whisper amid the rustling leaves.
Nord hesitated, suddenly unsure of her own question. "Don''t all things and people have a name?" The words left her lips before she could reel them back in, and her thoughts immediately flashed to the two moons¡ªnameless.
"Finnea," the elf declared after a pause as if carefully weighing the power of names before gifting herself one¡ªor perhaps acknowledging the one she had all along.
"Finnea," Nord repeated, rolling the name around in her mouth like a new taste she was learning to appreciate. "That''s a beautiful name."
Finnea didn''t reply but shifted her grip on her shield and sword, a subtle rustle of metal and leather. Her eyes focused on the path ahead, navigating the undergrowth and the hidden roots like a seasoned warrior.
"Thank you for helping me," Nord added softly, watching Finnea''s armoured back as they moved further into the forest.
"I obey your command," Finnea replied, a note of finality in her voice, as if that simple fact settled everything, closed all questions and silenced all doubts. "My master once told me that my name didn''t mean anything. It''s just a series of sounds that fit me," Finnea said, her voice devoid of any emotion as if she were stating a fact rather than sharing a personal detail.
Nord cocked an eyebrow and looked sideways at Finnea. "It''s a beautiful name, though. So, who is this mysterious master of yours?"
"I''m not permitted to say," Finnea replied, her eyes locked straight ahead.
"And where might he be?"
"Again, I can''t say."
"Why?" Nord pressed.
Finnea stopped in her tracks, finally turning her head to look Nord directly in the eyes. "It was his last command to me. I am here to serve you, obey you, and protect you with my life. I cannot tell you anything more about him."
Nord shook her head, "That doesn''t sound fair to me. Look, if you don''t want to be here, you''re free to go. I won''t keep you against your will."
Without skipping a beat, Finnea resumed her purposeful stride through the forest. "You misunderstand. It''s not about whether I want to be here or not. You''re not keeping me. I''m fulfilling my duties as I was instructed. Your wants and my master''s commands are my directives. And right now, they are one and the same."
Nord found herself pausing, watching as Finnea resumed her steady march. Her words had an unsettling finality to Finnea''s, an unspoken boundary she wasn''t allowed to cross. And yet, the elf''s unfailing loyalty posed a moral dilemma for Nord¡ªwas she taking advantage of another being''s obedience? Or worse, was she entangled in a web of obligations she never asked for?
"The same?" Nord finally asked, catching up to Finnea.
"You''re not keeping me against my will," Finnea clarified, her voice unwavering. "My will is to obey his last command. To serve, obey, and protect you, as I said."
"But why me? What makes me worthy of such devotion?" Nord''s voice tinged with curiosity and unease.
Finnea stopped walking again, this time turning around to look Nord directly in the eyes. "Worthiness is not a factor. His commands are absolute. I am to protect you. Whether you deem yourself worthy or not, I don''t care."
Nord met Finnea''s gaze and found no hint of resentment or yearning for freedom¡ªonly the stern focus of duty. It was a dedication she couldn''t quite fathom, much less reciprocate.
"Alright," Nord said, looking away, "let''s keep going then. We have to find Kirara."
Finnea nodded, turning back around to continue leading the way. They moved in silence once more, but now the quiet was a bit heavier, loaded with the ethical ambiguities and unasked questions that hovered in the air between them.
Finally, they heard a cry. A long, stammering cry of a woman. "There she is!" claimed Finnea, "I can hear her!"
"What?"
Finnea''s eyes sharpened as she shifted direction, leading Nord toward the source of the cry. Nord''s heart pounded in her chest, praying that the noise was indeed someone holding her Kirara and not another distressed creature or, worse, a trap of some sort.
Pushing aside low-hanging branches and bristling foliage, they soon arrived at a small clearing.
[CH. 0010] - The Protector
¡°And so the lion fell in love with the lamb¡¡± - Stephanie Meyer
Finnea''s slender fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade, its point indicating a direction.
"There she is," she whispered, barely audible under the wind that rustled through the forest canopy. Nord trudged toward Finnea, her boots sinking into the loamy earth. As her eyes followed the elf''s sword, she felt her heart sink for the second time that day. A figure sat huddled a few feet away, obscured by shadows and foliage.
Hunched like a child seeking solace, the woman seemed to curl into herself. She was naked, her body half-covered by a cascade of yellow and orange hair that shimmered like autumn leaves. Every so often, her pointy ears twitched as though reacting to an unheard sound.
Tentatively, the woman lifted her head. Her face was a distorted canvas of pain, marred by tears that had carved channels through her dirt-streaked skin. Yet her eyes caught Nord''s gaze, arresting her in place. They were a stunning fusion of emerald and amber. Two gemstones swirled into one. Flecks of amber seemed to ignite the green, as if burning embers were floating in a forest pond.
It was then that Nord noticed her lips¡ªhalf of the upper one marked with spots like a black inkblot. Little canine teeth jutted out slightly when she parted her mouth, adding an exotic twist to her already unique visage.
For a moment, Nord felt like she was looking at... her.
Nord was taken aback as the woman mumbled, "Mama?" Her eyes were filled with a mixture of confusion and hope.
"That is not my cat..." Nord began to say, but before she could finish her sentence, the woman lunged forward and snatched the small plate of ham slices from her hands. In a blink, the food disappeared into her mouth.
"Chicken!" The woman''s voice was tinged with delight, her earlier tears seemingly forgotten. "Are we going home? I don''t like it here. Look!" She opened her clenched hands, revealing a small collar cradled in her palms. "My paws... they''re ugly."
Nord turned toward Finnea, her eyes filled with disturbance. "That''s not Kirara," she said, unsure how to react to the woman''s erratic behaviour.
Finnea lowered her sword, her elven eyes narrowing as she scrutinised the woman.
Finnea''s fingers delicately plucked the collar from the strange woman''s grasp and held it out to Nord. "It tells her name."
Nord took the collar, her eyes scanning the engraved tag. "Kirara, if lost, please call Nord and Baal at..." The moment she uttered the word "Baal," Finnea''s hand shot out, snatching the collar and hurling it into the forest with a flick of her wrist.
"Why did you do that?" Nord''s voice was tinged with disbelief and rising anger.
"I obey," was Finnea''s cryptic response, her face unreadable.
Nord felt a wave of confusion wash over her. "Obey? Obey whom? Why would you throw away the only lead we had?"
Finnea looked deep into Nord''s eyes, her own gaze a swirling mix of emotion. "Some names are better left unspoken. Trust me! That is his decree!"
Nord turned to the strange woman, who was still huddled on the ground, now gazing in the direction where her collar had disappeared. The woman looked back at her, a mix of bewilderment and something akin to recognition on her tear-streaked face.
With a heavy sigh, Nord turned back to Finnea. "We can argue about later. Let''s go home!"
Adamastor''s eyes were slits of dark red as he watched the strange woman¡ªnow dressed in a simple white cotton dress¡ªtear into a piece of roasted chicken with feral enthusiasm. He stood in the shadows, peeking inside his kitchen.
Nord approached him cautiously, her eyes meeting his. "She had Kirara''s collar."
"She is a Nixbob," Adamastor finally spoke, his voice low and tinged with a note of wariness.
"Which is...?" Nord pressed, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
"A hybrid. Nixbobs are a mix of felines and humans. Most often, they possess only minor cat-like features¡ªears and tails. But sometimes, the feline traits are more pronounced."
"So, what do you think happened to her?" Nord was impatient, the uncertainty gnawing at her.
Adamastor turned to face her, his eyes piercing through the dim light. "Are you really asking?"
"Yes, I am. Give me your opinion," Nord retorted, holding her ground.
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With a swift motion, Adamastor grabbed her arm and positioned her so that she faced the doorway where the strange woman was seated. "Look! She fits the exact description you gave me the day you described your missing cat¡ªgreen and amber eyes, orange hair, black lips."
"It could be a coincidence," Nord argued, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Adamastor released her arm and looked at her incredulously. "You possess the Hallow within you, you''ve landed in a new world, and you''re conversing with a spawn of the night. How hard is it to believe that your cat transformed into a Nixbob?"
Nord paused the weight of Adamastor''s words sinking in. The reality of her situation¡ªthe strange world, the inexplicable events, and now, the emergence of this peculiar woman¡ªrushed back into focus. Could it be that her missing cat, Kirara, had morphed into this lost, humanoid creature?
The corners of Nord''s mouth lifted in a small, hesitant smile. There, sitting at the table and digging into a dish of roasted chicken, was the Nixbob¡ªso eerily similar to Kirara in so many ways. Her green-amber eyes met Nord''s for a fleeting second, a glint of recognition¡ªor was it mere curiosity?¡ªflashing through them.
"Safe and sound," Nord muttered to herself, her gaze lingering on the Nixbob. If Adamastor was correct, then her missing cat was not truly missing but transformed, safe, and rather content with a plate full of her favourite food. The realisation stirred a curious blend of emotions in her¡ªawe at the magic and mysteries of this new world, dread at the implications, and a touch of wonder at the unfolding strangeness of it all.
Nord couldn''t deny the comfort she felt at the thought that Kirara¡ªor whatever she had become¡ªwas safe. At the very least, she was not wandering some unfamiliar woods, hungry and afraid. Instead, she was here, in a manor filled with people¡ªbe they elves or vampires¡ªwho had at least some level of vested interest in her well-being.
And so, with this relief, Nord turned away from the salon and made her way towards the study.
Nord''s eyes traced the lines and symbols on the massive wall map - the map of the House of Neddingstein Nation, taking in the unfamiliar names and geography of the land. A sense of both wonder and trepidation filled her.
Here she was, in a completely new world¡ªfar removed from her own reality, yet profoundly interconnected in ways she had yet to comprehend.
Ravendrift, Onyxburg, Dawnhaven¡ªeach name felt like a key to a locked door. And then her eyes fell on Gravenwatch, the location of the palace. The weight of the monarchy hovered over this land, influencing its politics, its culture, and perhaps even its magic.
Further down the map were locations like Glockmere, with its city docks, Millingtown, the industrial hub, and Cooperstead, a mining town. Each place, no doubt, was unique in its own way, contributing to the complexity and diversity of this nation.
Covehelm caught her eye; the name suggested agriculture and perhaps a simpler way of life, while Legward was labelled as the Central Rail Town, possibly the heart of transportation in this world. So there were trains?
Finally, her gaze rested on Glasssrass, a name accompanied by symbols representing icy terrain¡ªa last outpost before entering the polar regions, perhaps?
The door creaked open and then shut with a soft thud. Nord''s nostrils tingled with the distinct, almost lemony aroma she had come to associate with Adamastor. She felt a chill run up her spine as he entered the room, yet she couldn''t help but find comfort in his scent.
"So, is this place a country or a continent?" Nord asked, keeping her gaze on the vintage map hanging on the wall.
Adamastor paused before replying, "Both, actually."
She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what about other lands?"
"They''re unnamed. Practically uninhabitable, so all life converges here, in Neddingstein," he said, taking a step closer to her.
"Unnamed, huh?" Nord swivelled around, locking eyes with him. "I''m beginning to see a pattern here."
Adamastor chuckled, but it was short-lived, his expression shifting to something Nord couldn''t quite decipher. He seemed to look past her, avoiding direct eye contact.
"What''s wrong?" Nord''s voice softened, a note of concern slipping through.
"Nothing, just a... minor incident," Adamastor hesitated, his voice trailing off.
She crossed her arms. "You know I''m terrible with riddles. Spit it out."
Adamastor sighed, revealing his arms, which bore angry, red rashes. "I stepped outside to collect the laundry from the clothesline and got a bit... burned."
Nord felt her body tighten, the sudden surge of fear sending shivers down her spine. Her eyes widened, questioning whether her intuition had been wrong all along. Was he to be trusted? Adamastor picked up on the shift in her demeanour almost immediately.
"I''m not going to hurt you," he began, his voice tinged with regret. "I hesitated to even mention this, knowing it''s only a temporary condition. But I won''t be able to assist you during daylight hours... at least not in places exposed to sunlight."
Her hand instinctively rose to her neck, still tender from a past encounter. "It still hurts," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Adamastor looked visibly pained, his eyes clouding over with a heavy emotion. "I''m at a loss for words to justify my actions. All I can offer is my regret."
As she peered into his eyes, Nord noticed a subtle change. The light within them seemed to dim, becoming shadowed and darker, as if some internal struggle was pulling him apart. It dawned on her then: he was hungry, starving even, but not for food as she understood it.
And yet, he was holding back.
Adamastor clenched his fists, the tension almost palpable in the room. It was like an invisible chain was keeping him tethered, preventing him from crossing an unspoken line.
Nord took a deep breath, weighing the strange and precarious situation she found herself in. She had sensed his hunger but also his restraint. Perhaps, just perhaps, that restraint spoke louder than any of the fears rampaging through her mind.
Nord felt the weight of her choices hanging heavily in the room, like two roads diverging in a dark forest. She could either barricade herself behind firm boundaries and put as much distance as possible between them, or she could take a different kind of risk¡ªone that might just turn him into something less dangerous if her hunch was correct.
But then again, how well could she know anyone, let alone a vampire, in just two days?
"How much?" she finally asked, breaking the silence.
Adamastor looked puzzled for a moment. "What do you mean?"
"How much blood do you need to not feel this... hunger?"
"A couple of drops would be more than sufficient," Adamastor answered cautiously, taking tentative steps toward her.
Nord looked deep into his eyes, searching for any sign of deception. What she found was a mix of hope and astonishment, as if he couldn''t believe she was even considering this. She unbuttoned her sleeve, rolled it up, and then extended her arm toward him.
"Alright, just make it quick," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
[CH. 0011] - The Protector
Don¡¯t cry because it¡¯s over, smile because it happened. ¨C Dr. Seuss
Nord felt her wrist enveloped in Adamastor''s cool grip, her heart thumping in expectation. She braced herself for the sensation of fangs piercing her skin, for the familiar sting that felt like a thousand needles. But it never came. Instead, Adamastor gently caressed her wrist, his fingertips tracing the blue pathways of her veins. It was as though he was reading her life story through those lines, and for a moment, the room fell eerily quiet, save for the soft pulse of her blood beneath her skin.
Then, Adamastor lifted her wrist to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on her skin. "I''ll go hunt tonight; don''t be alarmed if you hear any noise," he said softly, releasing her wrist as he turned to leave the study.
Confused, her heart pounding, Nord stood there, trying to process what had just happened. Had he rejected her blood after explicitly asking for it? She brought her wrist to her nose, sniffing as if some olfactory clue could unravel the mystery.
Was there something wrong with her? Had she misunderstood? Or was it something else entirely¡ªa hidden boundary or taboo she was unaware of?
As Nord pondered, it occurred to her that perhaps Adamastor''s decision to hunt rather than take her offer was not a rejection but a form of respect, an unspoken agreement to not cross certain lines, at least not yet. Maybe he was leaving room for choices yet to be made, for futures not yet written.
In that room, heavy with the scent of old books and citrus, Nord felt the silence tell her more than words ever could. She had offered a choice, and in his own way, Adamastor had chosen. It was an ambiguity laden with promise and peril, but for the moment, it was enough.
The dining room was a symphony of laughter and clinking dishes, the atmosphere transformed by the addition of Kirara and Finnea to their duo. What had started as a simple meal between her and Adamastor had morphed into something more vibrant? This lively feast felt like celebrating the unexpected friendships forming before her eyes?
Kirara, the mischievous cat with a penchant for drama, was in her element. She darted around the table, eyes gleaming with playful intent, as she attempted to snatch morsels of meat from everyone''s plates.
"Nuh-uh, Kirara! That''s my steak!" Finnea chuckled, pulling her plate away just in time to thwart Kirara''s latest attempt.
Not to be outdone, Adamastor joined in on the fun. He usually abstained from human food, given his unique dietary requirements, but tonight was different. He placed a small portion of roasted chicken onto his plate and winked at Nord as if to say, ''Why not?''
Nord laughed as Kirara zeroed in on Adamastor''s plate, only to be foiled by his lightning-fast reflexes. "Nice try, Kirara, but you''re not the only one with quick moves," he teased, waving a piece of chicken in the air before setting it back on his plate.
The room was filled with a sense of camaraderie and joy, a far cry from the tense moments earlier in the study. The air was lighter, the weight of their choices and uncertainties temporarily set aside for the simpler joys of shared laughter and food.
As she watched Adamastor chuckling with Finnea, playfully fending off Kirara''s relentless culinary assaults, Nord felt a warmth spread through her.
The mood shifted palpably as Adamastor broached the topic of the upcoming funeral, a sombre reminder that even the most joyful moments could be fleeting.
"The funeral will be tomorrow," he announced, cutting through the laughter like a cold breeze.
Nord''s eyes narrowed. "Will they bring the body here, or do we need to fetch it?"
"A local from the town will deliver it. I''ll prepare the salon and food after my hunt tonight," Adamastor explained, outlining the grim logistics with a solemnity that contrasted starkly with the levity of moments earlier. "The Mayor usually gives a speech, and then we proceed from the Manor to the Morningstar graveyard. It''s a short walk."
Nord chewed her lower lip, contemplating her role in this sombre affair. "What can I do to help?"
Adamastor looked momentarily uneasy. "There isn''t much, really. You just need to wear... Rosemary''s initiation dress."
"You mean a white dress?"
"Yes," he responded, rubbing his face as if wrestling with the words.
Nord''s eyebrows arched. "So, I''ll be dressed like a bride?"
Adamastor hesitated. "Well, it''s more symbolic of the purity of a new beginning... I don''t know, really."
Nord''s curiosity deepened. "How do you even know these things? Did Rosemary teach you?"
Adamastor chuckled, his eyes turning distant. "Yes, she did. She always said it''d be a worthwhile path, helping those who came after her. I never really took her seriously. I thought I''d be long gone by now, but... nobody came to replace her until... you."
"I see," Nord murmured, her gaze lingering on Adamastor''s face.
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"What are you thinking?" he finally asked, meeting her eyes.
"You don''t have to stay here and do all this if you don''t want to," Nord said softly. "You''re free to leave, you know."
Her words hung in the air, mingling with the fading echoes of their earlier laughter.
Adamastor smiled as he hoisted the stack of empty plates from the table. "The point is, you''re all stuck with me. If I left, the roof would probably cave in. Chaos would run rampant within these walls. I am the master of this house!"
Finnea, never one to let a misstatement go unchallenged, raised an eyebrow. "I believe the term you''re looking for is ''butler.''"
Adamastor let out a hearty laugh, amused by the correction. "Tomato, tomatoe. What''s in a name? The fact remains, this place wouldn''t be the same without me."
Nord watched the exchange, her eyes flitting between Adamastor and Finnea, and she felt a twinge of relief. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed comfortably as she took it all in. Maybe things would get better.
Lying in bed, Nord felt the day''s weight descend upon her eyelids as she scrolled through her phone. Kirara had made herself comfortable next to her, sprawled out and occupying far more space than her petite frame should allow.
"What are you doing?" Kirara asked.
"Just looking at some old videos on my phone," Nord replied.
"Any of them about me?"
"No, not that I''ve found yet."
Just then, Kirara''s face contorted in a familiar way. "Any video about pa...pa...pa¡ª" Her words broke off into a series of harsh, guttural sounds. Recognizing the signs, Nord swiftly pushed Kirara off the bed just as the Nixbob dropped to her knees, gagging.
With a final heave, Kirara coughed up a monstrous hairball, leaving a slimy trail on the floor. Still on her knees, she looked up at Nord. She tried to speak again, "Any video about pa...pa...pa¡ª" but her face twisted once more in discomfort, her gagging even more violent than before.
Nord quickly rose and held back Kirara''s long hair, concern painting her features. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
Another grotesque hairball, even larger than the first, rolled out onto the floor. Kirara looked up, opening her mouth to speak once more. "Pa... pa... pa¡ª" and yet again, the gagging began.
Before she could produce another unsightly hairball, Nord placed her hands over Kirara''s mouth. "Not a word! Go to bed; I''ll clean this mess up."
Kirara nodded, visibly relieved, and retreated to her resting spot at the other end of the room. Nord shook her head, a mixed sense of concern and annoyance filling her as she went to fetch a mop.
Adamastor was on the verge of stepping out, looking dapper in a beige suit complemented by a dark brown vest and polished matching shoes. As he set a fedora atop his snow-white hair, he noticed Nord descending the staircase.
"Kirara puked all over the room," she announced, her voice tinged with exasperation.
"Do you want me to clean it?" Adamastor offered, already mentally calculating the time it would take.
"No, don''t worry. You go hunting... I think?" Nord replied, her eyes scanning his attire.
Adamastor blushed slightly as if caught doing something unseemly. "I won''t take long," he assured her.
"Don''t worry, just have fun," Nord said, heading toward the kitchen.
"I''m serious," he called after her, his eyes searching for a hint of reciprocation.
"Me too. Don''t worry, go have fun," Nord shot back, flashing Adamastor a reassuring smile before disappearing behind the kitchen door.
Adamastor hesitated for a moment. With a slight shake of his head, he stepped outside, closing the door softly behind him.
Nord woke to the sight of Kirara''s drool-coated mouth and wagging tail, a comical morning view that elicited a soft chuckle from her.
"Pat-pat, mama. Pat-pat," she cooed, extending her hand to caress the fur between Kirara''s ears.
Suddenly, Kirara''s paw swatted her hand away. "Enough, now it''s Papa''s turn," the creature mumbled.
Nord looked at Kirara, puzzled. What in the world did that mean? She shook off the perplexity; there would be time for decoding Kirara-speak later.
Today had a different focus. Rosemary would soon be arriving with the guests for the funeral, and Nord wanted to make sure everything was in place. She swung her legs out of bed, planting her feet on the floor with determination. A quick mental checklist ran through her head: the salon needed a once-over, the food had to be checked, and she had to find that white "initiation" dress Adamastor had mentioned.
As she prepared to face the day''s challenges, she couldn''t help but wonder how the night had gone for Adamastor. Had his hunt been successful? Was he back safe? She pushed the thoughts aside. One thing at a time.
Nord considered the idea of wearing a flower crown, much like South had. As she stepped out of bed, she braced herself for the peculiar day that awaited her.
Entering the kitchen, she found Finnea and Adamastor busy with breakfast preparations. Adamastor still sported last night''s beige suit, albeit in a more dishevelled state, complete with lipstick stains on his collar and the nape of his neck. The sight made Nord raise an eyebrow but say nothing.
"Good morning. May I help?" Nord offered, trying to focus on the moment.
"Take a seat. Breakfast is almost ready. I''ve already turned on the bathroom stove, so you''ll have warm water for your bath," Adamastor said, flipping what looked like an omelette onto a plate.
"Thank you. I feel almost like a princess," Nord said with a grateful smile.
"No, I am the princess!" Kirara suddenly burst into the room, planting a wet kiss on everyone''s cheek¡ªexcept Finnea''s. For some inexplicable reason, Kirara seemed less than fond of the elf.
Nord chuckled at the spectacle, feeling a sense of camaraderie that she hadn''t felt in a long time. Strange as the circumstances were, the household had its moments of genuine warmth. And on a day like this, filled with the sombre task of saying goodbye, Nord found she needed that warmth more than ever.
Rosemary''s casket finally arrived, and Kirara stood dutifully near the front door, her fur meticulously groomed and her little black dress lending an air of formality. Her role for the day was to greet and charm guests as they arrived, and she seemed up to the task.
The salon was elegantly prepared, with the casket resting on a wooden platform at one end of the room. Roses in varying shades of red and pink adorned the casket, filling the air with a delicate fragrance. Tables spread throughout the space were laden with platters of bite-sized snacks. Glasses of various alcoholic beverages were being offered by Finnea, who herself was wearing a simple yet tasteful black dress.
In a clean version of his suit, Adamastor stood near the salon entrance, welcoming each guest with a restrained, respectful demeanour. However, his eyes kept darting back to the staircase as if expecting someone.
As the crowd grew and conversations filled the room, Adamastor couldn''t help but feel a sense of urgency mixed with a tinge of impatience. He wondered where Nord was, considering she was to play a crucial role in the event. However, he tried his best to keep his composure, reminding himself that the day was about honouring the departed and that everything else was secondary.
Finally, Nord descended the stairs, her appearance drawing a momentary hush over the salon.
[CH. 0012] - The Devil鈥檚 Jars
It takes a great deal of courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still love it. ¡ª Oscar Wilde
Leaning on the cold stone rail of the bridge, he sighed deeply. "Never make a deal with the devil over a bridge," an old saying echoed in his mind, as relevant in the world of Nyu as it was on Earth. But was it really the devil one had to worry about or the stultifying boredom that seemed to consume every part of his life lately?
Pulling his fedora hat¡ªadorned with two faux ram horns¡ªback onto his head, he hoisted his backpack over his shoulder. The bag jingled with the sound of glass, a mix of elixirs and empty jars that were supposed to make life more interesting but had so far failed to do so.
He started walking, feet crunching on the gravel road, each step like a tick of a clock. Hours seemed to pass, but not a single living soul crossed his path. Until finally, he spotted a small creature rustling in the grass¡ªa Nixbob.
Curiosity momentarily revived, he made his way towards the tiny creature, who seemed wholly engrossed in its rummaging. As he approached, the Nixbob looked up, its eyes meeting his for just a second before it returned to its quest.
He couldn''t help but wonder what had captured the creature''s attention so completely. Was it food? Treasure? Or perhaps something far more interesting?
"Alright, little one, what''s got you so intrigued?" he muttered to himself, crouching down for a closer look.
For the first time in the last few days, he felt the spark of genuine curiosity light up within him. In a world that had grown so dull, even the smallest mystery seemed like a gift. And as he watched the Nixbob finally unearth a small green sprout from the soil, he felt a smile stretch across his face.
Maybe Nyu wasn''t so boring after all.
"I found it!" The child''s voice broke the silence, full of an excitement that was nearly contagious. The little Nixbob twirled in place before darting toward him, feet barely touching the ground. "Mister! Mister! I found one!"
He looked around, genuinely surprised. "Are you talking to me?" It was rare for anyone¡ªlet alone a child¡ªto notice him.
The Nixbob held up a perfect four-leaf clover, its tiny eyes gleaming. "You''re a demon, aren''t you? I can tell by your eyes¡ªthey''re dark like the night but twinkle like a star!"
"That''s a rather poetic way of putting it," he mused, intrigued by the child''s perception. "Congratulations on your find. They say a four-leaf clover brings good luck."
The Nixbob''s little eyes were practically stars as he clutched the four-leaf clover. "Look, look! I found this, and boom! There you were!"
The demon tilted his head, an amused smile tracing his lips. "Are you suggesting that this little plant summoned me?"
"Well, you''re here, aren''t you?" The Nixbob was a vibrating ball of fur and excitement.
The demon leaned closer, his eyes meeting the Nixbob''s. "Do you have the faintest idea who I am?"
The Nixbob''s exuberance faltered; his gaze dropped. "Uh-uh, sir."
His eyes narrowed. "For all you know, I could be a monster who feasts on innocent creatures. Little ones and their parents, and then have a nice juicy snack! You understand that, right?"
The Nixbob looked up, brimming with courage. "But you''re not, are you?"
A smirk broke through. "Not today, probably not tomorrow either, no. But the next clover you find might not be as fortuitous. Keep that in mind."
The little one nodded, not missing a beat. "So what are you doing here?"
The demon exhaled, letting his guard down. "I wonder. I ponder. Sometimes, I make deals. And it appears today I''ve become the summon of your good luck charm."
The Nixbob gleefully held up the clover. "Then today is lucky for you, too!"
The demon chuckled. "Tell me, little Nixbob, what is your heart aches for?"
"Daddy hurt his knee. He''s a bit better but tired. He works a lot on the farm. He comes home stinky and angry." The Nixbob''s voice tapered off into a murmur.
The demon leaned in. "Is he kind to your mother?"
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The Nixbob hesitated. "He used to be, now he is always mad."
"And what do you wish for?" the demon inquired, his eyes searching the child''s.
"I want it like before. Daddy happy. Mommy happy. Is it possible?"
The demon straightened up. "Not my usual line of work, but you have your clover. I must make this luck come true. So you''re destined for something, I think."
The Nixbob looked puzzled. ''I don''t get it, sir.''
The demon sighed. "It means, little one, that while I can''t promise a happy ending, your luck might just rub off on the things you care about most, but I can give you the tools to ease your path. In other words, trust me, I know my shit. So, do you have a happy memory that you would like to trade off?"
The child''s eyes widen like saucers, sparkling with newfound realization. "I know who you are!"
A slow smirk curls Baal''s lips as he sets an empty jar on the ground, delicately unscrewing the lid. "Oh, do you now?"
"You''re the Keeper of Happy Memories, Baal Birth!" The child''s voice trembles with excitement.
Baal leans in closer, an inscrutable smile on his face. "That is indeed one of the titles I go by. But don''t get too attached to it. Names have a way of being forgotten. Especially mine."
"What do you mean?"
"Meaning," Baal says as he beckons the four-leaf clover from the child''s hand into the jar, "that memories, even happy ones, can be fleeting. But for now, let''s focus on your wish. A wish bought by a clover and a memory you will soon part with. A happy memory you''ll never find back."
The child gulps but nods. "If it can make things better, then take it."
"We have a deal, kiddo!" The jar glows momentarily, sealing the clover and the memory within. Baal carefully screws the lid back on.
"Now," he says, his eyes meeting the child''s, "I can''t promise your father will come home smiling and kiss your mother as he used to. But what I can do is give him a day so satisfying, so fulfilling, that the scent of his labours will be that of roses. His fatigue will be that of a man who has conquered, not been defeated by, his day."
The child''s eyes darted upward, a mix of hope and confusion swirling in their depths. "So, things will go back to how they used to be?"
Baal lifted the jar, its soft glow emanating from the clover and memory ensnared within. "Little one, the ''before times'' are a fickle concept. Change is life''s only guarantee. But remember, even a single good day can be a seed for many more."
The Nixbob''s tail waggled irritably. "That''s not gonna cut it," it grumbled.
"Ah, a picky customer," Baal said, setting the jar back down. "That''s why I have a Plan B just for you. You''ve given me a very happy memory. You deserve nothing less than a five-star service in return."
"And what''s this Plan B?"
Baal fixed his gaze on the child, penetrating past its eyes as if unlocking the essence of the Nixbob''s soul. "When darkness wraps tight, your mom''s tears now ice, despair''s taken hold, like a bitter cold slice. Words scream like a gale, wild and untamed, ''Morningstar'' you''ll call. That''s the name you''ll save. So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
The child blinked rapidly as if waking from a dream. It glanced around as if alone and then down at its hand and found a dried, three-leaf clover.
"This isn''t lucky!" Frustrated, it dropped the withered clover and resumed its crouched position in the grass, rifling through for a new talisman of fortune.
Baal stood still, watching as the child''s eyes lost their glimmer of recognition. It was as if he had become invisible, inconsequential. He questioned himself for a moment, wondering why he had even expected gratitude.
This was how it always went; the beneficiaries of his deals would forget him, oblivious to the powers they had just invoked. With a resigned sigh, Baal turned and vanished down the road, comforted only by the fact that his contract had been without complaints. Never had he had a complaint!
The memory he had taken from the child was pure in its simplicity¡ªthe moment it discovered a four-leaf clover, a glow of unbounded joy suffusing its being. It was a potent memory, one that Baal knew would fuel his power and magic.
As he walked, a twinge of hope crossed his thoughts. Perhaps the child would never have reason to utter the name "Morningstar" to call upon the darker edges of the pact. Yet, Baal knew better. He had long lost faith in the innate goodness or wisdom of any creature¡ªbe it Earthling or Nyuling. They were all flawed, all capable of invoking terrors best left untouched.
Except her. She was different.
She was the anomaly in a universe of disappointments, the one glimmer of something other than endless transactions. She was...
Baal meandered through the bare landscape, each step punctuated by introspective musings. Occasionally, he''d halt, soaking in the splendours before him¡ªthe iridescent skies, the fields of otherworldly flora, the fantastical vistas that defied mortal comprehension. Then, after his momentary reverie, he would resume his unhurried trek, accompanied by glass tingling in his backpack.
His journey was interrupted when two men appeared before him, their faces hardened and ominous. Their intentions were abundantly clear, reflected in the cold steel of the guns they pointed at him.
Baal sized them up, taking note of their ragged clothing, the dirt-caked stubble on their faces, and the hungry gleam in their eyes. Humans, he thought, with the sort of predatory desperation that all too often plagued their species.
He didn''t flinch at the sight of the weapons. After all, what mortal threat could a gun pose to a demon like him?
"Well, gentlemen," Baal said, his voice tinged with sardonic warmth. "What brings you to a road less travelled? Searching for something? Or someone?"
His eyes met theirs, and in that split second, he delved into the core of their being. What he found was predictably uninspiring: a tangle of greed, desperation, and fear. Yet, even such drab emotional colours could sometimes make for an interesting palette.
The men remained silent, their fingers trembling ever so slightly on the triggers. They had no inkling of who¡ªor what¡ªthey were attempting to rob, but Baal could sense their growing unease.
"Speak now," Baal coaxed, "or forever hold your peace, or something like that. The next words out of your mouth could very well alter the course of your rather unremarkable lives."
As Baal stood there, facing the barrels of their guns, he wondered whether they''d choose wisely, whether they''d recognize the extraordinary crossroads at which they now stood. It was another transaction, another deal in the making, but in that moment, it was enough.
After all, a deal is a deal.
[CH. 0013] - The Devil鈥檚 Jars
There is nothing sadder than an empty jar. - Baal Berith
"Pass on the goodies!" grunted one of the thugs, a wicked glint in his eye.
"My backpack?" Baal questioned with genuine curiosity.
"Give it over, now!"
A sly grin tugged at the corner of Baal''s lips. "You sure about that? It''s mostly just empty jars, maybe a few filled with happy memories."
"Quit playing games!" snapped the other thug, his voice trembling as he brandished his weapon.
Baal''s eyes flickered with a mischievous gleam. "Games? Oh, I assure you, I''m not playing. I''m completely devoid of anything valuable or trinkets worthy of your time, gentlemen. Taking my backpack would be a grave mistake on your part. But if you''re intent on making that mistake, I won''t be thrilled. I can promise you that. So, what''s your call?"
Curiosity danced in the eyes of the first tug. "And what''s that hanging from your neck?"
Baal''s fingers instinctively moved to the pendant resting against his chest, a flicker of something deeper crossing his gaze. "Ah, this? A keepsake of sorts, a fragment of a world long gone. Perhaps more valuable than you might think, but I wouldn''t recommend testing your luck."
"Quit stalling!" The second thug clenched his fist, trying to suppress the shakiness in his voice.
Baal cocked an eyebrow, leaning slightly to one side as if genuinely contemplating the situation. "Well, this is quite the conundrum, isn''t it? On the one hand, I could give you my backpack, filled with priceless memories¡ªjars of memories but useless for you kin. And on the other hand, I could keep my only physical attachment to another life. A life you couldn''t even begin to comprehend its perfection."
The first thug''s eyes narrowed, a twinge of doubt creeping into his bravado. "Look, man, we don''t have time for this."
Baal''s smile disappeared, leaving an expression so cold it could freeze fire. "Ah, time, the eternal thief. Steals from the rich and steals from the poor.
Baal let his eyes drop to the crystal pendant glowing against his chest. It was usually concealed, but serendipity had a sense of humour. "That''s my most precious memory."
"Is it gold? The chain, is it gold?" The thug''s eyes grew wider, glinting with a greed that matched the pendant''s glow.
Baal paused. Any answer would be like gasoline to a flame. "How about we strike a deal?"
The other thug sneered. "I don''t make deals with devils."
Baal''s lips curled into a sly grin. "Ah, but that''s where you''re wrong. You see, demons don''t lie at all! So, here''s the offer: I''ll give you this pendant, which, to me, is the most valuable trinket in all of Nyu. But in exchange, both of you must give me a small memory and¡ª"
"A ''but''? There''s always a ''but'' with you devils!" The thug closest to Baal gripped his weapon, his knuckles whitening.
"I didn''t finish. Listen to the end. But after¡ªand I said after¡ªyou give me a tiny, small memory, you need to ask me, ''Baal, would you please give us your most valuable trinket?''" Baal executed a small bow, his eyes twinkling like stars. "As you see, it''s rather simple, and no one would get hurt."
"Why a memory?" The second thug tilted his head, eyeing Baal suspiciously.
"It''s my profession. And honestly, is it really something you need when you can collect a far greater fortune?" Baal made a subtle gesture, rubbing his thumb against his index finger, the universal sign for money.
The first thug stared at the pendant, his hand hovering hesitantly over his weapon. "A memory for something valuable, huh? And then we just have to ask you for it, and you''ll give it to us?"
Baal nodded, his grin never wavering. "Exactly. My word is my bond. Demons don''t lie, you know."
The thugs exchanged uncertain glances, clearly torn. Finally, the one who had spoken first sighed deeply. "Alright, deal. What kind of memory do you want?"
Baal''s eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. "Your happiest memory.
But remember, once it''s gone, it''s gone for good. Think of it as trading a fleeting moment for a lifetime of fortune."
"Are you nuts?" asked the other thug, his eyes widening. "He''s tricking us!"
"If he is, we''ll make him pay," replied the calmer of the two, his grip slightly loosening on his weapon.
"I don''t like this."
"If he wanted to harm us, he would''ve done it by now," the calmer thug reasoned.
"True, wise man, I like him!" agreed Baal.
"I don''t know about this dude," the other thug muttered, still not convinced.
"Let''s do it!" With those words, the calmer thug extended his hand toward Baal, signalling his acceptance of the strange deal.
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Baal''s grin widened, showing just a hint of teeth. "Excellent choice, gentlemen. Let''s proceed."
Baal reached into his backpack and pulled out two empty jars, placing one at the feet of each thug. His eyes glowed with an unsettling hue as he peered into the very souls of the men before him, seeking their most cherished memories.
They were modest fragments, ephemeral wisps of better times: laughter shared over drinks in a dimly lit bar, the brief touch of a smile, moments of innocence from long-lost childhoods. Here, the comforting embrace of a mother; there, the joyful bark of a pet mutt.
As Baal focused, the jars started to fill, but only slightly. The memories barely covered the bottom of each glass container. There was nothing sadder than an empty jar.
"Well, it''s done, sirs. Now for part two of the deal," Baal announced, locking eyes with each man in turn.
Confused, the two thugs looked at each other, then down at their own hands. One of them wondered why he was even holding a gun. As if waking from a dream, they both started to chuckle. Shaking their heads as if dismissing a strange encounter, they continued on their way, ignoring Baal completely.
"That''s what I thought," Baal murmured, lifting the pendant to his lips for a brief, reverent kiss before tucking it back under his shirt. With a final smirk, he shouted, "You''re welcome!"
But none of them could hear or even remember him.
"You''re welcome..." Baal''s voice trailed off, tinged with a subtle sadness¡ªa yearning for permanence in a world that would never remember him. He quickly brushed away this melancholic state of nothingness, refocusing on his journey to nowhere and everywhere. After all, he was just a simple demon without a plan. He couldn''t afford to stop; to pause would mean drowning in some dingy bar, wallowing in bad liquor and self-pity.
He continued his walk, his boots tapping a lonely rhythm against the cobblestone streets as dusk began to envelop the sky. The dual moons of this realm started to peek over the horizon, casting their luminescent gaze upon him. That''s when he saw it¡ªa giant wooden billboard that stretched across the road, emblazoned with words that were all too familiar:
WELCOME to RAVENDRIFT.
Baal chuckled softly. Ravendrift, "Shit!"
He stood there, hesitating for a moment before mustering the courage to cross the threshold. As soon as he set foot past the sign, officially entering Ravendrift, he quickly stepped back. "I''m not doing anything wrong," he mumbled to himself, taking another cautious step forward.
Once again, as he crossed to the other side, he retreated. "No, no, no, Baal. Don''t be selfish, turn around!" And so he did, only to spin around once more. "What''s your problem? You''re just going to take a quick peek and then go on your merry way. Nobody is going to get hurt," he told himself, crossing the line forward once more.
"You stupid moron, you''re the one who''s going to get hurt! Enough is enough; there''s nothing more for you here," he admonished himself, his words tinged with fear and frustration.
He paused, looking out at the sprawling horizon of Ravendrift, a mingling of darkness and light. "I just want to see her," he whispered, his voice breaking with a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to feel. It was a simple desire but one loaded with implications he wasn''t sure he was ready to face. Yet here he was, caught in a moment of indecision, a crossroads between his past and whatever future lay ahead.
"So what is it, boy? Are you going, or are you staying?"
Baal was startled by an old man''s voice. He turned and found himself face-to-face with perhaps the most wrinkled visage he had ever seen. The man had a wispy beard that had seen better days and a completely bald head; he was seated on a shabby cart pulled by a mule that looked even older than its rider.
Caught off guard, Baal stood there momentarily lost for words.
"If you''re going to Ravendrift, I can give you a lift," the old man offered.
"For an old man, you''re not afraid to talk to strangers," Baal observed, his eyes narrowing slightly.
The old man chuckled, revealing a toothless grin. "Ah, but you see, I''m not talking to just any stranger."
Baal''s eyes narrowed, intrigued. "How can you be so sure about that?"
The old man leaned back in his cart, stretching his arms as if savouring the very air. "I''ve travelled far and wide, my boy. People whisper about demons everywhere I go¡ªdeals gone awry, conversations filled with dubious intent. Yet, there''s an odd silence in this particular region, especially in the past decade. No tales of demonic dealings, no nefarious exchanges. It''s as if someone has either stolen all the business away or... someone''s been making good deals. There''s only one demon nobody talks about, and that''s Baal Brith."
Baal considered this, his eyes drifting once more to the horizon of Ravendrift. "That''s a rather poetic way to put it."
The old man chuckled softly, leaning forward as though about to share a secret. "Well, it seems I need to strike a deal with a devil. Would you be interested?"
Baal''s attention was torn between the inviting billboard of Ravendrift and the old man''s friendly, toothless grin. As he looked into the man''s sunken eyes, it was as if he were gazing into a library brimming with cherished memories.
He saw warm summer days filled with picnics, brave speeches given to captivated audiences, the exhilarating rush of a first kiss, and the bittersweet moment of a last embrace. He felt a hug that lingered a bit longer than expected, smelled the comforting aroma of coffee, tasted the crispness of a freshly poured beer, and even felt the soothing coolness of the other side of a pillow.
This old man was more than he appeared to be, yet the treasury of his heart was an endless reel of precious moments amassed over years and years. It seemed that, despite his advanced age, the man had managed to preserve an almost infinite catalogue of moments that made life rich and full.
"It is a very tempting deal," Baal confessed, torn between opportunity and ethics. "But why would you¡ª"
"Look at me, young man. I''m old; my days are numbered. Whether I go or stay, I won''t have much use for these memories. But you would, wouldn''t you?" The old man''s voice carried an unmistakable sincerity.
"It would require a lot of jars," Baal mused. "I''m not even sure I have enough to hold them all."
"Nothing a quick trip to the grocery store couldn''t fix," the old man replied with a chuckle.
"But I don''t want to take your memories," Baal said, his voice tinged with discomfort. "I don''t want you to spend your last days with an empty mind."
"Neither do I," the old man agreed, "which is why you''ll have to accompany me. You can collect them at the precise moment my last breath leaves my lips."
The proposition was extraordinary, even for a demon accustomed to unusual deals. But the gravity of it weighed heavily on Baal, forcing him to consider not just the transaction but the meaning behind it.
"You feel alone," Baal surmised, eyes narrowing. "You want company, is that it?"
"I wouldn''t say no to some company, but my request is much more complicated than the whims of an old man."
"What exactly are you asking for, then?"
"Do I have to lay out all the conditions right here, right now?" The old man''s eyes twinkled, a smirk crossing his worn face.
"I like to know all the terms of a trade. Comes with the territory," Baal said cautiously.
"You may be the devil, but I''m just an old man with a treasure trove of memories," the old man responded, leaning back against his cart.
Baal studied him in the dying light, trying to discern the old man''s true intentions. No malice tinged the air, no undercurrents of deceit flowed. It was unsettling, that clarity, leaving Baal conflicted. On one hand, the wealth of memories the old man possessed could fully restore his demonic powers. On the other, it could be an elaborate trap.
"So, are you coming with me to Ravendrift?" The old man finally broke the silence, looking at Baal expectantly.
[CH. 0014] - The Devil鈥檚 Jars
Are you, are you comin'' to the tree
Where necklace of hope, side by side with me?
Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be
If we met at midnight in the hanging tree
Song by James Newton Howard
"I..." Baal hesitated, a knot tightening in his throat, "I shouldn''t..."
"Do you want to go to Ravendrift?" The old man''s voice softened, losing its teasing edge.
"More than anything," Baal admitted, the words laced with a yearning he couldn''t suppress.
"What''s stopping you? Are you hiding from someone?" The old man tilted his head, curiosity glinting in his eyes.
"From myself, I guess."
The old man chuckled, "Ah, ourselves¡ªa foe even kings are wary of confronting. But you, Baal, are no king. Rumour has it you''re not even a duke!"
Baal couldn''t help but smile at the old man''s jest, but the tension remained, knotted up with his unspoken fears and past mistakes.
Baal pivoted toward the man, his voice tinged with irony. "What do you mean by such generous assessments of my character?"
"What I mean, young demon lord is the only thing holding you back is yourself. Quite a pitiful reason to lose a fight, don''t you think?" The old man shot back.
"You''re pushing quite hard for me to cross into forbidden territory," Baal observed, a note of suspicion creeping into his voice.
"Forbidden only by your own heart," the old man said, flashing a knowing smile. "Come on, you need some warm food, clean clothes, and a soft bed. If you still feel like a coward tomorrow, you can come right back here. No one will stop you, you know."
Baal sniffed at his own attire, realizing it had been days since he''d seen warm water, let alone soap.
He sighed, deciding to use the offer of comfort as an excuse to step into the cart. "You''re no ordinary old man, are you?"
"Me?" The old man laughed heartily as he slapped the reins, urging the ancient mule forward. "I''m as ordinary as they come!"
As the cart ambled along, Baal had to admit that the old man had a point. Whether it was a path toward redemption or damnation, Ravendrift seemed to be where all roads led him, willingly or not.
Baal gazed upward, realizing that while travelling on foot might be faster, he wouldn''t have the luxury of soaking in the night sky. "Who are you?"
"I''m just me," the old man replied, nonchalant.
"Don''t you have a name?"
"I have many names."
"Which one do you prefer?"
"Myrddin," the old man repeated, emphasizing the syllables as if savouring a long-lost tune. "But folks usually mangle it, so Merlin it is."
Baal''s eyes widened slightly, a spark of recognition flashing in his demonic gaze. The name Merlin was woven into myths and legends, a narrative tapestry that felt worlds apart from the hellish matters Baal usually concerned himself with.
As the cart''s wheels squeaked and groaned, turning in a slow rhythm, the atmosphere intensified. With each rotation, Baal felt as if he were sinking deeper into an enigma, navigating a road paved with uncertainties and mysteries.
Unperturbed, Merlin sat beside him, exuding an air of calm wisdom. He seemed to exist in a temporal bubble, undisturbed by the pressing concerns that gnawed at Baal. Then, as if reading his mind, Merlin turned his gaze toward him.
"The Merlin?" Baal finally asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.
Merlin chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling like stars. "Perhaps."
"Perhaps?" Baal echoed, arching an eyebrow.
"There are many stories about me¡ªsome grounded in truth, some mere products of imaginative storytelling. The real question isn''t ''Who am I?'' but rather ''Who cares?''"
Baal''s gaze shifted away for a moment as if catching a wisp of a long-forgotten memory. "She was... I mean, I knew someone who was really fascinated by the tales of Avalon."
"Did she now?"
"Yeah, she was Team Morgaine," Baal added, a chuckle escaping his lips.
Merlin laughed in return, his aged features momentarily invigorated. "Ah, the charm of folklore. You know, people have a way of romanticizing things. Quite frankly, some of the stories penned about us are more captivating than the real events they''re based on."
After a stretch of silence, Merlin spoke again. "And the tongue. The tongue is a fulcral element. A good story with a sour taste won''t be everyone''s cup of tea, and the same if too sweet."
Baal looked ahead, the gates of Ravendrift finally coming into view. He was here, at last. "Truth," he finally muttered.
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"But let''s clarify something, young demon," Merlin interjected, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "I''m not the Merlin of legend, just as you aren''t the Grand Duke Baal of ancient texts."
Baal turned to Merlin, a hint of disappointment clouding his eyes. "For a moment, I actually thought I was conversing with the legendary wizard."
"That," said the old man, bursting into hearty laughter, "was the fun of it!"
Stopping the cart in front of a dilapidated brick-and-wood house that looked like it was moments away from collapsing, Merlin beamed. "Ah, home sweet home! Don''t let the exterior fool you. Inside, it''s fit for a duke!"
Stepping into the house, Baal quickly found that Merlin''s claim was, at best, an exaggeration. Peeling wallpaper adorned the walls, and the air was thick with dust. The furniture was an assemblage of scratched, wobbly pieces, some of which were missing legs. Cobwebs hung from the corners of the ceiling like forgotten decorations, and Baal could have sworn he heard the scurrying of a mouse somewhere in the shadows.
Despite the less-than-regal surroundings, Merlin looked completely at ease, as if the shabby interior were the grand palace he''d claimed it to be.
Baal hesitated, searching for a word that would kindly sum up the dilapidated state of Merlin''s home. But before he could find the correct phrase, Merlin chimed in, brimming with enthusiasm, "One man''s trash is another''s treasure!"
"I didn''t mean¡ª" Baal began, realizing he''d been caught in his unspoken judgment. But Merlin appeared unbothered, already darting into the kitchen.
"Soup will be ready in no time! Make yourself comfortable," Merlin hollered over the clatter of pots and pans.
Surveying his options, Baal gingerly placed his backpack on a threadbare couch that had seen better days. "Do you need help with anything?" he called out, trying to make himself heard over the noise from the kitchen.
"Just take off your shoes!" Merlin shouted back. His voice tinged with glee as if the very act of removing footwear would make Baal an official guest in his humble abode.
Baal looked down at his boots and then at the floor, which was littered with miscellaneous debris. "You''ve got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath. However, he had to admit that even a dirty, rundown house was better than the alternatives he''d been facing lately. With a resigned sigh, he unbuckled his boots and stepped out of them.
The moment his feet made contact with the floor, a sudden transformation swept through the house. It was as if someone had solved a Rubik''s Cube of interior design. The dingy wallpaper vanished, replaced by richly coloured tapestries and intricate murals. Dust and debris gave way to sumptuous rugs. What had once looked like a shabby old house now seemed a palatial dwelling, filled with an array of rooms that showcased a life well-lived.
For a moment, Baal stood there, stunned. It was like witnessing a flower blooming in fast-forward, as if the house itself had waited for the perfect moment to reveal its true self in the right light and at the right time.
"Wow," Baal exclaimed, his eyes scanning every intricate detail of the transformed space. The ornate drawings on the wallpaper, the flawless flames flickering in the fireplace and the candles¡ªall were crafted with a level of skill that suggested a master of transformative magic had been at work. Even Baal himself wasn''t sure he could have done better.
"The soup is ready!" Merlin called from the kitchen, his voice breaking Baal''s reverie. Baal was slightly disappointed to see that Merlin himself remained unchanged, still appearing as a very wrinkled old man.
"It''s a..." Baal started, wanting to offer a compliment, but Merlin cut him off with a knowing smirk.
"As I said, one man''s trash is another''s treasure," Merlin quipped, gesturing for Baal to join him at the table for their humble meal. "But I must admit, I''m surprised a simple illusion could so bewilder you. How old are you, if you don''t mind my asking?"
"Twenty-six," Baal replied, sipping cautiously from the hot spoon.
"Oh my, oh my, twenty-six? I''ve never met a demon that young! You''re quite far from the Nethersphere, aren''t you? And so young, yet with such fine talent. You must have trained relentlessly, day and night!"
"Something like that, yes," Baal answered vaguely, not particularly keen on delving into his own past.
"A demon on a mission..." Merlin mused, an impish grin spreading across his face.
"Not anymore. My contract was fulfilled. Now, I''m just a wandering demon," Baal admitted, letting his eyes drift towards the steaming bowl of soup before him.
"Wandering? You look bored!"
Baal looked at Merlin, feeling as though the old man had an uncanny ability to read him like an open book. It was disconcerting. "Well, it''s hard to find things interesting after¡ª"
Merlin leaned in, placing his slender, wrinkled index finger over Baal''s lips. "Shush, pain is a very intimate experience. It''s a feeling so personal that it should only be shared with those who truly deserve a piece of your heart. Don''t give it away like a cheap deal!"
The rest of the dinner unfolded in a thoughtful silence. Baal watched, captivated, as dishes and pots cleaned themselves, hovering in the air and scrubbing off any leftover food. The magic in Merlin''s humble abode flowed like a well-conducted symphony¡ªeach movement perfectly timed, every note pitch-perfect. It was a display of magical finesse that Baal realized few mages could genuinely claim.
After a quiet dinner, Merlin pointed Baal toward a room, mentioning that he could wear anything he found in the closet after a well-deserved bath. Freshly showered, Baal rummaged through the wardrobe. The selection was limited¡ªmainly comfortable pyjamas that he now wore. Yet, one item caught his attention: a crisp white tuxedo. It seemed an odd inclusion, but then again, everything about this night had been odd.
Satisfied with his pyjamas but still wondering about the tuxedo, Baal decided to explore the house. Though it appeared splendid, it was still a small dwelling. Upon reaching Merlin''s door, which stood invitingly ajar, he saw the old man engrossed in a book. Sensing Baal''s approach, Merlin looked up and beckoned him inside.
"Come in; the room won''t bite... I think," Merlin said, adding yet another layer to the evening''s enigmatic atmosphere.
Baal chuckled as he stepped into the room, only to find himself puzzled again. The room was lined with rows upon rows of empty shelves as if in anticipation of something yet to come.
"Will these be enough?" Merlin asked, gesturing to the barren wooden structures.
"I suppose so, but once again, I don''t have enough jars to fill them."
"I''ll purchase some tomorrow after the funeral," Merlin remarked, absentmindedly flipping a page in his book.
"A funeral? You''re going to die tomorrow?" Baal questioned, his eyes widening in genuine concern.
Merlin burst into a deep, hearty laugh. It resonated throughout the house, filling every corner with its infectious warmth to the point where tears formed at the corners of his eyes. "No, no, it''s not my funeral. It''s the funeral of a friend of mine. You might have heard of her."
"I have?" Baal asked, curiosity knitting his brows.
"Rosemary Elisabete Mere Morningstar, or Rosie to her friends," Merlin revealed, putting a sentimental emphasis on the name.
"I never met her," confirmed Baal.
"Very kind soul, but the Hallow got the best of her in her last years. I suspect sadness stores the barrier between it and the host. She was miserable and chased everyone away. A really sad story." Merlin babbled with his mind lost in past years.
"I thought it feeds only in magic," asked Baal.
"True, it feeds in magic. It keeps it quiet. But it isn''t the first Morningstar that is ravaged by the Hallow, but it is just a suspicion. Old man thinking."
"What do you mean exactly?"
"As I said, is just..."
"I need to know!" pressed on Baal.
"And I will tell you, be patient, young demon. I''m not going to die tomorrow. We have plans, as I said."
"I can''t go with you," Baal said.
"You can''t, or you won''t?"
Baal didn''t say a word because Baal didn''t know how to lie.
"Well, it is settled. Tomorrow, you and I have plans. Now go rest!"
[CH. 0015] - The Ravendrift鈥檚 Ashleys
"When one faces their most horrific fears, all that remains is courage," - Merlin (not that Merlin)
Baal''s eyes snapped open as a mop brushed against his face. Startled and struggling for breath, he seized the mop, which promptly collapsed onto the floor. "Good morning!" Merlin''s voice rang through the house from a distance.
"Very funny," Baal muttered under his breath. He hoisted himself out of bed, carrying the defeated mop with him as he made his way to the kitchen. There, he found Merlin seated at the table, a plate of warm toasts before him, each crowned with melting cheese.
"Oh! You brought her back, such a gentleman!" Merlin gestured for Baal to take a seat.
Still groggy, Baal noticed that Merlin was impeccably dressed in a black suit and tie, augmented by a flowing velvet robe. "You look fancy," he commented.
"Only the best for Rosie!"
"I don''t have anything to wear besides my own clothes," Baal confessed, nibbling on a piece of toast as he battled with the cheese''s gooey filaments.
"Nonsense, you have the tuxedo I left for you yesterday," Merlin retorted.
"What tuxedo?"
"In the closet. I assumed that since you found the pyjamas, you''d have come across the suit as well."
"The white one?" Baal''s voice oscillated between bewilderment and horror.
"That one!"
"It''s white!" Baal reiterated.
"I know; I chose it for you."
"I can''t go to a funeral in a white tuxedo!"
"Says who?"
"You''re wearing black! Right now!"
"White, black, grey, or dark blue. Those are the colours traditionally allowed at a funeral," Merlin expounded, taking a leisurely bite of his own toast.
Rolling his eyes, Baal recognized that arguing further would be futile. Besides, not attending was no longer an option for him. And in any case, she wouldn''t see him in his ridiculous white tuxedo. So, with a sigh, he conceded, mentally preparing himself for whatever the day might bring.
Choosing between the rickety cart pulled by Merlin''s mule and walking on foot, Baal would''ve preferred the latter. However, Merlin had a fondness for his mule, which Baal had just learned was named Mulan.
As the cart trundled through the cobblestone streets of Ravendrift, giving way to an expanding green horizon, Baal felt his heart race uncontrollably. It pounded so furiously that he wondered if he was having a heart attack. Baal was struggling to feel his left arm, and a strange tingling sensation spread across his skin. The air grew stifling, and he found it increasingly difficult to breathe.
Merlin reined in Mulan and looked back at Baal with concern. "Boy, are you all right?"
"I think...something bad is happening to me," Baal stammered as he stepped off the cart. He began pacing, waving his hands near his face in an attempt to catch his breath. "I can''t breathe, I can''t..."
"Young demon, you''re just having a panic attack. Breathe, boy! Breathe!"
Unable to heed the advice, Baal squatted carefully to avoid soiling his suit. Folding his arms around himself, one hand clutching each shoulder, he began to tap rhythmically, a self-soothing tactic he''d picked up.
"It''s okay to not be okay," a young voice whispered in his mind, "It''s okay to not be okay, but you''ll be okay. I promise."
After what felt like an eternity but was actually closer to five minutes, he rose, retying his hair into a half-ponytail.
"I''m fine, let''s go," Baal announced, climbing back onto the cart.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, yeah... I''m fine. I''m just..."
"Nervous?"
Baal chuckled softly. "No, I''m just... scared."
"Well, soon enough, we''ll arrive, and then there''s no reason to be scared."
"How so?"
"When one faces their most horrific fears, all that remains is courage," Merlin said, offering Baal a knowing smile as they resumed their journey, the hooves of Mulan clopping in time with the newfound resolve settling in Baal''s heart.
The cart rolled to a stop in front of Morningstar Manor, the grandiose facade of the mansion looming ahead. It was as if the very building stood in mourning, its splendour subdued by the sombre occasion. A crowd of townspeople had already gathered, their faces a mix of sorrow and solemn respect as they filed slowly through the entryway and into the salon.
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Stepping off the cart, Baal''s eyes swept over the crowd, noting how grief had a way of levelling social hierarchies, if only for a fleeting moment. Merlin, ever the composed figure, donned his velvet robe and adjusted his tie one last time before gesturing Baal to follow him.
As they entered the salon, a subtle transformation met their eyes. The grand room had been decorated with roses in hues ranging from blood-red to purest white, a vivid spectrum of life and death. Each rose seemed to capture an element of melancholy beauty, a poignant reminder of the fragility of existence.
Elegant platters were spread across elaborately dressed tables, offering an array of snacks to the mourners. There were finger sandwiches, fruits, and even some sweet pastries, all meticulously prepared as if the dead could taste them.
As Baal took in the sight, he couldn''t help but think about the juxtaposition. On one hand, the setting was one of pure elegance, every detail meticulously designed to honour the departed. On the other, the very opulence seemed to clash with the underlying sorrow filling the room.
"Remember, courage is all that remains when we face our worst fears," Merlin whispered to him as they moved through the salon. Baal felt the old man''s words echo in his chest. Today wasn''t just a day of mourning; it was a confrontation with the unspoken fears and regrets that lingered in the darkest corners of his soul.
Taking a deep breath, Baal stepped further into the salon. Even if he would go unnoticed by most, and even if he was in a ridiculous white tuxedo, he was there for a reason. Her.
Baal''s eyes locked suddenly onto Finnea, the elf''s presence unmistakable even amidst the crowd. She was diligently serving beverages, her hands gracefully manoeuvring a tray full of crystal glasses. Her attire was fittingly sombre, a black dress that was equal parts elegant and understated. Baal felt an instinctual urge to go unnoticed, to avoid an interaction that could rip open wounds he wasn''t prepared to expose. He lowered his head and shifted his gaze, taking a circuitous route to dodge her line of sight.
As he manoeuvred through the crowd, Merlin seemed to vanish like a wisp of smoke, his form lost amidst the sea of mourners. Suddenly, Baal found himself alone in a room bursting with strangers, their faces a blur of shared sorrow and social niceties.
He felt exposed, like a drop of water in a vast, uncaring ocean. But then his eyes caught sight of an enigmatic figure: a man of regal posture with ivory hair and crimson eyes. A vampire, unmistakably, but one who stood apart from the rest of the crowd. He greeted the arrivals with a kind of detached courtesy, standing in the dimmer recesses of the salon as if he belonged to the shadows.
The tension in the room momentarily dissipated when Baal''s eyes fell upon a Nixbob next to the enigmatic vampire. She was clad in a puffy, short dress, adorable in its whimsy. The sight of her stirred a memory, like a ghost tugging at the corners of his mind, but he couldn''t quite pin it down.
"Sir, liquor?" A voice, so unmistakably familiar, pulled him back to reality.
Turning slowly, Baal found himself locking eyes with Finnea. For a moment, her eyes widened as if about to unleash a cascade of words and emotions. But Baal was quick; his index finger flew to his lips. "Don''t. You never saw me, please."
Without a word, Finnea nodded. "Liquor?" she repeated, her tone reverting to professional detachment.
"Yeah, I need some." He grabbed a glass from her platter. "Did you¡ª"
But before he could finish, Finnea had already pivoted away, engaging with other guests, her back to him. "She was always good at following orders," he muttered to himself, feeling the sharp twinge of an emotion he didn''t want to name.
Just then, a hush swept across the salon like a chill wind. The chatter and the clinking of glasses quieted down, and all eyes seemed to converge on a focal point. The air hung thick with anticipation, and Baal felt the room hold its collective breath.
Whatever was about to happen next, it was clear that this was the moment everyone had been waiting for.
From her elevated vantage point on the stairs, Nord scanned the crowd below. The sea of faces looked up at her, yet among them, she recognized only a handful¡ªAdamastor, Kirarar, Finnea, Sirona, and the Mayor. To everyone else, she was a mystery, an entity dressed in an ivory-white cocktail dress that seemed better suited for a soiree from the late ''60s than a gathering like this.
The dress clung to her form, both elegant and constraining. Each step down the stairs required a delicate balance, a conscious effort to keep her belly tucked in and her posture poised. But in the midst of her borrowed elegance, there were touches of Nord''s authentic self. Her combat boots, defiantly black, thudded softly against the steps, a minor rebellion against the dress''s vintage constraints. Her eyes, outlined in a smoky darkness, spoke of mysteries untold. As for her lips, they were painted a bold shade, achieved through a DIY blend of black eyeshadow and Vaseline.
This concoction of vintage and punk, elegance and rebellion, formed an intriguing contrast that had everyone''s eyes glued to her. She was like a piece of modern art in a classical museum¡ªcaptivating, if a little out of place. As she reached the bottom step, setting her combat boots firmly on the salon floor, she couldn''t help but wonder: in this room full of strangers, how many would see past the fa?ade? How many would care to look beyond the ivory dress and into the soul of the woman who wore combat boots to a cocktail affair?
Adamastor was at the end of the stairs with open arms, "Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we all awaited, the new owner of the Morningstar and holder of the Hallow, Nord Morningstar!"
Adamastor''s arms swept grandly towards her, and as he announced her new titles¡ªthe owner of Morningstar and the holder of the Hallow¡ªa wave of applause surged through the room. Faces turned to her, eyes fixed on her, but in that sea of adulation, one set of eyes struck her as fascinatingly different.
Across the room stood a young man clad in a tuxedo even whiter than her dress. But it was not his attire that captivated her but his eyes. Those orbs were an enigma, a contradiction of nature: entirely black where they should have been white, with an iris that shimmered between fiery yellow and intense orange. They were like embers glowing in the dark heart of coal.
As an artist, Nord had spent years exploring the labyrinth of colour and form. She''d learned that the conventionally beautiful often followed predictable patterns¡ªpatterns that could dull the senses and the mind. True beauty, she believed, resided in the realm of the unexpected. It arose from an alchemy of uniqueness and surprise, from lines and colours and forms that confounded expectations.
And right now, her gaze fixed on the young man''s extraordinary eyes, she knew she had found it. For Nord Morningstar, he had the most mesmerizing eyes she had ever encountered. They were not just beautiful; they were a living paradox, an impossibility that breathed and stared right back at her. And for a moment, amid the clamour of applause and the weight of her new titles, all she could think about were those eyes and the untold stories hidden within them.
[CH. 0016] - The Ravendrift鈥檚 Ashleys
¡°Even death knows we can''t compete with that bear!¡± - Mayor Paxton
Adamastor''s arm felt solid and comforting around her waist as he guided her through the sea of faces and towards the front of the room. There, Rosemary lay in an open casket, blanketed in roses, a portrait of her and Frank wrapped tenderly in her arms. She looked serene as though she were merely in a deep, undisturbed sleep.
Swallowing hard, Nord turned her gaze to Adamastor. "What am I supposed to do now?"
"Step up to the stage and greet everyone," he replied softly. "Once you finish speaking, people will begin to make their way to the cemetery, and the casket will follow."
"Lead all these people?" Her eyes widened in a mix of disbelief and anxiety.
Adamastor leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Once you leave the Manor, turn left. Just walk until you reach the graveyard. That''s all you need to do."
Something about his simplicity made it manageable, almost effortless. It was as though he''d taken the sprawling complexity of the situation and folded it down into something Nord could hold in her hand, a single, doable task.
Nord nodded, steeling herself. As she ascended the stage, her eyes instinctively searched for that young man in the white tuxedo, that mesmerizing embodiment of paradox.
But then she reminded herself of the moment, of the people around her, of the gravity of her new role, and the responsibility it entailed. Her gaze shifted to the portrait of Rosemary and Frank, a snapshot of love and happiness framed by the sombre ceremony. A pang of sadness washed over her, but it also kindled something else¡ªa sense of purpose, of duty to honour the departed and their legacy.
Clearing her throat, she leaned into an imaginary microphone and began to speak.
The quiet that descended upon the salon was almost palpable, a thick silence that seemed to weigh on her shoulders. Her boots felt rooted to the floor, yet at the same time, it was as though the ground beneath them was shifting, spinning. She sought an anchor, a focus point in the room, something to quell the rising tide of her nerves.
Then her eyes found him¡ªthe young man in the white tuxedo. Amidst a sea of solemn blacks and greys, he was an island of contrast, standing alone but vivid. A warm sense of comfort filled her, a lifeline amidst the overwhelming current of faces and expectations.
"Thank you for receiving me," she began, her voice resonating with a newfound steadiness as if speaking only to him. "I don''t know any of you. Well, maybe a few, but do they really count?"
A ripple of laughter spread through the room, lightening the sombre atmosphere for a moment as people exchanged knowing glances.
"Much is expected of me," Nord continued, "and I''m still trying to figure out how this world works. I''m very patient, but while I may take time to learn, I am¡ªwell, ''stubborn'' is really the only word that comes to mind."
Nord''s eyes lingered on the mysterious man, and for a moment, the crowd, the weight of the occasion, it all faded into the background. She noticed the curve of a smile on his lips¡ªwas it meant for her? She realized she was smiling too, a genuine smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, reaching up to touch her eyes.
"However," she added, reclaiming the room''s attention, "today is not about me. Today is about Rosemary. She was my grandmother''s younger sister, and she left Earth in the early ''70s, long before I was born. So, as you can imagine, I have no recollection of who she was or what she was like. But I would love to learn from each one of you. I know she ran a successful business, and I''ll do my best to get it up and running as soon as possible. Now, let''s celebrate a woman renowned for her love and kindness."
The room erupted into applause, a warm wave of approval and acceptance that washed over her. Yet, when she glanced back at the man in white, she saw that he wasn''t clapping. A small knot of disappointment tightened in her chest as if the strings of some unknown connection had been unexpectedly severed. Was he even seeing her?
But before she could dwell on it, Adamastor gently guided her away, steering her back through the crowd, which parted like a sea before them. The momentary connection¡ªor disconnection¡ªwith the mystery man was eclipsed by the immediate concerns of the day. Still, as she moved through the sea of faces, his image lingered in the back of her mind like a phantom, raising questions she had no answers to but couldn''t quite shake.
Following the subtle cues from Adamastor, she turned left and stepped into the graveyard. The sheer size of it caught her off guard. The word "graveyard" had always conjured small, cosy patches of earth in her mind¡ªcompact, manageable. This, however, was a city of the dead, stretching further than her eyes could capture.
Passing through the rusty gates that creaked as if sharing in the day''s mourning, she arrived at the gravesite. The open rectangle in the earth seemed to beckon, surrounded by colourful flowers and a portrait of Rosemary in happier times. It looked like a small oasis amid a sea of stone and grief.
Slowly, the crowd trickled in, filling the space with a sombre hush that was almost palpable. Four men, their faces etched with stoic reverence, took positions at each corner of the casket. With synchronized movements, they began to lower it into the earth.
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Nord watched the casket descend, Rosemary¡¯s final bed framed by blooming life and her smiling portrait. For a moment, time seemed to stretch, bridging the gap between worlds, tying the living to the departed. And somewhere in the crowd of mourners, Nord sensed the eyes that haunted her thoughts¡ªthe dark, fiery eyes that both bewildered and intrigued her.
But now was not the time for unanswered questions. Now was a moment for goodbyes, for honouring the life that once was. Rosemary had entered her final resting place, and Nord, standing amid strangers in a strange world, felt the gravity of her new responsibilities settle in, as heavy and real as the earth that would soon cover the casket.
The Mayor stood beside Nord, clearing his throat before launching into his final tribute. "I do not know when Rosemary was born; I do not know when exactly she died. But I remember the first day I saw her standing inside that Manor, the Morningstar. She was alone, but she was magical. Not because she looked like a nymph in all white with golden curls framing her face, but because of her aura... Every man in this town stood speechless in her presence."
Nord glanced sideways at the Mayor, her expression awkward, bordering on incredulous. But he pressed on, undeterred.
"Rosemary was kind, happy, and cheerful, with a great sense of humour. She was also objective and reasonable, even when stubbornly defending her opinions. That woman was only missing a pair of trousers to be one of the guys!"
At this, Nord found her eyes drifting down to her boots, fighting the urge to laugh at the Mayor''s cringeworthy eulogy.
"She was an excellent cook, a wonderful host, and a devoted wife. But above all, she was the keeper of the Hallow. We didn''t lose Rosemary to death; we lost her when Frank left us. Today, she rejoins him¡ªbecause even death knows we can''t compete with that bear!"
Nord bit her lower lip, struggling to keep her composure. But the Mayor was not done. "Let''s not say goodbye to a friend; let''s say, ''See you soon.''"
No sooner had the Mayor closed his oration than a solitary laugh sliced through the solemn air. Heads turned en masse towards the source¡ªthe young man in the white tuxedo. He coughed, slightly embarrassed, and offered, "Sorry, it was sort of funny. Please, proceed." His gaze dropped to the ground, but not before meeting Nord''s eyes for a fleeting second.
With the casket finally interred, more than half the crowd dispersed, making their way to their carts, automobiles or back to their homes on foot. The remainder trickled back into the salon, where Nord found a semicircle of women standing on the now-empty stage, surrounded only by wilting roses.
Puzzled, Nord turned to Adamastor. "What''s going on?"
Adamastor shrugged, his eyes scanning the gathering with the same sense of bemusement. "I have no idea."
As if responding to their shared confusion, one of the women on the stage took a step forward, clutching an old photograph. "I think it''s time for us to get to know you."
Nord raised an eyebrow. "And who are you?"
"We are the Sisterhood of Ravendrift," the woman announced, her eyes betraying no humour. She wore a sombre gown adorned with a crochet-made scarf and appeared to be in her fifties, if not older. "To my right is Ashley, to my left is Ashley, then Ashley, and finally Ashley." The five women looked strikingly alike, as though copied and pasted from the same genetic template.
Nord couldn''t help but mumble, "I see a pattern here. Let me guess, you''re also... Ashley?"
The woman cracked a smile. "Correct. We believe in unity, in all forms."
The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly, like the air before a storm.
"Is there anything I can help you with?"
The Ashley stepped off the stage and walked determinedly toward Nord, nearly thrusting a photograph into her hands. Nord glanced down at the image, a simple portrait of a woman bearing an uncanny resemblance to her own mother. "I don''t understand," Nord admitted.
"Are you? Are you really a Morningstar?" Ashley said, her voice laced with suspicion.
"Yes, I am," Nord retorted, perplexed by the sudden confrontation.
The Ashley leaned in, eyes narrowing. "Me and the other Ashleys doubt it! Your hair is different; your eyes and skin are made of dusk instead of light. Even your face doesn''t look like any Morningstar who has stepped here before. Who are you?" She accused.
"As I''ve said, my name is Nord Morningstar."
"We shall see!"
"Sure," Nord replied, crossing her arms in defiance.
One of the Ashleys still on stage shouted, "Let''s put her to the test!"
The room fell into a hushed anticipation. Nord felt a bizarre cocktail of emotions¡ªpart incredulity, part indignation, and a dash of curiosity. If these women thought they could determine her worth or her lineage through some test, let them try. After everything she had been through, a challenge seemed almost welcome.
The Ashley closest to Nord locked eyes with her one more time. "Prepare yourself, Nord Morningstar. You may have fooled some, but you won''t fool the Sisterhood of Ravendrift."
As she heard those words, Nord felt the atmosphere in the room shift, turning electric with an energy that seemed to defy description. This, she knew, was another facet of the complicated world she had been thrust into¡ªa world she was more eager than ever to understand fully.
"When?" she challenged.
"Now!" all the Ashleys intoned together, their voices echoing in a haunting unity.
"Now?"
"Are you scared? Are you trying to hide your true identity?" The words rolled out from their mouths as if a single voice spoke them.
"No, I''m just tired. But fine. What do I need to do?"
One of the Ashleys, the leader perhaps, stepped forward. "You will stand in the middle of the circle, and we will feed the Hallow. If you''re a true Morningstar, our magic won''t touch you, and the Hallow shall feast! If not, and you flinch, run, or get hurt, then you''re either just a fool or a witch. And no Morningstar would send a witch instead of a pure vessel!"
Nord sighed deeply. The truth was, she''d never felt the presence of the Hallow before. But before she could further contemplate this, a shout pierced the tension. "This is madness!"
She turned around to find the source of the voice. To her surprise, it came from an old man, garbed in an elegant tuxedo layered beneath an exuberant robe. The man''s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, his head as bald as an egg, his beard a spindly collection of very few white hairs.
The Ashleys glared at the old man, their eyes aflame with indignation. But the old man returned their gaze unflinchingly, stepping into the circle.
"Do you ladies mind?" he said, his voice as weathered as his face yet carrying a weight of authority.
"I believe you''re about to conduct a ritual that could risk this young woman''s life based on sheer conjecture."
"And who might you be to stop us? You Merlin?" Ashley sneered.
"Someone who knows what he''s talking about. Shall we stop this nonsense and talk like civilized beings? Or should we proceed with this charade?"
Nord saw hesitation flicker in the Ashleys'' eyes, "Stand back, you old goat! This isn''t the court! Ravendrift is the ground of witches!"
[CH. 0017] - The Ravendrift鈥檚 Ashleys
"You can see me?"
The old man stepped between Ashley and Nord with a vigour that defied his age. "How dare you talk to me like that? Me! Merlin!"
"You''re always doing this!" Ashley shot back, now practically nose-to-nose with the wrinkled wizard. "Meddling where you''re not wanted! Go back to Onyxburg, where you belong!"
As the two elders spat venom at each other, Nord''s eyes strayed to the periphery of the unfolding chaos. There, she spotted the stranger in the white tuxedo, his face aglow with a soft tenderness as he spoke to Finnea. Her heart sank as she watched his long fingers caress the elf''s cheek, whispering something meant only for her ear. Finnea looked at him as though he were her whole world.
Nord wanted to disengage, to withdraw from this circus of clashing wills and unfolding love stories that hadn''t even had the chance to begin. But she wasn''t alone in her awkward spectatorship. Adamastor, too, was witness to this chaotic tableau.
"What do you want to do?" Adamastor asked.
Nord took a deep breath. "Sooner or later, I''ll have to face the Hallow. I''m sure of two things: first, I am a Morningstar; second, I am not a witch."
Adamastor looked at her with an expression that was almost fatherly.
"You''re undoubtedly special, Nord. That much is clear. So, are you up for the challenge?"
Her gaze shifted back to the crowd. "Today''s as good a day as any." She turned toward the room and announced, "Okay, let''s do this."
But nobody seemed to hear her. The room was too caught up in its own dramas, too ensnared in its labyrinthine disputes and fleeting romances to notice.
With a sense of deliberate detachment, Nord walked away from the verbal duel between Ashley and Merlin and made her way to the grand piano, sitting elegantly in the corner of the room. Its surface gleamed in the muted light, a smooth expanse of polished black.
She lifted the lid with a gentle touch, revealing the pristine keys beneath. Unfolding the velvet cover that draped them, she placed it delicately on the bench.
She sat, her posture composed yet relaxed. Her fingers hovered momentarily over the keys, contemplating the moment. Then, as if each finger was a solid hammer, she unleashed a torrent of sound¡ªdissonant at first and much worse on the following note.
A jumble of broken notes and chaotic melodies reverberated through the room. As the cacophony unfolded, Nord could sense the room''s attention shifting, the earlier arguments and romantic whispers silenced by the raw emotion spilling from the piano.
As abruptly as it started, Nord ended her cruel improvisation. The final note resonated, echoing through the room before gradually yielding to its scream into silence. She lifted her hands from the keys and let out a breath she hadn''t realized she''d been holding.
"I''m ready," she said, finally looking up to meet the eyes of the crowd.
For the first time since she''d arrived, everyone was listening.
"Wa...Wait!" Finnea''s voice sliced through the room, disrupting the quiet that had fallen post-performance. She stood beside the man in the white tuxedo, her eyes wide and urgent. "I need to talk to her in private."
Finnea''s tone struck Nord as oddly unsettling. Reluctantly, she followed the elf to a secluded corner, far from the still-watching eyes and hushed conversations of the crowd.
"Under your right shoulder, you possess the key of Witchcraft. Master said..." Finnea began placing her hand on Nord over the mentioned area.
"Master?" Nord couldn''t help but interrupt, her gaze involuntarily shifting to the man in the white tuxedo¡ªthe man who had inexplicably captivated her attention.
Finnea grabbed Nord''s face gently, redirecting her focus. "The key repels any magic of witches. Or something like it," she hurriedly explained. "Master said that once you say the word, you''ll know what to do, what to say. He said to tell you, ''You got this!''"
"What are you talking about?" Nord was utterly mystified, but Finnea ignored her confusion. The elf leaned in closer, her breath warm against Nord''s ear, and whispered a sequence of words¡ªwords that felt vaguely familiar yet strangely distant.
"I have to repeat that?" Nord queried, still needing to grasp the full scope of what was happening.
"Yes," Finnea simply affirmed.
Feeling a bewildering mix of determination and confusion, Nord strode back towards the circle of waiting women. "I''m ready," she announced, but even she could hear the tremor in her voice, revealing her underlying uncertainty.
Whatever was going to happen next, it was abundantly clear that Nord was stepping into unknown territory. And yet, strangely, there was an ember of confidence kindling within her¡ªa new ingredient in her complicated emotional mix, as if Finnea''s whispered words had ignited something dormant yet powerful within her soul.
This defendeth you from all evil sorceries, and from all injury to your soul or body.¡¯- Baal Berith
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The Ashleys formed a taut circle around Nord, each of them exuding an air of intense focus. For a moment, there was only an awkward silence, thick and palpable. Nord felt like a spectacle, unsure if she was expected to kick off the ritual or just stand there.
Finally, the lead Ashley broke the silence with an incantation that echoed ominously through the room. "Dark forces, heed our call, weave the threads of suffering enthral. With words of power, we now entreat, a curse to cast, so bitter and sweet."
As her words hung in the air, the room''s atmosphere seemed to condense like the air before a storm. The Ashleys'' eyes glazed over, their voices joining in a haunting chorus that accompanied the lead Ashley''s chant. Around them, ethereal shadows coalesced, forming wraith-like tendrils that began to weave an intricate pattern in the air.
Nord felt a pressure against her skin as if an invisible force were probing for weaknesses, testing her mettle. Remembering Finnea''s whispered words, she mentally repeated them. Power coursed through her, originating from her right shoulder where she supposedly carried the "key of Witchcraft." The energy emanated outward, forming a shimmering shield that repelled the encroaching tendrils of magic.
The second Ashley, her eyes clouding over as if she were staring into a stormy horizon, picked up where the first had left off. "By moonlit night and shadows deep, in secrets kept, our promise we keep. From realms unseen, we draw the might to shape destiny in this fateful house!"
As her words rang out, a tangible gravity seemed to settle over the room. The air itself grew heavy as if infused with the weight of their collective will. A low hum of energy began to resonate, vibrating through Nord''s very bones.
Then, as if obeying some unspoken command, the third Ashley began to levitate. Her feet rose a few inches off the floor, and her voice took on an ethereal quality as she continued the chant. "Inscribed in fate, this hex shall bind, a torment vast, of body and mind. Let pain and anguish tightly twine as we unleash this malevolent sign."
As she spoke, Nord felt a different kind of pressure forming around her, something darker, more malicious. Her mind started to cloud with a sense of foreboding. For a fleeting moment, she thought she felt a twinge of pain, a suggestion of despair that tried to insinuate itself into her thoughts.
As the fourth Ashley picked up the incantation, Nord felt a tightening sensation around her. Dark tendrils of magic began to weave themselves into intricate patterns, spiralling ever closer, threatening to ensnare her.
"Cursed be thee, by our decree, the web of woe you shall never flee. From this moment forth, in every breath, know the agony of a cursed path," the fourth Ashley intoned.
Then, as if responding to an invisible conductor, all the Ashleys chanted in unison, "Suffer, Morningstar, ''neath this word''s embrace, your doom sealed tight, no escaping grace. The chant is cast, the die is thrown, may misery claim you, and fate dethrones."
The dark vortex intensified, the spirals tightening like a noose. Instinct took over, and Nord squatted down, covering her ears as if she could physically block out the poisonous words. Each syllable seemed to bore its way into her mind, threatening to unravel her from the inside out.
But even as she braced for impact, Nord''s thoughts flashed to Finnea¡¯s whispered words¡ªwords she couldn''t place but felt profoundly familiar. It was as if a shard of light appeared in the darkness of her thoughts.
Nord felt a sudden surge of indignation grow within her, fueling her spirit. It was as if a roaring fire had ignited inside her soul.
"No! We didn''t come all this way to end like this! We sacrificed too much!
Too much!"
With fierce determination, she lowered her palm to the floor. Her body hummed as if in harmony with the universe, and the room fell into a hushed stillness.
Then, her lips began to move almost autonomously, with nothing to lose. She murmured the phrase under her breath: "I summon the Key of Witchcraft! End the night, end the blight, stitch their eye and mouth, shall their hex become my bless, concede power in my name across the realms you tread. So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
As the words escaped her lips, a shockwave of energy blasted from her palm, rippling across the floor and walls. Nord felt the surging magic intertwine with her very essence, resonating with the ancient power of her lineage.
The Ashleys recoiled in disbelief and horror as the room was filled with an impenetrable light, forcing them to clutch their eyes and mouths shut. Their hexes, now stitched in mid-air, under the form of five spectres hovering in the air facing the women.
"No! You cannot do this!" Ashley shouted, her voice tinged with desperation. "You can''t! You''re here to protect us!"
"Am I now?" Nord''s eyes glowed with an ethereal light, her voice reverberating through the room like a thunderclap. "You defy me, witch, and here is your challenge!"
The Ashleys, once so confident and defiant, collapsed onto their knees. "Please, don''t take our magic away," they pleaded in a cacophony of desperation. "Think... think how we could help you. Without magic, we are nothing."
"You should have thought about that before you walked into my house, invaded my grounds, and dared to insult me," Nord retorted. With a snap of her fingers, ethereal forms of the Ashleys were hurled against the walls, vanishing from view but leaving behind a palpable emptiness.
"Once you humble yourselves, once you prove yourselves worthy, I might¡ªor might not¡ªreturn them to you," she declared, her voice laden with finality.
"But you can''t¡ª"
"Shut up, Ashley! You''re making things worse!" interrupted another among the witches, her voice fraught with newfound respect and fear.
"Now listen to me carefully, you old crone!" Nord¡¯s words were sharp as a knife, cutting through the thick tension in the room. "Firstly, I am a Morningstar. I am not a witch." She spat on the floor as if the very word left a bad taste in her mouth. "I am a warlock. The power of the Nethersphere is inked into my skin, and I''m no fucking warden or protector."
She took a deep breath, her eyes locked onto each of the kneeling figures before her. "I will be the one to destroy the plague of the Hallow. And you"¡ªshe pointed at the Ashleys¡ª"shall spread the word."
The room fell into a hushed silence, broken only by the sounds of uneasy breathing from the witches. The change in atmosphere was palpable, like the charged air before a thunderstorm.
"Leave now," Nord finally said, turning her back on them. "And tell whoever needs to hear it: A Morningstar is rising, and the Hallow should fear me as much as you do now."
As the Ashleys scrambled to their feet and hurriedly left, Nord felt a weight lift off her shoulders. It was far from the end, but it was a beginning.
A beginning in which she had seized control of her own narrative, shattering any preconceptions and prejudices that stood in her way. And as she stood there, in the solitude of her reclaimed space, Nord knew she was finally ready for whatever came next.
She turned her attention to the young man dressed in the absurd white tuxedo. His smile radiated pure pride and... recognition? "Baby?" she uttered, disbelief colouring her voice.
Baal''s eyes widened, his jaw slightly dropping. "You can see me?"
Before she could muster a response, the world blurred at the edges. Overwhelming exhaustion washed over Nord as if the energy had been sapped from her very cells. She lost consciousness and collapsed, falling flat onto the centre of the stage.
Gasps echoed through the room, filling the air with a thick tension. Baal rushed forward, his tuxedo now seeming inconsequential, his smile replaced by a mask of concern. He reached her side just as Adamastor, who had been watching the unfolding drama with mixed emotions, knelt down to check her pulse.
"She''s alive, just exhausted," Adamastor announced, looking up at Baal with the red eyes of a vampire.
[CH. 0018] - The Chair
"It felt like five hours!" - Kirara
Her room was a haven of youthful imagination. Pink hues bathed the walls, while a closet decorated with daisies stood against one side. Plushies and Barbies took residence on wooden shelves. A dollhouse crafted meticulously from wood displayed intricate rooms that would fit the lives of her ragged dolls perfectly. Dressed in cotton onesies and a messy ponytail, Nord sat on the floor, engrossed in her art¡ªcreating seas with crayons and folded paper boats that would "sail" from one drawing to another.
Just then, the soft but firm sound of hooves tapping against wood filled the air. The sound was strange, yet soothing. Puzzled, Nord lifted her eyes from her artwork. Her eyes widened in pure wonder at the sight before her. She didn''t utter a word, fearing that any noise might scare away the magnificent creature. Carefully rising from the floor, she reached out with an innocent, almost reverent touch to stroke the creature''s pristine white fur.
"Are you a unicorn?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The unicorn responded in its own way, leaning its head gently against her shoulder. The connection was palpable, a silent communion that needed no words. Nord grinned, feeling a warmth spread from where the unicorn''s fur touched her skin to the depths of her heart.
"I''ll take the silence as a yes."
Nord''s eyes fluttered open, roused by a soft caress on her cheek. A familiar face leaned over her, eyes filled with relief.
"Are you awake?" Adamastor''s voice was tinged with concern.
"What time is it?" she mumbled, her words slurring together slightly.
"It''s past noon. I was getting worried."
"I slept until now?" she said, still fighting off the last tendrils of sleep as her eyes met Adamastor''s pale, anxious face.
"I think you needed it. But now, I''m concerned¡ªyou haven''t eaten anything."
"I had a strange dream," she said, changing the topic, her eyes narrowing in thought.
"What was it about?"
"I think I dreamt of a unicorn that I believed I''d seen as a kid. I got into so much trouble for it at home. My mother slapped me so hard when I told her about it," Nord recounted, piecing the fragments of her dream back together.
Adamastor nodded sympathetically. "I can understand that. No one wants a visit from an Allatori."
"Allatori? Is that another word for unicorns?" she teased, lifting an eyebrow.
"No, but unicorns are one form of an Allatori," Adamastor explained, brushing strands of her hair away from her face with a tender hand.
Nord stared at him, intrigued and puzzled. Her dream, Adamastor''s explanation, and the events of the previous night all seemed to intertwine into an intricate web, leaving her with more questions than answers.
"Okay... you''re making it sound ominous," Nord said, her eyes narrowing at Adamastor''s cryptic words.
"They only show up when a catastrophic event is about to happen or to those who will cause it." Nord chuckled and sat up straight, "So what, I''m some sort of impending doom?"
"You made some rather strong declarations yesterday," Adamastor replied cautiously.
"What did I say?" Nord asked.
"You don''t remember?"
"Should I?" she retorted, eyebrows raised.
"What do you remember?"
"The weird chanting, the room spinning, and then waking up now," Nord recounted, pausing as she read Adamastor''s expression. She sensed that there was more. "And something about a key tattooed on my shoulder. Finnea said something... It''s all like a jumble of words and images in my head; I can''t piece everything together."
Adamastor sighed, "I''d tell you to get some more rest, but there''s someone who''s been waiting to talk to you since dawn."
"Since dawn?" Her eyes widened.
"I tried to shoo him away, but oh boy, that demon has a terrible temper. I can''t tell if it''s just me he doesn''t like or if it''s a general character flaw."
"Who?"
"I told you, the demon guy. Well, I''ve prepared an outfit for you, if you don''t mind," Adamastor said, standing up from the bed and pointing toward the chair where the clothes were neatly folded.
"Another dress?"
He grinned, "No, I remember yesterday''s events all too well. I was inspired by the Mayor''s words."
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"You mean that even death can''t stand a chance with Frank?"
Adamastor chuckled, "No, that you need trousers to be one of the guys!"
With that, he left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
As she began to undress from her nightgown¡ªa nightgown Nord realized she hadn¡¯t put on herself¡ªshe noticed something odd on her skin. First, there was an unfamiliar rash on her shoulder where a tattoo was supposed to be. Her body was a canvas of tattoos she had carefully designed since turning eighteen; there shouldn¡¯t be patches of bare skin.
Puzzled, she noticed another tattoo missing from her forearm. Then, as she tilted her head back to glance in the mirror, she realized her neck was also devoid of ink. Three tattoos had disappeared altogether. How? Was her memory playing tricks on her?
She caught sight of her mobile device on the nightstand. She''d dig into this bizarre turn of events later, alone. For now, she had more pressing matters: a temperamental demon, a day she couldn''t entirely recall, and whatever other messages her past self may have left her.
Slipping into the trousers and top that Adamastor had chosen for her, Nord steeled herself. Whoever this demon was, and whatever was going on with her tattoos and memory, she was ready¡ªor at least as ready as she could be¡ªto face it head-on.
Descending the stairs with a palpable sense of unease, Nord locked eyes with a man whose attire defied time and place. His brown pants and oversized beige shirt were accompanied by a long, matching cardigan. Topping off this unusual ensemble was a peculiar hat adorned with two dried flowers and a pair of ram''s horns. The outfit seemed neither of this world nor of her past life, yet it held an inexplicable allure.
As he turned to face her, his eyes struck her most of all¡ªdark as a starless night but animated by flames within the irises. Sensing her presence, he respectfully removed his hat, revealing a mane of vivid red hair tied back in a dishevelled half-ponytail.
Without uttering a word, he ascended a few steps to meet her on the staircase. With a swift but gentle motion, his hand found the back of her neck, pulling her close for a kiss. His lips were warm and soft, tasting subtly of mint and scorched earth. The familiarity of the sensation was both pleasant and utterly disarming. As his tongue ventured further, it stirred something deep within her¡ªa flight of butterflies in her stomach, a surge of emotion she couldn''t quite place.
And then it hit her. This was her first kiss.
In a fraction of a second, her hand found his cheek, smacking it with a force that echoed through the cavernous house. He had just stolen her first kiss, and the weight of that realization rang louder than the sound of her hand meeting his skin.
"What..." he mumbled, visibly stunned by her reaction.
"How dare you! What is wrong with you?" Nord''s voice echoed through the house as she descended the remaining stairs, fury illuminating her features.
"But you see me, and you called me..." he stammered.
"I never called you! I have no idea who or what you are! You can''t come into my house and just steal my first kiss!" Nord nearly pushed him as she continued down, her voice a volatile mix of indignation and disbelief.
"First? But..."
"But what? You don''t steal people''s first kisses!" She was almost nose-to-nose with him when he caught her shoulders, his hands gripping her as if for balance. His eyes shimmered, the redness of her handprint still visible on his cheek.
"You can see me?" he asked, his voice teetering on the edge of astonishment and something darker.
"Of course I can!" she shouted back.
"But you don''t know who I am?" The last question was tinged with a kind of sorrow that gave her pause.
"I only saw you yesterday, dressed in that ridiculous white tuxedo. Who wears white to a funeral?" Her voice rose again, catching the attention of Adamastor, Kirara, and Finnea, who emerged from various parts of the house, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.
"So you can see me?" he asked again, voice nearly breaking.
"Yes! Am I not supposed to?"
"No, you aren''t," he replied, letting go of her shoulders and retreating down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom, he donned his peculiar hat again as though trying to shield his eyes from her gaze. "I can help you with the keys... I mean your tattoos. You should have already used the Key of Trade by now. But... it appears you''ve already used at least three keys¡ªthe Key of the Protector, the Key of Chaos and the Key of Witchcraft."
"How do you know about that?" Nord asked, her eyes narrowing.
He gestured toward his neck. "Your tattoos are gone," he noted and then turned to exit.
"Wait!" Nord shouted, a myriad of emotions crashing within her.
He looked back, a faint smile touching his lips. "I''ll come back tomorrow. But I''m happy to see the boxing lessons were worth it."
With that, he stepped out, leaving Nord awash in a sea of questions, anger, and a sense of mysterious familiarity she couldn''t quite put her finger on.
"Stop!"
Baal turned his head at the shout and saw a Nixbob running toward him. At first, he was baffled. What could this creature want with him? Then he caught sight of the distinct black upper lip.
"Kirara?"
"Papa!" The word was a jubilant shout as she leapt into his arms, causing both to tumble into the dirt.
"How did you¡ª" He was astonished, staring at the small, beautiful tabby cat he knew, now transformed into a striking Nixbob.
"I missed you so much! Mama is acting weird, and there''s no chicken!" Kirara rubbed her face against his reddening cheek, her eyes glowing with some mix of joy and confusion.
"Let''s stand up, kittie," Baal said, brushing the dust off his pants as he rose. "What happened to you?"
"I woke up without paws," she said, holding up her hands and making a sad face. "Are we going back home?"
"No, we aren''t, kittie."
"Why? Are we going to live in the big house then?"
Baal managed a faint smile. "You and Mama will. I''ll be staying in town to help an old grandpa who needs it."
"Then you''re coming back, right?" Her eyes searched his as if trying to find some assurance.
"Kirara, I don''t know."
"Mama cries in her sleep," she blurted.
Baal was taken aback. "She does?"
Kirara nodded. "But whenever I want to talk about you, I puke hairballs."
"Maybe it''s for the best, Kittie. I have to go now, but I''ll come back tomorrow," he said, trying to step away, only to feel his cardigan snag on something.
"Don''t go. I miss you. Mama misses you too."
"Kittie, it''s only been five days," he tried to assure her.
"It felt like five hours!"
Baal chuckled. "I''ll come back tomorrow. I promise. And don''t say anything to Mama, okay?"
"If I do, what do I get?"
"Are you blackmailing me?" Baal chuckled at the audacity.
"Ten chickens!"
"Fine," he agreed, amused at the bargaining.
"Wait! Five chickens!"
"Are you sure? Five is less than ten," Baal pointed out.
"Three! Final answer or I tell her everything!"
"Are you sure..."
"Yes!"
"We really need to work on your math," Baal laughed, his fingers gliding through Kirara''s transformed locks as he untangled his cardigan from her eager grasp. He gazed into her eyes, that swirling palette of green and amber he''d always found so enchanting since she was a little cub he found abandoned in the trash.
Planting a long kiss on her forehead, he soaked in the moment, etching it into his memory. Amusement mingled with a deep, aching longing as their eyes locked.
Then he turned away, his footsteps heavy, each one dragging him further from this unexpected moment of joy. His heart was a battlefield, the skirmish between ecstatic happiness and a defeat he couldn''t quite define, leaving him breathless.
But Nord could see him.
[CH. 0019] - The Chair
¡°When you are like everyone, you are nobody; but when you are different from everyone, you are somebody.¡± ¨C Mehmet Murat Ildan
"The audacity of that man!" Nord exclaimed, her eyes narrowing into slits as she watched Baal interact with Kirara through the window. Her fingers clenched into fists so tight her nails dug into the palms of her hands.
"Nord?" Adamastor''s voice interrupted her boiling thoughts, but she was too consumed in her indignation to really hear him.
"He is flirting with my cat!" she mumbled, the disbelief and indignation lacing her words as she continued to seethe.
"Nord," Adamastor called out again, this time with a tone of urgency as if trying to pull her back from the edge of her outrage.
"I''m going outside to give him a piece of my mind. Maybe even leave a matching handprint on his other cheek!" Nord declared, spinning on her heels. Her boots thudded against the hardwood floor, each step a manifestation of her pent-up frustration, as she was ready to storm toward the door.
Adamastor moved quickly, intercepting her by grabbing her arm just as her hand was about to seize the doorknob. "Leave it, they''re just talking," he said, his eyes meeting hers.
Nord shook off his grip, her eyes still locked onto his. For a moment, the intensity of her anger wavered as if considering his words. But then, her jaw clenched again, and without uttering another syllable, she swept out of the salon.
Her footsteps gradually faded into the distance, leaving Adamastor standing alone in the room, shaking his head. There was a sense of an invisible line being crossed, and he wondered, not for the first time, what exactly he had gotten himself into.
She hid herself behind a random door and closed it behind her, only then realizing she had stepped into a dimly lit room. Blinking to adjust to the shadows, Nord moved to the curtains that hung over what she assumed were storefront windows. With a swift flick of her wrist, she slid them open, allowing a soft light to filter into the room. What she saw was unlike anything she expected¡ªan antique store that, at first glance, appeared as an incomprehensible jumble of items.
However, upon closer inspection, the chaos revealed itself to be a finely curated collection. The space was actually well-organized, divided into discreet sections that held an array of disparate objects. Dolls, statues, and intricate figure paintings greeted visitors at the front of the store.
Behind that was a row dedicated to musical instruments, everything from antique violins to strange-looking drums and flutes. Beyond that, fine porcelain dinnerware, exquisite cutlery, ornate jars, and decorative plates claimed another section. And then there were pencils, quills, and a vast array of tools for calligraphy. The counter itself seemed like a vault of arcane relics¡ªcrystals, jewellery, tarot decks, and Ouija boards, all displayed with a curious air of reverence.
Nord''s mind whirred as she tried to make sense of it all. She remembered something Adamastor had mentioned¡ªthat Rosemarie, the store''s prior proprietor, traded magical relics for her "services." But what services could those be?
Adamastor broke the contemplative silence, stepping into the dim room where Nord had been lost in thought. "You''ll need to reopen the store soon."
"How?" Her question was half scepticism, half curiosity.
"Rosemarie had her methods. She dealt with objects requiring cleansing, banishing malevolent spirits¡ªbasically, she fed the Hallow," Adamastor unravelled a bit of the enigma.
"I don''t feel it yet, the Hallow, I mean."
"Sooner or later, it will become restless. It will want sustenance," he warned, his tone darkening.
"Then what did she give in return for these¡donations?"
"It was situational. Common items usually required no compensation. But when people brought her powerful artefacts¡ªa deck of cards that could manipulate fate, a spoon that made any dish delectable, a gem that revealed hidden truths¡ªshe offered specialized services."
"Specialized like¡?"
"Rosemarie was a keen interpreter of dreams," Adamastor finally disclosed.
"So, she played fortune teller?"
Adamastor chuckled, his fangs glinting briefly in the subdued light. "Quite the opposite. She claimed she was a therapist back on Earth."
"Oh, psychotherapy. Very Freudian. Always the parents'' fault," Nord quipped.
Adamastor burst into hearty laughter, his fangs catching the soft light. "That''s exactly what she used to say."
Nord, still mesmerized by the curiosities that cluttered the room, snapped back to reality. "I''m a tattoo artist, Adamastor. I can''t imagine many people in this uptight realm are interested in getting their skin inked."
"What if the tattoos were more than just ink? What if they were talismans? Lucky charms?"
Adamastor leaned back against the counter, a glint in his eyes.
Nord''s face lit up as if a switch had been flipped. "Lucky charms? So, replace a bad fate with a good one? That''s intriguing. But I''m not a charm-maker or a spell-caster."
"You have a powerful wizard who owes you a favour. Perhaps he could help," Adamastor suggested.
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"Who?"
"Merlin," Adamastor said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"The Merlin?
"What other Merlin are you thinking of?"
"Well, even if The Merlin helped, I don''t have my tool. I would need a machine..." Nord stopped herself.
"You need a what?" asked Adamastor.
"I brought a tattoo machine, ink and a solar charger. I brought almost everything I needed," she mumbled. Her mind was racing with questions: How did she know? How did she know she needed solar energy to feed her tool? How...
"So what do you need?" asked Adamastor, a bit confused.
"Hygiene and proper furniture. Like a dentist''s seat, gloves, cotton, and sterilizer. A lot of sterlizer."
"That is doable. You can go to the pharmacy. They have those things. For a dentist seat... You can ask Sirona how to purchase or find such a thing," he guided. He noticed how Nord looked at him as if disappointed, "I can¡¯t get out of the manor in daylight."
"Of course, I will do those things by myself, and it is a good excuse to know the town a little better."
"Now about the accountings..." Adamastor shifted gears, turning his gaze towards a stack of ledgers on a nearby table.
"What about it?" Nord questioned, her curiosity piqued.
"The store doesn''t exactly generate profit¡ªquite the opposite, in fact. The real income comes from the Morningstar."
"How so?"
"Inn services, salons, alcohol, music¡ªwell, you get the idea," Adamastor elaborated, shuffling some papers on the counter.
"So it''s a brothel?" Nord''s eyes widened.
Adamastor laughed. "No, it''s more like an arts centre. It attracts people from all corners¡ªmusicians, theatre companies, stand-up comedians. The money flows from room rentals, food and beverage sales, ticketing, even booking the space for private events like weddings."
Nord looked overwhelmed for a second. "That sounds like a ton of work."
"It is, but we''re a team of four for now, and you can always hire more staff. As long as the Morningstar is up and running, there''s a steady inflow of trade and cash."
Nord''s eyes drifted as if she was trying to put together a puzzle in her mind. "I should have used the Key of Trade," she mumbled, recalling the cryptic advice from a demon she''d encountered.
Adamastor leaned in, intrigued. "What did you say?"
She snapped back, locking eyes with him. "I think I have a plan."
"And that would be?"
The Morningstar was perhaps just a kilometre away from the town, an easy walk for Nord. What she had yet to anticipate, however, was how bustling the town would be. Streets teemed with people moving in every conceivable direction. Horse-drawn carts navigated the thoroughfares, dodging the occasional parked car.
The commercial vibrancy was palpable¡ªcaf¨¦s, hair salons, a restaurant, a grocery store, and a pharmacy were among the many businesses lining the streets.
Nord recognized some faces from the funeral, but many were entirely new to her. More intriguing still was the diversity of the townspeople¡ªnot all were human. She spotted Nixbobs and Hobruins in the crowd and was taken aback by their towering statures, which she hadn''t fully appreciated before.
Other pedestrians were even more enigmatic: some had humanoid faces framed by pronounced deer-like features, complete with antlers and hooves. There were others she couldn''t even begin to understand, creatures so foreign they defied description.
As she walked, Nord felt a strange combination of being both an outsider and yet intrinsically tied to this place. The town was a melting pot of species, magic, and commerce, and it dawned on her that perhaps her tattooing art could find a unique home here.
The thought of exchanging bad omens for lucky charms through her work resurfaced, and she felt a newfound confidence. This might just work, she thought to herself, taking in the busy, fantastical life unfolding around her.
The diversity was almost overwhelming¡ªpeople of all shapes, sizes, and species going about their day as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. Which, for them, it probably was.
As Nord walked along, she started picking up the rhythm of the place. The din of conversations, laughter, and the occasional argument filled the air, creating an atmosphere of bustling community. Her eyes wandered across the storefronts, noting that each shop had its own unique charm.
A whimsical sign outside the caf¨¦ read "Caf¨¦ Moonbeam: Where every cup is a potion," while the hairdresser''s shop across the street sported a sign declaring "Braids of Beauty."
The pharmacy was easy to find¡ªa tidy establishment painted in soft pastels, where the smell of herbs mingled with a stronger, chemical aroma. The woman behind the counter looked up as she entered.
"New face. What brings you in?" she asked, her eyes sharply appraising yet friendly.
"I need some supplies," Nord replied. "Gloves, cotton, sterilizer, and more."
"Setting up a clinic?"
"Just a shop," Nord answered with a grin. "I''m the new owner of the Morningstar."
"Oh, so you''re the one! A friend of Rosemarie''s, I presume?"
"In a way," Nord said, her expression clouding momentarily as she thought of the woman she''d never met yet somehow inherited so much from.
The woman gathered the supplies and passed them over the counter.
"You''ll need to create an account if you want to charge it to the Morningstar," the pharmacy cashier said, snapping Nord out of her thoughts.
Caught off guard, Nord''s eyes widened. She hadn''t even considered how she''d pay for the supplies. "How much is it?" she hesitantly asked.
"Three Tokens in total," the cashier replied.
Tokens? Nord had yet to learn how much one Token was worth. "So, if I open a tab, I can pay later?"
"That''s what a tab is for!" The cashier gave a reassuring smile.
"Please add it to the tab," Nord said, her voice tinged with shame. She had never found herself in a situation like this before; she''d always had her financial ducks in a row. "Um, I was told to speak with Sirona. Do you know where I can find her?"
"Yeah, the community clinic is two blocks down on your left. You can''t miss it," the cashier offered helpfully.
Nord''s eyebrows lifted. "I thought she would have a doctor''s office or something."
The cashier chuckled. "We have a free community clinic; everyone chips in to keep it running. Sirona isn''t the only healer in town. If she had her own office, the poor woman wouldn''t have a moment to breathe!"
"Ah, I see," Nord nodded.
Nord ambled down two blocks, absorbing the unfamiliar sights and sounds of the town. She turned left and found a quaint two-story white building adorned with a manicured lawn at the entrance. Despite the absence of any signage, the sterile scent in the air left no room for doubt: this was a health facility.
The waiting room was teeming with beings of all kinds¡ªsome Nord couldn''t even place a name to. Nurses called out names intermittently, shuffling patients in and out of doors.
Taking advantage of a moment when a nurse wasn''t swamped, Nord leaned in. "Hi, good afternoon. Would it be possible to speak with Sirona?"
"Do you mean Doctor Sirona?" the nurse corrected.
Caught off guard, Nord quickly amended, "Yes, Doctor Sirona."
"You''ll have to wait. Take a seat," the nurse gestured to the full waiting room, which had no available chairs.
After what felt like an eternity but was really only about twenty minutes, Nord spotted Sirona walking by. She seized the opportunity and approached, "Hi, I''m¡ª"
"Get out!" Sirona''s voice pierced the air, cutting Nord off.
Confused and startled, Nord tried to speak, "But, I¡ª"
"Get out of my clinic. Now!" Sirona grabbed Nord by the arms and practically dragged her out the door.
As they stood outside, Nord''s mind whirred in disbelief. "What did I¡ª"
"If you need medical care, send someone else to ask for home visits.
You''re not coming into my clinic to wreak havoc. There are people in there who are seriously ill and need every ounce of support we can provide," Sirona''s voice was icy, her eyes narrowing into slits.
"I don''t understand," Nord stammered, her mind racing to catch up. "What did I do?"
[CH. 0020] - The Chair
¡°Sometimes, silence says more than words ever could.¡± - Nord Morningstar
"What did I do?" Nord''s voice trembled, feeling the tears of humiliation brimming at the edges of her eyes.
Sirona, stone-faced and stern, was unyielding. "Seriously? You have to ask?"
"I don''t understand," Nord stammered.
"Inside that building, we have machinery that''s powered by magic¡ªlight, water, gas¡ªeverything runs on it. I have two patients in there on life support, kept alive by iron lungs. Do you get what I''m saying?" Sirona''s voice tightened, filled with a fierce urgency.
"I... I¡ª"
"Stop," Sirona cut her off, rubbing her temples as if to stave off a headache. "You''re so obviously out of your element it''s painful. You march around in those clothes, ink all over your skin. You waltz into town, face off against the Sisterhood of Ravendrift, and suck away their magic. And then you think you can just come in here and mess with the Hallow? Are you mad?"
"I don''t... I never said that," Nord was bewildered, lost in a labyrinth of misunderstandings.
"Look, if you need medical assistance, I can send someone. But I won''t set foot in that house. You''re crazier than Rosemary ever was, but at least she had the decency not to inflict herself on the whole town," Sirona hissed.
"Rosemary never left the manor?" Nord asked, a realization dawning on her, giving her a glimpse into the social chasm she had stepped into.
"Exactly. You''re a parasite, feeding off our most vital resource. No one wants you here. And unless you get that, no one ever will. Now go. Send someone else to do your errands. I''ve got patients who need me." With that final statement, Sirona turned away, re-entering her community clinic, leaving Nord alone, wrestling with her thoughts on a lonely stretch of sidewalk.
At that moment, the walls of Nord''s isolation closed in, the distance between her and the rest of the world stretching out like an endless chasm. It felt eerily familiar, a cold echo of her past. She wandered the streets, her gaze flitting over shop windows but never mustering the will to step inside. The weight of her defeat sank deeper into her with each step until it became too much to bear.
Unable to go on, she found refuge on a wooden bench tucked away between two buildings. With a heavy sigh, she folded her arms on her lap and buried her face in her hands, letting her tears fall freely. Each drop that hit the ground seemed to reverberate in her chest, a tiny drumbeat of surrender.
Just as she was about to succumb to complete despair, a shadow fell over her. Looking up, she saw Baal standing there, his face partially hidden by the wide brim of his peculiar hat.
"Bad day?" he asked, his voice tinged with a warmth that contradicted his gruff exterior.
Nord couldn''t muster a reply; instead, she simply nodded and wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.
Without another word, Baal sat beside her. He leaned in slightly, his arm subtly resting around her shoulders. He didn''t speak, but the scent of mint and damp earth that clung to him wafted into her senses. It was calming and grounding as if he carried a piece of the Earth with him wherever he went. He made her feel like she was back home.
"Are you... Are you following me?" she finally asked, looking up into his face, half-obscured as it was by that odd hat, but she could see his cheek still red.
Baal looked down and gently wiped away her remaining tears with his thumb. "In a small town like this, it feels like everyone is following everyone. You do stand out in a crowd," he said, pausing and clicking his tongue. "But yes, I was following you."
Nord sat up straighter, a small frown tugging at her lips. "You''re a terrible liar."
Baal chuckled softly. "Demons don''t lie."
Nord scoffed. "That can''t be true."
"We can''t lie," he clarified. "We can try, but it doesn''t work that way."
Nord considered this for a moment, her eyes searching his. "So, everything you say is the truth?"
"I could just choose not to speak," he replied cryptically.
Nord chuckled. "Sometimes, silence says more than words ever could."
For a moment, they sat there, two souls bound by a moment of shared vulnerability. Then Baal spoke again.
"Why were you at the clinic? Are you sick?" he asked.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Nord shook her head, her tears now replaced by a newfound resolve. "No, I''m not sick. I want a chair. A special kind of chair."
"What did she tell you to make you cry?" he asked, steering the conversation back to her recent ordeal.
"Who?" she queried.
"That ugly sucked dry woman?"
"You mean Sirona?" She added a touch of irony as she corrected, "Doctor Sirona."
Baal chuckled, "I like the spirit."
"She basically said I''m a pariah. That I could steal their magic or something by standing there."
"Oh!" Baal suddenly sat up straighter, his hand moving to rub his forehead thoughtfully. "Well, she has a point."
The words stung, but Nord appreciated the honesty. She took a deep breath, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in. If even a demon found reason in her banishment, then she really had to reevaluate her presence in this tight-knit community.
Tears continued to flow, each droplet a testament to Nord''s inner tumult. Without a word, Baal''s arms enveloped her in a comforting embrace, his body acting as a bulwark against the weight of this new world. "Come on, Nord, you''re stronger than this. You''ve faced worse. You''ve got this. You know you do."
Breathing in the musk of his cardigan, Nord''s muffled voice found its way out between sobs. "It''s just... things don''t change."
Baal''s low voice reverberated through her as though his words were crafted just for her ears. "Well, it''s their loss. They''ll never find out how amazing you are."
Pulling her face slightly away, Nord met his gaze. A mixture of confusion and exasperation swam in her eyes. "What are you talking about? You don''t even know me!"
A deep chuckle erupted from Baal''s chest, filling the tense air with a hint of warmth. "I always forget this part."
"Forget what part?" She used the back of her hand to wipe away lingering tears. Her eyes focused intently on his.
His expression softened, and he looked away for a moment, almost as if gathering his thoughts.
"Would you like me to take you back home in the slowest way possible, that you''ll think damn I could have gone faster on foot back and forward," he joked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
Tears continued to dampen her cheeks, but his words offered some form of comfort. She managed to give a wistful smile. "So what''s this ''unique experience'' you''re offering? A snail-drawn carriage?"
He grinned back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "No snails, but something equally slow and agonizingly tedious. Actually, now I''m thinking snails would be faster."
Nord stifled her sniffling and raised an eyebrow. "Are you making fun of me or something?"
"No, I''m offering a unique experience that you''ll hate with a passion. But you''ll hate it thinking of me, so it''s a win-win situation," Baal replied, his hands mimicking a scale, tipping this way and that as if weighing the pros and cons.
"Are you always this insufferably charming, or is it just for my benefit?" Nord asked, her eyes still a little misty but more focused now.
"Oh, I''m an acquired taste," Baal said, grinning broadly. "Some find me delightful; others, not so much."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "You know, I still don''t even know your name."
His smile faded for just a moment, a shadow crossing his face. After a pause, he finally said, "Baal."
"Baal? Like the Duke of Hell?"
He chuckled softly, "No dukedom here. Just Baal."
"Baal. Sounds good. It''s kinda of a badass name," she admitted, her eyes scanning their surroundings. "So, where is this slowest transportation ever made?"
"Follow me. I must present you, Mulan!"
Nord squinted into the horizon, where the fading orange glow met the dusky lavender of twilight. The old mule pulling their cart seemed to be taking its sweet time, barely moving at all. "Is she even walking?"
"I''m afraid so," Baal replied. He lay sprawled across the back of the cart, his gaze fixed on the evening sky''s intricate tapestry of hues.
"So, are you from here?" Nord probed, rearranging herself to mirror Baal''s position and sharing the view of the encroaching night.
"You mean Ravendrift?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the sky.
"Yes," she confirmed.
"I was born in the Nethersphere," Baal said, his voice even and distant.
Nord frowned. "I didn''t see that on the map. Is it like on another planet?"
"Nah, it''s on the map; nobody bothers to draw it. To be fair, it''s ugly. Better as just a name."
"I see," Nord mused. "Back home, everything is regulated. Names, places, things. Even the things we don''t see have names and images associated with them."
Baal shifted his gaze towards her, absorbing the contrast she painted between her world and his. He didn''t reply immediately, letting the pause hover between them.
"Why did you go to the clinic if you aren''t sick?" he finally ventured, breaking the comfortable silence.
Nord chuckled. "No, I want a chair, I told you."
"I know, but what chair?" Baal seemed genuinely puzzled.
"More like a dentist''s chair, one with arm supports, a rotating base, and a back that can recline flat like a table," she elaborated.
Baal''s expression grew serious. It was as if he had to pick the next words carefully, measuring them for weight and implication. "Why would you want something like that?"
The cart creaked along, each rotation of its wheels matching Nord''s mental gears as she organized her thoughts. "I''m going to open a tattoo shop. I need to figure out who this Merlin guy is to help me so I can draw lucky charms... and other things with utility. I mean, if I''m in a world with magic, I might as well take advantage of it," she concluded, her voice tinged with wistful excitement.
"How are you going to tattoo? I haven''t seen any tattoo machines around here," Baal inquired, his curiosity edging into his voice.
"Oh! I brought my own," Nord interrupted him eagerly, her eyes lighting up.
Baal''s eyes widened, a mix of awe and horror overtaking him. "You brought... your own? Do you mean a machine? The tattoo... thingy that makes tattoos, you brought it here? It came with you? It''s with you?" His words stumbled over themselves as he struggled to digest the information.
"Actually, it''s not really mine. It''s a brand-new wireless machine. It''s still intact, so I guess I''ve never used it before. My memory''s been like a sieve these last few days; I can''t even remember buying it," Nord explained, her gaze a little distant as if trying to navigate the foggy corners of her mind.
Baal seemed to snap back into the moment. "But it won''t work. It needs electricity."
"I''ve got that figured out," she assured him.
"How?" Baal couldn''t keep the scepticism from lacing his tone.
Nord turned her head to lock eyes with him, her expression shifting into the most cunning smile he''d ever seen. "Solar panel. I got this."
For a second, Baal just stared at her as if recalculating his entire understanding of the woman beside him. Then, a slow, appreciative smile crept across his face. "You really are full of surprises, aren''t you?"
Nord just winked, her confidence unabated. "You have no idea."
"Oh, I might have..."
[CH. 0021] - The Chair
¡°I don''t sleep with my clients. Bad for business. Tried it once, and I''m still not over her." - Baal Berith
The room felt alien to Baal, like stepping into an alternate dimension. The stark whiteness weighed on him, oppressive as a blanket of fog. His gaze around the office swept over the glass medicine cabinets and the neatly arranged desk. Each item seemed to shout ''sanitized'' and ''impersonal.''
His eyes were drawn to it like a magnet, impossible to ignore. Right there, in the centre of the room, was the chair¡ªthe glossy black masterpiece that seemed to call out to him. Its curves promised ergonomic bliss, and its features are an ode to modern comfort. It could recline. It could swivel. This was the chair he''d heard Nord longing about.
He couldn''t help but sidle closer, his curiosity outpacing his usually composed demeanour. "Quite the piece of work, isn''t it?" he remarked, mumbling to himself.
Just as he imagined himself sinking into its plush contours, the door creaked open. Doctor Sirona strode in, her face lined with a fatigue that belied her crisply professional attire.
"Mr. Berith, I''m sorry for the delay," she exhaled as though the words cost her. "Today has been... challenging."
Baal lifted an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "Challenging how?"
Sirona sighed, setting her leather medical bag on the desk with a soft thump. She sank into her office chair and looked up at him, "How may I help you, Mr. Berith?"
Baal adjusted his horned hat with a casual flick of his wrist and leaned back in the infamous chair. "I think the real question is, how can I assist you?"
Doctor Sirona blinked, a ripple of confusion crossing her face. "I''m not sure what you''re insinuating, Mr. Berith."
Without answering, Baal pushed himself out of the chair and began to pace. His footsteps were soft, as though he barely touched the immaculate floor. "Well, let''s think. What could someone like me offer someone like you?"
Sirona folded her arms, her gaze sharpening. "Mr. Berith, I don''t make bargains with demons."
He grinned, revealing a set of unnervingly perfect teeth. "Ah, but you misunderstand. I don''t deal in bargains. I offer opportunities."
Her arms still folded, she sighed, and the corners of her mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. "I could use a good laugh today. Go on, entertain me."
Baal chuckled softly, a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the sterile space. "It''s no joke, Sirona. Look around you. You''ve confined yourself to this... sterilized purgatory." He gestured expansively, his arms encompassing the room. "Is this the sum total of what life has to offer you? Or do you think there could be more?"
The casual use of her first name made her stiffen, her eyes locking onto his. "It''s Doctor Sirona. And I''ve worked hard for this ''sterilized purgatory,'' as you call it."
He paused, looking at her not mockingly but earnestly. "Ah, but isn''t that the irony? You work hard to build a prison and then take pride in living in it. What if you could have more? What if I could offer you that?"
Her eyes narrowed, her professional poise struggling against a tidal wave of curiosity and disbelief, but she kept her stance. "It is Doctor Sirona!"
"Ah, titles. How they do confine us. But Sirona," Baal''s voice dipped low, becoming a silken whisper, "let me offer you something more. An opportunity to transcend the ordinary. A chance to grasp what you desire most. So go on, wish. I''m all ears."
Doctor Sirona''s gaze locked onto his, cutting through the honeyed timbre of his voice like a surgical blade. The corners of her mouth lifted into a wisp of a smile, so subtle it was almost a figment.
"Interesting," she finally said, letting the word hang in the air. "But you see, Mr Berith, some of us don''t need a demon to make wishes come true. Hard work does just fine."
For a split second, Baal''s eyes widened¡ªa fleeting glimpse of genuine surprise that seemed as foreign on his face as humility.
"Very well," Baal said, the deep resonance of his voice laced with a newfound respect. "But should you ever change your mind, know this: opportunities, like hospital floors, stack up. There''s always another level, more beds, more chances to do good... or bad."
He started to stroll toward the door with an unhurried gait as if every step was a deliberate choice. "Opportunities have a way of coming back around."
Reaching the door, he took his time with the handle, savouring the tactile sensation as he turned it. Finally, there was a satisfying click, a release, much like the flicker of doubt he sensed in Sirona''s eyes. But he didn''t need to see it to know it was there.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"Everything?" Doctor Sirona queried, her voice barely above a whisper.
He faced her, a little caught off guard. "Everything?"
"Can you solve any... issue?" Her eyes were probing, searching for the limits of his bravado.
"Some requests are more complex than others, but... go on, what is it?"
Sirona''s face turned sombre. "I want something back, something precious that I''ve lost. And I can''t find any way to... recover it."
Baal paused and turned back around, settling into the chair once more. He leaned forward, his elbows propped on her desk. "What are we talking about here? A necklace? A ring? Some sentimental trinket? A sock?" His voice seemed to lighten, probing for clues.
"My womanhood."
The air in the room thickened, a sudden and awkward silence descending like a heavy curtain.
"Aren''t you... a doctor?" Baal ventured, clearly navigating unfamiliar waters. "Isn''t it typical for things to... stop at some point?"
"It''s not about menstruation. I want to be able to feel again."
"Again, you''re a doctor. Can''t you¡ª"
"I knew you wouldn''t be able to help," she cut him off, her voice tinged with a blend of sadness and resignation. "Nobody can."
Baal held up a hand. "Hold on, let''s stop dancing around the issue. What exactly do you mean by ''womanhood''? I''m a guy, so forgive my ignorance."
Sirona''s eyes met his, defiant and vulnerable all at once. "I want to have sex! I want to feel pleasure again!"
Baal looked from Sirona to the chair he was sitting on, then back to her. "I''d really prefer if we didn''t go there. I don''t sleep with my clients. Bad for business. Tried it once, and I''m still not over her."
Her face flushed with both irritation and relief. "No, you don''t get it! I''m dry. I have no libido. I''ve lost the desire to be intimate."
Baal leaned back, taking a moment to digest her words. "Ah, that kind of ''feeling.'' A delicate matter, certainly. But if you''re asking whether it''s within my scope of services¡ª"
"You can help?" She cut in, a fragile thread of hope weaving through her voice.
Baal leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs with a nonchalant ease. "Look, I''ve got some tips. It is not the sort of stuff you''d readily find in medical journals, but practical nonetheless. I miss the web¡," he mumbled the last words between his teeth, "What do you have? A shower or a bathtub at home?"
Sirona shot him a sceptical glance, her eyebrow arching. "Why would that matter?"
"Just go with me on this," he pressed.
"A bathtub."
"Does the faucet have a hose?" Baal leaned in slightly, clearly steering the conversation in an unexpected direction.
She squinted at him, bewildered. "What on Nyu does my bathroom setup have to do with¡ª"
"Does it?" he repeated, cutting her off.
"Yes, it does," she exhaled, reluctantly conceding.
Baal let out a little sigh of relief. "Okay, so my eh-eh-eh... I have a¡ªuh, my wi¡ªsomeone who used to be my girlfriend, let''s just say it like that," he fumbled for the words. "When she was stressed, say, during exams or before big presentations, our sex life would hit rock bottom. But like you, she still wanted to feel."
Sirona nodded, her defences slightly lowering. "I can sympathize with that."
"So we did some research," Baal continued, "and it suggested using water."
"Water?" she interrupted, puzzled. "As in drinking water?"
"No, no," he chuckled, waving away the misconception. "When you have time and are in the mood for a relaxing bath, you can experiment a bit with the water jet. Adjust the pressure and focus it on your¡ªuh¡ª" Baal suddenly seemed to falter, searching for the right words.
"The clitoris," Sirona completed the sentence for him, an amused smile flickering across her face. "Doesn''t it hurt?"
Baal exhaled, clearly relieved she''d said it for him. "Not if you adjust the pressure right. You can start slow and find what works for you. It''s not a permanent solution, but could be a start."
Sirona seemed to consider his advice earnestly for the first time, her eyes softening. "I suppose it''s worth a try."
Baal leaned back, the confident glint returning to his eyes. "See? Even a demon can offer a useful tip now and then. But remember, this is just a temporary fix. It won''t fix the dryness or the lack of libido in times of stress. But it worked for her to be much more relaxed and... things would go back to normal."
Sirona''s cheeks flushed a welcomed contrast to the sterile whiteness that dominated the room. "What do you want in return for that information?" she asked.
"Honestly, I was originally planning to trick you into giving me that chair," Baal said, gesturing toward the black leather recliner that stood out like a jewel among the mundane.
Her eyes widened. "Why would you want that chair?"
"Someone I know needs a chair exactly like that," Baal replied.
"A doctor?"
"No, an artist."
Sirona''s gaze shifted, avoiding his eyes. "So that''s why she came in yesterday?"
"Who?"
"You know who."
Baal nodded. "She was merely inquiring about where to purchase one."
"And you were prepared to manipulate me into giving it away?"
Baal shrugged, leaning forward as if sharing a secret. "More than that. I was ready to make you give me that chair willingly, all while erasing your memory of ever meeting me. And I would''ve stripped you of your happiest memories as well."
Her eyes locked onto his, disbelieving yet intrigued. "So why didn''t you go through with it?"
He rose from his chair, the atmosphere suddenly heavy with unspoken revelations. "Because I think you''ll do the right thing. You''re a good person, Sirona. Along the way, you may have forgotten that, but it''s never too late to remember."
Nord wiped her brow with the back of her hand, beads of sweat trickling down her face as she packed away the assorted trinkets and curiosities. Kirara and Finnea bustled around her, hauling crates to the empty barn that stood waiting to house their wares.
As she sorted through the dolls and toys, her mind wandered. She could donate them, perhaps, or hold a yard sale. But how to do it without making herself the centre of attention? That was a conundrum she had yet to figure out.
Her mind was a swirling to-do list: she still had to locate The Merlin for help with tattoo designs, decorate the shop to fit the aesthetic, and take up Adamastor''s suggestion of a grand opening ballroom gala. Music, extra hands to help¡ªthere was so much to consider. Even her mobile phone, loaded with videos she''d been wanting to delve into, had been neglected. Each night, she''d planned to watch them, and each night sleep claimed her first.
Just as she was folding a plush doll into a box, the creaking wheels and clip-clop of hooves pulled her back to reality. She looked up and saw a cart pulling to a stop in front of the gate. Her heart quickened. Was it him?
[CH. 0022] - The Spellmaker
Nord''s eyes darted from the ornate leather chair to the two men who were cautiously unloading it from the cart with the aid of Adamastor. Her gaze finally settled on the woman in a beige blouse and high-waist skirt¡ªSirona, standing with an air of subdued exhaustion.
"I heard you needed a chair," Sirona spoke first, her eyes purposefully avoiding Nord''s.
"I''m not sick," Nord retorted, crossing her arms defensively.
Sirona sighed, "You do look tired, though."
Nord''s eyes narrowed. "You look like you haven''t seen a bed in centuries."
The comment hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Sirona met her gaze for the first time, vulnerability breaching the stoic wall she''d built around herself.
"I deserve that," she finally admitted, "and you deserve an apology."
They stood in a charged silence, two women caught in a web of unspoken tension. Nord''s eyes were a piercing dark abyss, relentless and probing. Sirona looked away, the weight of her own shame pulling her gaze to the ground.
"It would be custom to let me in for a tea," suggested Sirona.
"Really?" Nord uncrossed her arms, "Tea?"
"I can''t undo what I''ve done," Sirona said softly, a brittle edge in her voice. "But the chair, it''s a start. A poor one, maybe, but it''s something."
Nord eyed the chair, then back to Sirona. "So, a chair''s supposed to make everything alright? A ''sit down, shut up, and let the grown-ups talk'' kind of peace offering?"
"Not at all," Sirona replied, "It''s an olive branch. A hope for a new start. I... I''m not good at this, but I want to make things right."
Nord scoffed, her eyes still hard. "Make things right? You''ve got an odd way of showing it."
The tension was a live wire between them, humming and volatile. Sirona hesitated, taking a deep breath as if gathering the shreds of her composure.
"I was wrong, Nord. I didn''t give you a chance to talk. I... I acted out of line, and for that, I''m truly sorry. Your life, your decisions, they''re yours to make. I had no right to push you out like that and bark at you as I did."
Nord''s face remained a guarded mask, yet the tiniest flicker of something¡ªperhaps acceptance, perhaps a chance ¡ªflashed in her eyes.
"Tea, you said?" Nord finally broke the silence, a cautious note in her voice.
"Yes, tea," Sirona replied, her eyes meeting Nord''s for the first time without flinching away, "Or any sort of hot beverage. Beggars can''t be choosers.''
As Nord guided Sirona into her kitchen, the heavy scent of old dust and freshly ground herbs melded in the air. Finnea and Kirara were heaving crates from one side of the room to the other, the thud of wood reverberating with each drop.
Sirona eyed the activity, intrigued. "What''s going on? You moving or something?"
Nord pushed the creaky door open further, gesturing for Sirona to proceed. "Revamping, actually. Making this place my own."
Nord placed a well-worn kettle over the stove''s low flame. With practised ease, she reached for a couple of ceramic mugs and spooned tea leaves into them. Sirona watched, entranced by the familiarity in Nord''s movements.
Sirona broke the silence. "So, why the elaborate chair in a place like this? It doesn''t exactly scream ''general store.''"
Nord chuckled. She rolled up her sleeve and stretched out her forearm with a deft movement, revealing intricate ink patterns that weaved and danced on her skin. "I''m a tattoo artist."
Sirona blinked, lost for words for a moment. "Why? I mean, why not paint on a canvas, paper or something?"
Nord poured hot water into the mugs, her eyes glinting. "Tattoos are more than just marks. They''re stories, memories, victories. Each design is like a secret, whispered only to the living canvas it''s drawn upon. No two are ever the same, and they last until maggots eat their skin."
Sirona considered this as she watched the tea steep, its colour deepening like a setting sun. "I guess I can see the appeal. But Ravendrift? People here wouldn''t line up for tattoos. Too much fodder for gossip."
Nord carried both mugs to a worn wooden table and set one in front of Sirona. "Well, what if it were like a little secret talisman? You bring me a cursed object, and in return, I give you a tattoo that serves as a lucky charm."
"Like a lucky charm? Could you cover it up?"
Nord leaned in, a playful smile curling the corners of her mouth. "It could be such a secret that only someone truly intimate with you would ever know it''s there."
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Sirdona wrapped her hands around the warm mug, savouring the comforting heat. She took a careful sip and met Nord''s eyes. "You might be onto something. A touch of luck never hurt anyone."
Nord''s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I''d need to consult with The Merlin, get some design ideas, and maybe tweak them for individual tastes." A smirk danced briefly across her lips. "Been a while since I put pen to paper."
Sirdona chuckled. "Ah, Merlin would jump at the chance. The old coot loves to mingle in everyone¡¯s business."
Nord set her mug down, her curiosity piqued. "Do you know where I could find him?"
"He''s holed up on the outskirts of town next to Mme Bougie in a shack that looks like it might come down any moment. They say he¡¯s taken in the demon boy too,¡± Sirdona offered, leaning in as if sharing a secret.
Nord frowned, visibly upset. "Why hasn''t he moved to a better place? Haven''t people offered to help?"
Sirdona shook her head, her expression a mix of resignation and pity. "We''ve tried. Atua knows we have. Ever since he came from Onyxburg, he¡¯s been a recluse. Doesn''t want to move a muscle. And he''s not exactly in the prime of life."
"Is he ill?" Nord pressed.
"No, just old," Sirdona clarified, sipping her tea again.
"And you say this is near Mme Bougie''s place?"
"Right by it. Though I''d advise caution if you¡¯re going that way," Sirdona added, setting down her mug.
Nord raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Sirdona leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Mme Bougie''s is a brothel, and the clientele is, well, less than genteel. If I were you, I''d steer clear of the establishment entirely."
Nord glanced towards the crates that Finnea and Kirara were still moving. A thought occurred to her. "What if you could give me a ride?"
Sirdona raised an eyebrow, a little surprised. "You''re eager to go today?"
"The sooner I get my designs and tools sorted, the sooner I can get the Morningstar up and running. Time''s money, as they say."
Sirdona considered this for a moment, finishing off her tea and setting the mug down with a decisive clank. "Alright, when you''re ready to go, we go. I definitely can give you a ride to see our favourite wizard in town."
Nord stepped out of Sirdona''s wagon, her boots crunching on the gravelly path. She looked up at the dilapidated building, its combination of brick and wood appearing as though they were waging a war against time¡ªand losing. Sirdona hadn''t exaggerated; the place looked ready to collapse.
Taking a deep breath, Nord approached the crooked front door. She raised her hand to knock but hesitated when she realized the door was slightly ajar. With a tentative push, the door creaked open, revealing the interior.
As she stepped inside, her heart sank further. The wallpaper, once perhaps pleasant, was now torn and peeling, clinging to the walls as if begging for a reprieve. Time-worn furniture sat forlornly around the room, its wood splintered and fabric tattered. Debris littered the floor, and the air was thick with dust, casting a murky haze that caught the sparse light filtering through the grimy windows.
"Hello? Mr. Merlin?" Nord''s voice echoed through the space, tentative yet laced with an undercurrent of concern.
For a moment, there was only the haunting silence, filled by the whispers of the dilapidated house. Then, a faint reply came from somewhere deeper in the maze of rooms¡ªa raspy voice tinged with curiosity and fatigue.
"Who''s there? Show yourself!"
Nord felt her pulse quicken. Gathering her courage, she walked further into the gloom. "Mr. Merlin, it¡¯s Nord. I¡¯ve come to ask your help¡ for an idea."
"Take your shoes off!" said the voice echoing.
"What?"
"Take your shoes off!"
Nord hesitated at the gruff command echoing through the house. "Take my shoes off? Here?"
"Do as I say!" The voice grew impatient.
Holding back a grimace, Nord gingerly unlaced her boots. With a deep breath, she set her foot on the seemingly dirty floor¡ªand suddenly, everything changed. Like a piece of magical origami unfolding, the shabby room transformed. Luxurious furniture now adorned the space, elegant drapes hung from the windows, and intricate patterns adorned the wallpaper. The chandelier overhead caught her eye; even the flames dancing on the candles seemed artfully symmetrical.
"Wow," she breathed out.
"I had the same reaction the first time," came a voice from behind her.
Spinning around, she finally saw him - Baal. His eyes held a mischievous darkness, like a night sky dotted with a single, glimmering star. His loosely draped red hair barely touched his bare shoulders.
He wore nothing but pyjama pants, and Nord found herself captivated by his physique. It was as if she were staring at a walking work of Renaissance art, each muscle perfectly carved yet soft to the eye.
"Eyes up here," he chided, holding back a chuckle.
"You''re the one walking around half-naked," she retorted, flustered.
"I''m in my own home," he said, arching an eyebrow. "You''re the outsider."
"Uh, I''m here to speak with Mr. Merlin," she managed to stammer, forcibly dragging her gaze upward.
"He¡¯s in his room. Follow me." He turned and began walking, beckoning her to come along.
As she followed, Nord couldn''t help but notice the tattoos on Baal''s back. They looked like the work of an apprentice, with poorly executed lines and incorrectly applied shadows. Some seemed unfinished as if someone had started them but never bothered to complete the design. It looked like distracted doodles more than intentional art.
Nord felt a surge of horror and curiosity¡ªhow could anyone subject themselves to such amateurish work, and who would be cruel enough to inflict it? Her professional eye started calculating how to perform cover-ups to conceal each disastrous mark.
The room Baal led her to was a departure from the opulence they''d just walked through. This was a sanctuary of a different sort: no lavish upholstery or intricate wallpapers, but instead, walls lined with shelves upon shelves of empty glass jars. Each jar uniquely caught the candlelight, refracting the glow into a dance of shimmering lights that played upon the room''s surfaces. It was both surreal and oddly serene.
"You okay?" Baal asked, catching Nord''s bewildered expression.
"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, still trying to make sense of the room. But before she could delve deeper into her thoughts, an older man was lying on his bed.
"Miss Morningstar," he rasped, his voice tinged with a curiosity that seemed honed over many years. "Baal said you have something important to discuss. Come in, child!"
"Yes, Mr. Merlin," Nord replied, instantly respectful yet enthusiastic. "I''m setting up a tattoo shop. I hear you''re the man to speak to about designs¡ªones that could be more than mere ink on skin."
"Ah, tattoos," Merlin mused. "The language of the soul written on the canvas of the body. What are you hoping to accomplish, young lady?"
"It''s not just about aesthetics. It''s about giving people something they''re missing. It could be luck, courage, or even a hidden secret translated into charms or signets... a tiny spell. I want these tattoos to mean something. I want them to actually do something as well."
Merlin studied her for a long moment, his eyes probing as if trying to read the sincerity etched into her own features. Finally, he nodded, "I''m not the right wizard for that."
[CH. 0023] - The Spellmaker
"You need one book¡ªthe correct book." - Merlina Maria Allatori.
"You''re not the right wizard? If you''re not, who is?" Nord was taken aback. She''d always assumed the process would be straightforward, like someone sketching out a pentagram or a cross. She wasn''t looking for anything intricate, just a light-hearted spell to brighten people''s moods.
"Miss Morningstar, you don''t need a wizard. You need a Spellmaker," Merlin clarified, straightening his back as he sat on his bed.
"And where am I supposed to find a Spellmaker?"
"Well, demons are known to be quite talented at spellmaking. I''m sure you know one," Merlin suggested, stroking his beard playfully.
"I know one? No, I don''t know anyone!" Frustration tinged her voice, rendering it almost shrill.
"You''re covered in spells. Surely you must know who crafted those?" Merlin observed a note of amusement in his voice he couldn''t quite suppress.
"I... I..." Nord looked down at her inked arms. The jarring realization struck her: she had no idea who had designed the magical aspects of her tattoos. Sure, she''d drawn them¡ªthe style, the lines, they were all hers. But the essence of the designs, the spells imbued within them? She was clueless. It was as if her memories were a jigsaw puzzle, missing crucial pieces.
Finally, she managed to compose herself. "I''m sorry to have bothered you for nothing. Thank you for your time."
Merlin glanced from her to Baal, then back at her. He sighed. "Baal, please take Miss Morningstar home."
"No, it''s alright. I can walk," Nord protested.
"Nonsense. Mulan needs to stretch her legs," Baal interjected, his face ripped with the biggest smile.
The cartwheels squeaked and groaned, yet Mulan moved it in slow motion, with the landscape barely changing. Baal sensed Nord''s silence wasn''t empty; it was charged, filled with thoughts she was too overwhelmed to put into words. He could almost feel the gears turning in her mind as she contemplated her options for finding a Spellmaker.
Finally, she broke the silence. "Maybe this was a bad idea."
"It''s not," Baal responded, not taking his eyes off the road.
"I feel so lost, like everything''s piling up on me. I''m supposed to run a store, manage an inn, organize events, provide entertainment, and, on top of all that, feed whatever Hallow is inside me." She turned to him, her eyes almost pleading. "How?"
"You''ll manage, I''m sure of it," he assured her, his eyes shifting towards the night sky, where stars were beginning to make their appearance.
"That''s easy for you to say. You''re not tied down by anything," Nord shot back.
"I am, actually," he said softly.
"You are? Like what?"
A rich silence filled the space between them¡ªa silence that somehow managed to say more than words could. "I am," Baal finally repeated.
"You''re awfully quiet tonight," she observed.
"Would you prefer it if I talked nonsense?"
"No, but you always seem like you''re walking on eggshells around me, but at least you talk," she said, mimicking his upward gaze at the sky.
"I am," he admitted after another drawn-out silence.
"What are you doing?" she chuckled, finally breaking the tension.
Her laughter seemed to ripple through the night air, affecting him too. "What am I doing? I''m doing nothing. I''m taking you home, watching the sky, and listening to you." He paused, reining in his laughter. "And that''s enough for me," he finally said, locking eyes with her, "at least for now."
"You''re so weird," she commented, a faint smile touching her lips.
"And you love it," he retorted, smirking.
"You''re so full of yourself."
"I have my reasons," he said, a mysterious glint in his eyes.
As Mulan continued to pull the cart, the two shared another weighty silence. Still, this time, it was different¡ªcharged with a newfound understanding and, perhaps, a subtle kindling of something more.
The road ahead was still long and uncertain, but for that brief moment, they were content just being there under the burgeoning night sky.
They finally arrived and Nord pushed open the heavy door to her manor. "Thanks for the slowest ride ever. Goodnight," she said, offering Baal a half-smile.
"See you tomorrow, Morningstar," Baal replied.
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes, tomorrow!" Baal urged Mulan forward, and the cart creaked away into the night.
The house was enveloped in an eerie quiet. Nord surmised that Adamastor was probably out "hunting" for a new mark of lipstick in his shirt''s collar while Finnea and Kirara had probably surrendered to sleep.
She made her way to her room and began the nightly ritual of disrobing. The corset was especially confining, and she sighed in relief as she unlaced it. Off went her blouse and trousers.
She stood before her mirror, examining her reflection. Her olive skin was a canvas of black ink, each intricate design interlinked with another, like a finely wrought tapestry¡ªbut a tapestry that seemed to be unravelling.
Her neck was marred by naked skin, and so was the area under her shoulder. It looked like the rash had given way to strip her skin, mirroring a similar emptiness on her forearm.
Nord tried to remember why she had chosen each tattoo and what each design represented. She was coming up blank. Those on her back¡ªwere they even her designs? They had to be; the lines and style were unmistakably hers. She sighed deeply, resigning herself to yet another mystery. Could the transition from Earth to Nyu have left gaps in her memory? Selective amnesia?
She dressed in her nightgown, a sense of exhaustion and defeat washing over her. She sat on the edge of her bed and picked up her mobile device from the bedside table. She turned it on and began sifting through the folders. One was labelled "The_Keys," another "2013/23," and a third, "Must_Play."
Curiosity getting the better of her, she tapped on "Must_Play." It opened to reveal a series of numbered videos, with no other identifying details provided. She hesitated for a moment before selecting "01.mov."
Nord watched the video, her heart pounding in her chest. On the screen, the past version of herself was framed from the neck to the waist. A voice rang out from off-screen.
"Do you need something?"
"No, I''m good, Baby," video-Nord responded.
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"Okay, I''m going to the grocery."
Video-Nord then settled into a chair, her hands reaching to adjust the camera''s angle to frame her face. Just as she was about to speak, the door burst open, causing her to jolt up from the chair and inadvertently shift the camera view to the ceiling.
"I said I''m going to the grocery!" A male voice¡ªsoft but tinged with playfulness¡ªinterjected.
"I know, I heard you."
"Nord, say you love me!" The voice was almost imploring.
She laughed, a genuine, carefree laugh. "I love you."
"Do you need anything?"
"No, Baby, I''m good."
"Okay, I''ll be back in 10 minutes!" His voice receded as he moved away, but she called after him, "Love you!"
"Love you more!" And then, the sound of a heavy door closing reverberated through the video.
The past version of Nord adjusted the camera again, a warm smile lighting up her face. "He can be so silly sometimes," she said, chuckling softly to herself. She took a deep breath and looked straight into the camera. "This is video 01. I''m Nord Morningstar, and I will travel from Earth to Nyu."
The video ended, but Nord sat there for what felt like an eternity, her mind swirling with a mix of emotions she couldn''t name. The man''s voice, the banter, the ''I love yous''¡ªit was all so profoundly familiar and yet entirely elusive. Who was he? How could she not remember someone so obviously important to her?
A realization dawned on her¡ªthe video was not just a record. It was a breadcrumb, a clue left by her past self. But to what end? Did she know then that her memories would be snatched away?
Suddenly, the sense of being lost, the feeling of drowning in her responsibilities, seemed insignificant next to this massive black hole in her memory. She knew she had to dig deeper to unravel the mystery that seemed to wrap around her life. And for the first time in a long while, Nord felt something other than confusion or despair.
She felt purpose.
She scrolled to 02.mov and pressed play. Her face again, this time, her clothes were different, her hair was held by a hairband, and the image was properly adjusted.
On the screen, Nord cleared her throat, a hint of unease in her eyes. "This is video 02. I''m Nord Morningstar, and I will travel from Earth to Nyu soon. Very soon." She coughed briefly, taking a sip of water before continuing. "The Morningstars are known as guardians...or keepers of a magical entity called the Hallow. To be frank, I''m not quite sure what it is¡ªonly that it can''t remain on Earth.¡± She moved her fingers, miming a walking motion. ¡°So, as a good Morningstar, we ship it away to another place."
"The mission for such a task¡ªlet''s call it that¡ªis very noble. I think the whole idea in the beginning was okay. It''s the method that''s questionable."
Another pause, another sip of water. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts. "So, if you¡ªyou being my future self¡ªever question whether Dad left because of us... Yeah, the answer is yes. There''s no way to sugarcoat it. Dad was different, like me." She gestured at herself, her eyes meeting her own gaze through the camera. "And you can see what I mean in the mirror. So, let me break it down."
Nord from the video adjusted her sweater, making her present self anxious with all the pauses and sips. "The Hallow can''t be deposited into a witch; witches have magic and wouldn''t be able to control it. That''s my understanding, at least. So they need vessels. Vessels are special; they''re empty witches. There is no magic¡ªjust a huge void to fill. Vessels are born from humans and witches. Well, Dad wasn''t a human. Do you see where this is going?"
She sighed, a weariness settling into her features. "I don''t have more information about him. Just know that when we said we saw a unicorn, they took it as a sign they needed to create another vessel."
"South," Nord mumbled under her breath, her eyes widening with realization.
"So yeah, Dad was shunned by the Morningstars, and Mum had to marry some random guy with no magic. I don''t have any more details, but this is why I''ve taken it upon myself to destroy the Hallow. This whole cult thing¡ªit''s wrong, it shouldn''t be happening. So if they''re going to call me a witch, I decided I''ll behave like one."
"Behave like a witch," she whispered to herself, echoing her own words from the past.
The autumn night was chilly, with leaves twirling in the air before settling onto the ground with a papery rustle. The clock had long struck bedtime, but Nord was indifferent. The Library was best visited at night when the whispers of the world quieted down, and no one from her high school was prying around.
The door creaked open with a sound that almost resembled a sigh. As expected, the store was vacant except for the cashier¡ªa woman who seemed to have stepped out of an ''80s movie, her voluminous hair sculpted to gravity-defying heights by copious amounts of hairspray. On her blouse, a tag name pinned - Merlina.
"Sorry," Nord muttered as she entered, her boots softly padding on the worn wooden floor.
The cashier didn''t lift her eyes from her book. "Shouldn''t you be at home, little girl?"
"I''m fifteen," Nord retorted, moving further into the dimly lit space. "I need a book."
"We''re fresh out of Harry Potter," the cashier said, still not looking up.
"No, I need a¡ a real book," Nord clarified, her voice barely above a whisper.
The cashier''s eyes finally flicked up, meeting Nord''s. "What do you consider a real book? I''m not selling you fairy porn if that''s what you''re after."
"I need something¡witchy. Like a summoning book," Nord stammered, her fingers fumbling nervously at the edge of her jacket.
The word "summoning" seemed to strike a chord. The cashier closed her book with a snap and looked up. "ID. Now."
Nord unzipped the front pocket of her backpack and fished out her school ID card. "Here," she offered, handing it over.
"Morningstar," the librarian read aloud, her eyes narrowing. "You''re aware of what your name implies, I hope?"
"It depends on who''s reading it," Nord replied cautiously.
The librarian smirked, handing back the ID. "There''s something about you, kid. So, what do you need to summon?"
"A demon for a pact," Nord said, finally articulating the audacious plan that had been spinning in her mind.
"Please tell me you''re not trading your soul for good grades or a teenage crush," the cashier said, arching an eyebrow.
Nord locked eyes with her. "I want to destroy the Hallow."
¡°Oh!¡± The cashier studied her for a moment as if sizing up her resolve, her capabilities, and maybe even her soul. Then she nodded. "Alright, Morningstar. There''s a whole section downstairs that might have what you''re looking for. Come, I''ll show you."
Nord felt her pulse quicken, a cocktail of trepidation and exhilaration coursing through her veins. It was reckless and potentially ruinous, but it felt like the first real step towards altering a destiny that had long been preordained. And as she followed the librarian down the creaky stairs, each step felt like a small but seismic shift in the world as she knew it.
The staircase descended into a room awash in shadow, its corners drowned in darkness. It was as if they''d stepped into a secret chamber forgotten by time. And there, at the centre, stood a single bookshelf¡ªempty but for a lone hardcover, its spine facing outward: Witchy Things 101 by Merlina Maria Allatori.
"There''s only one book," Nord observed, her voice tinged with incredulity.
"How many books do you think you need to summon a demon?" the librarian shot back, her eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"I don''t know, it''s my first time," Nord admitted, feeling both novice and neophyte in this clandestine world.
"The answer is one," the librarian declared, plucking the lone book from its pedestal and handing it over. "You need one book¡ªthe correct book."
Nord took it cautiously as if half-expecting it to burn her skin or unleash some arcane force. The weight of the book in her hands felt almost sacramental, heavy with the sort of knowledge that was both tantalizing and terrifying.
The librarian leaned in, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "This book is both an introduction and a guide. It''s not to be taken lightly. It can bring you immense power, but remember, it comes with a cost."
Nord met her gaze, her fingers gripping the book tightly. "I understand," she said, her voice edged with resolve.
"Good," the librarian said, nodding. "Then you''re ready to pay the price, in whatever form it comes."
As Nord ascended back up the stairs, the book clutched to her chest, the gravity of her decision began to set in. It was a singular act of defiance, a claim of agency over a destiny that had been scripted for South and her since birth.
She couldn''t shake off the sensation that she was teetering on a precipice, but for the first time, it felt like she had a say in which way she''d fall.
The video continued, and her past self, framed in the small screen, emptied the cup she was holding and paused.
"I don''t know how we got the courage to do this all alone," Video-Nord said, her eyes looking straight into the camera. "But I did. I gathered all the ingredients¡ªred candles, red salt, something old, something new, something stained in blood."
Nord gripped her mobile device tighter. Her heart raced as she hung onto every word. This was it. The missing piece of her puzzle.
"The book had only one page," Video-Nord continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "All the other pages were blank. The only demon I could summon was¡ª"
The screen of Nord''s mobile device flickered, and a message flashed: Low Battery ¨C 1% Remaining. Before she could even react, the screen went black, plunging her into darkness and silence. She was left staring at the lifeless device, her mind racing to absorb what her past self had just revealed.
"Are you kidding me? Now?" she muttered, her words tinged with frustration. She looked around her room, its corners shadowed in the night, wondering how much she didn''t remember about her own life.
"One percent battery. One damn percent, and now I''m left hanging by a thread. What did I summon? What pact did I make?"
Her eyes caught the glint of her reflection in the mirror¡ªa tapestry of ink sprawled across her skin, each mark a riddle, each line a story she couldn''t recall. The empty spot on her arm and the stripped skin on her neck felt like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be solved.
"Something old, something new, something stained in blood," she muttered, recalling her past self''s words. She looked down at her hands, holding the dead device as if expecting them to provide an answer.
[CH. 0024] - The Spellmaker
¡°I''ll be back before dark." -Baal Berith
The rich aroma of roast chicken wafted through the air, a culinary interloper in the breakfast scene. Nord pushed open the kitchen door to find Finnea and Kirara seated at the table, tearing into steaming chunks of meat.
Standing at the counter, Baal turned toward her with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in his hand. "Good morning, Morningstar!"
Nord raised an eyebrow. "Hi. What''s going on? What''s with the chicken for breakfast?"
"My chickens!" Kirara exclaimed, eyes twinkling. "I demanded three, but he wanted to give me only ten! But I''m smart and asked three!"
Nord shot a puzzled look at Baal as she joined them at the table. "What is she talking about?"
Baal chuckled, placing a chicken thigh¡ªher favourite part¡ªon her plate. "Miss Kittie here has a unique understanding of math."
Settling into his chair, Baal filled his own plate with chicken, then meticulously peeled off the crunchy skin from his piece and set it on Nord''s plate.
"Why''d you do that?" she asked, eying the golden, crispy skin.
He met her gaze but remained silent, opting to sip his orange juice instead.
Nord scanned the room. "Where''s Adamastor?"
Finnea shrugged, her mouth full of chicken. "Haven''t seen him. He didn''t come back yet."
"It''s daylight," Nord observed, a hint of concern shading her voice.
"I am not tasked to protect him," Finnea replied.
"He''s fine. Don''t worry about him," Baal said with a cold tone, almost disdain.
The breakfast table had been cleared, but Nord still felt the weight of the meal settling in her stomach. It was an unusual time for such a feast, but that was how things seemed to go around here.
She wandered into the store, an almost austere room starkly furnished with just a leather chair and a table holding her tattoo tools, ink, and machine.
"Are you ready?" Baal''s voice broke the silence as he appeared behind her.
"Ready for what?"
"To work!"
She turned, a smirk creasing her face. "I think you''re forgetting something. I need a spellmaker, remember?"
Undeterred, Baal strode over to the counter and rummaged around, emerging with an empty notebook and two pencils. "So, what''s the idea?"
"What''s the point, Baal?" she questioned, her eyes narrowing. "I can draw all kinds of pretty pictures, but without a spellmaker, they''re just... doodles."
He held her gaze, pencil poised over the empty notebook. "So, what was the idea?"
Nord''s eyes flicked from the notebook to Baal. "You?"
"Me."
"You''re a spellmaker?" She folded her arms across her chest. "You''re joking, right?"
Baal feigned a hurt expression, clutching his hand over his heart dramatically. "Ouch, Morningstar, you sure know how to throw a punch."
"So you''re not joking?" she asked, her arms slowly unfolding as she stepped closer to the counter.
Baal''s eyes twinkled, his voice retaining its smooth, almost melodic quality. "I am not."
Nord looked at him, really looked at him, and realized something was different today. He seemed more relaxed, less guarded. Warm, even. And for the first time, she felt a thread of connection, thin but unmistakable, pulling her toward an intriguing new possibility.
She grabbed the second pencil and opened another notebook to a fresh page. "Alright then, Spellmaker. Let''s see what kind of magic we can create together."
Baal''s face flushed a deeper shade of red as if caught in a personal moment he didn''t intend to share. "I...I''m not answering that question," he almost mumbled, then gestured for her to continue. "So, tell me your idea."
Nord leaned against the counter, her eyes wandering as she recalled fragments of knowledge. "Well, where I come from, we have symbols with specific meanings. Like a blue eye that''s just two blue circles and a white one to protect against envy. Or things that bring luck¡ªa four-leaf clover, an elephant, an acorn, ladybugs, dreamcatchers." She shrugged, "That''s what comes to mind."
"Dryad magic," Baal stated, his pencil starting to dance over the paper, sketching out what looked to her like an alien script.
"Dryad, what now?"
"They''re a race or clan¡ª better, they are spirits, really. They live in forests and specialize in nature-based magic," he explained without pausing his scribblings.
"Why do we need them, then?" Nord asked, her curiosity piqued.
Baal set down his pencil and looked up at her. "To infuse magic into the spell. A spell has three components: the intention, which is you; the schematics, which is me; and the fuel¡ªmagic."
"I thought you needed magic to create spells," Nord said, puzzled.
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"You do," Baal acknowledged, his eyes meeting hers.
"Then why do we need the Dryads?"
A flicker of vulnerability crossed Baal''s face, momentarily shadowing the corners of his eyes. "Because I don''t have enough magic to fuel it."
She studied his expression, the understated sorrow that tinged his words. "So you''re not strong enough?"
"Not anymore, no," he admitted softly.
The room seemed to close in a bit as if sharing the weight of his unspoken past. For a moment, Nord saw Baal not as the arrogant player, sometimes cocky demon but as something more fragile, more human.
"Well then," she finally said, breaking the silence, "it sounds like we''ve got some forest spirits to negotiate with. Let''s do this."
"No!"
"What? You just said¡ª"
"I''ll go. You stay," Baal cut her off, his eyes hardened.
"Are you kidding me? Why can''t I go?" Nord''s voice carried a tinge of indignation.
"Nord, it''s too dangerous!" Baal stressed each word as if that would settle the argument.
"So you''re going alone?" she shot back, her annoyance clearly escalating.
"Yes, or... I take Finnea," he said hesitantly as if weighing his options.
"You''d take Finnea but not me?" Nord''s voice had now pitched higher, her incredulity overtaking her.
"Yes! I''d rather have Finnea for this!" he shouted back, his own temper flaring.
"But this is my work!"
Baal slammed his pencil down on the counter, his eyes blazing. "Listen, it''s simple. Either I go alone¡ªwith or without Finnea¡ªor nobody goes!"
"I still can''t understand why I can''t go!" Nord''s voice cracked her frustration at its peak.
"Because it''s dangerous, and I''m not willing to risk it!" he bellowed.
Her eyes locked onto his, fiery and unyielding. "Then why would you go, especially when you just admitted you don''t have enough magic? How is it not dangerous for you?"
The room went silent, tension hanging thick between them. Baal''s eyes flickered, the conviction wavering, replaced momentarily by vulnerability.
"Because," he finally said, his voice softening, "I''d rather risk myself than put you in harm''s way."
The raw sincerity in his words deflated Nord''s anger, leaving her standing there, disarmed and speechless. For a second, the emotional barricades between them seemed to lower, offering a fleeting glimpse into a vulnerability neither had been willing to expose. And just like that, the atmosphere shifted. Nord took a deep breath, choosing her next words carefully.
"Then let''s find another way, one where neither of us has to take that risk alone."
"We can''t, Nord." Baal straightened his back. "You need magic to consume as soon as possible."
"I don''t feel the¡ª"
"Yet. You don''t feel the Hallow yet," he cut her off.
"Everyone makes it sound so terrible. I''m sure when it comes, I can handle it. It can''t be that hard," Nord tried to dismiss the urgency of the situation.
"We need this as soon as possible," Baal said, turning his attention back to the notebook. "Right now, it''s easier to prepare the schematics and a few drawings to show the Dryads."
"Why Finnea?" Nord shifted the topic, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"Finnea is a Protector. She... protects," he offered, without elaborating.
Nord took a deep breath. "I saw you and her at the funeral. You seemed very... close," she finally ventured.
"Yeah, we are," he admitted, not looking up from his notebook, "... in a way."
"I see. So why did you kiss me? Were you trying to¡ª"
Baal looked up, locking eyes with her. "It''s not like that. Finnea is...um," he fumbled for words, suddenly uneasy.
"It''s fine. It''s none of my business," Nord said, her fingers rummaging through the pages of the unused notebook.
"Finnea is special... she''s not like you or me. That''s why she has to come with me. She''s a part of... me," he stumbled over his words, trying to clarify, "This didn''t sound as I intended."
"No, it did!" Nord looked up, her eyes reflecting a storm of emotions. "Fine," she said tersely. Snatching her notebook and pencil, she added, "I''ll go draw somewhere else. I can''t focus here," and with that, she slammed the door behind her, leaving Baal alone, staring at the empty space she''d occupied, wondering if some lines, once crossed, could ever be redrawn, "Fuck."
Engrossed in her sketches, Nord hardly noticed the time fading. Her foldable solar panel sat on the windowsill, struggling to charge her mobile device. Glancing at her series of drawings spread out on her bed, she hesitated to go downstairs and share them. She was still too furious.
Why did she care so much? It wasn''t like she was excited about trekking through the woods with mystical Dryads or whatever. And if danger was involved, it made sense for Baal to take Finnea, right? So why did that choice nag at her?
And then there was Adamastor¡ªvanished without a word. Was that normal? Could he be trapped somewhere, unable to return home before the light of day? What if he was injured?
Her spiralling thoughts were cut short by a firm knock at her door.
"Come in," she called, half-expecting to see Baal''s face when the door swung open. Instead, it was Finnea.
Nord''s eyes followed Finnea as she entered the room, dressed in full armour with shield and sword at the ready. Something was immediately off¡ªthe misty glaze in Finnea''s eyes, a vulnerable crack in her otherwise stoic demeanour.
"I came to say it was an honour protecting you," Finnea began, her voice wavering just enough to reveal her emotion. "I know I haven''t done much, but I truly enjoyed my short stay."
Nord stood abruptly, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "What are you talking about? You''re coming back, right?"
"I''m leaving with Master. I don''t think I''ll be... coming back," Finnea replied, avoiding Nord''s gaze.
"Why? He said it was just a¡ª"
Finnea cut her off, "Please, trust him. Everything he does, it''s for you." With a formal bow, her armour clinked softly, like a final note in a sombre song.
The door closed behind her, leaving Nord alone in her room, enveloped in a new swirl of confusion and questions. For Finnea to leave in full armour, as if going to war, it struck her. Something big was happening¡ªsomething dangerous. And for the first time, Nord questioned the wisdom of being kept in the dark. Was she truly better off not knowing?
Her thoughts returned to Baal. Finnea''s last words lingered, gnawing at her: "Everything he does, it''s for you." What did that even mean?
Gathering her sketches, Nord steeled herself. Answers wouldn''t come from the confines of her room. She needed to confront Baal; no more secrets, no more half-truths. Clutching her drawings, she headed for the door.
Nord''s feet pounded the stairs as she rushed down, her grip tightening on the sketches she held. Bursting through the door, she spotted the retreating figures of Baal and Finnea, already distanced by several yards.
"Wait!" She yelled, breathless but determined.
Baal paused and turned, his lips curving ever so slightly in what might have been a smile.
"Wait!" she panted, catching up to them, her chest heaving with each breath. "You idiot! You forgot the... the..." Shoving the drawings into his hands, she met his eyes, searching for some understanding.
He looked at her sketches, then back at her. "I wasn''t sure you''d finish them."
"What are you talking about?"
"You don''t draw when you''re angry," he said, tucking the drawings into his backpack as though securing fragile treasure.
"You don''t know me," she snapped, a sudden flare of resentment igniting within her.
Ignoring her retort, Baal shouldered his pack and simply said, "I''m going to see the dryads. I''ll be back before dark."
"You better bring Finnea back! Sound and safe, you hear me?" she demanded, her voice tinged with a combination of anger and worry.
Again, he bypassed her concerns, reiterating, "I''m going to see the dryads. I''ll be back before dark."
And with that, he turned, nudging Finnea forward as they moved away from her.
As Baal and Finnea walked away, Finnea turned her head, her eyes meeting Nord''s. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Despite the armour that encased her and the sword at her side, her eyes were vulnerable¡ªfull of an emotion that Nord couldn''t quite place.
Then, Finnea smiled. It was a small, fleeting smile, but in that instant, it conveyed a world of assurance and shared understanding.
Nord felt her chest tighten, a lump forming in her throat. It was as if Finnea had silently communicated something profound: Trust us. Trust him.
As Finnea turned back to face the path ahead, the armour clinked softly with her movements. She and Baal blended into the distance, swallowed by the trees and the shadows they cast.
[CH. 0025] - The Promise
"But I don''t have happy memories to give you!" "Then we create happy memories together."
The forest seemed to grow denser as they walked, its deep shadows mingling with dappled sunlight that broke through the canopy. The air was thick with the musk of earth and rotting leaves, and every so often, the distant howl of some unseen creature filled the air. Dryads were as capricious as they were mysterious¡ªguardians of the forest who could either guide your steps or lead you to your doom. And Baal knew this all too well.
His gaze flitted to Finnea, who moved with a warrior''s grace. The way she expertly cleared the path, her blade dancing through the air to sever obstructing branches and leaves, put him both at ease and on edge. Her skill was comforting, but the situation itself remained fraught with uncertainty.
The task at hand was straightforward enough: secure the Dryads'' aid in infusing a spell with their unique, elemental magic. But even simple requests could result in insidious bargains when dealing with the fey folk of the forest. What would they demand in return? The thought gnawed at him, its gravity becoming more palpable with each step they took into the forest''s heart.
As they walked, Baal found himself considering his own diminished magical reserves. It was a sore subject¡ªone that had sparked an uncomfortable confrontation with Nord earlier. And yet, in a strange way, it left him feeling more reliant on the success of their current venture. His limitations were now more than just his own; they impacted Nord.
Finally, after what felt like both an instant and an eternity, Finnea stopped. "Think it''s here, Master," she said, her voice tinged with a reverence that Baal had seldom heard from her. Before them lay a pitch-black entrance, seemingly carved into the very earth, framed by a veil of leaves and thorns that appeared to caution them against proceeding lightly.
He looked at Finnea, then back at the entrance. Here, in this place, decisions would be made and futures shaped. Baal took a deep breath, taking a moment to centre himself before stepping into the uncertain void.
"Very well," he said as he crossed the threshold into the dark. He couldn''t help but hope that the Dryads would be in a benevolent mood today.
His boots crunched over unseen foliage as he shouted, "I am Baal Berith! I request an audience with the Spirit of Dryad!" His voice echoed hauntingly through the natural chamber. The walls absorbed his calls, leaving only an abyss of silence in return.
"Perhaps we need to venture further in?" Finnea''s voice quivered slightly, laced with an impatience Baal found unusual for her.
"We wait," Baal insisted, as much to himself as to her.
Finnea cut him off sharply. "You promised her you''d return before dark. We don''t have time for waiting."
Baal sighed deeply. He reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a pendant hanging from a worn golden cord. His thumb caressed the cool crystal, and it began to glow dimly.
"May I see it?" Finnea asked, her eyes reflecting the pendant''s soft light.
"You''re the one in a hurry," Baal shot back, his voice tinged with a protective edge.
"Please," she whispered, her voice barely carrying through the dark chamber. "Just once, so I''ll have something happy to remember when I''m gone."
Baal''s thumb pressed a little harder against the pendant. It flickered before projecting a grainy image into the thick air¡ªa younger Nord, her eyes wide and vulnerable, framed by longer dark hair. Her voice wavered as she said, "But I don''t have happy memories to give you!"
A younger voice, unmistakably a boy''s, responded, "Then we create happy memories together."
The scene looped, replaying itself over and over, until Baal softly muttered, "Enough?"
Finnea broke her gaze from the shimmering image and looked at the ground. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of an untold emotion, sadness and happiness on the same scale. She turned and started walking further into the depths, her armour clinking softly with each step.
For a moment, Baal stood there, the pendant''s glow fading back into obscurity. He kissed it and gently rubbed it, creating a dim light, and with a feeling of heaviness, followed Finnea into the black unknown. Their path was uncertain, but at least, for a fleeting moment, they had shared something unequivocally real. Baal Berith''s happiest memory.
They were surprised by mushrooms that began to glow along the walls and floor, casting eerie, neon-green luminescence that seemed to light a path. Baal felt a shiver dance down his spine.
"Well, it seems we''re expected," he remarked, quickening his steps. Finnea, close behind him, drew her sword, a shimmering length of steel that glinted even in the strange light.
They emerged into a chamber that had the aura of an otherworldly auditorium. A throng of ethereal beings¡ªSylphids¡ªhovered in the air. Crafted from plant materials, their semi-translucent forms embodied the essence of the nature. With delicate as autumn leaves and as bright as morning mist hovered above them. They were fairies made as flowers with wings that shimmered like sunbeams filtering through a forest canopy.
Among them were Kelpies, their bodies shifting between horse-like figures and humanoids made of breeze and waft, clustered on one side, their eyes ever-watchful. Baal''s eyes shifted from them to the far side of the room, where three Dryads stood in stoic judgment.
The Dryads stood tall and imposing, paragons of huntress strength. Their muscles weren''t just visible; they told stories of countless battles and eternal vigilance. With eyes as penetrating as arrow tips, they scanned their surroundings, missing nothing.
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Draped as hunters, they had pelts and leaves covering their green skin, almost as if they were part of the forest itself, absorbing and reflecting the ethereal glow from the luminescent mushrooms scattered around them.
They were crowned with intricately woven dreadlocks that fell gracefully down their backs. Their stance was stern, but it wouldn''t begin to describe the fixed expressions on their faces; it was as if they''d taken the raw essence of grimness and distilled it into something far more potent.
"Ah, Baal Berith," the middle Dryad spoke, her voice carrying a musical but dangerous timbre. "And you bring a Protector with you. How unusual."
Finnea, who stood beside Baal, gripped her sword but said nothing, acknowledging the Dryad''s recognition with a subtle nod.
"We have no time for formalities," Baal began, tension knotting his voice. "We come to request assistance."
The Dryad''s eyes narrowed. "And what makes you think we should assist you, demon?"
Baal''s hand reached into his backpack, pulling out the drawings that Nord had sketched. His fingers held them with reverence as if they were delicate talismans. He unrolled the papers, the inked symbols seeming to catch the ethereal light of the glowing mushrooms.
"These are drawings of luck, drawn by Nord Morningstar. She''s the new Keeper of the Hallow," he paused for effect, locking eyes with the central Dryad. "They are small spells intended to protect, give reassurance, and bring peace. We seek your permission, your blessing even, to give us some Dryard magic."
A murmur rippled through the assembly of Sylphids and Kelpies, their interest evidently piqued. The Dryads looked at each other, a silent communication that seemed to transcend the need for words. It was the longest moment Baal could remember, each second stretching into eternity as he awaited their response.
Finally, the lead Dryad broke her gaze away from her companions and returned it to Baal. "Your request carries weight, Baal Berith, not just because of who drew these scribbles but because of the intent behind them. However, magic, even in its smallest dosage, always demands a price. What do you offer in return?"
Baal hesitated, his throat suddenly dry. "My own magical essence is weakened. Otherwise, I''d offer that."
The room felt electric, charged with tension and impending decisions. The Dryads scrutinized Baal, their eyes piercing as if reading his very soul. The weight of his words hung in the air, almost tangible in the mystical ambience of the grove.
"Your words are eloquent, Baal Berith, but eloquence can easily be a cloak for deceit," said the lead Dryad, her eyes never leaving his.
Baal took a steadying breath. "Look into my intentions if you can. You''ll find no deceit. Nord Morningstar is different, and her quest to destroy the Hallow is noble. What we seek is protection for her so she can achieve her quest. We just need a bit of time that your magic can help us secure."
The Dryad stared at him as if looking for the slightest crack in his resolve. Finally, she spoke. "If you truly seek no personal gain, and if this is indeed for a noble cause, then name your price. State clearly what you are willing to give in return for the magic you seek."
Baal straightened, locking eyes with the Dryad. "As I said, I offer my service to this forest and its creatures. But more than that, I offer a vow. A vow to return to fulfil this debt, to be held accountable for this promise. I offer the assurance that the Hallow will be destroyed, ensuring it never falls into malevolent hands."
"Empty promises!" The words tore through the still forest air, a harsh rebuke from one of the Dryads. Her eyes, the colour of fresh leaves, held a mixture of disdain and scepticism. "I said we need something concrete, something tangible. We don''t need more words that shift like autumn leaves."
The second Dryad turned her gaze toward Baal and Finnea, the intruders in their sylvan realm. "What can you give that''s real? Something that endures?"
Then third, Dryard, perhaps the most perceptive of them, fixed her eyes on Finnea. "Why bring a Protector if protection isn''t what you seek? What''s her role in this?"
Baal glanced at Finnea, his eyes filled with a sorrow that seemed to stretch back through time. "Finnea is not a separate entity. She is a part of me, a part I am willing to offer in exchange, even if it pains me."
The Dryads exchanged puzzled glances, their curiosity now kindled like a newly sparked flame.
"Show them, Finnea," Baal uttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
The moment hung in the air, as thick and heavy as morning mist. With a soft rustling sound, Finnea''s armour clattered to the ground. Then she vanished, evaporating like an invisible wisp of fog. In her place stood a small boy, his hair a vibrant shade of red that seemed almost unnatural.
Blood trickled from his scalp and from the base of his spine, each drop falling to the ground like a lost dream. He was painfully thin, almost skeletal. But it was his eyes¡ª fully dark, yet aflame with an orange hue¡ªthat caught everyone¡¯s attention. They burned with a fiery wrath that seemed to emanate from some deep, untapped reservoir of pain.
"Finnea was born from my most vulnerable moments," Baal finally broke the silence. "Created from the rage and the anguish that once consumed me. I thought that all that energy, all that intensity, should be put to use for a higher purpose¡ªto protect others. She is not separate from me. She is me. Me as a child with no one protecting me."
The Dryads stared intently at the boy, visibly unsettled yet intrigued by the sudden transformation. The one who had shouted about "empty promises" earlier now seemed to waver, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
"This form, this child¡ªthis is who you offer?" She asked, her voice tinged with both scepticism and curiosity.
"Yes," Baal replied, his voice taut with emotion. "This is a remnant of my magic."
The boy didn''t say a word, but his burning eyes met the gaze of each Dryad as if daring them to dismiss his existence as trivial.
"And you would part with this... part of you?" asked another Dryad, her eyes narrowing.
"If it gives Nord the time she needs to break the chain and destroy the Hallow, yes," Baal said, locking eyes with the Dryad. "I would part with her. But know that parting with her is like parting with a limb or a vital organ. The pain will be immense, but it''s a price I''m willing to pay."
Silence filled the cave, stretching the tension to near breaking point. Finally, the third Dryad spoke, her voice imbued with a newfound respect.
"A sacrifice of this magnitude carries weight. It is a fair trade. We grant your request," she announced.
At her utterance, the Dryad gracefully extended her hands, weaving an intricate incantation that culminated in a radiant sigil suspended in the air. With a flick of her wrist, the sigil hurtled toward the child. As it connected, tendrils of ethereal light wrapped around each of the boy''s limbs. A scream erupted from him, so laden with agony that it seemed to echo through the very walls of the cave.
The pain was too great for him to bear in this fragile form. Before their eyes, the child contorted, his features melting and reshaping until Finnea stood in his place. She gritted her teeth, trembling as she fought to maintain control. It was as if fragments of her very being were being siphoned off, each departing particle a whisper of some past agony or moment of defiance.
Despite the torturous sensation, Finnea held her ground, her eyes locking onto Baal''s for an agonizing second that stretched into an eternity. It was a look that needed no words, a shared understanding of the immense sacrifice unfolding in that instant.
"Please, Master, don''t look!"
[CH. 0026] - The Promise
Finnea''s screams, piercing and haunting, reverberated throughout the cavern, amplifying the weight of the agonizing moment. Baal clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as if he could hold onto her pain and make it his own. But when he could take it no more, he shouted, "Wait! Stop!"
The Dryad''s incantation ceased, the glowing sigil vanishing as if it had never been. Her gaze met his, her eyes filled with a mingling of curiosity and scepticism. "Have you changed your mind?"
"No," Baal replied, his voice tinged with a desperate urgency. "But I have something else, something far more precious than what I initially offered. And I believe it will satisfy you more than Finnea ever could."
"And what is this offering?"
He pulled off his necklace, its pendant catching the dim light of the cavern as he approached the Dryads. "This pendant holds my most cherished memory. A moment of pure, untainted happiness."
"And you would give this treasure away? To barter for a child''s pain?"
There was a newfound curiosity in the Dryad''s voice, an edge of disbelief that anyone would part with something so intimately personal.
He hesitated, staring down at the pendant in his hand as though it could somehow answer for him. "If I return without Finnea, I risk causing immense sorrow to someone I care about. But if I return without this memory, no one will know what''s missing, not even me."
He looked up, locking eyes with the Dryad. "To me, that seems like a fair trade."
The cavern was quiet for a moment, the air thick with tension and uncertainty as if the very walls were holding their breath, waiting for the Dryad''s verdict.
The word hung heavy in the air. "Show us."
Hesitant, Baal''s thumb stroked the surface of the crystal pendant. An ethereal projection materialized before them, casting a soft glow in the cave''s darkness.
"But I don''t have happy memories to give you!"
"Then we create happy memories together."
The scene cycled repeatedly, each time with the same earnest promise. The Dryads'' eyes remained riveted to the projection, their expressions morphing from scepticism to something indefinable.
"This is not a memory," one finally remarked.
"It''s a promise!" interjected another.
The last Dryad, her eyes like glowing emeralds, locked onto his. "Did you keep that promise?" she questioned as the projection dimmed and finally vanished.
"Yes, I did."
"How do you know?"
Baal took a deep breath. "There is a tower in the Netherspheres full of those happy memories. There is not one empty shelf left on that tower."
"Aren''t you supposed to consume those memories? Isn''t that the essence of your dark trade¡ªhappy memories turned into magic, into power?" The Dryad''s voice sharpened as if cutting through layers of deceit.
Baal sighed, a complex interplay of emotion crossing his face. "Yes, you''re right. That''s generally how it works."
The Dryads exchanged glances, their faces a mix of consideration and wariness, before finally nodding in unison. "Very well. The trade is accepted."
Baal''s hands trembled as he unscrewed the pendant''s cap, approaching the Dryad, who had extended her palm. The contents looked like grains of sand, shimmering briefly before losing their lustre. As each grain vanished into the Dryad''s hand, the memories they held dissipated from Baal''s mind, leaving vacant spaces in his mental landscape.
The last grain disappeared, and Baal felt a strange emptiness accentuated by tears he couldn''t quite understand. He wiped his face hastily, his under eyes red but his resolve unbroken. Returning to his backpack, he fumbled for an empty jar and held it out to the Dryads with hands that barely seemed his own.
"Now it''s your turn. I''ve done my part!" His voice cracked, brittle as the forgotten memories he''d just relinquished.
The Dryads looked at each other before extending their hands over the jar. One by one, they allowed droplets of essence to fall from their fingertips into the vessel. It was an unspoken but deeply intimate gesture, a release of the forest''s ancient magic. The jar remained less than half full, and the weight felt light to Baal.
"Is that all?" he asked, his voice tinged with an urgency that he couldn''t fully grasp.
"It''s as much as we can give without harming ourselves," one of the Dryads said solemnly. "Use it wisely."
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"I will," Baal said with a certain bile in his tone.
The Dryads nodded, their forms receding back into the foliage as if they had become one with the forest once more.
Clutching the jar, Baal looked at Finnea. Her eyes met his, filled with questions he couldn''t understand and shadows of a memory he couldn''t recall.
¡°Let''s go home, Finnea," Baal said quietly, shouldering his backpack.
"Yes, let''s," she agreed before halting suddenly. "Wait!"
"What? I promised you''d be back before dark. I don''t want to see Nord mad," he said, his eyes tinged with defeat. "Or disappointed."
Finnea looked thoughtful for a moment. "She was younger. Her hair was touching her shoulders." She gestured to a spot just above her own shoulders. "Her eyes were shiny because she''d been crying. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were blushed, and you thought it was adorable. She wore something that made her lips shimmer."
"Lipgloss... it tasted like cherry," Baal mumbled, almost to himself.
Finnea''s eyes softened, her smile turning bittersweet. "She was really upset because you''d asked for happy memories in exchange, and she told you she didn''t have any to give. You don''t know why you said what you said next¡ªmaybe you were trying to be poetic or something. Maybe you liked her. But you told her, ''Then we create happy memories together.'' It wasn''t that promise that made it her happiest memory; it was the fact that those words became her first real happy memory. And that was priceless to you."
Baal''s eyes glistened, a faint smile crossing his lips as if touching upon a joy he could no longer fully remember but somehow felt deep within him. "Let''s go home now."
"Master, I can say it again if you want," Finnea said, starting to walk beside him.
Baal looked at her, his expression softening even further. "You don''t mind?"
Finnea grinned, her eyes twinkling. "Not at all. ''She was very upset because you''d requested happy memories...''"
As they walked, Baal felt a warmth grow within him, as if the fragments of that lost memory were somehow being rekindled, stoked by the words and presence of someone who was as much a part of him as his own soul.
They reached Morningstar''s threshold just as the sky blended into shades of orange and purple, signalling dusk. Nord was there, wrapped in a woollen scarf, a look of concern mixed with relief on her face.
"I said before dark, and here she is," Baal announced as if completing a mission.
Nord glanced between them, her cheeks and the tip of her nose tinged with a rosy hue from the cold. "Are you guys okay?" she inquired cautiously.
"If you''ll excuse me, Master," Finnea said, offering a curt bow to Baal, then another to Nord, before vanishing inside.
"What happened? You look like someone just died," Nord finally blurted out, her eyes searching his.
"I''m fine," Baal began, but a sudden itch caught in his throat, forcing him to swallow. "Actually, I''m not fine. I hate that I can''t lie. Not even small, white lies."
Nord paused, absorbing his words. "So you really can''t lie."
"Yeah," Baal admitted.
"It''s cold out here," Nord suggested, "You want to come inside?"
"I need to go. I''m worried about the old man. But yes, I do want to come inside," he confessed, torn between duty and a sliver of comfort.
Nord''s lips curved into a soft smile. "How about some warm tea, and then I''ll throw you out?"
Nord set the kettle on the stove, the flicker of the flame making shadows dance on the walls. Baal took a seat at the kitchen table, placing the jar of Dryad magic in front of him like a newfound treasure.
"Ta-da! Here it is," he announced, looking at the jar and then back at Nord.
"Wow, nice. Was it a complicated trade?" Nord inquired, busying herself with tea leaves and mugs.
"It was emotionally taxing," he admitted, watching the steam rise from the kettle.
"What do you mean?" She looked puzzled as she placed two mugs filled with tea on the table.
"I had to give away my most precious memory," he said, accepting the steaming mug from her with a slight nod.
She sat down across from him, her eyes searching his. "What was it?"
He sighed. "I can''t remember," he said, which was true in the most technical sense; he knew what he''d lost but could no longer grasp the memory itself.
Nord seemed to study him for a moment before responding. "Well, we''ll make new memories. Happy ones," she said, offering a genuine smile that reached her eyes.
Baal looked at her, then at his tea, and finally back at her again. A gentle smile began to form on his lips. Despite everything he''d given up, Nord''s words made him feel like he had gained something invaluable, something immeasurable.
"We''ll make happy memories together," she reiterated, her eyes locking onto his.
And as they both took a sip of their tea, Baal couldn''t help but think that maybe, just maybe, a new happy memory was already in the making.
"You''re glowing," Nord said, her eyes dropping to the area around his chest.
Baal pulled out his pendant, surprised to see it emitting a soft light. "It''s glowing," he echoed, just as intrigued as she was.
"What is it?" she asked.
"My lucky charm, I think," he said, grinning as he took a final sip of his tea and set the mug down. His eyes flickered to the window. "I should go check on the old man, make sure he''s still among the living."
"Maybe you should bring him here," Nord suggested her tone a blend of sincerity and practicality.
"Why?" Baal asked, already intrigued.
"Well, he''s old. What if something happens and you''re not there? At least here, there''s always someone around. If it''s not me, there''s Finnea and Kirara, and even Adamastor if he ever decides to return," she explained. "Besides, there are plenty of empty rooms here. Seems silly for him to be alone."
"Could I build some shelves in his room? If we stay here, I mean," Baal inquired, picturing the old man''s empty jars filling the walls.
"I don''t see why not," Nord agreed with a shrug.
"Alright, I''ll talk to him about it. Thank you," Baal said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on Nord''s forehead. "See you tomorrow, Morningstar."
Nord touched the spot on her forehead where Baal had kissed her, smiling as she watched him sling his backpack over his shoulder.
"Thank you, Nord," Baal said, his hand already on the doorknob. "For the tea, for the room, for... everything."
"And thank you for coming back safely," Nord replied, her eyes warm and sincere.
With a final nod, Baal turned and stepped out into the evening chill, the door closing gently behind him. But as he walked away, his fingers touched the pendant that still glowed faintly against his chest.
Whatever he had lost felt somehow less significant in the light of what he might yet find. Nord''s suggestion about bringing the old man over seemed more than just practical; it felt like an invitation into a future where happy memories could be created anew.
"See you tomorrow, Morningstar," he whispered to himself as he walked, the words tinged with a newfound optimism, a promise for a better tomorrow.
[CH. 0027] - The Tear Lake
I tried being reasonable, I didn''t like it. - Clint Eastwood
For the first time since her arrival, Nord didn''t wake up to the comforting scent of freshly prepared breakfast. Instead, she walked into the kitchen to find Finnea and Kirara sitting at the table, staring forlornly at empty plates.
"Morning, you two," Nord greeted them with a lopsided smile.
Finnea looked at her plate as if willing to magically fill itself with food and said nothing. Kirara, on the other hand, had no qualms about expressing her thoughts.
"We''re hungry, Mama! So hungry! Got any chicken?" Kirara piped up, her voice tinged with hope.
"I don''t think there''s any chicken left. How about eggs?" Nord suggested, scanning the kitchen cabinets.
Kirara scrunched her nose. "It''s not chicken," she grumbled.
"What do you think, Finnea?" Nord turned to the usually stoic young woman.
"Anything is fine, Master," Finnea replied, her voice thin, betraying a hint of distress.
Nord reached for the frying pan, prepared to whip up some eggs when a sudden shout erupted from the salon. She gripped the panhandle tightly, a sharp sense of alarm darting through her. She locked eyes with Finnea and Kirara, their mutual concern unspoken but palpable.
Nord adjusted the flame beneath the pan, catching the eye of Finnea and Kirara. "Wait here, I need to see what that noise is," she said, her eyes narrowed with concern. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and left the cosy warmth of the kitchen.
Her boots softly pressed against the creaky wooden floor as she moved into the salon. It was an altogether different atmosphere that met her gaze: two men looking like they''d just stepped off the set of a Clint Eastwood movie. Grimy, unkempt, and a haze of booze and smoke seemed to cling to their clothes like an aura.
"Good Morning, Miss, we need a room," the shorter one blurted out, slapping a dusty bag onto the floor with a thud.
"Good Morning," Nord sighed, "Look, I''d love to help, but The Morningstar is closed for renovations. Can''t you come back in a few days?"
The taller of the two men removed his hat, revealing sweat-streaked hair. "Lady, we''ve been trudging through the backwoods for two days straight. We stink, we''re beaten, and we could really use a bed."
The other man chimed in, "Honestly, all we need is a shower and some shut-eye. We''re too tired to be any trouble."
Nord hesitated, her hands nervously clasping and unclasping. "I''m not really the one who handles the inn stuff, and¡ª"
"Listen, I''m Han," the shorter one cut in, "and this here is Leelo. Can''t you make an exception?"
That''s when Leelo removed his own hat, revealing two sharpened horns protruding from his forehead. "The reason we''re staying away from the town is that they''re not too friendly to Pucks like us," Han added, his voice tinged with desperation.
Nord paused, her eyes meeting Leelo''s horned visage and then drifting to Han''s imploring gaze. It was a dilemma, but one look at those horns, and she knew what it was like to not fit in.
Nord''s eyes slowly travelled from their grizzled faces down to their waists. There, holstered and looming, were two guns. She suddenly felt the weight of their presence more acutely.
"We have a no-gun policy here," she said, almost surprised by the authority in her own voice.
Leelo leaned against the counter, a cocky half-smile stretching across his face. "Normally, I''d oblige, Miss. But there''s a vampire wreaking havoc, and we''re not going in unarmed." The aroma that drifted from him underlined just how much he needed that bath he''d mentioned.
"A vampire?" Nord feigned ignorance, her eyes widening ever so slightly. Was Adamastor in danger? Was he being chased?
"Yeah, a leech. Been at large for some time, but the fool''s holed up here in Ravendrift," Han elaborated. As if to punctuate his point, Leelo pulled his gun from its holster. Nord instinctively stepped back, her heart pounding.
He popped the magazine, rolling a few bullets into his hand and then holding one up. "This here is special," he began. "Made from unicorn bone and marrow. Ain''t nothing that purges the ground under our feet of evil like Allatori bone."
Nord felt a chill crawl up her spine. His words were meant to reassure, but they only intensified her unease. She needed to defuse this situation and get them out. "Gentlemen, I appreciate the position you''re in, but as I said, we''re under renovation. The rooms aren''t fit for guests, and we''re even out of hot water."
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She mentally sifted through her limited repertoire of Western movie scenes for some applicable wisdom. Nothing. It was as if the world of Western cinema had betrayed her in her moment of need¡ªa genre she''d never been fond of in the first place.
Nord stumbled over her words, her mouth dry. "I¡ªuh¡ª"
Leelo cut in, "Look, Miss, we''re two capable men ready to guard this place. All we''re asking is for a bed and some water¡ªwarm or cold, it doesn''t matter."
She noticed Han''s hand subtly edging toward his gun belt. "We could''ve just barged in without asking, you know."
The veiled threat prickled the air, making Nord''s skin crawl. "My husband will be back soon. I''ve already told you we can''t accommodate guests right now. There are probably other places around."
Leelo laughed, reaching out to grab her hand. "Husband? You don''t strike me as the wife type." He began to stroke his thumb over her empty ring finger, eyeing her mockingly.
Just then, a voice boomed from the doorway, where a man stood holding a stack of planks. "Mme Bougie''s Inn down the road in the town''s outskirt. It has beds, hot water, and the region''s finest moonshine. I''d recommend trying your luck there."
The two men turned. "Who are you to interrupt?"
Baal, balancing the planks against the doorframe, stepped into the room. "I''m her husband. And I don''t appreciate you touching her without her consent."
The atmosphere turned electric, tension buzzing between Baal and the two hunters. Leelo reluctantly let go of Nord''s hand, and he saw Baal''s eyes. Black as the purest void but burning as the hell''s pit reincarnation.
Baal walked over to Nord. "You heard her, gentlemen. We''re not open for business yet. Now, I suggest you leave."
Han exchanged a glance with Leelo, and for a moment, Nord wasn''t sure which way things would swing. Finally, Han nodded. "Alright, we get it. Come on, Leelo, let''s try this Mme Bougie, kind of thirsty for a Moonshine."
As the two men retrieved their bags and moved toward the door, Nord exhaled a sigh of relief she hadn''t realized she was holding.
Baal put his arm around her, pulling her close as they watched the two strangers walk away, blending into the dawn.
Nord looked up at Baal, and her eyes clouded with a mix of relief and lingering uncertainty. "Those men, the hunters. Do you think they were telling the truth? About the vampire?"
Baal''s arms tightened around her. "Are we talking about Adamastor?"
She shrugged off his embrace, stepping away. "I''m worried he might be in danger."
"He''s a vampire, Nord. He can handle himself," Baal said, dismissively waving his hand.
The morning atmosphere was a jumble of creative energy and physical labour. Downstairs, Nord poured over her final sketches for the store, pencil dancing across the paper. Above her, the rhythmic pounding and clattering signalled Baal''s progress on the shelves for Merlin''s Memories.
Eventually, Nord put down her pencil and exhaled deeply. The final sketches of her lucky charms lay before her. But another concern tugged at her mind¡ªAdamastor. With those hunters likely hunkering down at Mme Bougie¡¯s place, she figured she had a window of time to find him without worrying about their unicorn ammunition.
She made her way to her bedroom and opened an inconspicuous drawer in her closet, retrieving her carefully stored daggers. She wasn''t trained in their use, but something was better than nothing. Sliding them under her sleeves, she headed for the door.
"Going somewhere?" Baal''s voice stopped her in her tracks.
Sweaty and shirtless, he leaned against the doorframe of what would soon be Merlin''s room.
"Just a walk," she said, subtly adjusting her sleeves to better conceal the daggers.
"Mind if I join you? I could use a shower first, though."
"No, I''d rather be alone. Just need some me-time."
Baal''s eyes met hers, a heavy but understanding look in them. "Alright, just don''t stray too far from the manor."
"Don''t worry, it''s just a walk."
"Fine," he said, turning back into the room.
Nord had just placed her foot on the top step of the staircase when she heard her name. "Nord!"
Pivoting around, she saw Baal¡¯s head poke out of the doorway. He was biting his lower lip as if wrestling with unspoken words.
"Never mind," he finally blurted, his eyes averted. "See you later, Morningstar."
"See you later, Baal."
As she descended the stairs, her thoughts turned to Adamastor. She also couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that Baal¡¯s unspoken words held weight, like an unfinished sentence hanging in the air.
Nord stood at the edge of the lake, her eyes scanning the clearing and the dense trees beyond. This was where she''d first encountered Adamastor¡ªthis hauntingly beautiful, serene spot. But now, it seemed to mock her with its emptiness.
Caves. The thought crossed her mind. Caves would provide shelter from sunlight. But that was too straightforward, too ordinary for Adamastor. When he spoke of ''hunting,'' he often returned well-groomed, a far cry from a rugged cave-dweller. Sometimes, there was even a smudge of lipstick on his collar. The pieces didn¡¯t add up. A cave seemed too rudimentary for a vampire who indulged in the finer things.
So, if not a cave, then what? What kind of places would be reclusive enough to provide shelter during the daylight but still befit the rather refined lifestyle Adamastor seemed to lead?
Nord pondered, her eyes absently tracing the placid surface of the lake as she thought. He would need a place that was dark during the day, a place where he wouldn¡¯t be bothered by the living, but still a place that could offer some luxuries. A forgotten or abandoned building, perhaps? An old theatre? A secret underground space?
Her eyes flickered with realization.
As Nord moved away from the lake, a new thought settled in her mind like a thin mist¡ªcompanionship. If she felt endangered, she''d seek comfort among friends, so why wouldn''t Adamastor? How long had he walked this world, and who still remained in his life? How many friends did he bury? The last one was Rosemary...
Her thoughts were a chaotic swirl as she approached the Manor. She passed the grandiose front gate, strolled by the barn now converted into a warehouse, and finally arrived at the cemetery''s rusted gates. With a hesitant push, the iron creaked open, allowing her to step into the realm of the departed.
Her eyes immediately fell upon Rosemary''s freshly turned soil. Her gaze lingered there for a moment, a quiet tribute to the woman whose spirit once filled the Manor. But Nord¡¯s feet carried her further, wandering through the maze of tombstones until she came across a small, nearly dilapidated shrine. It was tucked away discreetly, and she had barely noticed it during the funeral proceedings.
The shrine was small but sturdy, capped with a crumbling roof and a door hanging askew. Every fibre of her being screamed caution, but her steps were compelled by force beyond mere curiosity. Slowly, silently, she approached and reached for the rickety door. As her fingers curled around the knob, she felt an odd surge of energy, as if the universe held its breath for what lay beyond. With a swift, decisive motion, she pushed the door open.
[CH. 0028] - The Tear Lake
A man¡¯s meat is too often a woman''s poison. ¡ª W. Somerset Maugham
The moment she crossed the threshold, Nord''s instincts screamed at her. Almost instantaneously, she was slammed against the weathered wall. Adamastor''s eyes were aflame, a dangerous shade of red that had replaced the familiar gaze she knew. Before she could react, he violently ripped her blouse open at the collar. He tilted her head aside, revealing the vulnerable stretch of her neck.
Fighting back panic, she mustered all the strength she could to fend him off. Her fists and feet struck out at him, but it was like hitting a wall. "Adamastor, it''s me. Stop!" she yelled, her voice tinged with both terror and disbelief. He seemed not to hear her or care as his fangs penetrated her neck like twin daggers.
A venomous pain spread rapidly from the bite, seeping into her muscles and joints. As she tried to close her fingers around the handle of one of her hidden daggers, Nord found she couldn''t; her hand was numb, unresponsive, betraying her when she needed it most. Letting her arms fall flat, and both blades met the ground without a sound.
The bite itself was almost eclipsed by a different, insidious form of agony: a venomous burn that snaked its way through her bloodstream, freezing her muscles and sealing her lips in a voiceless scream. As if entranced, Adamastor seemed unaware¡ªor uncaring¡ªof her torment, engrossed in the act of siphoning her blood.
She could feel the moist press of his lips against her wound and hear the quiet, grotesque symphony of his slurps and moans of satisfaction. He leaned into her even more, his body weight keeping her pinned, a prisoner on her own wall, unable to escape the horror of the moment.
Tears trickled down her cheeks, warm and betraying, as she realized the depth of the situation she was in. Whether out of hunger, frenzy, or something darker, Adamastor had become something she couldn''t reason with¡ªat least, not at that moment.
Nord''s thoughts spiralled into a dark void, disconnected from a body that seemed to have mutinied against her own will. Her muted screams and still struggles were suffocated by the venom coursing through her veins, trapping her in a horrific tableau she couldn''t escape.
Adamastor hovered above her, his whispered words¡ªmaybe meant to be comforting, perhaps remorseful, perhaps love or entirely something else¡ªfusing into an indistinct hum. The words seemed to descend into an endless chasm, growing fainter and fainter as her awareness detached, whisked away by a bewildering blend of warmth and advancing darkness.
Suddenly, his eyes flickered open and met hers. It was as if a switch had been flipped. Confusion and shock replaced the primal hunger that had consumed him. He hid his fangs, and he staggered back in panic.
Nord slumped to the ground, gasping for air as if resurfacing from a perilous dive. The venom''s numbing effect now nailed her to the floor, and her neck still throbbed from the puncture wounds, still bleeding and staining the floor.
Adamastor''s eyes¡ªonce aflame with predatory desire¡ªnow swam with a mixture of horror and regret. "Nord, I¡ª"
"Stop," she cut him off, her voice barely above a whisper yet laden with an authority that belied its softness. "Just stop."
Her words echoed throughout the shrine, lingering in the thick air like an irrevocable verdict. Adamastor opened his mouth as if to speak, perhaps to offer some kind of explanation or apology, but no words came.
For a beat, time itself seemed to pause, leaving them locked in a tableau woven of regret and harsh revelations. And then Nord''s vision blurred, the walls of the shrine folding into an impenetrable darkness that swallowed her whole.
I''m here.
"Who?"
I''m here!
"Who?" She glanced around, her surroundings unchanged. Just the dim walls of her own mind and the vague outline of memories barely visible in the half-light.
"I''m here!" The voice reverberated again, richer this time, seeping into the furthest corners of her consciousness. It was a voice that should have felt like an intrusion, like a shadow crawling into the sanctity of her own mind. But instead, it was soothing¡ªalmost comforting.
"Who are you?" She whispered, almost afraid her own voice would shatter the connection.
"Don''t you recognize me?" The voice was a caress now, gentle as a breeze yet weighted with an unspoken promise.
She paused, her heart pounding not with fear but anticipation. It was as if the voice resonated with something deep inside her, something she''d long forgotten but never truly lost.
"Should I?" Her own voice was tinged with curiosity and a hint of expectancy.
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"In time," the voice assured her, its tone imbued with a serenity that seemed almost sacred. "For now, just know that you''re not alone. Not anymore."
The voice should have been terrifying. It emanated from a presence that, by all traditional measures, should have represented danger. But instead of fear, Nord felt an odd sense of completeness.
The cold that usually touched her soul seemed to wane, replaced by a warmth that defied. She wanted more. She wanted to stay.
It was as though she were floating, watching through a foggy window as her body acted of its own accord.
Her eyes¡ªno, the Hallow''s eyes¡ªscanned the chamber with a ravenous intensity, setting upon the figure before it.
The being calling out her vessel''s name seemed pathetic, ridiculous and weak! And the Hallow was so hungry, no, it was starving!
"Fight it, Nord! Do you hear me?" Adamastor''s voice broke through the heavy air like a spear piercing a curtain. His eyes were wide, frantic, a mixture of dread and stubborn resolve.
"Say something, dammit! Nord!" His palm met her cheek in a tentative slap. The sound echoed in the small room, more a desperate plea than a genuine attempt to revive her. Under any other situation, the helplessness of the gesture would have drawn a laugh.
The Hallow lurking within Nord sensed his distress, and a ripple of sadistic amusement fluttered across its consciousness. How does he know it''s not her? How? The thoughts were whispers in the midst of its malevolent awareness. The real Nord was submerged deep within, swaddled in a comforting abyss, as if the Hallow that possessed her was a warm, secure blanket. Home and tenderness, the Hallow knew how to please its vessel.
Nord, however, could sense a vague commotion from her buried self, as though through a fogged-up window. She felt her own body begin to spring forward, an involuntary lunge. But Adamastor was a step ahead. His knee drove into her midriff, anchoring her to the ground with a ferocity she couldn''t counteract.
"Nord, you have to push this thing away! You''re stronger than it!" Adamastor''s voice was tinged with desperation, yet behind it lay a bedrock of faith. His eyes locked onto hers, searching for some glimmer of the woman he knew, "You must!"
A flicker of lucidity broke through Nord''s haze. For a moment, she stared back at him, the struggle within her as palpable as the sweat beading on her forehead. Then, as quickly as it came, the flicker vanished, swallowed up by the voracious dark entity that gripped her.
And Adamastor felt it¡ªfelt her slip away again. His knee still pressing into her, he knew the battle was far from over.
"Help! Anyone!" he yelled, "Anyone, help!" his voice echoing in the empty chamber.
The Hallow within her scoffed, revelling in the despair in his call. Who would come to save a miserable, incomplete vampire? A frozen walking corpse, a creature even his own Master would reject. The thought delighted the dark force within her and filled it with a scathing sort of glee.
The Hallow''s dark amusement was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps thudding through the room like a desperate heartbeat.
"What the fuck did you do to her?" The voice was tinged with hysteria but also something else. Anger. Despair? No, something else, something far more precious. The Hallow savoured the delicious note of unhappiness. It seemed the half-demon cared for the vessel. How intriguing and how delicious.
"I... I didn''t mean for this to happen. I lost control," Adamastor''s voice faltered, coloured by unmistakable fear. But what frightened him more¡ªthe wrath of a demon or the loss of her, the vessel? The Hallow revelled in its newfound body, the perfect shell it had long craved. I''ll protect her, I''ll cherish her. She is mine to have!
"You bit her? You fucking bit Nord? Are you... I swear..." Baal''s words hung in the air like a suspended blade. "I''m going to kill you!"
"Not now! Baal listen! We need to take her..." The voice became a mumble, too soft for the Hallow to catch. But it didn''t matter. Whatever plot they were whispering, the Hallow knew its own strength. And it was growing more potent with each passing second.
Somewhere within, Nord slept, not fighting to reclaim her consciousness. Sleep, sleep, my beautiful new me.
Nord was voluntarily trapped in her own mind, a spectator in a battle for her salvation, which she didn''t partake in. She didn''t hear the clock was already ticking.
You are safe with me. You''re loved. What else do you want that I can''t provide? I can give you everything. Anything!
It watched as the half-demon kneeled, shedding his cardigan with a swift motion. "You''re going to be alright. Remember, we trained for this, and I''m here now," he whispered, "I''m here, not going anywhere. You hear me, Morningstar?"
The words should have been comforting, but the Hallow found them irritating, an annoying buzz in its newfound dominion.
Love, hope, what a joke, what a tease!
Then everything plunged into darkness like a curtain had been pulled across the world.
The Hallow sensed the change in weight, the feeling of being lifted off the ground. It was no longer confined, no longer pinned under the weight of the vampire''s knee. Its excitement surged; this was the perfect moment to strike, to seize complete control and unleash its vicious fury.
The Hallow wrenched its vessel''s body free, rolling lithely on the floor. It tossed aside the cardigan that had been draped over its face and looked up, meeting the eyes of its so-called foes.
There they stood: one a vampire, his eyes awash with the thirst for blood, his mouth still drooling the blood of her vessel and the other a hornless, tailless demon.
Weak.
The Hallow revelled in the scent of their vulnerability, their weakness. The Hallow''s eyes glinted with dark delight. "Who should I kill first?" she taunted, swirling to face the two creatures who dared to oppose her.
"Me!" The vampire''s voice rang out, "You should kill me first."
"What are you doing, dude? I''m more powerful than you!" Baal argued, his own eyes filled with an odd blend of frustration and fear.
The Hallow chuckled darkly. "Boys, boys, let''s calm down. I can kill both of you at the same time. Or you can run. Let''s count to ten, shall we?"
Adamastor looked at Baal Berith and muttered, "Right or left?"
"One," the Hallow began its ominous countdown.
"Right," Baal replied, his voice resolute.
"Two..." The Hallow''s voice was practically a purr, savouring the moment.
"Left, you know the meeting point!" Adamastor shot back. Without another word, both broke into a sprint, darting in opposite directions. In a blur of intangible speed, they vanished from the cemetery as though swallowed by the shadows they had emerged from.
"Ten!" The Hallow''s spat, a note of triumph and annoyance mixing in its tone. It stood there, alone in the cemetery.
But deep within, a pulse of Nord''s consciousness shimmered, emboldened by the momentary distraction. This wasn''t over, not by a long shot.
"Please stop!"
Choose! Who should I hurt first? Which one do you care about the most?
[CH. 0029] - The Tear Lake
The abyss gazes, I gaze back A finite hole,
a hole so dark No light escapes,
no light comes in A creature that has no kin
And so I look, a pitiful glance I see myself, man with no face
But I''m not that, how could I be? For by my side I have a tree
It''s flowers bloom, they shower me A love so kind,
its purity From there the seeds, they sprout anew
They grow and spread, by the wind blew
And I look up, the blue, blue sky
To follow their path I try
But I digress, they''re on their way
By another''s side, ready to lay
And there there is, another man
At the abyss, his dead eyes fell And there a tree,
it sprout anew And like before, it''s flowers grew
-FabioKun
The scent of warm blood and sweat clung to the air, intertwining with the earthy aroma of the forest. The Hallow veered to the right, following its intuition and the faint trail of scent, until it reached the forest''s edge. There he was¡ªBaal¡ªperched on a branch like some night owl observing its prey.
"I''m disappointed," Baal''s voice dripped with mockery as he swung his legs casually from his elevated seat. "I thought you''d be quicker."
The Hallow rolled its eyes. "You''re hiding up there like a scared kitten. And you''re disappointed in me, little devil? I was under the impression you¡¯d be a bit more proactive, considering what''s at stake. After all, you care for this vessel... very much so."
His eyes locked onto it. "I made a promise, and I''ll keep it." In one fluid movement, Baal leapt from the tree, landing on top of her and sending her sprawling to the ground. He straddled her, his hands locking onto her wrists. "Nord! Where are you? Come on, Morningstar, show yourself! You got this! Remember..."
"Your arrogance is going to be your undoing, you hornless demon." The Hallow''s voice was laced with venom. With a quick, calculated jerk of its body, their positions reversed¡ªBaal found himself lying on the forest floor. He barely had time to react, using his legs to kick it square in the chest and propel it away from him.
For a heartbeat, he was torn: to run or to fight? The Hallow was already back on its feet, Nord''s silhouette visible through the dim forest light, its posture predatory. The Hallow charged.
And in that instant, Baal knew. He bolted, running as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. Because, in a way, they were.
Baal''s legs churned through the underbrush. His eyes fixed on the glimmering surface of the lake up ahead. Just a bit more, he thought, panting. Don''t look back. But the cacophony of crushed leaves and snapped twigs pulled his attention rearward.
From the shadows and shrubs, suddenly, Adamastor lunged forward with adrenaline-fueled agility, gripping Nord''s flailing arms in a vice-like hold. With practised manoeuvring born of desperation, he twisted her arms. He crossed them over her chest, turning them into a makeshift straitjacket.
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"Get her feet, Baal!" Adamastor''s shout cut through the tension like a knife. His eyes remained fixed on Nord''s, their depths clouded with something feral yet trapped as if the Hallow itself was glaring at him.
Baal wasted no time; his hands shot forward, seizing Nord''s kicking legs and pinning them to the ground. The air was thick with the tension of their struggle. Every muscle tensed, every breath laboured.
"Hold her steady," Adamastor hissed through clenched teeth, his body trembling from the exertion. "Now, let''s go!"
Juggling the writhing form of Nord between them, Adamastor and Baal ploughed through the underbrush and tangled roots of the forest. The Hallow within Nord contorted and wriggled, its feet occasionally brushing the leaf-strewn ground. The whole tableau looked like a twisted dance, each participant barely hanging onto rhythm or reason.
Baal''s foot snagged on an intrusive root, and he stumbled forward. The unexpected jolt almost sent both men sprawling, the grip on their captive slackening for a perilous second.
"Careful!" Adamastor barked, his voice tinged with irritation as he readjusted his hold on Nord.
"Oh, now you say ''careful''?" Baal retorted, his tone thick with annoyance. He disentangled his foot from the root and steadied himself.
Finally, they burst through the last tangle of trees, their boots sinking into the soft ground near the lake''s edge. The water, eerily placid, seemed to watch them as if waiting for their next move. The Hallow within Nord continued its restless squirming.
"What now?" Baal turned his gaze towards Adamastor, his eyes fraught with fatigue and uncertainty.
Adamastor met Baal''s stare, the weight of the moment settling upon them both. "We do what we have to," he said, his voice laced with grim resolve, "We have to drown her," Adamastor said, his voice unwavering.
"Wait a minute, drown her? No! We can''t kill Nord! No!" Baal shot back, disbelief and alarm colouring his words.
The Hallow inside Nord chose that moment to intervene. "You kill me, you kill her!" It shrieked, laughing, a cacophony of malice and torment.
"Trust me, Baal. Please." Adamastor locked eyes with him, an urgent plea framed by lines of stress and fear.
Caught in the gravity of Adamastor''s gaze, Baal hesitated. How could he trust a vampire who bit her? The seconds stretched, each tick of the clock a mounting pressure, a weight that seemed too immense to bear. Before Baal could articulate another word of dissent, Adamastor''s muscles coiled, and he sprang into action.
With a sudden, explosive burst, Adamastor hurled himself into the lake, dragging the thrashing Hallow down with him. Water splashed upwards, and for a gut-wrenching moment, Baal held his breath. Had they just made an irreversible mistake? Had they doomed Nord?
Then, breaking the tension like a spear through a shield, Adamastor surfaced, gasping, his lungs greedily drinking in the air. He was alone.
"Where is she? Where''s Nord?" Baal''s voice was a cocktail of relief and suspicion, his eyes scanning the water, half-expecting to see Nord''s lifeless form float up.
Adamastor heaved for breath, water dripping from his hair and chin. "Just wait,".
Silence enveloped her like a shroud, the soothing voice of the Hallow extinguished. Gone was the warmth that had once wrapped around her; in its place, a piercing cold that sank deep into her bones. She recognized this sensation¡ªthe stillness, the profound isolation of floating in the depths. She was here again, in this cold expanse of nothingness.
Nord was bone-tired, drained in a way that went beyond physical exhaustion. Emptiness gnawed at her from the inside out. Nobody was waiting for her, she thought. Sirona had warned her. The Sisterhood had warned her. Even Adamastor had let her down. Why was she always left behind? Why wasn''t she enough for anyone? How easy it would be to just let go, to surrender to this icy abyss and sleep.
But then, like a glimmer in the dark, a thought of Kirara flickered through her mind. Her little kitten, who had grown to be Nixbob but was still hers, was always there, always needing her. It was a thread of purpose, frail but unbreakable. And his eyes...
She had to go. Nord couldn''t stay submerged in this cold limbo.
Her sense of urgency flared. She wanted to swim. She had to swim. But her body wouldn''t respond. Her arms felt like leaden weights, her legs unresponsive. Frozen, she was completely immobile, ensnared by her own paralysis. She needed to breathe, to swim, to move. But nothing happened.
Panic fluttered at the edges of her consciousness, a frantic bird beating its wings against the walls of her mind. She had to break free. For herself, for Kirara, for..., she had to break the chains that bound her to this underwater tomb. But she couldn''t.
It is easier to sleep.
Baal''s eyes were like laser beams, scanning the unmoving lake surface for any sign of Nord. "Where is she?"
Adamastor''s voice held an edge of desperate belief. "Give her time. Every Morningstar has returned from these waters on the day of their Initiation. Rosemary even took monthly baths here to keep the Hallow in check. Nord has fought her way back before. She will do it again."
The tension was palpable as they both fixated on the lake, each second stretching into a tiny eternity. Baal''s patience was evaporating. "So, how does this magic pond work?"
"It''s not fully understood, but the waters here suppress the Hallow. Probably why the first Morningstar built the Manor nearby," Adamastor said, attempting to sound composed even as his clenched fists betrayed his anxiety.
Baal finally voiced the question that had been nagging at him. "You bit her, didn''t you?"
Adamastor''s eyes never left the water. "We can discuss that later."
"No, we discuss it now. Did you bite Nord?" Baal insisted.
Adamastor''s facade cracked. His voice exploded into the air. "Yes, I bit her! Are you happy now?"
"Did you poison her too?" Baal''s voice became a sonic boom of accusation. "She''s already weakened, drained of blood, her body raided by the Hallow. Did you inject her with your venom?"
Adamastor''s lips barely moved, his face taut with conflict, as he breathed out the one word that seemed to echo in the space between them like a cannonball dropping into still water.
Both men absorbed the weight of that single syllable, a pivot on which the gravity of their actions and decisions teetered. And through it all, the lake kept its counsel, refusing to give up its secrets, its judgments, or its absolutions.
"Yes."
[CH. 0030] - Go Home
This world is no safer than Earth. - Baal Berith
Nord''s eyes blinked open. The first things she saw were the sterile lines of medical equipment and a labyrinth of tubes. A chilly sensation radiated from her arm, and she could see a band-aid slapped hastily over an IV line. Her gaze moved, finding Baal''s hand tenderly brushing strands of hair from her forehead.
"Hey, Morningstar," Baal murmured, his voice a comforting cadence that seemed to rise above the antiseptic air around them.
"Did I hurt you?" The question sprang from her lips before any other thought could form.
"Nah, I''ve seen worse days," Baal assured her.
"Where am I?" Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, words slurring like they would after too many drinks.
"You''re in the clinic. Sirona is taking care of you. They''re filtering your blood. You''re holding up," he whispered, his lips almost brushing her ear as he spoke, "Doing good."
"How long have I been passed out?" Nord asked, struggling to make her voice sound as clear as possible.
"Three days. You were in bad, bad shape, but here you are, talking and everything." Baal''s smile seemed to brighten the otherwise sterile room, "Atua¡¯s miracle!"
"And Adamastor? Did I hurt him?" The image of Adamastor, his red eyes, his voice, broke through the fog, shrouding her mind. "Is he okay?"
"You''re something else... You''re too damn kind, you know that? It will be your death someday," Baal chuckled, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "He''s fine. Or at least as fine as can be expected. He''s back at home, cleaning up his own blood from the floor. I might have destroyed a couple of chairs and a table in the process, but hey, sorry, but not sorry."
Nord''s eyes held Baal''s, his words swirling around her like a complex melody¡ªpart relief, part unanswered questions¡ªthat seemed to anchor her fractured world. Why did she feel so empty, desolated and cold, like she was stripped from the most benevolent embrace?
"Why''s it so cold in here?" she managed to ask, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. Tears broke free, carving wet trails down her cheeks as she shivered, "Baal, why is it so cold?"
"Nord, you''ve got three blankets on you already. You''re still cold?" Baal''s brow furrowed in concern.
"I don''t know why, but it''s like ice in here. And it feels like something''s...missing. Like there''s a void inside of me." Her voice quivered, reflecting her inner turmoil. "A hollow..."
Without another word, Baal kicked off his shoes and stripped off his cardigan and shirt. He climbed into the narrow hospital bed beside her.
"What are you doing? This bed''s not built for two!" She tried to protest, but her words were feeble, unconvincing and he was warm.
"Shh, we''ll make it work," Baal hushed her as he gathered her into his arms. Almost instantly, her tremors subsided, replaced by the warmth radiating from his skin - demons'' skin was known to be warmer than any other.
She could feel his breath on her cheek, each exhale a soft whisper that seemed to say, ''You''re not alone.''
And in that small, sterile room, surrounded by the quiet rustle of hospital sheets, Nord found a slice of something that almost tasted like home.
"What is happening to me?" Nord''s voice cracked as she spoke, the weight of her own confusion becoming too much to bear. She tried to sit up, but Baal''s hand pressed gently yet firmly on her shoulder, guiding her back down onto the bed.
"No, you''re staying right here with me," Baal tightened his arms around her, his eyes meeting hers with a seriousness she couldn''t dismiss. "You need to get all that ''vampire shit venom'' flushed out of your system first."
"Then what happened? Did he tell you anything?" Nord asked, her eyes scanning Baal''s for clues for some semblance of reason. "Did he say why he disappeared?"
"Adamastor talked, alright. I can be very... persuasive when I need to be," Baal replied, a playful edge to his voice aimed at lightening the mood. "Look, there''s something you need to understand about vampires. They''re addicts, which makes them incredibly dangerous. Some are addicted to blood in general, some to a specific type, and some to a specific person. Nord, Adamastor is an addict."
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Nord said nothing, simply letting Baal''s words sink in. She lay there, her head cradled against his chest, taking in the steady thump of his heartbeat, letting it lull her into a fragile sense of security. And for that brief moment, enveloped in his warmth, she felt as if the missing pieces inside her were a little less gaping, a little less cold.
"You never told me Adamastor bit you the first day you met him," Baal said, his eyes searching hers.
"It was an accident," Nord''s voice was soft, almost a whisper. "He didn''t mean to."
"Adamastor told me that was a game-changer for him. He lost his taste for hunting after that. So, instead, he went to Mme Bougie''s and..." Baal''s voice trailed off, and he swallowed as though the next words were difficult to say. "There''s this woman, Ursula, who works there. She''s not, you know, traditionally attractive and¡ª"
"You know her?" Nord interrupted, curiosity overtaking her.
"Everyone knows her," Baal shot back.
"Do you know her?" Nord pressed, her eyes narrowing into playful slits.
"Okay, fine, I''ve seen her around. Is this your way of asking if I''ve ever hired a prostitute? Because I''d find that mildly offensive," he replied, half-smirking, half-defensive.
"So, have you?" Nord continued a mischievous sparkle dancing in her eyes.
"No," Baal emphasized as if the word alone could ward off further questions.
"Is it because you''re a married man?" Nord laughed, a touch of irony in her voice.
"Yes," Baal played along, a grin spreading across his face.
"You''re such a liar," Nord giggled, her laughter brightening the sterile air of the room. It was as if her laughter had the power to push away, however briefly, the weight of the hospital walls around them.
"Jeez, you never let anything slide, do you?" Baal sighed, his eyes meeting hers again, but this time filled with warmth and a sense of comfort that spoke louder than any words could.
"I am just teasing you because you act like Mr. Know-It-All," Nord said, the corners of her mouth pulling into a more serious line. "Married? Yeah, right."
Baal exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "Alright, back on track. Ursula has a unique skill set. She''s a ''Mesmer,'' meaning she can create illusions that make her appear as whoever her clients desire. Adamastor used her services to¡ªwell, to see you, in a way. It helped him manage his cravings when he was around you."
"So he had her impersonate me?" Nord''s eyes squinted, grappling with this new layer of complexity. "Did I get it right?"
"Yes," Baal confirmed, relieved that the conversation had veered away from any more probing questions about Ursula''s line of work.
"I don''t get it. I''m not even that special," Nord muttered.
Baal locked eyes with her. In that silence, his gaze said what words couldn''t¡ªthat she was more special than she realized.
"Then why did he disappear? Did something happen to Ursula?" The concern in Nord''s voice was palpable.
"He didn''t hurt her, not in a way that wasn''t agreed upon," Baal assured her quickly. "Things spiralled when two hunters appeared at Mme Bougie''s place."
"The same hunters came to the Manor? Han and Leelo, remember? And by the time you told them about Mme Bougie, Adamastor had already been missing," Nord pointed out, her voice cutting through her previous fog of confusion.
"Yeah, those two... People lie, Nord," Baal said gravely, taking her hand in his own. "They were on a hunt... You need to stop assuming that everyone here is benign. This world is no safer than Earth."
"So why didn''t he come back?" Nord''s voice was tinged with a vulnerability that begged for an answer.
"He said he was scared, Nord. And ashamed enough to hide in the one place nobody would think to look." Baal''s eyes met hers earnestly. "Turns out he didn''t give Nord Morningstar enough credit for persistence and brightness."
"So he was hiding in the shrine all along? Practically in our backyard?" Nord''s tone was tinged with disbelief.
"Yes," Baal nodded, "and starving the entire time."
"So what''s our next move?" Nord asked, her eyes searching Baal''s for guidance.
"That''s for you to decide," he replied softly, leaning in and running his fingers gently through her hair. "You need to determine what''s right for you."
"And if you were in my shoes?"
"I''m not you, Nord. If I were, I''d probably take a path you wouldn''t even consider. I''m not the forgiving type. I don''t offer second chances," he paused, choosing his next words carefully. "And Adamastor''s already used up his one get-out-of-jail-free card."
"So what are my options?" she queried, settling comfortably into his touch.
"First off, we could just kill him. I mean, come on, Nord. I can handle a vampire."
Nord looked up, a wry smile on his lips. "You forget, you''ve got no magic."
Baal leaned in, eyes intense. "Magic isn''t the end-all, be-all, you know. I''ve got strength and speed. I''m a demon; I could disassemble that vampire limb by limb."
Nord stared at him, unimpressed. "No, you wouldn''t."
Baal''s eyebrows arched his expression, a mix of incredulity and slight offence. "Excuse me? I am a demon. Are you doubting my capabilities?"
"I''m doubting your intent. You''re not a cold-blooded killer. If you were, we wouldn''t be having this discussion. You''d have already sorted it out." Nord''s eyes met Baal''s, steady and certain.
Baal looked down, a soft, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "Maybe being around someone has softened some of my edges."
Nord nodded. "So, the kill option is off the table. What''s your Plan B?"
Baal straightened up, clearing his throat. "We could banish him. Kick him out of the Morningstar estate."
Nord''s eyes widened, "Absolutely not. He''s been good to me, Baal. He knows that estate inside out more than I do. It''s his home, too."
With a heavy sigh, Baal leaned back, letting his eyes wander to the ceiling tiles. "I had a feeling you''d push for the third option."
Nord''s smile was tinged with fatigue, "Well, then maybe it''s the right one."
[CH. 0031] - Go Home
¡°Hell is empty and all the devils are here.¡± - William Shakespeare
The bar at Mme Bougie''s reverberated with a cacophony of indulgences. Raucous laughter clashed with the constant chink of glasses. High heels drummed a relentless rhythm on the time-worn floor, punctuating the brassy notes of a piano from the corner stage. If debauchery had a second home, it was surely here.
"Hit me!" a man roared from a table near the entrance, eyes alight with reckless abandon. Cards slapped against the felt. Across the room, a couple seemed unaware of the public setting, entangled in an embrace that verged on the cheap obscene.
Baal pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes cutting through the smoky haze. He leaned against the counter, rubbing his chin.
"A dry one, please," he ordered, locking eyes with the bartender, who obliged by sliding a glass of whiskey down the polished wood.
Lifting the glass to his lips, Baal scanned the room, his gaze sharp and calculated. Then he found her¡ªUrsula. Unlike the other girls who paraded their assets with plunging necklines, tight corsets and culottes that left little to the imagination, Ursula carried herself differently. Draped in an elegant dress that whispered allure rather than screamed it, she was an enigma in this haven of excess.
Rumour had it she was the most expensive girl at Mme Bougie''s, and Baal could understand why. She had a certain... allure, she wasn''t pretty, she was exotic. Yet, the thought of her assuming Nord''s form for a client, Adamastor especially, churned his stomach. The very idea was grotesque. But tonight, he wasn''t here to ponder the disturbing depths of men''s desire or Ursula''s talent for illusion.
His eyes narrowed. Tonight, he was on the hunt for something else entirely, something far more perilous than fleeting pleasure or a rigged card game. And as he sipped his whiskey, his eyes never leaving Ursula, he sensed that his quarry was dangerously close.
Baal watched intently as Ursula gracefully sat between the two men, her movements as calculated as a chess grandmaster''s. Han and Leelo looked deceivingly presentable; their appearances polished to an urban sheen that belied their predatory instincts.
The two vampire hunters were hard Pucks, their eyes missing the jovial glint shared by the gamblers and hedonists around them. To the untrained eye, they looked like men in for a good time, but Baal knew the difference. These men were here for blood, vampire blood, not pleasure. And so was he.
Ursula played her role flawlessly, giggling at just the right moments, her eyes sparkling as she engaged them in inconsequential chit-chat. It was a dance as old as time¡ªseduction and entrapment¡ªbut tonight, Ursula was not the spider, and they were not the flies. The hunter was being hunted, and Baal was ready to spring the trap.
His fingers clenched around the glass, leaving smudged prints on the smooth surface. He prayed for Ursula''s failure; he needed those men untouched, unaltered. He couldn''t afford to let either of them vanish into one of Mme Bougie''s private rooms with Ursula or anyone else. His mission depended on their availability, and his patience was wearing razor-thin.
As Ursula leaned in to whisper something into Han''s ear, a smile curling her red lips, Baal felt a surge of adrenaline. Time was slipping through his fingers like sand, and he had to act now.
Taking one last sip of his whiskey, he placed the empty glass down with calculated force. Its thud was drowned out by the escalating clamour of the bar. He pushed off the counter and wove his way through the crowd, eyes fixed on his prey.
Tonight was the night; there would be no more delays, no more games. Han and Leelo had no idea, but their time had come. And Baal wasn''t planning to stick around Mme Bougie''s sordid wonderland any longer than absolutely necessary.
Baal''s voice sliced through the ambient noise, tinged with a feigned cheerfulness that only alcohol could muster. "Gentlemen! What a surprise!"
Leelo''s eyes narrowed, scepticism darkening his features. "You? What are you doing here?"
Han snickered, his laugh edged with a hint of derision. "Is your wife not being ''wifey'' enough, pal?"
The pair burst into laughter, and Baal forced himself to join, his laugh a hollow echo. Seizing the fleeting moment when the men were absorbed in their self-amused banter, Baal leaned subtly towards Ursula. His whispered words were veiled, meant for her ears alone.
Ursula''s eyes met his. Time seemed to freeze for a second before she stood up gracefully, her face an unreadable mask. "If you''ll excuse me, gentlemen."
"But where''s she going? Come back!" Han called out, his brow furrowed with sudden irritation.
"What did you tell her?" Leelo shot the question at the demon like a bullet.
Baal casually slid into Ursula''s now vacant seat, easing himself into the triangle of tension. "I just told her I needed to talk with both of you alone. And here we are."
Leelo''s eyes bored into him. "What do you want, demon? If you''re not here for the girls, then why are you here?"
¡°Ah, the crux of the matter,¡± Baal mused. It''s time for the cards to be laid on the table.
"What would a demon want? Trade, of course," Baal declared, his voice sliding like oil over water. "I came here to strike a deal. What do you say, gentlemen? What do your hearts truly desire?"
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His eyes met theirs, locking onto each man in turn. His words hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing offer that was as dangerous as it was tempting. Baal could see the flicker of intrigue light up in their eyes, a momentary spark before caution and scepticism could snuff it out.
It was a spark he intended to fan into a flame, one way or another.
Han''s hand hovered near his waist. His jacket pushed back just enough to reveal a leather holster cradling a gun. "What can a demon offer that my two guns can''t?"
Baal smirked, signalling a waitress for another glass of whiskey. "Well, the point of trade is that we each bring something unique to the table, no? You tell me what you want, I tell you what I want, and if both parties agree, then we have two very satisfied men and one contented demon."
He took a sip from the fresh glass the waitress set before him, his eyes never leaving the faces of the two hunters. "So, gentlemen, what is your heart''s most desire?"
Han didn''t hesitate. "We want that vampire."
Leelo chimed in, emboldened by the liquid courage swirling in his veins. "There''s a lot of tokens on that leech''s head!"
Baal leaned back, tapping his fingers against the side of his glass, thoughtful. "I''m quite sympathetic to your line of work, and I truly appreciate your, ah, community service, let''s say. But just out of curiosity, what has this vampire done to earn such fervour from you?"
His eyes flicked between Han and Leelo, reading the intricate lines of their expressions. Both men had set their stakes high, revealing their hand, but Baal needed to understand the rules of their game before deciding to play along.
¡°We only know someone in Onyxburg wants him dead, dead and dead. No reason or whys given, besides the only clue we have is that the leech is stuck in Ravensdrift for good!¡± Leelo''s revelation piqued Baal''s interest, and it wasn''t lost on him that his glass remained untouched despite the man''s animated manner. No alcohol, then, but something else fueling this candour.
"Stuck in Ravendrift, you say?" Baal swirled the liquid in his glass, contemplating the implications.
Han picked up the narrative thread, "Leeches tend to get obsessive, cling to a prey. But our guess is that this one''s been told to stay put by his Master. And then got forgotten or something."
Baal raised an eyebrow. "I wasn''t aware that vampires operated on such¡ªwhat should I call it¡ªloyalty?"
Han chuckled, a harsh sound that lacked real humour. "It''s not the true vampires that are loyal. Those don''t give a fuck. It''s the spawns, the thralls puppets for real vampires. We can''t find this one, but we know he''s close. Scoured the forest, checked Morningstar Estate, everything. He can''t be far."
Baal took a deliberate sip of his whiskey, savouring the burn as it went down. This was the crux of it, the point where potential became reality. "So, if I understand correctly, you want this elusive vampire served up on a silver platter?"
Both men nodded, their eyes sharp, attentive.
Baal leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Then we''ve got the makings of a trade. You''ll get your vampire. As for what I want..." He paused, relishing the momentary tension that filled the air. "Let''s just say I have my own prey in mind¡ªsomething that requires unique skills, skills that both of you possess. And I want it."
Leelo and Han exchanged glances, the unspoken question hanging heavy between them: Do we trust this demon?
Baal caught their wary looks and grinned. "Gentlemen, what''s life without a little risk? Especially when the rewards could be so... enriching."
His eyes glinted with an unholy fire, a dangerous promise that stoked the embers of their own desires. Now, it was just a matter of waiting to see if they would take the bait.
"So, what''s the real game, demon?" Leelo''s voice was suddenly sharper as if a veil had lifted from his senses.
Baal looked from Leelo to Han, his gaze like a blade in the dim light. "I want the Hollow. I aim to destroy it."
Han recoiled, his eyes widening. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, we don''t mess with that kind of darkness, buddy! No amount of tokens could make us face that monstrosity!"
"I don''t need you to face it. I said I need your skills, not you," Baal clarified.
"What skills?" Leelo pressed, his eyes narrowed.
Baal gestured towards the holstered weapons at their sides. "I need your Allatori bullets. Each and every one. You won''t need them if I provide the exact location of the vampire spawn. I''ve got bigger fish to fry, and I think you can appreciate that."
Han scrutinized Baal, suspicion written all over his face. "There''s more to it, isn''t there? This trade seems too simple, too easy."
Baal sighed, his eyes momentarily softening. "Alright, fine. I also require two happy memories. Something insignificant yet precious. Moments that made you feel warm and fuzzy inside."
Leelo and Han looked at each other, scepticism battling with temptation in their eyes. Finally, Han spoke. "Alright, give us the location first, then."
Baal shook his head, a sly grin crossing his face. "Ah, that''s not how this works. First, you hand over the Allatori bullets. Every single one. Then, I''ll take your cherished memories. And only after that will you get your vampire."
He leaned back, locking eyes with both men, daring them to make their choice. The air was thick with tension, each second ticking away like a countdown to an unknown fate. Would they bite?
Baal, sensing the lingering scepticism in their eyes, decided to sweeten the pot. "Alright, let''s make it more interesting. I''ve written the location down," he said, scribbling on a coaster before folding it and placing it under his glass. "As hunters, you should know that I can''t lie, right?"
Leelo shot a glance at Han, nodding. "It''s true, Han. Demons can''t lie."
Han sized up Baal, his eyes lingering on the absence of horns or tail. "You''re missing some of the usual demonic features."
"Look, they were cut off, alright? Now, are we going to get into details, or are we striking a deal? Otherwise, I''ll offer your vampire to someone else," Baal snapped, losing his patience, ¡°How many tokens are they offering? 50? 100? 500? I could use some tokens myself.¡±
Han sighed, then reluctantly unholstered his gun. He emptied the magazine, the Allatori bullets clinking as they hit the table. Leelo followed suit, emptying his own.
"Now what?" Han asked.
With a gleam in his eye, Baal took a final gulp of his whiskey and set the empty glass on the table. "Now, remember," he whispered, his eyes probing into each man''s soul, searching for those fleeting moments of happiness.
Leelo''s mind drifted back to a day in school, reciting a poem and being patted on the head by his teacher¡ªa stark contrast to his father''s scorn that very morning. Han''s memory was more recent, the simple, intimate gesture of caressing Nord''s empty ring finger and imagining a future with her.
Baal''s stomach turned slightly as he absorbed Han''s memory, but he took the precious moments from both men into his cup and drank them down. The two men seemed disoriented for a moment as if waking from a dream.
When Han refocused, he noticed the folded coaster under the empty glass. Unfolding it, he read the message: "Go home."
"Leelo, did you see anyone leave this note at our table?" he asked, puzzled.
Leelo shook his head. "Nah, man, it''s been just you and me. If someone was here, I''d have noticed."
Han looked again at the note, mulling over its simplicity. "Strange, it just says ''go home.''"
Demons may not lie, but that doesn''t mean their truths are easy to understand. And as they say, the devil is in the details.
[CH. 0032] - Go Home
"Then we create happy memories together." Baal Berith
Despite having been out cold for several long hours, it seemed to stretch on endlessly. Finally nestled in her bed, Nord surveyed the atmosphere of the house in her mind. Finnea and Kirara were already tucked away in their rooms for the night. As for Baal, he''d headed home, leaving her with the news that he''d be moving in with Merlin the next day, given that the room was set up and ready.
Then there was Adamastor¡ªa lingering question mark. They hadn''t crossed paths since their charged exchange, and the not-knowing gnawed at her.
Booting up her scarcely charged mobile device¡ªit had only reached an 18% charge¡ªNord figured it was enough juice for a short dive into the unknown.
She pulled up the last video she''d watched, still paused in its final moments. Hitting ''play,'' her past self filled the silence, answering the lingering question about who she had summoned: "Baal Berith."
Did she hear that right? Was this the same Baal that was becoming an ever-increasing part of her life? Gripped by a sudden urgency, she rewound the video, clutching her phone closer to her ear. Once more, she pressed ''play'': "Baal Berith."
The name echoed in the quiet room, tangling itself into her thoughts like a troublesome knot, leaving her with questions she wasn''t entirely sure she wanted to untangle.
Nord''s fingers hovered over the trackpad, finally clicking on the next file labelled ''03.mov.'' As the video sprang to life, she was greeted by an image of herself, seemingly post-workout, with black hand bandages unspooling from her wrists. Her past persona was dressed in a sports bra, hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. When did she start to go to the gym? Or doing any sports at all?
"This is video 03. I''m Nord Morningstar, and I will travel from Earth to Nyu soon. Very soon," Her younger self panted, visibly trying to catch her breath.
Just then, a distant knock sounded, causing her to rise from her seated position. The phone''s microphone was good enough to pick up the dialogue that followed.
"Hey, have you seen my lotion?" came a male voice, muffled by distance.
"Did you look in the drawer?"
"Yep, it''s not there."
"Try my side of the bed, babe. I might''ve been the last one to use it."
"I looked there first!" came the frustrated reply.
Her previous self couldn''t help but chuckle. "Then use mine!"
"But it smells like bubblegum. Ah, wait, found it!"
Her brows shot up, curiosity piqued. "And where was it?"
"I... rather not say."
"So it was exactly where I told you to look, wasn''t it?" She stifled her laughter with her hand, barely containing her amusement.
A resigned silence was his answer.
"You can''t lie to me, you know."
"I know," he finally admitted, the sounds of a faucet running filling the brief silence.
Her past self returned to her original seat with a grin that could light up a room. "Demons can''t lie, but that doesn''t stop him from trying to outwit me. Now, where was I? Ah, right. How did I summon Baal Berith? I was fifteen and possessed the book Witchy Things 101 by Merlina Maria Allatori."
Nord''s eyes darted across the room one last time, scanning her mother and stepfather''s distant snores, her little sister South''s serene face nuzzled against her pillow. With cautious steps, she tiptoed to her bedroom door, fingers fumbling to slide the lock into place.
"Quiet as a ghost," she whispered to herself, pushing her desk and chair to the corner of the room with barely a scrape. Every inch of available floor beckoned to her.
Retrieving the white salt and stolen red chalk from under her bed, her hands trembled as they sketched the intricate patterns and arcane symbols of the summoning circle. Each line felt like crossing a border she couldn''t return from. But she had to know, had to prove that she was something more.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she opened the box cutter, steel glinting ominously under the dim bedroom light. For a moment, she hesitated. Then, with a quick, incisive motion, she sliced the palm of her hand, wincing at the sting. Blood trickled down, dribbling onto the chalk and salt markings below.
Eyes narrowed, Nord inhaled deeply, summoning the words she had committed to memory: "''Behold my face and form by whom all things were made, and whom all creatures obey. Behold my lips, tongue, and voice! I summon you, demon and the name I choose is yours¡ªBaal Berith!"
The room grew silent, the air thick. Nord waited, staring intensely from the summoning circle at each corner of her room. The blood on her palm began to dry.
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Nothing. Not a flicker, whisper, or even a puff of sulfurous air.
"I knew it," Nord spat, her voice tinged with self-mockery and disappointment. "I knew I wasn''t a witch."
Dropping the box cutter on the floor with a clang that felt louder than it was, she sucked the drying blood from her wounded palm.
Just as Nord was about to dismiss it all as foolishness, she felt a warm sensation trickling down her leg. Not from her hand, where she''d drawn blood, but elsewhere.
"Shit!" Panic edged her whisper as she unlocked the door, bolting to the bathroom.
"Honey? Is everything okay?" Her mother''s voice floated through the hallway, tinged with sleepy concern.
"Yeah, Mum, just my period," Nord called back, her heart still hammering. In the bathroom, she hurriedly cleaned herself up, borrowing a tampon from her mother''s stash. With a sigh, she trudged back to her room, ready to put an end to this embarrassing chapter of her teen life.
But the moment she stepped inside, she froze. There he was, standing just beyond the now-smeared summoning circle¡ª an intriguing and unsettling figure shrouded in blood and sweat. Red, vivid hair as fire and coal-burnt eyes.
"Are you... are you Ba-Ba.." She was petrified. She summoned a demon from the depth of hell, or so Nord believed at that time.
"You freed me..." the demon looked at his wrist and touched himself, "I''m free!"
"Hi!" Nord blurted out suddenly, the word hanging awkwardly between them like a stray thread. Politeness, after all, seemed bizarrely important even now, with her first summon standing in front of her.
The demon¡ªBaal Berith¡ªfixed her with a look so intense it was almost tactile. His eyes were bottomless pits of black, framed by irises that flickered like smouldering orange embers. The sight was both terrifying and captivating. She found she couldn''t look away.
"So, are you Baal, the overlord of hell?" she finally managed, her voice barely more than a whisper.
For a moment, he seemed to weigh his answer, his gaze drifting to the marred summoning circle where his own blood mingled with the remnants of salt. "No," he declared at last, lifting his eyes back to hers, "I''m Baal Berith."
Nord''s breath hitched in her throat as she met the demon''s eyes. "I can''t believe you''re real," she stammered, her words filling the silence like a rock disrupting a still pond.
"Very much so," Baal Berith replied, grimacing as he looked down at his blood-streaked form. "Do you have anything for cleaning up? I seem to be a mess."
Nord blinked, breaking away from the trance of his eyes. She quickly snapped into action, grabbing a stack of old t-shirts from her closet and tossing them his way. "Here. I was going to turn those into a quilt or something, but you can have them."
Baal caught the bundle of cloth effortlessly, using it to wipe away the worst of the blood and grime. "You''re not exactly what I pictured when I thought of a summoner."
"Likewise," Nord chuckled, feeling her heart still racing but her nerves easing. "You''re, uh, younger than I expected."
"I''m sixteen," he said, his voice tinged with mild irritation as if age was an inconsequential detail. "You?"
"Fifteen," she admitted. "Just your average teenage witch, I guess."
"Hardly average if you managed to pull me from the Nethersphere," he replied, sounding vaguely impressed. "Is that what they call Hell here?"
Nord shook her head, "No, Hell''s something different. The Nethersphere is new to me."
"A realm of eternal conflict and chaos," Baal explained, as he began to look more presentable, or at least less like he¡¯d walked through a battlefield.
"So, like high school?" Nord joked.
The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a sardonic smile. "Something like that."
"Do they have high schools where you''re from?"
"You could say the education is...different," he said, now scrutinizing his cleaned-up arms and torso. "So, what now?"
Nord felt her heart swell with a cocktail of emotions¡ªfear, exhilaration, curiosity. "Well, you''re here, in my room, in the mortal realm. I guess you''re supposed to grant me wishes or something?"
His lips curled into a slight grin, transforming his austere visage momentarily. "Something like that. What''s your name, my minion?"
"Minion?" Nord raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued but her scepticism intact.
"Yes, you belong to me now until our contract is fulfilled." As he spoke, Baal pulled on a pink t-shirt from Nord''s collection. The rainbow emblazoned across the front contrasted sharply with his foreboding presence. The words "Make Your Dreams Come True" stretched across his chest, an absurd yet oddly fitting sentiment given the circumstances.
"Like a slave?" Nord''s eyes narrowed; her voice teetered between curiosity and concern.
He shook his head, "No, it''s more of a bond. Don''t fret; it''s temporary. You tell me what you desire, gift me one of your happy memories, and just like that¡ªour contract is complete. You''ll forget you ever met me." The corners of his mouth tightened into what looked like a sad smile, imbuing his words with a tinge of melancholy.
"You sound lonely," Nord observed, her voice softer now, infused with genuine concern.
"I''ve grown accustomed to it," he replied, his eyes meeting hers, the burning flames within them flickering ever so slightly. "Don''t worry about me."
Caught off guard by the blend of vulnerability and raw emotion, Nord looked at Baal Berith, who seemed surprisingly... cute. A complex and otherworldly creature, yes, but still undeniably attractive in a way she hadn''t anticipated.
"So, what''s your name?" he inquired, breaking her reverie.
"Nord Morningstar."
His eyes widened, and he buried his face in his hands. "Oh, shit. You''re part of a covenant. What have I gotten myself into?"
"You can probably guess what I want then," Nord suggested, her lips curving into a self-assured smile.
He looked up, desperation lacing his words. "Please tell me you want a boyfriend, or fame, or fortune. Anything but¡ª"
"I want to destroy the Hollow," she interjected, her voice tinged with fierce resolve.
He winced, "Damn, that''s even worse than I feared. You''re not asking to hex another witch or to gain more magical power. You want to eradicate the Hollow?"
"Exactly. Can you help or not?"
"I can equip you with the tools and the knowledge, but I can''t destroy it myself. You''ll have to do the actual deed."
"That''s more than enough," she nodded, a glimmer of hope igniting within her.
"All I require in return is all your happy memories," he announced, his eyes lighting up for the first time.
Nord''s face flushed crimson as she scanned the room as if her eyes could latch onto a forgotten fragment of joy. Silence stretched into an eternity before she finally said, "I don''t have any happy memories to give you."
Tears formed in her eyes, but she wiped them away swiftly. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose remained a rosy hue. It struck Baal Berith how incredibly endearing she looked at that moment. Adorable even.
Something shifted in him. He reached out, his hands enveloping hers, their eyes meeting in mutual complicity. "Then we create happy memories together.", he said, his voice tinged with an emotion he couldn''t quite define. Why would he say that? Why did it feel like home?
[CH. 0033] - Go Home
¡°I am an unwilling devil. I cry like some vagrant child. I want to go home.¡± - Anne Rice
Nord sat alone in her room, staring at the pixelated face on her mobile screen. The image was her but not her¡ªa past version of herself recorded on video, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"I can''t put into words how I felt about what he told me. There''s just no right way to describe it," her past self confessed, tears finally spilling over as she pressed her mouth and nose between her fingers as if trying to hold her emotions inside like a prayer.
"I hope if I ever see this video, the plan worked. That at least he won''t be alone because... because he doesn''t deserve it. He''s so..." Unable to finish her thought, her past self collapsed, her forehead hitting the desk as she sobbed uncontrollably. Her muffled words were unintelligible, lost amidst the folds of her own grief.
Then, a knock on the door broke the silence. "Baby, are you alright?"
Sitting up, her past self wiped away the tears, straightening up as if she could rearrange her emotions just as easily. "Yeah, Baby, I''m fine."
The door opened. "I can hear you crying! Why are you crying? I''m coming in!"
The person who entered wasn''t visible on camera. Only his voice and his immediate embrace filled the room. "It''s okay, we knew this would happen, come on, don''t be sad. Alright?" His words were a tender litany punctuated by kisses.
Nord leaned closer to the screen as if proximity could provide clarity. The camera''s angle obscured the person''s face, a crucial detail shrouded in mystery. Was it Baal? She couldn''t be sure. But the emotion, the pain and the love mingling in that digital moment were palpable across the boundaries of time and data. A ghost of her past whispering truths Nord still didn''t remember.
The air was thick with the sound of another distant sobbing, a haunting cadence that shattered the tranquillity of the night. Nord rose cautiously from her bed, curiosity overcoming her initial reluctance. She inched her door open and peered out. There, hunched over on the staircase, was Baal. His posture was defeated, his aura tainted by the unmistakable smells of whiskey and cigarettes¡ªmuch like Adamastor on his visits to Mme Bougie.
Nord descended the stairs softly, each step a muted whisper on the carpet. As she reached Baal, she sat beside him, her hand hesitantly finding his shoulder.
"Hey, you alright? Weren''t you and Merlin supposed to arrive just tomorrow? What''s going on?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.
Baal sniffled, his eyes red-rimmed. "I went to Bougie''s, had a few, and when it was time to leave, I just wanted to go home. So I walked home!"
Her eyes narrowed. "What happened, Baal? You''re freaking me out."
"I wanted to go home! I just wanted to go home, and I ended up here," he choked out, his tears spilling unceremoniously. He was not one to cry gracefully.
Nord suppressed a slight smile. "You''re drunk, Baal."
His shoulders trembled as he struggled to catch his breath. "You don''t get it. I just wanted to be home. That''s what I wanted."
"This is home, or it will be tomorrow. But we can start now," she said, gently rubbing his arm in a comforting rhythm, "Now, time to sleep, big boy!"
Baal locked eyes with her. "It''s not the same. It''ll never be the same." He paused, his gaze softening. "Are you alright? Do you still feel... vampire stuff..."
"I''m fine," she assured him. Rising, she helped him to his feet, steadying his wobbling form. "Let''s get you to bed."
Together, they staggered down the hall to his room, Baal tripping over his feet and sniffling like a lost child. Nord helped him shed his rumpled clothes before tucking him under the sheets. As she turned to leave, she caught the strange way he was looking at her.
"What''s the matter? Need something?"
Baal hesitated, then turned away. "Never mind. Don''t want another slap from you. It hurts."
With that, he turned his back on her and drifted into an uneasy sleep, leaving Nord standing, "You are so weird..."
The golden light of noon bathed the room in a soft glow as Nord took a step back to admire her handiwork. Jars of ink sat next to intricate vials of Dryad magic, and a delicate jar marked ''Four Leaf Memory Magic'' stood beside her tattoo machine. She double-checked the battery level¡ªit was good to go.
Her eyes swept over the art on the walls, the plush couch, the snug rugs, and the small trinkets that lent the space a cosy ambience. She had poured her soul into this room, and it was ready for the grand opening.
Just then, the door creaked open. "Hey, am I disturbing you?"
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Nord spun around and felt her stomach clench. "Adamastor, no, come in," she forced herself to say with a welcoming smile. He was necessary for the estate''s operations, and she was determined to rise above the roles others might expect her to play. And she refused to be the victim.
"I brought you some fresh-made orange juice as a peace offering," Adamastor said, setting down a jug and a single cup on her counter.
"Thank you. You didn''t have to," Nord replied, her eyes meeting his.
"I did. What I''ve done to you is...unforgivable. I''m trying to keep a low profile around the house, but..." He hesitated. "I miss being around you."
Nord sighed nervously. "I just need time to understand¡ªto find solutions that work for both of us."
Adamastor filled a glass with orange juice and offered it to her. "Peace offering?"
She accepted it and took a long sip. "I appreciate it."
"I would join you, but¡ª"
"I''m not handing you any sort of liquids," she said, her laugh tinged with nervousness.
"As expected."
Her mood lightened a little. "I heard from Baal this morning. He''s dealt with the hunter issue, so you''re free to visit Miss Ursula whenever you like."
Adamastor''s face broke into a relieved smile. "I thanked him already. Those bullets could have been the end of me." He looked around the room, clearly impressed. "Is there anything else you need? All the rooms are set up. The inventory is full. We could open any moment."
Nord pondered for a moment. "What about entertainment?"
"We could consult the musicians at Mme Bougie, but I''d rather not mix the two businesses."
"Any other ideas?"
Adamastor grinned mischievously. "We do live with a demon, you know."
Nord raised an eyebrow. "So?"
"Trust me, when it comes to entertainment, there''s no creature that can match a demon''s skills."
Nord''s lips curled into a smile as she drained her glass. "Hmm, have you seen Baal today?"
"No, haven''t caught sight of him. He''s probably on his way with Merlin, that snail mule of his," Adamastor said, pouring another glass and handing it to her. She accepted with a nod.
"I think I''ll lie down for a bit," she announced, downing the second glass of orange juice in one gulp.
Adamastor''s eyes filled with a twinge of concern. "You''re not feeling well?"
"Oh, no, it''s nothing like that. Just some ''me time,'' you know?" Nord reassured him as she set the empty glass back on the counter.
"You can take the jug with you," he suggested, motioning toward the orange juice.
"Nah, leave it in the kitchen for the others. But it tasted really good¡ªit had a unique flavour. Cinnamon?" she asked, her brows arching inquisitively.
"No, just a pinch of salt. A little secret." Adamastor winked, his face breaking into a slight grin.
With a groan of seasoned wood and rusty nails, Baal hefted the final crate onto the cart, nestling it beside other crates already filled with empty glass jars. His muscles, lean and battle-hardened, ached from the morning''s work, but it was a satisfying ache.
Just as he was wiping the sweat from his brow, the creaky door of the shabby house swung open. Merlin hobbled out, dragging two bulging luggage bags behind him, each looking as ancient and weary as the wizard himself.
"Bloody Atua, Merlin! What''d I say about the heavy lifting?" Baal''s arms swiftly lifted one of the bags off the ground, saving Merlin from a potential fall.
"As long as these old legs can walk, they''ll carry my burdens, thank you very much!" Merlin''s eyes sparkled with indignation, even as his voice quivered.
Baal smirked as he shoved the other bag next to the first, "Yeah, right. Because clearly, you''re in the prime of your youth." he muttered, placing the bag beside the crates.
"I heard that you cheeky demon," Merlin retorted, "You make it sound like you''re already rehearsing for my eulogy."
Merlin shot him a wry smile, to which Baal responded with a smirk.
"Don''t flatter yourself. Trust me, when you go, I''ve got better things to do than sob over your decaying carcass," he paused and, with a smirk, added, "but I won''t miss it! Will chant you goodbye on the first row with a bottle of wine."
"Hmph! If there''s an afterlife, you can bet I''ll be haunting you¡ªrattling your jars and howling in your ear!"
Chuckling, Baal reached out and steadied Merlin as he clumsily attempted to climb into the cart. "Funny you should say that, old man. Remember our agreement? Once this is all over, you''ll lose every memory of me. How exactly do you plan on haunting someone you don¡¯t even know exist?"
Merlin looked momentarily stumped, then shrugged. "Well, if I don''t remember you, consider yourself lucky. Otherwise, I''d make an eternal commitment to be your otherworldly damnation!"
With a final grunt and push, Baal helped Merlin settle into the cart. Then he circled around to the front, gripping the reins tightly. He looked back at the wizard, a complex weave of fondness and anticipation settling into his gaze.
"So, you ready to set the Morningstar on fire, or what?"
Merlin grinned, the glint of old adventures sparking anew in his eyes. "Lead the way, young demon. Let''s meet at our new home."
"Wait! Please wait!"
The sudden cry jolted Baal and Merlin, snapping their heads in the direction of the voice. A small girl, not older than eight, came running toward them, her face flushed and breaths coming in rapid, shallow pants.
"I''ve got a message for Mr. Berith," she said between gasps for air.
Baal cocked an eyebrow. "You''re looking at him. What''s the message?"
"Miss Ursula wants to see you tonight," the girl panted.
Baal''s face hardened. "Tell her I''m not interested."
"Oh?" Merlin interjected, his curiosity piqued. "I''ve heard she''s quite interesting. Exotic!"
"I know, we met yesterday," Baal scowled, flustered by Merlin''s insinuation. "I''m not interested because there''s someone else. Someone... very specific. And¡ I¡¯m not that type."
The girl''s eyes widened, and she seemed almost desperate. "Sir, she said it''s very important. You must."
Baal''s grip tightened around the reins. "Look, I appreciate the urgency, but my answer is no. Now, if you''ll excuse us¡ª"
He slapped the reins against Mulan''s back, intending to ride off dramatically. Still, the mule moved with all the urgency of molasses flowing uphill.
"Please, Sir," the girl called out as if the slow-motion exit had reignited her hope. "She really begged me to make sure you''d come."
"Tell her I wish her the best, but my heart''s already spoken for," Baal replied, trying to sound decisive. Yet, he was awkwardly aware that his attempt at a bold exit was utterly compromised by the mule''s snail-like pace.
"Then what should I say to her?" The girl''s voice tinged with anxiety.
Baal pondered for a moment, trying to find the right words. Finally, he said, "Tell her something like, ''If it were ten years ago, perhaps our paths might have crossed differently. But a demon falls in love but once, and my heart belongs to another. And there is nothing I can do, or want to do, about it.''"
The girl stood in the middle of the road, her eyes tracing the outline of the cart as it crawled away. There was something haunting about the way she looked, as if carrying his message back to Ursula would be the heaviest thing she''d have to lift that day.
¡°What an idiot¡¡±
[CH. 0034] - The Violin
"Ten years is a lifetime." - Baal Berith
Nord lowered herself onto the soft mattress, feeling its welcoming embrace as she reclined. The room was filled with a soft morning glow. Beside her, Kirara lay curled up, her feline eyes closed in contentment. Even in her new, humanoid form, her purrs were still as soothing and melodic as ever. Her hair, which cascaded down like a waterfall of silk, retained the same velvety texture as her old fur. She was the epitome of peacefulness as she napped in the same curled position she always had.
Reaching toward her closet, Nord slid open a hidden compartment, carefully extracting a device that had seen better days. She winced when she powered it on and saw that it had only 10% battery life left. After this, recharging was inevitable. She navigated through the files and clicked on the one labelled "video 04.mov."
As the screen flickered to life, she found herself looking into a much darker setting. The Nord in the video paced to and fro in an agitated manner, a behaviour she immediately recognized as her own stress-induced pacing. Eventually, the other Nord took a seat in front of the screen, her face a cocktail of emotions.
"This is video 04. I''m Nord Morningstar, and will be leaving Earth for Nyu soon. Very soon." Her eyes shifted off-camera, and she paused, gathering her thoughts. "He''s asleep right now. And snoring. We spent most of the evening crying. This is agonizing for me, but it will be a thousand times worse for him. He''ll remember everything. Every single moment. And he told me he wouldn''t change a thing."
The words hung in the air as Nord watched herself on the screen. Her past self''s eyes looked clouded with internal debate before she continued, "The thought of him roaming Nyu alone is too much to bear. He''s always needed company more than I have. He hates to be alone. He is really fun to have around." she chuckled, "Nobody gets bored around him. But I have to stick to the plan. Once I gather enough funds, I''ll have to leave Ravendrift. Staying would make me an easy target. And I need to remember all of this!"
Past Nord glanced away again, this time her expression settling into determination. "I have to keep training¡ªrunning, fighting, even learning how to ride a horse seems like a good skill to pick up. But above all, I must stick to the plan. If all goes well, I won''t have to leave him alone. I can''t see myself doing this without him. I need him."
The video ended, and Nord found herself staring at a blank screen. Her eyes moved from the device to Kirara, who was still blissfully asleep beside her. For a moment, the weight of her past words settled on her like a shroud, and she wondered how many choices, how many turns had led her to this exact moment.
What did she give up? And was she talking about Baal? It couldn''t be. Otherwise, he would have told her.
She switched to the next video, 05.mov, and once more, she heard, "This is video 05. I''m Nord Morningstar, and will be leaving Earth for Nyu soon. Very soon."
Seated in a high school classroom that reeked of chalk dust and adolescent ennui, Nord found her eyes drifting from the equations on the blackboard to the window overlooking the school''s front gates. Math had always been her least favourite subject, a constant thorn in her side. What use was the Pythagorean theorem when all she wanted was to capture and mix colours on canvas?
Numbers and letters strung together in equations seemed as irrelevant to her future as a paintbrush would be to solving algebraic problems.
Outside, beyond the boundaries of equations and polynomial functions, she saw him¡ªpacing back and forth, his steps a frenetic dance of pure impatience. He wore jeans, a black T-shirt, and a matching black cardigan. His sunglasses, dark as midnight, were perched on his nose, hiding the unnerving demonic glint of his eyes.
Despite the overall coordination of his outfit, his hair was still a bursting mess of vivid red, sticking out in chaotic tufts.
Something was off today. He was usually so composed, so unflappable. The restless pacing was a deviation, a crack in the facade, and intrigued her. But more than that, she liked watching him¡ªliked the way he carried himself, liked the mysterious aura that enveloped him even as he wore the most mundane of outfits.
A voice snapped her back to reality. "Nord, would you care to solve this equation?"
Her gaze tore away from the window, the chalky numbers on the board now demanding her attention. With a mental sigh, she rose from her seat to approach the board, chalk in hand.
Nord chalked up the equation as quickly as she could, her mind half on the task and half outside with the red-haired enigma pacing near the school gates. As soon as the bell rang, she hurriedly shoved her books into her backpack and dashed out of the classroom, eager to escape the tedium of math.
"Baal!"
Emerging into the open air, she found him right where she''d last seen him, standing by the gates as if tethered by an invisible force.
"Waiting for me?" Nord adjusted the straps of her backpack as she approached.
"Who else would I be waiting for?" He tried to sound annoyed, but the edges of his lips twitched upwards in a smile, giving him away.
"You seem more weird than usual. What''s going on?" Nord asked, sensing his unusual demeanour.
"I found a place¡ªa caf¨¦. They serve crepes with Nutella!" His voice tinged with an excitement that seemed uncharacteristically juvenile for a sixteen-year-old demon.
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"How was it? Any good?" she asked, starting to walk in the direction of home.
"I don''t know. I was waiting for you," Baal admitted.
"All this time? Why didn''t you just go alone?"
"I don''t like being alone," he said, the words simple but laden with a depth that hinted at more than just a distaste for solitude.
She considered this, then ventured, "Maybe you should make some friends. You''re a likeable guy; you''d have no trouble."
His answer was immediate, almost reflexive. "I don''t want to make friends. I want to go eat crepes with you."
The sincerity in his voice stopped her in her tracks, and for a moment, all thoughts of math equations, upcoming art projects, and daily life faded away. Here was a puzzle that numbers couldn''t solve, an equation that defied all logic, yet somehow, it was the one that made the most sense to her.
"Alright," she smiled, "let''s go eat some crepes, then. You pay."
The table between them was a delicious battlefield, stained with sugar powder and smeared with remnants of Nutella. Yet amidst this culinary aftermath, Nord''s notebook lay open, its pages filled with hastily sketched maps, arrows, and annotations.
"So here is Ravendrift. From what I''ve gathered, your family owns a sizable manor there and runs some sort of business," he said, tracing a line on the map with his finger. "My idea is that you go there, take over the business, and¡ª"
"Hold on," Nord interrupted, her eyebrows furrowing. "I don''t know anything about running a business. And I don''t want to divert from my plan of becoming an artist. Besides, the whole point of this is for me to have happy memories, right?"
He looked up, meeting her eyes. "Of course. I''m working on some spells that will make this easier for you. I can conjure something that will naturally draw trade, money, and¡ªmost importantly¡ªrespect your way."
"Respect?" She looked puzzled.
"To prevent people from ripping you off," he explained.
"But how will I remember any of this if you''re planning to take my memories?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Baal paused, setting his fork down and meeting her gaze squarely. "You''re only losing the happy memories. Do you think this¡ªour crepe adventure, reviewing this map¡ªwill count as a happy memory for you?"
Her eyes widened. "Are you asking if I''m happy now?"
"Yeah. This is important. You can''t forget."
Blushing, she looked away. "The crepe wasn''t that great," she muttered, avoiding his eyes, "Of course, I''m not happy!"
"Would be silly if you were," he chuckled, a weight seemingly lifted from his shoulders. "Good. It''d be a real issue if I made you happy."
"Let''s get back to the plan," she said, eager to move the conversation along.
"Do you know when your sister''s initiation will be?" he asked.
"She turns 18 in ten years. That gives us a decade to figure out how to destroy... whatever we''re fighting against."
He nodded, his eyes taking on a serious gleam. "Ten years is a long time."
She sighed, staring at the smeared remnants of Nutella on her plate. "Yeah, ten years is a fucking lifetime."
A flicker of tension hung in the air as she shifted in her seat, her eyes meeting his. "So you''re saying that I''ll forget this entire conversation?"
"Yes and no. My presence, our banter, sure, those will be like fog by morning. But the information should stick. Think of it as learning how to ride a bike. The body remembers even if the mind forgets," Baal replied, a glint of pride lighting his eyes.
"And what about the map? How am I supposed to remember it if my teacher is Mr. Forgettable?"
His lips curled into a half-smile. "Ah, well, you''re going to take the map home, pore over it like it''s the only thing keeping you sane. No meddling from me. It will be all you."
"That¡¯s a convenient loophole," she snorted, snatching a piece of his crepe with her fork. "Never met a guy so full of himself."
"You''ll forget you ever said that. So, I can afford to be shameless," Baal retorted, picking up a pencil to draw a triangle encompassed by three circles on a scrap of paper.
She peered at the paper. "What''s all that?"
"This," he said, eyes narrowing in focus as he sketched, "is how magic works in my world. At the top, you have Atua. People in my world often see Atua as a supreme deity, something beyond mortal comprehension. There are cults dedicated to it, which you''d do well to avoid." He glanced up at her as if ensuring she was taking it all seriously.
"And these other parts?" She leaned closer to look at his drawing.
"These are Atua Ma and Atua Na. Chaos and Order, respectively. But here''s the thing: there''s no good or bad here. It''s all in the execution." His eyes met hers, a silent challenge. "Atua Ma is driven by emotional instinct. It''s chaotic magic, difficult to control. Atua Na is the polar opposite; calculated, intentional."
"I see," she said, locking eyes with him for a moment longer than necessary. "Shouldn''t I be looking at your beautiful artwork here?"
"You should," he nodded, "but you''re not."
"I am!"
"No, you''re looking at me," he said, a playful grin widening on his face.
"Oh, for heaven''s sake, your ego must be so obese it needs its own zip code. Get back to Atua, will you? I''m listening."
He chuckled, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ah, you won''t remember saying that either, but I will. And I''ll savour it every time you do."
His eyes sparkled with mischief, almost daring her to steal another bite of his crepe. "Fine, fine," he said, redirecting his focus back to the paper. "So, think of these three forces as a sort of trifecta: Atua is the potential energy, while Atua Ma and Atua Na are the kinetic forces that set everything in motion. They''re not separate but elements of a cohesive whole."
She stared at the doodles on the paper, trying to visualize the forces he was describing. "So, what''s the ''hollow that will be inside of me'' got to do with it?"
He looked up, locking eyes with her. "That hollow makes you more susceptible to the influences of either Atua Ma or Atua Na. It''s like having an open door where others have walls. You can''t be swayed by the zealots or charlatans who''d abuse this knowledge."
She looked sceptical but intrigued. "And how am I supposed to control these...forces? Or rather, how do they affect me?"
He leaned back, tapping his fingers on the table. "The simplest way to say it is this: Your intentions will direct the flow. If you''re angry or emotional, Atua Ma will dominate. If you''re focused and calm, Atua Na takes charge. But remember, one isn''t better than the other; they''re just tools. However, the Hollow will feed on any."
"So I control it by... controlling myself?" she asked.
"Exactly," he said, eyes narrowing. "It''s a loop. You influence the energy, and the energy influences you. The more control you have over yourself, the better you can harness these forces. The better you can control the Hollow and, finally, destroy it."
She took a deep breath. "That''s a lot to take in."
He grinned, reaching for the last of the crepes. "Good thing you''re forgetting me then, isn''t it? Frees you up to focus on the magic theory."
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "You''re impossible."
"And you''re a quick study. Keep that notebook close, and remember, don''t let anyone convince you they have the ''one true way'' to harness Atua. That path is yours to walk and yours alone."
The weight of his words settled in as she closed the notebook. "Ten years is a long time," she repeated, looking back at him.
"Is a lifetime."
[CH. 0035] - The Violin
¡°Love, or the hint of it, isn''t something one apologizes for.¡± - Mme Bougie
Nord leaned against the door frame, her eyes following Baal''s movements as he meticulously positioned empty glass jars on the freshly built shelves. The wood still carried the scent of fresh lacquer. It was another one of Baal''s eccentric requests, and it filled the room with an oddly comforting aroma.
"It''s looking good," she commented, her voice echoing softly in the contained space.
Baal glanced over his shoulder, momentarily breaking his concentration. "You think?" he replied, holding a jar out to her. "Care to lend a hand?"
Nord approached, lifting a jar from the crate near Baal''s feet. She observed how he had been placing the jars¡ªbottom down, evenly spaced, like little soldiers standing at attention. She mimicked his actions and set the jar beside its neighbours. "So, how does this arrangement work?"
"With Merlin, you mean?" Baal asked, now holding another jar in his hand as if pondering where it should go.
"Yeah. Why''s Merlin making deals with you? What''s the catch?"
Baal placed the jar he held onto the shelf, aligning it carefully. "Honestly? I''m not sure. The plan is I''ll collect his happy memories with these jars when Merlin breathes for the last. What I owe him in return, well, that''s still up in the air. And that makes a lot of jars."
Nord looked at him quizzically. "Aren''t you worried? What if Merlin asks for something dangerous¡ªor worse?"
"I like the old man," Baal mused, his hands momentarily still. "I think he''s lonely. This is his way of not being alone at the end. Clever, really. Death has no need for memories, good or bad."
Just as Nord opened her mouth to reply, "Adamastor said we''re ready for the¡ª" her words were interrupted by Baal''s sudden change in tone.
"Adamastor?" Baal interjected, a discernible edge to his voice. "That was quick, even for you."
"Baal, you know I need to maintain a peaceful relationship with him. I need him for¡ª"
"But I don''t need him. So excuse me if I don''t jump for joy when I hear his name," he shot back, placing another jar a bit more forcefully than before. "He hurt you, Nord."
Nord looked at Baal, her voice dropping to a shy whisper. "And I need you."
It was as though a switch flipped in Baal. He turned to face her fully, his guarded expression softening. "You need me?" he asked, the room suddenly feeling smaller, the jars and their arrangements forgotten, if only for a moment.
Nord shifted uncomfortably, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "We''ve got everything set for the opening except entertainment. Adamastor mentioned you might be able to help, so I thought..." Her voice trailed off as if venturing into uncharted territory.
"Violin," Baal supplied, his voice steady as he continued to place the jars.
"Oh, I didn''t know you played," Nord said, surprised and somewhat relieved.
Baal''s lips curled into a brief, enigmatic smile. He didn''t elaborate.
"So, will you?" Nord pressed.
"I don''t have my violin here," he said, setting another jar on the shelf with deliberation.
"Where is it?" she asked, intrigued by yet another layer of Baal she had yet to discover.
"Far away," he replied, pausing to draw a deep breath. "But I can find one. And I''ll get someone to play the piano."
Her face brightened instantly. "Really?"
"Yes, but¡ª"
"But what?"
He placed the final jar on the shelf, aligning it just so before answering. "I''ll think of something. A condition of sorts."
Nord felt a flutter of unease. "Do you want a happy memory in return?"
Turning to face her, Baal looked directly into her eyes, his expression unreadable but intense. "I will never again do that to you."
The air inside Mme Bougie felt almost viscous, heavy with the ghosts of last night''s merriment, which now seemed like a distant echo. It was as if the walls themselves were absorbing the silence, wrapping it tightly around the room''s dark wooden bar and deserted tables. Baal''s footsteps punctuated the quiet as he walked in, sounding like intruders in a forbidden sanctuary. A rhythmic swish of a broom accompanied his entrance¡ªthe lone caretaker of this still space.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
"Excuse me," Baal ventured, his voice timid yet hopeful, reaching across the quiet abyss.
The man wielding the broom looked up, revealing a moustache as dark as a raven''s wing. His attire¡ªa vest of alternating white and grey stripes, along with matching pants¡ªgave him the air of a showman who''d lost his audience.
"Can I help you, young man?" he inquired, sizing Baal up.
"I''m looking for Mme Bougie," Baal stated, his voice gaining a touch of assurance.
The man''s eyes twinkled like shards of glass catching sunlight, and he leaned on his broom as if it were a staff of wisdom.
"Speaking. How can I assist you?"
Baal looked around the near-empty bar and then back at the man. The whole scenario felt oddly intimate as if he''d stepped backstage of a performance where the main act had yet to begin. He hadn''t expected Mme Bougie to be a man, but then, the world was full of surprises.
"Ah, so you''re Mme Bougie," Baal said, allowing a small, intrigued smile to slip onto his lips.
The owner straightened from his bow, eyes twinkling brighter than before. "But during the day, call me Lucero!" he declared, completing the introduction with a flourish.
Baal extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, I''m Baal."
Lucero gripped it warmly. "Ah, I know who you are. You''ve captivated my girls the other night, and seeing you now, I can understand why."
Baal shifted uncomfortably, a tinge of blush warming his cheeks. "Oh, I...I didn''t notice."
A sly smile unfurled on Lucero''s lips. "Well, it seems a little bird has already found a cage around your ribcage. Not many men are willing to admit to such when summoned by Mme Bougie''s finest."
Baal looked down, a sense of vulnerability washing over him. "I''m really sorry about that."
Lucero waved it off. "Don''t be. Love, or the hint of it, isn''t something one apologizes for. Now, you''re here, and it''s not for my girls, so what is it that those mesmerizing eyes of yours desire?"
Baal met Lucero''s gaze, and for a moment, his eyes flickered with an intensity that matched the room''s dormant energy.
"Do you have a violin? You could loan me for just a couple of days to practice and then..."
Lucero sized up Baal again, this time with an air of mock appraisal. "Handsome and talented? I''m beginning to feel a twinge of jealousy, I must admit."
Baal chuckled awkwardly, "Huh... thank you, I guess."
Lucero''s eyes danced with a mischievous glint. "Ah, but a violin isn''t the usual instrument of choice when one seeks the more, let''s say, tactile pleasures Mme Bougie has to offer. I''ve got other instruments for that, both literally and figuratively." He punctuated his statement with a cheeky wink.
Baal sighed, disappointment washing over his face. "Damn, I was really counting on you having one. I won''t take any more of your time then. Thank you again, Mme Bougie." Baal reached for Lucero''s hand and lifted it gently to his lips for an elegant, quick kiss.
Just as he pivoted to make his exit, a voice boomed from above, descending from the balcony like a theatrical pronouncement.
"Demon!"
Baal''s head snapped up, and there, leaning over the balustrade of the dimly lit upper floor was Ursula. Her eyes met his with an intensity that could rival the sun¡ªblazing, yet unfathomable.
Lucero followed Baal''s gaze upwards, and a knowing smile stretched across his lips. "Ah, it appears the story thickens. Would you like to go up, or should I invite the lady down?"
Baal hesitated for a moment, caught between the gravity of Lucero''s theatrical realm and Ursula''s celestial pull. Then, making up his mind, he said, "I''ll go up."
"As you wish," Lucero said, waving his hand toward the staircase as if he were a magician conjuring a path. "The stage is yours, my intriguing friend."
Baal felt as if he had crossed an unseen boundary when he stepped into Ursula''s chamber. It was like entering an intricately woven tapestry of veiled intents and unspoken transactions¡ªa far cry from a mere room. One part office, the other part intimate space, all adorned with mirrors that reflected every conceivable angle. It showed with prime what Ursula''s talent was.
"I told your little girl I wasn''t interested!" Baal''s voice cut through the air like a knife parting water.
"Do you really think I chase after clients? Do I look like someone who doesn''t know her trade?" Ursula retorted, her eyes narrowing as she sat behind her desk. She motioned for Baal to do the same.
"You want to make a deal?" Baal couldn''t help but let curiosity slip into his voice.
Ursula''s response came like a whip. "First, I want to slap that arrogance right off your face!" She opened a metallic box from her drawer, took out a cigarette, and lit it. After a long, contemplative drag, she exhaled a trail of smoke that seemed to write invisible words between them. "Do you know how difficult it was for me to hire two hunters without revealing who I was?"
"So you''re the one who hired Han and Leelo?" Baal pieced it together.
"Yes! Hunters armed with Allatori weapons! Months of planning, ruined by you in mere seconds!" She slammed her hand on the desk for emphasis.
"I thought Adamastor was a client," Baal admitted, confused.
"He''s an excellent client. Pays well and treats me even better. I wish all men were like him," Ursula paused, stubbing out her cigarette and lighting another. "But you don''t know what he asks of me. You don''t know him at all."
Baal''s eyes sharpened. "Are you in danger?"
"No, it''s not me who''s in danger," she said, locking eyes with him. "Come on, demon, ask me what he asks of me."
"I don''t want to know; he already told me," Baal deflected.
"Come on, ask me who he wants me to be," Ursula insisted.
It was a question Baal couldn''t bring himself to ask. He had visions of Nord filling his mind, but not like this. Not this way. Irritated by Baal''s reticence, Ursula stood up and began unbuttoning her dress.
"Please don''t, I really..." Baal began.
Ignoring him, she removed her blouse, revealing a chemise covering skin marred with bruises and teeth marks¡ªperhaps thirty or more.
"I''m sorry, I thought..." Baal''s voice faded into a whisper, "He said..."
"The feed is agreed upon, and it''s even sort of exciting. I don''t dislike it," Ursula cut him off. "Now you''ll see why he needs to be stopped."
Her skin began to darken, transforming before Baal''s eyes. Bruises vanished, replaced by intricate black ink tattoos. When he finally looked at her face, framed by short, dark hair, it was almost like seeing Nord¡ªbut not quite. It was a distorted reflection, an obsession that had taken on a life of its own.
Adamastor''s fixation wasn''t Nord. It was something far more insidious.
Adamastor¡¯s obsession, the vampire spawn addiction, was... no other than¡
¡ the Hollow.
[CH. 0036] - The Violin
"It doesn''t really disappear. It changes form and flows to new places, but it''s always there, somewhere. Nothing is truly lost, just transformed." - Adamastor
The Morningstar''s second floor was a repository of forgotten lives, its walls decorated with myriad portraits of unidentified faces. Whatever stories or names that once belonged to these characters had long since faded into obscurity, and no one seemed to mind.
The one who minded the least of all, Kirara, whose attention was now wholly consumed by a different mystery¡ªa moth that had led her all the way from the kitchen table to the corridor of the second floor.
The moth had vanished into the labyrinthine network of shadows that the ancient portraits cast upon the walls. But Kirara was born a hunter, and her new bipedal form¡ªcomplete with what she regarded as "the ugliest paws ever"¡ªhadn''t diminished her predatory instincts.
She crouched low to the carpet, her body motionless as a statue. Her ears, sharp and keen, twitched to and fro like finely tuned radar dishes, seeking out the near-inaudible flutter of wings.
Patience was a virtue she possessed in spades, sort of; she could remain in this position for hours if need be. But then something shifted on the walls. It was a subtle, almost imperceptible movement as if one of the painted eyes in the portraits had blinked or a face had turned to look at her.
Kirara''s eyes widened. Her hunter''s instincts flared up, but this time, they were tinged with an unfamiliar sensation¡ªa shiver of unease. It was as if the walls themselves had suddenly grown alert, aware of her presence.
For a brief moment, she felt like the one being hunted.
The feeling passed as quickly as it came. Kirara shook her head as if to dispel the eerie sensation. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, or maybe her imagination was running wild. Either way, the moth had won this round, disappearing into the shadows, leaving Kirara to question what she had actually sensed.
She straightened up, her ears still perked, but her eyes no longer scanning for prey. She looked at the portraits one more time, half-expecting a painted face to meet her gaze with a knowing smile.
Nothing. The faces remained as impassive and mysterious as they had always been.
Kirara''s eyes went wide with disbelief, and her heart pounded like a drum as one of the portraits suddenly turned ninety degrees to face her directly. Its mouth opened wide in a silent scream, its eyes locked onto her in a haunting gaze. A chill shot up her spine, making the fur on the back of her neck stand on end.
"Mama!" She bolted, her knees nearly skidding across the carpet as she dashed into the store where Nord was engrossed in her sketching.
"What''s going on, Kitten?" Nord looked up, her eyebrows knitting together at the sight of Kirara''s distress.
"The pictures! They''re moving and doing scary things with their mouths! And I lost my snack!" Kirara exclaimed, her words tumbling over each other as if trying to escape. "Now I''m hungry."
"Slow down, Kirara. Start from the beginning. What happened?"
"The pictures upstairs. They''re moving."
"Moving?" Nord paused, her pencil hovering over the paper.
"Yes, like this!" Kirara contorted her face, imitating the movement of the portrait as she opened her mouth wide.
Nord set down her pencil, her eyes narrowing. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yes, come see it!"
The urgency in Kirara''s voice was enough to convince Nord. She stood up, leaving her sketchbook and pencil behind. If what Kirara said was true, then something profoundly unsettling was afoot at the Morningstar. And it was high time they got to the bottom of it.
"Alright, lead the way," Nord said, her eyes meeting Kirara''s as they prepared to face whatever strange occurrence awaited them upstairs.
Nord felt a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach as she ascended the stairs, Kirara clinging nervously to her heels. The uncharacteristic fear radiating off Kirara made Nord pause, revaluating the situation. This wasn''t Earth, where shows like MythBusters debunked the unexplainable; this was Nyu, where the inexplicable often demanded serious attention.
Just as Nord set foot on the second floor, a startled yelp from Kirara almost made her jump out of her skin. She turned around and saw Kirara''s wide eyes fixed on a harmless moth fluttering by.
"Kirara, you''re not helping," Nord whispered, though she couldn''t say why she felt the need to lower her voice.
"I''m sorry, Mama," Kirara sniffled, her eyes still round with residual fear.
"Alright, let''s see what''s got you so rattled." Nord surveyed the walls. At first glance, nothing seemed amiss¡ªjust a gallery of portraits of what appeared to be ancestors, mostly fair-haired women in various styles of dress that changed through the ages. Yet, as her eyes travelled further down the hall, they landed on a peculiar portrait at the intersection.
It featured a stern-faced woman who looked as if she''d been born frowning. Arrayed behind her were four other women, nearly identical in appearance but each expressing a different emotion. One looked sad, another worried. A third appeared to be in pain, and the fourth had her face buried in her hands as if overwhelmed with despair.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"Weird," Nord muttered to herself, squinting at the painting. "They look so familiar, but why?"
As she stared at the portrait, she could swear that the emotions on the women''s faces seemed almost... palpable, as if they were living entities rather than mere paint on canvas. The stern woman''s gaze seemed to meet Nord''s eyes, challenging her to understand the mystery unfolding before her.
"What is it, Mama?" Kirara asked, sensing Nord''s deepening concern.
Nord tore her gaze away from the painting, shaken but not willing to let it show. "I''m not sure, Kitten, but something doesn''t feel right."
As they stood there, the atmosphere thickened, imbued with a tension that was almost tactile. Nord felt as if the walls of the Morningstar were closing in, carrying with them the weight of secrets long buried but not forgotten. And Nord began to question whether they were truly alone on this floor.
"Ah! There it is!"
Nord and Kirara nearly leapt out of their skins when Merlin''s voice broke the thick silence that had enveloped them. They turned to find the old wizard grinning like a Cheshire cat, clearly pleased with the start he''d given them.
"You scared us," Nord exhaled, her pulse beginning to settle.
"Oh, I know, I know. In my youth, you wouldn''t be scared¡ªyou''d be enchanted," Merlin mused. He turned his attention to the odd portrait. "Ah, so that''s where it went!"
"What do you mean? Isn''t it just a normal painting?" Nord inquired, her eyebrows knitting together.
"Of course not! Look at those faces. No artist in their right mind would paint such hideous crones."
"The Ashleys," Nord said, suddenly recognizing the figures. "But how did they get there?"
"It''s not them, dear; it''s their magic," Merlin explained. "It sought refuge here. I feared you might have consumed or destroyed it, but it seems quite well-preserved."
"So, what now?" Nord asked, still uneasy about the whole situation.
Merlin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, you said they had to prove themselves worthy to you for their magic to be returned. Have they?"
"I haven''t seen them at all," Nord replied.
"When they begin to miss their magic, they''ll come crawling back¡ªweeping and wailing like five little ugly lasses," Merlin said, a sly smile creeping onto his face. "Don''t worry about it." He started to walk away, then paused. "But..."
"But what?" Nord pressed, sensing there was more to the story.
"I''d suggest you find a way to keep that painting far from you," Merlin said, his tone suddenly serious. "I''ve heard that the Hollow has already stirred once. The next time it wakes, it may be hungry."
The words hung heavy in the air long after Merlin had retreated down the stairs, leaving Nord and Kirara staring at the portrait, now infused with a sense of foreboding they couldn''t shake.
Nord''s boots crunched on gravel while she manoeuvred the large canvas into the corner of the barn, tucking it behind a tattered curtain that was barely hanging on its rod.
The barn had become a mausoleum of discarded enchantments¡ªbits and baubles that had long since lost their magic. She''d been meaning to hold a yard sale, to part ways with these relics of empty spell. But not this painting. Not yet. She couldn''t take her eyes off it; the painted faces warped from sorrow to turmoil, finally settling on utter despair.
"What''s caught your eye?" The voice cut through the barn''s dense air like a scythe through wheat.
Nord jumped, her hand clutching her chest. "Adamastor! You scared the living daylights out of me!"
Adamastor hoisted a wooden crate onto a dusty shelf, careful not to disturb a rogue spider weaving its web. "I didn''t mean to startle you," he said, pausing to look at her. "You seemed engrossed. Finding hidden treasure?"
Nord tore her gaze away from the painting. "It''s not treasure. It''s a... I''m not sure. But I need to keep it safe. From me, mostly."
Adamastor followed her eyes to the painting, its eerie mood seeming to permeate the air around it. "Ah, the Ashleys'' handiwork," he said, finally realizing what she meant. "Didn''t know you were an art collector now." Adamastor tried to jest to ease the mood.
She chuckled nervously. "I don''t even know how I did it, to be honest."
"Magic''s like water," Adamastor mused, returning to his crate-arranging task. "It doesn''t really disappear. It changes form and flows to new places, but it''s always there, somewhere. Nothing is truly lost, just transformed."
Nord glanced at him, "What happens when the Hollow consumes magic? Did you see it? I mean, with Rosemary?"
Adamastor froze, his hands lingering over a crate as if he''d just touched something fragile and precious. "I think it transforms it, changes it into something unrecognizable. It doesn''t hoard magic."
"Why do you say that?"
He met her eyes with an earnestness she hadn''t expected. "If the Hollow stored magic, it''d be too powerful to contain by now. I would have its own body. I mean it¡ it would have its own body."
Nord looked back at the painting, its colours now somehow more fainted in the dim light. "I just don''t want the Sisterhood showing up at my doorstep one day, demanding what''s no longer there."
"It''ll be safe here," Adamastor assured her, setting down another crate with finality. "You hungry?"
Nord shook her head. "No, I should get back to my work. Got a lot to sort through."
Adamastor hesitated, his eyes searching her face. "You''re still afraid of me, aren''t you?"
She paused, her hand on the barn door, and turned back to look at him. "How would you feel if our roles were reversed?"
"That''s hardly a fair comparison," he said softly, his eyes avoiding hers. "I was just hoping we could be¡ª"
"Friends?" she filled in the pause, her eyes meeting his.
"Yes, friends. At least that, Nord."
She sighed, her eyes softening. "I''m trying, Adamastor. But I need time."
"Time," he echoed, almost as if tasting the word, "is one thing I have plenty of."
As Nord pushed open the creaking barn door and stepped out into the dappled afternoon sunlight, she couldn''t help but think that maybe, just maybe, time was the one thing they were running out of, like a clock ticking.
Nord''s boots scarcely touched the ground as she left the barn, the weight of her previous conversation with Adamastor still settling in her mind. Then, shattering the relative quiet, a scream pierced the air. It echoed through the trees, a shriek vibrating with urgency.
"Morningstar! Morningstar! Morningstar!"
The call belonged to a childish voice, yet it was guttural, drenched in an anguished desperation that curdled her blood. Her name, distorted into its more ominous form, seemed to resonate from every direction.
Nord froze for an instant, her eyes widening, before she felt a rush of wind whip past her¡ªAdamastor, a blur in his haste. He moved with an uncanny speed that only vampires possessed, leaving Nord to trail behind, her heart pounding both from exertion and a growing dread.
What was happening? Was it a cry for help, a warning, or something more sinister?
The echoes continued, intensifying as she neared the Manor. Adamastor had already reached the grand doors. He looked back, meeting Nord''s eyes, his expression both relieved and filled with an unspeakable apprehension.
Racing into the hall, they were met with an unnerving sight. A woman, Nixbob, with her face bruised and swollen. Holding a child''s hand whose screams only stop when seeing Nord.
The child''s cry morphed into words: "Help us, Morningstar!"
[CH. 0037] - The Violin
¡°Hocus Pocus bad violinus be no longer brokus¡± - Nord Morningstar
The Nixbob''s face was like a beautiful painting marred by crude strokes of red and purple¡ªfresh bruises contrasting against her skin. A cut on the corner of her lip seemed to cry out the story her eyes were too proud to tell.
Her brown hair was hastily tied back in a messy bun, cat ears drooping in parallel with her hair. Modestly dressed in a grey dress and a once-white apron now dulled by life, she carried with her only a light bag and a suitcase too small for any actual belongings.
The little Nixbob, probably her son, was an odd juxtaposition to his mother''s pained elegance. His tiny face was lit up, his eyes twinkling with the magic of undiscovered worlds. Though just moments before he was screaming her name, he now grinned as though he''d found a treasure.
"I''m very lucky!" the little one piped up randomly, spinning to face Nord.
His mother choked back tears. "Don''t mind, Bram. He''s... well, he''s been rather unique these past few weeks since he found a four-leaf clover," she said, and with a more urgent tone, she added, "We need a place to stay. I can pay, and I can work."
"We aren''t open yet," interjected Adamastor behind the counter, showing as much warmth as a winter night. "But you may come back later."
"Please... we have nowhere else to go!" pleaded the woman.
Nord''s eyes narrowed, a storm brewing on her face. She squatted down to meet Bram eye to eye. "So your name is Bram?"
"Yes, ma''am! Bram, the lucky charm!"
Nord stifled a laugh, her features softening. "Do you know the name of this place, Bram?"
"Morningstar!"
"That''s right," Nord grinned, straightening up to her full height. "And do you know who I am?"
The little Nixbob shook his head from side to side.
"My name is also Morningstar. So, guess who owns this place?"
"You!" Bram''s eyes widened in awe.
Nord pivoted to Adamastor. Her eyes locked onto his. "Prepare a two-bedroom suite and have them something warm to eat. Please." The last word, please, was not a request; it was a thinly veiled command.
The woman''s eyes brimmed with dry tears. "Thank you. You have no idea what this means. Maybe... maybe he really is lucky."
Nord approached the Nixbob woman, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Rest now. We''ll talk about what comes next later. For now, eat, relax, and try to put today behind you."
The woman nodded, finally letting her guard down. "My name is Perdita, by the way."
Nord smiled, the weight of her authority as comforting as a warm blanket. "Welcome to the Morningstar."
Nord was lost in a sea of parchment and ink, her fingers drumming on the wooden desk cluttered with ideas and failed attempts at an invitation. Sure, she could stick an announcement in the town gazette¡ªboring but effective. Alternatively, hand-delivering the invites would add a personal touch, but then again, she barely knew anyone in town.
She wondered whimsically if Merlin could conjure some Harry Potter flair, sending owls winging through the night sky, each carrying a message sealed with her emblem. But the boundaries between magic and the mundane still puzzled her. In a world that had room for both, when was it appropriate to let the spellwork fly?
Lost in these thoughts, she realised she still couldn¡¯t sense the Hollow''s hunger. Perhaps it was dormant, or perhaps her newfound distractions had put it to sleep. Still, another presence nagged her¡ªthe constant, unsettling aura of Adamastor. Her worry was that he''d soon succumb to the sun''s wrath. The vampire was bound to make a move soon; she could feel it in her bones. And she prayed that she would be wrong.
A soft knock rippled through her musings. Startled, she glanced at the door. "Come in?" The door creaked open, and Perdita peeked in, her eyes holding a cautious warmth. "I really don''t want to bother you, but... I wanted to give you something. I heard you need it." She stepped into the room, each footfall careful and hesitant.
Nord looked up, setting her quill down, intrigued. "What is it?"
Nord glanced up from her desk, her eyes landing on the small suitcase Perita cradled in her arms. A sense of curiosity tingled within her, instantly overshadowing the mundane invitation paperwork that had previously consumed her attention.
Nord leaned back in her plush office chair, intrigued by the mysterious air that had settled in her office.
"They say you''re one of the few who deals in magical objects as currency."
"The Morningstar has been known to make such transactions, yes. What do you have?"
Perita''s fingers hovered over the suitcase latches. "It''s not the most valuable thing in the world¡ªcursed, actually¡ªbut it might interest you."
"So, you say it''s cursed? Well, you have my attention," Nord gestured to the chair across her desk. "Please, sit."
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Perita gave a half-smile as she set the suitcase on Nord''s desk with a cautious grace. The clasps popped open with a satisfying click, and she lifted the lid. Nord''s eyes widened at the sight.
"That''s a violin, isn''t it?"
"Yes," Perita responded, her voice tinged with a blend of reverence and caution. "It''s a family heirloom¡ªpassed down from my grandfather to my father and then to me. It''s been in the family for Atua knows how long. But the thing is... It''s unplayable."
Nord''s gaze traced the delicate curves and fine lines of the instrument. Its wood seemed to absorb the room''s light. "It''s breathtaking. What makes it cursed, though?"
"When it''s played, people fall asleep. Just like that," Perita snapped her fingers for emphasis. "I mean, literally, out like a light."
Nord''s eyes narrowed, her mind whirring with a blend of scepticism and intrigue. "And you say it''s a ''fine instrument'' if the curse is lifted? That''s a big if."
Perita shrugged. "I''ve heard it played only once¡ªby my grandfather. It was beautiful, ethereal even. But the entire room dozed off, including him. If you could get rid of the curse, though, I''m sure it would be worth more than its weight in tokens."
Nord steepled her fingers, mulling over the decision. "I haven''t fed the Hollow any magic yet, but it''s worth a try. I''ll do some research."
"So, will you take it?" Perita''s eyes were hopeful but guarded as if expecting rejection.
Nord sighed, finally breaking into a smile. "Will you stay and work for me?"
"Then it''s a deal?"
Nord extended her hand across the desk. "It''s a deal."
As Baal crunched along the gravel path, the sky was bruised with twilight, trading its warm orange glow for sombre indigo. His shoulders slumped, and he looked like a demon carrying much more than his years.
Nord stood there in her nightgown, a woollen scarf bundled around her neck. She clutched a small suitcase like it was a shield. "Where have you been?"
Baal met her eyes, the corners of his lips curling into a weary smirk. "You missed me, Morningstar?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Don''t be ridiculous. Why would I?"
Baal halted, standing before her, his silhouette etched against the dusky horizon. "Then what keeps you waiting here?"
She hesitated, her eyes flickering away briefly before finding him again. "I have something for you. But I also need your help." A shadow of shame crossed her features.
"So you didn''t miss me, but I was rent-free in your thoughts?" A smirk crept onto his lips.
"Ugh, you''re insufferable! Your ego deserves its own zip code! Perhaps even a kingdom!" Her voice rose, touching the edge of exasperation. She paused, softening her tone. "Will you help me or not?"
His eyes drifted to his worn-out boots, "I don''t see why not." Baal eased himself onto the bench beside her. The air had grown colder, but he seemed unbothered. "Now, what has summoned me from the caverns of your mind?"
Nord unclasped the locks of her suitcase. "Remember when you told me you played the violin? And you could help on the opening..."
Baal looked puzzled. "Did you hear something in your head, like voices or visions, or... I checked at Mme Bougie, and they had no violin... just bad omen. How did you know?"
"No, I didn¡¯t, just had a hunch when I saw it," Nord interrupted, her voice tinged with confusion.
"What''s this about?"
"A child. Bram. He came with his mum, and he screamed all the time. Started shouting my name the moment he and his mother walked in. Wouldn''t stop until he saw me." Her voice wavered.
Baal chuckled, "Nixbob, is it?"
Nord''s eyes widened. "You know him?"
"Made a deal with the kid once. How''s his mother?"
"She''s fine... I mean, it is clear she ran away from someone. I hired her¡ªlodging, food, and I''ll find another way to compensate her. She gave me this as a gift." Nord opened the lid of the suitcase. Inside was a violin of extraordinary beauty, its wood glowing with an almost ethereal light.
Baal reached out, but before his fingers could graze the wood, Nord slammed the lid shut, nearly catching his fingertips.
"It''s cursed, Baal. I need your help to rid it of its magic."
Baal scooted beside her on the worn-out bench, his arm draping around her with ease. He unfastened the clasp of the small suitcase and lifted the lid. "You see, magic in this world flows through Atua. Specifically¡ª"
"Atua Ma and Atua Na," she interrupted. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, they held a world of their own. "The violin''s curse is Atua Ma. It''s volatile, like a storm inside a bottle. I need Atua Na to subdue it. I need order, command."
Baal''s eyebrow arched, and a small smile crept onto his lips. "Spot on. Look here." He motioned toward the suitcase, "Someone utilized Atua Na to create something unpredictable. Your job is to harness that chaotic energy. Like the scent with your nose, the sound with your ears, you see the picture."
Nord sighed, leaning back. "Harness how? Should I chant ''Hocus Pocus bad violinus be no longer brokus'' and wave my hands?"
He chuckled, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Not a bad idea, actually."
"Really?"
"No, it is a bad idea," Baal''s grin widened. "Close your eyes. Forget about the violin, forget about me¡ª"
"Oh, no! How will I ever," Nord interrupted with sarcasm.
"I know, but humour me, Morningstar," he said, his tone tinged with playful arrogance. Gently, he took her wrists and hovered her hands over the mysterious instruments in the suitcase. "Imagine the aroma of tea or the pre-dawn warmth of the earth. Imagine the texture and how it feels when you grab them. Let those sensations guide you."
Nord''s hands trembled above the items, and Baal noticed particles of purple mist seeping from the cursed violin. "You''re on the right track," he encouraged, locking eyes with her. Her eyes were voids of concentration, completely white as if she had stepped into another realm.
"Babe?"
The single syllable caught in Baal''s chest like a hooked fish; it made him gasp for air. For a fraction of a second, he wondered if she actually remembered him. Could she?
"It''s done, Babe," Nord''s voice hummed with a thrilled excitement, like the haunting notes of a lullaby. "My plan... it worked! I did it!"
"Indeed, it appears so," Baal''s words came out softer than a sigh. He wasn''t even sure what he was consenting to. "Nord, do you...?"
"You don''t get it, do you? I can see you, Babe. I really can!" Her eyes sparkled like twin galaxies as she lunged to kiss him, her lips colliding with his in an intoxicating rush.
As their lips met, something primal erupted in Baal. It felt like the heavens had opened up after a parched season, satisfying a deep, long-neglected thirst. Pulling her closer, so close that he could feel her heartbeat against his own, a collision occurred.
The forgotten suitcase toppled over, crashing to the ground with a jarring bang and a bad note that echoed through the yard.
Nord blinked away from his embrace as if waking from a dream. As if nothing happened.
"Did it... did it work?" Her eyes flitted over his face, scanning for something¡ªanything¡ªthat would reveal what she clearly couldn''t grasp.
His gaze darted from Nord''s questioning eyes to the upended suitcase, then back to her. His heart thundered, hammering out a rhythm that seemed as new and strange as the expressions crossing her face. "Oh, it worked, Morningstar. You''ve done something extraordinary here. I just don''t... know what."
Her face twisted the excitement clouding over with a flicker of doubt. "What''s wrong?"
"Nothing, yeah, you slurped the magic out of the violin," Baal''s eyes were like lasers, drilling into her, seeking fragments of an explanation.
Nord''s eyes fell upon the fallen violin, momentarily distracted. She picked it up, her touch almost reverent. The violin looked different now; it was stripped of its earlier curse, appearing as a simple wooden instrument. Yet it pulsed in her hands as if it held the secrets of the universe.
She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and Baal knew. Nord Morningstar somehow outwitted the devil himself - him.
[CH. 0038] - The First
Bram, the Lucky Charm, adjusted his tufted ears in anticipation. They always seemed to twitch whenever he was onto something exciting. Today, it was not just any ordinary adventure but a quest to locate the secret lair of Kirara, the beguiling yet dangerous Nixbob villain.
He steadied his fluffy tail, eyes narrowing to slits. "One... two... three!" He announced in a hushed tone, just loud enough for his own ears. He knew that locating Kirara would be no small feat, but he felt up to the task. Bram was ready!
"Here I come!"
The salon was his first stop. Bram skidded to a halt on the polished wood floor, eyeing each tabletop meticulously. His mother was arranging fresh roses next to flickering candles. She looked prettier without the bruises and the unhappy smile.
"Bram! What on earth are you up to?" she inquired, an eyebrow arching upwards.
"Shhh, Mum," Bram whispered, casting a conspiratorial glance around the room. "I''m on a super secret mission to find Kirara. She''s tricked me once again."
He scampered over, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "We are playing hide and seek. Have you seen her anywhere?"
His mother chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling like his. "No, love. But why don''t you check the store? Just remember, don''t touch anything."
Bram nodded, understanding the weight of the mission settling onto his small shoulders. His little body seemed to tighten with a sense of gravity as he rolled toward the door to the store. He extended a cautious hand to open it.
The door creaked open, and Bram''s eyes darted across the room, first scanning behind the counter, then to the empty chair, and finally, somewhat desperately, up towards the ceiling.
Nothing. No Kirara.
He sighed, momentarily deflated, but then shook his little body. This wasn''t the end. Kirara had eluded him, but the game was far from over. Bram''s fluffy tail wagged involuntarily, and his eyes regained their mischievous glimmer.
The hunt was still on. To the kitchen!
Bram''s little hands barely made a sound as he rolled to the kitchen door, its frame adorned with the various scents of spices and cooked meals. With a soft push, he nudged the door open just enough to peek inside.
Adamastor, the tall man with flowing white hair, was in the middle of something! Something that puzzled Bram''s young eyes. The vampire was delicately holding a cup close to his lips. A clear, transparent liquid trickled from the cup into a glass, filling it halfway. The atmosphere in the room seemed to shift, filling with an air of quiet intensity that Bram couldn''t quite comprehend. A shiver skated down his spine.
He had learned that some things grown-ups did were better left unquestioned. So, as quietly as he had entered, Bram turned away, a furrow forming on his tiny brow as he momentarily forgot his quest to find Kirara.
Just then, Adamastor emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray topped with a jug of orange juice and a cup.
"Perdita, could you please take this to Nord? I believe she''s in her studies," he said, extending the tray toward his mother.
"Of course, Mr. Adamastor. I''ll see to it right away," Perdita replied, her voice tinged with respectful deference as she accepted the tray.
Bram watched the exchange from his secret hideout below a table. His tiny heart pounded in his chest. Was Nord in any kind of danger? His youthful imagination started to weave intricate scenarios, each more troubling than the last.
Should he say something? Or should he, like so many times before, hold his tongue and not meddle in the affairs of grown-ups? Yet the weight of the moment held him captive, filling his small frame with a newfound sense of urgency.
The dilemma gripped him, pulling him in two different directions. Finally, his instincts took over. He will not let any bad man hurt Nord like he let his daddy hurt mummy! Bram knew he had to say something to someone. Or he had to do it himself! The hunt for Kirara would have to wait. There were more pressing matters at hand. He will save Nord! She¡¯s nice and smells good.
Nord leaned back in her chair, her fingers stiff and tingling from the hours of intricate penmanship. Her fingers hovered over the parchment, quill in hand, as she meticulously etched the flowing letters. "You are hereby invited to the grand opening of the Morningstar..."
Each invitation tested patience and precision, a battle against ink blots and typos. The words had blurred into indistinguishable shapes after the umpteenth card, and her shoulder ached from the repetitive motion. Around two hundred invites sat in neat stacks on her desk, each one a monument to her perseverance. Yet, the work was far from done.
Just when the monotony began to eat at her, a soft knock at the door interrupted the silence. "Come in," she called out, setting down her quill with a grateful sigh.
"Apologies for the interruption, Miss Morningstar. We''ve prepared a little snack for you," Perdita said, placing the tray carefully on an uncluttered corner of Nord''s desk.
"Oh, thank you! I could really use a break," Nord exclaimed, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the orange juice.
"Would you mind if I do the same for Mr. Berith? He''s been holed up in the barn since early morning," Perdita inquired.
Nord paused mid-pour. "Why are you asking me?"
"I wasn''t certain if¡ª"
"What''s he doing in the barn in the first place?" Nord cut her off, finishing her pour and taking a sip of the orange juice.
Perdita hesitated for a moment. "I believe he''s practising the violin. He mentioned something about not wanting to disturb anyone."
"Why is he always so weird?" Nord laughed softly, setting down her glass. "That''s utterly silly. I''d love to hear him play. Take him something to eat, and tell him to practice here. The barn is filled with nothing but junk and dust."
Perdita nodded. "Yes, Miss," she said, already turning to leave.
As the door closed behind Perdita, Nord took another sip of her orange juice, savouring the brief respite.
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"Think Adamastor was too generous with the salt this time," she mumbled.
The weight of the unfinished invitations called to her from the desk, but the interruption had been welcome.
Bram''s little heart pounded in his chest like a drum as he saw his mother, Perdita, exit Nord''s study, the tray conspicuously absent. Something wasn''t right; he could feel it in his bones. Summoning his courage and chasing away fear and uncertainty before it gripped him. He had to do something¡ªfast.
He tiptoed to the study door, which was slightly ajar, and he peered through the gap, his eyes widening in horror. Nord had a glass in hand, the liquid flowing down swiftly as she drained it. But, the jug remained almost full. It wasn''t too late!
She reached for another glassful, and that''s when Bram''s instincts took over. With a burst of energy, he rushed towards Nord, his small hands flailing in the air as he knocked the jug from her hands.
Orange liquid splattered across the room, spraying Nord, drenching the invitations on her desk, and creating a puddle on the floor.
Frozen in her chair, Nord''s eyes flickered between the mess on her desk and the tiny creature before her. "What?" she finally whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Perdita, called by the echo of broken glass colliding with the floor, burst into the room, her eyes filled with concern and indignation. "Bram! What on Atua were you thinking?" She grabbed her son''s wrist, lifting him off the floor.
Tears welled in Bram''s eyes, and his voice quivered as he tried to explain. "The bad man put something in her drink. I didn''t want her to get hurt. She''s nice! Last time, I didn''t do anything, and Daddy hurt you!"
Perdita sighed deeply, her grip loosening. "By Atua, Bram. Apologize. Now."
Bram sniffled, his gaze meeting Nord''s. "I''m sorry, Miss Nord."
For a moment, Nord remained silent, still processing the whirlwind of events that had just transpired. Then, rising from her chair, she uttered a quiet, "Please excuse me" before exiting the study, her steps measured but swift.
The room fell into a tense silence, filled only by the dripping of orange juice from the desk. The pile of drenched invitations lay forgotten, but the weight of the moment remained, hanging in the air like a heavy mist. Bram looked up at his mother, his eyes a blend of regret and concern. Perdita sighed once more, her eyes softening as she looked at her son.
In his small, innocent way, Bram had made a choice, crossing boundaries he didn''t fully understand. But he had acted, guided by an instinct to protect, and in that moment, despite the mess and the questions yet unanswered, Perdita felt a sense of uneasy pride even if her son was wrong.
Nord didn''t realize how quickly she''d made her way to the barn until the music enveloped her, notes so pure and unblemished they seemed to cleanse the air. She peeked around the doorframe, watching as Baal lost himself in the melody, his eyes half-closed and a soft smile gracing his lips. The moment the music ceased, his smile faded like the last strains of the tune. A part of Nord wondered what happy thoughts danced through his mind as he played.
As she turned to leave, a strange blend of embarrassment and irrationality colouring her thoughts, he spoke. "Morningstar?"
Summoning what little courage she had left, she turned back to him. "Hi there."
"What''s wrong?" Baal asked as he began to place the violin back in its case.
"Nothing, really," Nord stumbled over her words. "Perdita mentioned you were practising out here. I was just wondering why you chose this dusty, old place. Also, you haven''t eaten anything, and¡ª"
"Why are you soaked?" he interrupted.
"It was an accident. I¡ª It ruined two whole days of work!" Nord''s voice cracked, and she found herself sinking to the ground, leaning against the doorframe, her eyes filled with frustrated tears.
Baal stepped closer, his hands gently patting her on the neck. "Hey, hey, don''t cry, Nord."
"I''m so tired, Baal. I don''t know what I''m doing or what I should be doing. Every effort feels pointless. I have to destroy the Hollow, but I don''t even know what it is. And then there''s all this petty drama that feels like something out of a third-rate novel. I''m exhausted!"
She broke down completely, her voice hitching between sobs.
Wrapping his arms around her, Baal let her cry into his shoulder, seemingly unbothered by the sticky residue of orange juice that clung to her clothes. "One problem at a time, okay?"
"I''m so tired," she repeated, softer this time.
As her tears subsided to soft sniffles, Baal spoke. "I might have a solution for the invitations."
"You do?"
"Actually, you do. If you allow me, I can show you," he said, nodding toward the buttons on her blouse.
"Are you taking advantage of me?" she asked, her voice a blend of suspicion and jest, "Now?"
"Purely instructional, I assure you," he replied with a roguish grin. Carefully untying the black ribbon and undoing the first couple of buttons, he revealed the tattoo of a crow on the left side of her chest. "This is the Key of Plague. It can send the invites for you," he whispered, his voice tender, his fingers barely hovering over her skin.
"I don''t want to send a plague. I just want to send invites."
He chuckled softly. "The name''s misleading. The key can disseminate any message you want, like invitations or a plague if you feel like it, quickly and without the labour of handwriting each one."
For the first time since she''d burst into the barn, Nord felt a glimmer of hope. "Really? Well, then... could you teach me how to use it?"
Baal stood up, brushing dust off his trousers with a few pats of his hand. He extended his arm toward Nord, his eyes locking onto hers as he helped her to her feet. "Remember how you fine-tuned that violin?"
Nord nodded, attempting to clean her sticky, juice-soaked clothes. The effort was futile, but it made her feel a bit more grounded. "Yeah."
"It''s like that, but instead, you''re tuning the magic that resides in your skin," Baal said, his words tinged with a subtle urgency.
"You mean the tattoo?"
"Exactly. The tattoo is a key. It serves a singular purpose. Focus on it, unlock it with the right words."
Nord cocked an eyebrow, teasing, "Hocus pocus, send the crows, send inventatus?"
A smile flickered across Baal''s face. "I''m seeing a pattern here." He moved behind her, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders.
"Repeat after me: ''As he clothed himself with cursing like as with his garment.''"
Nord echoed the phrase, her voice a mix of concentration and curiosity. "As he clothed himself with cursing like as with his garment."
Baal leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "So let it come into his bowels like water."
"So let it come into his bowels like water," she said, her eyes rolling back until they were pure white.
"And like oil into his bones," Baal whispered, barely audible.
"And like oil into his bones," Nord continued on her own, "So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
The energy between them was palpable. "Remember, it''s like the violin. You reach into the chaos and pull forth what you need."
Taking a deep breath, Nord embraced Atua Ma in the air, exhaling slowly as if willing her intent into existence. Baal''s hand tightened briefly on her shoulder.
Nord crouched low. Her fingers splayed against the trembling ground as if she were touching the pulse of the world itself. The tension was palpable, like an electric charge in the air before a storm. The earth beneath her fingers seemed to heave a sigh before it cracked open.
A murder of crows, their feathers so dark they absorbed light, burst forth from the ground as if summoned from another realm. Their eyes, a piercing molten gold, seemed to hold the secrets of ages.
For a moment, they circled around Nord and Baal, filling the air with a cacophony of caws that sounded like an otherworldly hymn. They were the tempest, and the pair stood in the eye of this dark hurricane, momentarily untouched and united.
As quickly as they had erupted into being, the crows scattered, flying off into unknown directions as if carrying pieces of Nord''s soul along with her unspoken wishes.
As the last feather settled to the ground, Nord turned to Baal. Her eyes were still in a trance, but her smile was vivid and alive. "I want to hear you play. I miss it."
Baal felt a lump in his throat, unable to speak for a second. He could feel tears in his eyes, the kind of tears that come from an emotion too intense for words. "I miss you too."
"But I''m here."
"I miss ''us.''"
"Do it like you did the first time. I''m easily impressed by cute demons," she teased, but as she looked around at the ground, now covered in dark feathers, her eyes turned serious again. "Did it work?"
"Yes, it worked."
She looked back up at him. "What''s wrong?"
"What?"
"You''re crying."
Baal touched his cheek and was surprised to find it wet. "Ah, so I am," he murmured.
To be used for executing all the experiments and operations of ruin, destruction, and death. And when it is made in full perfection, it serves also to send good word stained in blood.
''As he clothed himself with cursing like as with a garment, so let it come into his bowels like water, and like oil into his bones. So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!¡¯
[CH. 0039] - The First
The air was thick with a smoky blend of oil and iron. Onxyburg''s skyline was punctuated by belching factory smokestacks. Underneath the sound of gears and metal, the city''s heartbeat pulsed in a symphony of grinding wheels, hissing steam, and clattering tracks.
Shadowy figures moved through the soot-filled air, their faces obscured by shawls and goggles. They ranged from the hunched-over Pucks repairing clockwork contraptions on the corners to the finely dressed human lords and ladies stepping from their coal-fueled carriages.
All were pieces in a grand mosaic that made up the House of Neddingstein Nation''s crowning jewel¡ªOnxyburg.
It was said that Onxyburg was a city where appetites of all kinds could be satiated. If a Witch were hungry for knowledge and power, the grande libraries had ancient grimoires and cutting-edge magical schematics.
If riches were what lords, adventures and beggars sought, merchants and traders buzzed through the bazaars, making deals that could build empires overnight. And with some luck, maybe a demon could be near.
But if it was lust or blood that drove them, well, they could find that too, in the dimly lit corners and hidden alcoves, beds or any potential places of debauchery you can think of.
The cobblestone streets seemed to whisper temptation as people passed by. One secret for everyone.
Over there, a cluster of alchemists huddled, their hands glowing with Atua-charged energies as they debated over arcane formulae.
Across the way, a shifty-eyed man offered a vial of some illicit substance to an impatient young lordling. Even the buildings seemed to be in on the conspiracies¡ªthe walls closing in like onlookers eager for the next act in the ongoing drama that was Onxyburg.
Under a sky awash with twilight hues, Restelo stood atop the balcony of his secluded villa. A murmur of evening activities echoed from Onxyburg in the distance, but here, all was hushed.
A crow, black as the secrets he relished, spiralled down from the heavens to rest upon his outstretched finger. The bird''s eyes were like twin beads of golden ember, mirroring Restelo''s own piercing red gaze.
"Well, well. What tidings do you bring, emissary of the shadows?" he murmured, his voice laced with a chilling elegance.
With a shuddering flutter of its feathers, the crow vanished. In its place appeared an ornate card that read, "The Morningstar invites you for the grand opening."
Restelo''s red eyes narrowed, gleaming like rubies under the sliver of moonlight of his hair. "The Morningstar, is it? Now, that''s a name I''ve not heard in an eternity. Curious indeed."
The door creaked open, revealing a chamber bathed in an unsettling red glow. Hung from the walls were cadavers, their life force drained, eyes vacant. Restelo''s nostrils flared at the acrid smell of coagulated blood. In the midst of this gory tableau sat his latest creation, a vision of malevolent beauty. A spawn with long, white hair cascaded down her back like a frozen waterfall, her eyes a molten red as if borrowing their hue from the pits of hell.
With a look of annoyance marring his otherwise immaculate visage, Restelo sidestepped a pool of blood and took a seat in the only clean chair in the room. "Must you make such a mess?" he said, shaking his head. "You''re tarnishing the very notion of what it is to be a vampire."
"I''m hungry!" she snapped, her fangs glistening with fresh blood.
"Ah, but the insatiable hunger that you feel is precisely the lesson here," Restelo retorted, his voice dripping with an exasperated formality. "You must learn discipline, restraint. A true vampire is a master of their desires, not a slave to them."
She glared up at him from her position on the floor, one hand still clutching the limp wrist of her latest victim. "So, when will I become a true vampire, then?"
Restelo''s red eyes met hers, and for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. "You''re not ready. You''re nowhere near ready. And I find myself contemplating whether I''ve erred in my judgment of you."
Her eyes narrowed, taking on a dangerous glint. "You''re regretting me?"
He sighed, a low, rumbling sound that filled the room like the distant peal of a funeral bell. "Perhaps it''s time to correct my mistake," he said, his tone tinged with a sadness she had never heard before.
Her breath hitched, "You don''t love me anymore?" For the first time, the weight of his words seemed to penetrate her rebellious demeanour. She stared at him, waiting for him to pronounce her fate.
Restelo leaned back, steepling his fingers before his face as he considered her. After a moment that stretched like an eternity, he spoke.
"I''ll give you one more chance. An opportunity to show me you can be more than this...wild animal you''ve become."
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"And if I can''t?"
Restelo''s eyes darkened. "Then, my dear, you will be nothing more than a cautionary tale, a footnote in the annals of my long existence."
The woman, her eyes locked onto his, rose deliberately from a carpet of fallen bodies. Each step she took toward him resonated with a silent promise of defiance. "Restelo, do you still love me?"
His lips curled into a mirthless smile. "Ah, the desire is burning in you, isn''t it?"
With her chin lifted, eyes unyielding, she nodded. "Tell me. Tell me you do."
Restelo''s hand cradled her cheek, his eyes meeting hers in a gaze that was both tender and severe. "Such a sweet girl," he murmured, his words laced with a paradoxical mix of affection and disappointment, "in such a sour world."
In an instant, his grip tightened, and with a swift, surgical movement, her head was separated from her body. Her lifeless form collapsed to the ground, disintegrating into ash that mingled with the other remains in the room.
Restelo stood there for a moment, his eyes colder now, like shards of red ice. "You were given the gift of eternity," he said softly to the pile of ash that had once been his creation, "but you lacked the character to wield it."
As he stepped out of the room, a sense of grim satisfaction settled over him. His expression was unreadable as he closed the door behind him, shutting away the consequences of his latest judgment.
It was time to focus on other matters now¡ªlike that intriguing invitation from The Morningstar.
"I wonder, how is that little piece of shit, Adamastor."
Nord sat alone in her study, surrounded by piles of elegant parchment, each one bearing the flowery script of RSVPs. It was a sea of affirmative responses, and the flood of letters seemed never-ending. Each one she opened added another note of trepidation to her heart. On one hand, the overwhelming acceptance filled her with a sense of accomplishment. On the other, it filled her with dread.
What if she couldn''t handle it? What if she''d bitten off more than she could chew? How could she host a grand event when she felt like she was navigating through a labyrinth with no exit? Adamastor seemed to have an uncanny ability to orchestrate events with graceful ease, but trusting him was another story. His very presence unnerved her, his confidence often bordering on arrogance.
And then there was Baal. Each day seemed to tether her more deeply to him, and it unsettled her. He''d become her anchor in the midst of chaos, consistently reliable, perpetually there. It wasn''t just that he hadn''t failed her. It was that he seemed incapable of it. And that scared her more than anything. What if she became dependent on him, and then he left?
The thought clawed at her, and she felt ashamed for even considering it, but as long as Merlin remained a factor, Baal would stay. And that thought¡ªa hope anchored in someone else''s existence¡ªmade her question the person she was becoming. Since when had she allowed fear and dependency to shape her decisions? Since when had she become this... selfish?
The haunting strains of a violin¡¯s melody wove through the air, seeping into the walls of Nord''s study and through the tangles of her fraught thoughts. It was Baal''s playing, she could tell. There was an unmistakable nuance to his music¡ªa raw, emotive quality that had the power to both console and challenge.
As the notes floated toward her, each one seemed to sweep away a layer of her apprehension, filling the emptied spaces with something closer to clarity. Nord realized the sheer artistry of it; the music was not just the skilful manipulation of strings and bow but a language, and Baal was fluent. Adamastor had been right: Demons wielded instruments as if they were extensions of their very souls.
Yet, knowing it was Baal who played made it all the more touching. She found herself tethered to each note, to the sweep of his bow, to the quiet pauses between movements. It was as though he was speaking directly to her, acknowledging her fears and her hopes, and telling her it was okay to feel both.
She felt the urge to go to him, to stand in the doorway and lose herself in the music, but she hesitated. There was a vulnerability in that choice, an admission of her dependence on him, and the thought stopped her in her tracks. Instead, she rose from her desk and quietly left the study, retreating to the sanctuary of her bedroom.
"This is video 06. I''m Nord Morningstar, and I will be leaving Earth for Nyu soon. Very soon."
Taking a deep breath, she sighed, her gaze momentarily shifting off-camera as if trying to gather herself. "Look, I''ve been living it up these past few days¡ªlike a last hurrah or something. But it''s crunch time, and I''ve got to record this. If the journey wipes my memories... well, this has to exist."
She clenched her fists, deliberating. "Baal doesn''t get it. He can''t comprehend that there are ways to make someone happy even when they are not physically with you. That was a faux pas that I assumed since the beginning. We worked on this idea¡ªschematics, blueprints, if you will. He calls them ''keys.''"
Her eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued by her own words. "These ''keys'' are unique. They activate spells infused with his Atua Na¡ªa rare trait for a demon to even possess. So, it''s not just mumbo jumbo; it''s significant. Each key is a part of Baal, his own magic."
Leaning in closer to the camera, she lowered her voice. "Here''s the snag: How do I take these spells to Nyu without losing them or their functionality? That''s the million-dollar question, isn''t it?"
She paused, letting the words hang in the air, her eyes almost piercing through the screen.
"Oh, one more thing," she said, her expression softening into a chuckle. "If you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror, wondering what the hell''s going on, just know this: there''s a folder on the desktop. It''s labelled ''The Keys.''"
She leaned back, her eyes glinting with a cocktail of humour and earnestness. "Inside, you''ll find all the schematics, detailed explanations, what each key does¡ªthe whole shebang. I''ve documented it as meticulously as I could. So, future me, if you''re confused, that''s your starting point."
Her laughter faded, replaced by a sobering reality that tightened her expression. "I just hope that I¡ªor you¡ªwill be wise enough to use them effectively. Without Baal, well, it''s going to be a whole different ballgame."
Nord''s eyes met the camera''s lens one final time as if trying to imprint her current self onto her future self, to pass on that wisdom, that courage. "So, here''s to unlocking the answers, right? Let''s just hope we''re as clever as we think we are. But if you''re wondering about my -yours- little obsession with tattoos, well, this is the story."
NA: The cloud synchronization is clearly a bug created by Nyu¡¯s magic
[CH. 0040] - The First
Nord squinted at the notebook in her hands, each page a kaleidoscope of symbols and shapes that felt foreign yet intriguing. "This is it, huh? Everything?"
Baal, leaning on the wall of Nord¡¯s room, looked distant for a moment. "As far as my mind can stretch, yeah. Can''t think of anything else you''d need."
With a careful thumb, she flipped through the pages as if afraid the ink might leap up and stain her. "It''s a lot, isn''t it? What do I do, carry this spellbook around like some wannabe wizard?"
Eyes leaving the schematics, Baal observed her swap the mundane uniform for a frilly pink dress. "You won''t have to lug around the book. I''m thinking of turning these into physical items like keys ¡ªsay, attached to a necklace or a bracelet."
Her eyes narrowed into slits. "You expect me to keep track of more things? Seriously?"
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Well, Morningstar, nobody said destroying the Hollow was convenient."
Setting the notebook down, Nord''s face hardened. "Listen, Baal, whatever this is, it needs to be foolproof. It has to stay with me, rain or shine. You won''t be there to help me. I''ll be on my own."
His gaze trailed down to her boots, worn but sturdy. "Those boots. You love ''em, right? Why not integrate the keys into them?"
Nord''s eyes dropped to her feet, her boots suddenly at the centre of a very personal universe. "Hey, what''s wrong with my boots? They''re practical! And they feel like a ''Don''t mess with me'' sign. Kinda like a certain demon, I know," she smirked and added, "Don''t touch my boots!"
His laughter was warm, his eyes bright with something more than just intellectual curiosity. "That''s the point. They''re a part of you. Marrying them to the keys ensures you''re always prepared."
"Dude, you''re not laying a finger on my boots," Nord interjected, halting his enthusiasm. "We need another plan." She picked up a gloss lipstick and rolled it open.
His eyes flickered with confusion. "What are you doing?"
"I''m getting ready," she said, applying a coat of deep shimmer to her lips.
"Ready? For what?"
"I have a date."
His eyes widened. "A date?"
She capped the lipstick, looking at him through the mirror. "Yes, Baal. Like a date-date. A movie and maybe popcorn and grown-up stuff."
He frowned. "Why are you wearing that dress? You look like a marshmallow cupcake!"
Indignant, she retorted, "What''s wrong with how I look? Not up to your demon standards of beauty? I''m not good enough?"
He bit his lower lip, holding back words he''d regret. "You''re drowning in pink. I can barely see you in there. It''s not Morningstar."
"Maybe I just want to be Nord tonight!" She snapped the eyeliner shut. "Well, I think I look cute. And if you can''t say something nice, don''t say anything at all. I''m already nervous."
Their eyes met in the mirror. A thousand unsaid words hovered in the air, each waiting for the right moment to land.
Nord hugged her knees to her chest as she sat on the cinema steps, the illuminated screen of her phone showing an unread message, "Where are you?" The movie had been playing for fifteen minutes now, but her date was nowhere to be found.
"Dumb, dumb, dumb," she muttered to herself. She felt naive, almost childish, for believing that someone like her could go on a date with one of the high school heartthrobs. The words Baal had almost said¡ªthe ones she''d seen forming behind his bitten lip¡ªcame crashing back. Maybe he was right. Maybe she did look ridiculous.
"How stupid am I? So fucking stupid!"
Heading home wasn''t an option; she wasn''t ready to face the questions her mother and stepfather would surely have. Nor was she eager for the next wave of humiliation that was bound to hit her when she returned to school¡ªor when Baal inevitably asked how her evening had gone.
She scanned the dimly lit street, looking for a place to wait out the embarrassment. Everything was closed, and aimlessly walking the streets at this hour was begging for trouble.
Resigned, Nord let out a long sigh. She leaned her head back against the cold metal railing of the stairs, looking up at the starless city sky. "Time," she whispered, "can you hurry up for once? I just want to go home!"
As she sat there, lost in her own misery, she barely noticed a shadow approaching. It wasn''t until she heard a familiar voice that she looked up.
"Nord? What are you doing here?"
It was Baal. His dark eyes held a mixture of surprise and concern as if he''d stumbled upon a forbidden scene. "I thought you had a date," he said, his voice tinged with hesitance.
Nord felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Of course, he''d come here. Of course, he''d ask. Of all the people to bear witness to her humiliation, it had to be him, a demon!
"I did. Or, I was supposed to. I got stood up," she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, "It''s okay, is not the first time, and probably not the last one. I just don''t seem to learn that. Nobody wants a girl like me, right?"
Baal paused. For a moment, his eyes seemed to search hers as though trying to gauge the depth of her embarrassment, her sadness.
He sat on the stairs next to her, carefully leaning his head on her shoulder, breaking the silence. "Hey, if I show you something, will you promise to smile?"
"Wha¡ª" She didn''t finish, interrupted by a delicate meow. He unveiled a small orange tabby kitten from the fold of his jacket.
"Where did you find her?" Her eyes widened, momentarily forgetting her own gloom.
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"Dumpster-diving. Can you believe it? Who the fuck would do that? Someone tossed her like yesterday''s news. But she''s had a bath and everything. Wanna hold her?" Gently, he extended the kitten toward her, "I came here just to show her to you."
Taking the tiny creature into her hands, she looked puzzled. "What''s her name?"
He kept his head on her shoulder as he spoke, "Why don''t you tell me?"
"Why should I get to name her?"
He whispered, nearly a murmur, "I don''t want to answer that."
She felt the weight of his words but let them pass. "What''s gotten into you?"
His fingers reached out to lightly stroke the kitten''s fur. "I''d rather not talk about it. It hurts." A pause lingered between them before he suggested, "How about Kitty for a name?"
"That''s so clich¨¦," she scoffed. "Every cute cat is called that. What about Kirara? It means ''demon cat.''"
"No, it doesn''t!" He chuckled, finally lifting his head from her shoulder. "It means ''glitter,'' you know."
"Can we pretend?" Her voice was softer, almost pleading.
His eyes met hers, and for the first time that evening, they both smiled. "Yeah, we can pretend."
Scanning the marquee again, he asked, "Any other movies we could catch?"
"The next one''s a B-list film. The reviews say it''s awful," Nord warned.
He looked deep into her eyes, and the vulnerability lay bare. "Would you like to, you know, watch a terrible movie with me? With popcorn and... stuff?"
"And what about Kirara?" She glanced at the kitten, now playfully tugging at the hem of her frizzy skirt.
"She''s part of the package," he said, his eyes finally brightening. He stood, offering her his hand. As she took it, he carefully slid Kirara back into his pocket.
As the opening credits of the abysmal B-list movie rolled on, the pair settled into their seats, Kirara purring softly from her spot on her lap. Popcorn in hand, they soon found themselves not watching the movie but rather mocking its predictable plot twists and corny dialogue.
"Seriously? A jump scare with a pickle? Even Kirara could direct a better movie," he jibed, tossing a popcorn kernel at the screen.
"Yeah, and she''d probably cast herself as the feline villain fluff!" Nord added, catapulting a piece of popcorn of her own.
Throughout the screening, their laughter filled the otherwise empty theatre, punctuated by playful jeers and the periodic lobbing of popcorn. Their hands found each other, their fingers lacing together instinctively, and they remained that way, unbroken, until the lights came up.
As they blinked back into reality, she surveyed the mess they''d made¡ªthe popcorn-strewn floor, the salty kernels adhering to the screen. "We have to make a run for it!" she said, eyes alight with mischief.
"Follow me!" he exclaimed, feigning a crouch as if they were spies on a covert mission. Of course, they were painfully conspicuous, but the point was to pretend otherwise.
Bursting through the exit, they spilt into the city''s night air, laughing uncontrollably as they ran down the dimly lit street. They weren''t fleeing from the mess they''d left behind or even the fact that they''d mocked a bad film. No, they were running toward something¡ªthat lingering secret between them.
And as they lost themselves in the labyrinth of city streets, their laughter echoing in the quiet night, they realized they didn''t need a script or a predictable plotline. All they needed was this moment and whatever moments would come next.
As they ambled through the shadowy streets, the echo of their laughter now fading, a new kind of silence settled between them. It wasn''t uncomfortable, exactly, but it was thick¡ªwith questions, with unspoken thoughts. Nord could sense a restlessness in him but wasn''t quite sure how to broach the subject.
Finally, he cleared his throat and asked, "What would''ve happened if the other guy had shown up tonight?"
"Why are you asking that?" Her brow furrowed, intrigued by the sudden change in conversation.
"Would you have kissed him?" His voice was tinged with a seriousness that hadn''t been there before.
"Probably," she admitted.
His eyes met hers, searching. "Are you in love with him?"
"No, I''m not."
"But you would''ve kissed him?"
She hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh. "Look, I''ve never been kissed. Never had a boyfriend, never had anyone show interest. I''m 15. It seems like everyone else is doing these things, so why not me? Why do I have to be different? I don''t think I''m that ugly or that weird, am I?"
His expression changed, almost as if he was weighing her words carefully. "It''s different for humans, then. Your kin don''t really care who you share those things with. It can happen to anyone."
Nord looked at him, her eyes softening. "It''s not about not caring. It''s about the pressure to experience things, to not feel left behind. But that doesn''t mean it''s right. I guess tonight made me realize that. Everyone wants prince charmy, but no one plays the role. It''s just frogs and ugly ducklings."
The two walked in silence again until Baal broke the silence. "Well, I, for one, am glad that the other guy didn''t show up."
"Yeah?" Nord''s voice lifted, and she couldn''t help but smile.
"Yeah," he affirmed, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Otherwise, Kirara wouldn''t have gotten to make her big screen debut with the pickle monster."
Her laughter trailed off, replaced by a sudden seriousness that took root as they walked. "You said it''s different for demons. How different?"
He stopped, meeting her eyes with an intensity she hadn''t seen before. "Demons don''t love. Most of us can''t feel it."
She felt a sudden pang of disappointment, unsure why his words struck her so deeply. "That is really different."
"But when we do love," he continued, "it''s absolute. Unbreakable. We love only one person, one creature, for our entire lives. If we lose that person, we lose everything."
"Shouldn''t that be a good thing? Loving someone that deeply?"
Baal bit his lip. Nord had come to recognize this as a sign that he was holding something back. "It''s not so simple. It''s not a good thing when you realize that person will eventually forget you, not even remember you existed. Ten years is not a lifetime, Nord. And the more time passes, the more I realize that I can''t¡"
She stared at him, captivated but confused. "You can''t what?"
"Nord, I can''t fall in love with you. I just can''t afford to."
Her heart sank a little, but she wasn''t sure why. Was it because she felt the same, or was it the ache of a door she didn''t even know was there closing?
"If I do, you''ll break my heart."
Neither of them spoke. What could be said? Instead, they resumed walking, the sound of their footsteps filling the silence. Kirara, nestled in Baal''s pocket, let out a soft meow.
"Nord?" Baal''s voice broke the quiet as they passed a peculiar shop, its windows filled with inked illustrations. The sign read, "The Warlock''s Ink."
She turned her eyes to meet his, and they both paused in front of the shop. An idea, spontaneous and electric, sparked between them.
"Oh my god, the keys!" she burst out, her eyes widening at the thought.
"The keys in your skin! Imagine not being able to lose them because they''re tattooed on you!" He was almost breathless with excitement.
"I would look so freaking badass!" she exclaimed.
"And you could draw the spells¡ªtranslate them into images, so you never forget what they mean!" His eyes were practically glowing, feeding off her enthusiasm.
"This is so awesome!" she agreed, her voice tinged with wonder.
"I know!" he echoed.
They both didn''t realize that their hands had found each other again, fingers intertwining in their shared excitement. Even less did Nord realize that in the heat of the moment, her lips pressed against his.
It was brief, a mere whisper of a kiss, but it was enough to leave them both startled, eyes wide as they met in the reflected glow of the tattoo store neon sign.
"You''re my first kiss," she whispered, her eyes searching his as if for some hidden sign.
"And you will be my last kiss," he replied, his voice heavy with sincerity.
At that moment, it hit them both like a quiet storm¡ªthe unsettling idea that their love story came with an expiration date. But at fifteen, maybe sixteen, who really thinks about the forever? Consequences feel so distant that they blur into abstraction.
He leaned in, his eyes closing as they approached her lips. She tasted like cherries, not the real fruit but the synthetic flavour of her lip gloss. Yet to him, in that moment, it was the sweetest thing he''d ever known. His lips met hers softly, gently, as though they were something fragile. Her mouth responded, equally tender, and the world around them seemed to pause as if giving them the privacy of their shared firsts and lasts.
And just like that, they kissed¡ªa kiss filled with the poignant weight of beginnings and endings that were too close to home.
Their first kiss.
[CH. 0041] - The Cut
Battery 1% Your device will shut down.
As she sat there, the screen of her phone faded to black, leaving her with a sinking feeling of frustration. "Dammit, not again," she muttered under her breath.
Nord turned her attention to herself in the mirror. The room was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by her heavy sighs. She began to undress, methodically untying the laces of her corset, one delicate strand at a time. Her blouse followed, each button revealing a bit more of her skin, and finally, her boots and pants were discarded.
Standing there in front of the mirror, she examined her body, her canvas, tattoo by tattoo. Each inked design held a part of her, a piece of her soul etched into her skin. But now, a stark realization washed over her like a chilling wave¡ªwhite spots of untouched skin were spreading across her once-adorned canvas.
Her tattoos, her legacy, were fading away as if they were never there. Why? Was it the keys? Only being able to use them once?
A profound sense of loss gripped her. It was more than just losing her tattoos; it was losing a part of herself, her true identity. She traced her fingers over the fading marks on her chest, trying to hold on to what was slipping away.
Memories of her previous life began to resurface, memories that seemed distant and elusive through her voice but not her voice. Not this voice.
She couldn''t help but think back to the fateful night mentioned in the interrupted video¡ªthe night she was dumped by that boy. Her memories didn''t match the account of the video.
She remembered waiting for hours in front of the cinema, the cold gnawing at her, and the loneliness enveloping her like a heavy shroud. She had wandered the city aimlessly, seeking solace in the anonymity of the streets, until she inexplicably found herself in front of a tattoo store with a cat in her lap.
But one question nagged at her: she couldn''t recall finding Kirara, but she was there. She was sure of that.
As she pondered these mysteries, doubt gnawed at her. Were these memories real, or were they fragments of a forgotten past? How much of herself had vanished from her mind? There was a part of her that yearned to run down the stairs and confront Baal, to ask him if they had met before and if they had been more than strangers. But a voice deep within cautioned her to remain silent, to keep the secret hidden.
He must not know the truth.
Not yet.
"Nord, I wanted to say..." came a voice from the other side of the door, followed by a sudden and unexpected click as the door swung open.
Startled, she hurriedly picked up her blouse and pants and dressed as quickly as she could, her heart pounding in her chest. As she glanced over, she saw Adamastor standing there, leaning against the wall, his hand covering his eyes, feeling the guilt of walking into something private.
"I''m so sorry the door was open!" he stammered, feeling a flush of embarrassment.
"It''s fine. You can stop the drama. I''m dressed," she mumbled, trying to regain her composure.
Adamastor lowered his hand, revealing his red, intense gaze. "I just came to tell you I will work on the cemetery."
Nord raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "The cemetery? Why?"
"I want to turn the shrine into... a safe place," he explained hesitantly.
Her confusion deepened. "What sort of safe place are you talking about?"
Adamastor struggled to find the right words, and instead, he revealed his fangs, a stark reminder of his true nature: a vampire spawn. "A safe place for you... so it''s easier to have me contained. Or that I can go if I feel like¡I''m losing control again."
Nord was taken aback by his candid admission. "Adamastor, I don''t think it''s necessary, and..."
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
He interrupted her, determination in his eyes. "We both know it''s needed, and you haven''t felt comfortable with me here. I want to give you something... and this is all I could come up with."
Nord was at a loss for words, unsure of how to react or what the proper thing to say. She stared at him, her mind racing.
"Anyway," he continued, breaking the silence, "I''m going there now, so you know. I''ll be back to prepare dinner for everyone."
Adamastor''s boots whispered down the manor''s grand staircase, one hand grasping a well-worn broom, the other cradling a scuffed bucket. Autumn leaves, crimson and gold, laid a funerary shroud over the graves and the shrine outside. Each leaf was a marker of time slipping away, whispering the approach of winter.
"Is getting cold," he whispered to himself, the ghost of a smile stretching across his face.
Silent as a shadow, he glided through the iron gates that separated the estate from the cemetery. The gravel crunched lightly beneath his boots as his fingers danced across the tombstones like a pianist playing a lament. Every etched name struck a chord in the recesses of his ancient memory. "Emily... Daniel... Alaric... Tom... Rosemary... Frank," he murmured.
Emerging from his reverie, he walked into the shrine. As he pushed the creaking door open, a different set of memories engulfed him.
The floor still bore the rusty stains of Nord''s blood; splotches on the wooden planks and walls seemed to scream at him in silence. He closed his eyes briefly, overwhelmed by the iron scent still haunting the air. Still enticing him.
"Damn it," he whispered. "I... I didn''t mean to."
Putting the broom aside, Adamastor picked up his bucket, remembering he needed water and soap¡ªmore tools to cleanse, to erase. "Can''t leave these old marks haunting the place."
His eyes wandered to the broken benches cluttering the shrine. "These could be firewood," he mused. He was already conjuring up visions of refurbishing the space: an old couch, a bookshelf maybe¡ªa cage for him but perhaps a welcoming abode where Nord might visit him and see him as something other than a monster. Or at least less of a monster.
As he stooped to remove larger branches and rocks from the shrine''s floor, a sting pierced his index finger, a scorching pain so intense he gasped. Confused, he examined the minor cut and the blood that welled from it, just two drops. "I haven''t felt pain like this since¡ª"
His hands, almost paralysed with agony, reached down to pick up loose rocks and branches, reorganising the floor with an almost desperate need for order. And then¡ªa sudden sharp pain lanced through his finger as if punishing him. It was a torment he hadn''t felt since his transformation into a spawn.
"What the¡ª?" he stammered, staring again at the small but searing cut on his index finger. The pain twisted through him, completely at odds with the insignificance of the wound.
His eyes widened when he brushed aside more leaves to reveal two ornate daggers lying hidden on the ground. The blades glinted ominously, engraved with the names¡ªMorningstar and Berith.
"You did come prepared, Nord," he said softly, lifting one of the daggers.
A glance at the sky hinted at the day''s approaching end. With the daggers held cautiously, Adamastor turned his back on the shrine, heading toward the manor and the dusk beyond.
"Time to make dinner," he muttered.
The door creaked softly as Adamastor stepped into the warm, amber-lit kitchen. His eyes met the weapons he had just placed on the high shelf¡ªgleaming, deadly, almost mystical.
Below them, Finnea and Kirara had already claimed their respective seats at the dining table. They watched him as though he were a walking succulent chicken.
Adamastor chuckled, shaking his head. "Are you girls hungry?"
Before they could reply, a boyish voice shattered the quiet as Bram leaned back in his chair, legs dangling. "What''s for dinner tonight?"
"Really, Bram?" his mother, Perdita, chided gently. "Perhaps you might ask Mr. Adamastor if he needs help first."
She turned to Adamastor, her eyes like glowing embers in the dusky room. "Mr. Adamastor, do you need a hand with anything?"
A shadow of a smile crossed the vampire''s lips. "I''ve got it, thank you. But there is a bottle of red wine in the pantry. Merlin and Baal might enjoy a glass when they come down."
Perdita''s gaze followed an invisible path towards the stairs. "Merlin was planning on joining us after his bath. Nord, on the other hand¡" Her voice dipped as her eyes clouded over with uncertainty.
Wordlessly, she reached for a wine glass, filling it almost to the brim. She offered another glass to Adamastor, who accepted with a nod.
As if on cue, Baal burst into the room. "Wow, it smells amazing in here."
Perdita offered a wine glass filled with ruby-red liquid, her lips curving in a smile. "For you."
His attention, however, was quickly captured by the two gleaming daggers on the shelf. "Those blades," he said, almost in a whisper, "where did they come from?"
Adamastor glanced over his shoulder from the stove, where the aroma of garlic and herbs filled the air. "Found them in the shrine. They belong to Nord, I presume."
The atmosphere grew taut as a bowstring. Baal''s eyes narrowed, his voice carrying a hard edge. "Impossible. Those blades can''t be Nord''s."
Adamastor shrugged his attention still on the sizzling pan before him. "I''m only telling you what I know. They came with her other belongings."
"Other belongings?" Baal''s grip tightened around the hilt of one of the daggers. "And where would she get Allatori blades?"
The word "Allatori" dropped like a stone in a pond, sending ripples of unease across the room. It seemed to weigh down the very air, shrouding the kitchen in an unspoken dread. So consumed was Adamastor by the weight of this new revelation that he failed to notice the pan, now sizzling uncontrollably. It slipped from his grasp and clanged as loud as thunder on the floor, spattering oil in all directions.
A drop of blood trickled down Adamastor''s finger.
Admastor has a cut. It was just a tiny cut.
[CH. 0042] - The Cut
The violin in Baal''s hands sang as if kissed by the sun, each note wrapping around the room like tendrils of warm wind. Fragrance from freshly arranged lilies and roses filled the air while Perdita, a blur of motion and apron, set tableware down.
The grand opening of the Morningstar was approaching rapidly, and she intended for everything to be perfect.
Amidst the ethereal backdrop of Baal''s music, the clinking of glass and the rustle of playing cards added a layer of playful chaos. The group around the card table hooted, punctuated by the occasional peal of laughter.
Finnea''s mouth was set in a tight line, her eyes betraying none of the defeat her hand suggested. Even in a game of cards, she bore the stern air of a seasoned warrior.
"Queen of Cups!" Merlin, age etched into his face but mischief glinting in his eyes demanded the card to the table.
Kirara''s eyes narrowed as she forked over the card. "No funny business, Grandpa. You''re not using magic, are you?"
"A magician never tells," he retorted, locking eyes with Finnea. "Queen of Swords!"
The room froze. Finnea shot a glare at her deck, her eyes sharpening as if preparing to pierce armour. She muttered an unintelligible jargon and slammed the Queen of Swords onto the table. "Defeat Bram, the Lucky Charm, and face my wrath, old wizard."
Merlin''s eyes twinkled as he swivelled to Bram. "Young squire, do you have¡ª"
"Nope!" Bram cut him off, his youthful face a mask of cheeky defiance. "Go, fish!"
"Impossible! I didn''t even ask for¡ª"
"Go fish, Grandpa!" Bram doubled down, barely stifling a giggle. "Unless you''re not playing fair?"
"Me? Cheat?" Merlin''s protests were drowned out by a wave of laughter that swelled across the table as they revealed their hands. Kirara had a mess of Queen of Cups, Finnea wielded only Queens of Swords, and Bram showed a line-up of Queen of Pentacles.
Merlin''s cheeks flushed, realizing his spell had spectacularly backfired. He cleared his throat, mumbling, "Well, even magicians have off days."
Yet, for all the beauty and light in the room, a shadow clung to the corners of Morningstar''s manor.
Something¡ªor rather, someone¡ªwas glaringly absent.
"Where''s Adamastor?" Kirara wondered aloud, her laughter dissipating into a cloud of concern. "And where is Mama?"
As Baal''s violin hit a hauntingly beautiful note, it was as if the strings themselves were posing the question¡ªfilling the room with a melody that was incomplete, missing those essential notes that make a tune whole. He suddenly stopped, "Where is Nord?"
Adamastor''s eyes blinked open to the gruesome scene, one pulled straight from a nightmare. The carcass of a bear lay before him, its hollow insides a twisted display of carnage. A guttural sound clawed its way out of his throat, and he doubled over, retching violently. The foul aroma of decay filled the air, sharp and pungent.
His stomach clenched and expelled yesterday''s attempt at food¡ªa futile meal that now seemed grotesque, given that vampires don''t eat. The sounds of his wretched vomiting splashed against the cold stone floor, punctuating the silence of the cave.
As if his body was just catching up to the grim reality, Adamastor began to shiver, uncontrollable tremors seizing his frame. Cold reached through the air and clenched its icy fingers around him, but he hardly noticed. The chilling atmosphere was a mere footnote to the horror that surrounded him.
As he wiped his lips with a trembling hand, the rough surface revealed small cuts and abrasions. His fangs grazed his lower lip, a stark reminder of his hunger. But it was not the need for blood that consumed him now; it was a voracious desire to devour everything.
A newfound rage surged within him, unlike anything he had ever experienced. It wasn''t blood he thirsted for; it was the essence of existence, the very pulse of life.
Adamastor sank back against the uneven surface of the cave wall, each rocky protrusion pressing into him like the cold, indifferent fingers of the earth. His eyes were drawn to his finger¡ªa wound that had earlier been an insignificant cut now appeared as a livid, crimson line that stretched from knuckle to tip.
It wasn''t just a cut. It was an unbearable fissure of pain, as though some invisible blade was slowly severing nerve from the nerve. Each millimetre it extended seemed to send ripples of agony pulsating through his entire body, making even the air around him feel dense and abrasive.
His breathing quickened, ragged gasps filling the cavernous space, mingling with the rank odour of decay and the damp staleness of the cave. He closed his eyes, but there was no refuge there. The pain from his finger resonated like a wicked choir through his being, leaving no space for thought, logic, or even fear.
And then, cutting through the cacophony of his suffering, a singular thought emerged. How much worse could it get if this is how he felt from a mere cut? How much pain could he endure and still retain the semblance of a man?
Legends of Allatori weapons and the agony they inflicted upon vampires, demons, and their kind had reached his ears in the past. He had dismissed them as faraway tales, never contemplating that he would fall victim to their cruel influence through such a simple, accidental cut.
His heart pounded¡ªan abnormality for a creature of his kind, reminding him of a time long past when he was ruled by heartbeat and breath.
The rhythmic drumming filled his ears, sounding almost foreign in its urgency. He grappled with the strangeness of the sensation. Was this the faithful cadence of a heartbeat or the hallucinatory echoes of a mind plunged into delirium?
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Adamastor''s laughter erupted like a spout of water breaching a dam. It ricocheted off the cave walls, a mirthless sound tinged with hysteria and the bitter undertones of irony.
As he laughed, something shifted in the air¡ªlike the tension just before a thunderstorm breaks, filling the atmosphere with electricity. Suddenly, the laughter caught in his throat, replaced by a sharp inhalation. A scent hit him, cutting through the damp mustiness of the cave, sweeping away the putrid smell of decay.
It was intoxicating and invigorating and adamantine in its familiarity.
Though his mind stumbled in its weakened state, unable to fully latch onto the memory this scent evoked, his gut knew instantaneously. The fragrance was so deeply woven into the fabric of his being that his body reacted before his mind could catch up. It was as though an ethereal cord had been pulled taut, connecting him to something¡ªor someone¡ªindispensable.
Adamastor burst from the cave''s mouth, propelled by an urgency that bordered on the primal. His previous existential contemplations shattered, supplanted by a singular, unyielding focus. He had no time for introspection now; every fibre of his being screamed with a need so intense it momentarily eclipsed even his relentless hunger for the essence of life itself.
The forest was a blur as he darted between trees, each step driven by the scent that hung in the air like a siren''s call. He was a blur of motion, his eyes aglow with a hunter¡¯s fierce intent. There was no room for subtlety or consideration. Restraint had no place in this hunt; this was a pure, primal need. A killer''s urge.
Adamastor crashed through the underbrush, twigs snapping under his desperate steps. His nostrils flared, drawing in the scent that seemed to beckon him forward like a siren''s call.
He inhaled deeply, pulling her scent into him as though it were the very air he breathed. His senses parsed each aroma that melded with her unique fragrance: the damp earth, the decaying leaves, the air itself¡ªall mere background to the overwhelming allure of her scent. Each nuance was registered and analyzed, cross-referenced with the ineffable but unmistakable signature that belonged solely to her.
Finally, he burst into the clearing. Trees encircled the lake, its surface like a shimmering mirror reflecting the dense forest and sky. And there, slicing through the water with an elegance that stopped Adamastor dead in his tracks, was Nord.
He could only watch, his breath caught in his throat, as she cut effortlessly through the water. After drowning twice in this water, one would think she wouldn''t set foot on it, but no. Nord didn''t let death stop her.
"She''s done it again," he muttered to himself.
Nord was unaware of his watchful eyes. Her movements were choreographed with some mysterious rhythm only she and the water understood. It was as if the lake itself had woven a shield around her.
Adamastor stared, caught in a sort of reverent trance, contemplating the laws of nature she so blatantly snubbed.
"They always say ''never twice''," he spoke softly, almost afraid his voice would ripple across the water and break the spell. "But you, Nord..."
His heart pounded loudly in his chest, resonating with an existential question that gripped him. Would this third meeting spell the end for her? Would he be the fatal third time?
"Could she survive again?" He thought, his eyes tracing her form as his emotions swirled between hope and dread.
Just as Adamastor''s foot inched towards the water, poised to dive into the depths and close the distance between him and Nord''s neck, a nasty hissing sound clawed at his eardrums. The sound sent shivers down his spine like the cruel laughter of fate.
His eyes darted to his hands¡ªhands he barely recognized. The skin was bubbling, reddened, and angry blisters as if each cell were screaming in pain.
"Oh no... no, no, no," he muttered, falling to his knees, the agony so intense that it swallowed his world whole.
A tortured noise ripped from his throat¡ªa sound so guttural, so deeply inhuman that it echoed like a mournful cry through the forest, resonating with the ancient trees and jarring the placid lake.
The sun¡ªthe enemy he''d outwitted for fifty years, hiding in the comforting cloak of night¡ªhad finally caught up with him. Nord''s blood had worn off.
The sun''s fiery rays seared his skin with merciless fervour. Every millisecond under its glare felt like a drawn-out lifetime, the price he paid for daring to challenge the laws that bound his existence.
"Why now? Why today?" He thought, conscious only of the cosmic irony that gripped him.
The sun wasn''t just burning his flesh; it was burning through his will to continue, reach Nord, and defy her destiny again. And just when it seemed that he would be consumed completely, that his very essence would be lost to the relentless blaze...
Darkness engulfed him. A sudden veil, as if woven by unseen hands, shielded him from the sun¡¯s brutality. It embraced him like a mother cradling her suffering child.
Adamastor''s eyelids became heavy, the agony receding into the distance as if a door had been shut between him and the daylight world. With one final gasp¡ªone tinged more with relief than despair¡ªhe lost consciousness.
Adamastor''s eyes fluttered open as if fighting through a storm cloud of slumber. A single, cold bead of sweat traced an icy path down his forehead, slipping along the ridge of his cheekbone. With a clank, he felt the harsh, unyielding grip of metal cuffs restrain him.
"Nord?" His voice was a raspy whisper.
Baal shook his head, "Nah, man, it''s just me. How are you holdin'' up?"
Adamastor''s chest tightened; his eyes widened in frantic realization. "Where''s Nord? Did I hurt her? Where the hell am I?" His voice escalated, its timbre tinged with a raw desperation that overpowered even the gnawing pain in his body. "Nord!" He screamed, muscles straining futilely against his chains.
"Easy, easy," Baal coaxed. He reached for a rag soaked in chilly water, wringing it out and dabbing Adamastor''s face. "You''re not exactly fit for a jailbreak, buddy. You''re sick. Real sick."
Adamastor''s gaze flicked around, absorbing the room''s austerity. It was just another nondescript chamber in the maze-like manor. The agony that had seared through him earlier had subsided to a bearable ache, and even his perpetual hunger was eerily quiet. "What the hell happened to me?"
Baal hesitated, his hands twiddling nervously before he sank his teeth into his lower lip. "Look, Adamastor, you''re not just sick¡ªyou''re dying. You really messed yourself up with that Allatori blade."
"Is that so?" Adamastor''s voice wavered, fragile as a spiderweb, "It was just a cut."
Baal nodded. "Sirona came by and took some of Nord''s blood. We saved a couple of vials for emergencies. The blood''s healed your burns, but the cut from the blade... it''s going to spread."
"How long?" Adamastor queried, his voice tinged with resignation.
Baal wet the rag again and placed it gently back on Adamastor''s forehead. "Three hours, give or take."
"I can''t miss the opening ceremony! Perdita needs me! She isn''t yet fully trained! Nord is counting on me!" Adamastor made an aborted attempt to rise, chains rattling in protest.
Baal''s hand pressed firmly on Adamastor''s shoulder, pushing him back onto the bed. "Adamastor, I don''t think that''s happening."
"Then do something, damn it! Anything!"
"Like what? Pull a rabbit out of my hat?" Baal''s eyes reflected an agonizing, helpless mirroring of Adamastor''s own desperation.
"Take my happy memories. Give me more time. I have to teach Perdita. I can''t let Nord down again. And Rosemary... I made a promise to Rosemary I would...!"
Baal shook his head solemnly. "Time''s a high price, Adamastor. And besides, all the memory jars are with Merlin, and the old guy ain''t dying before you do. I can''t..."
"Then use his jars! Take my memories! You''ll have time to get new jars for him after I''m gone!"
Baal''s eyes widened. "But you''ll forget Nord. How can you help someone you don''t remember?"
"I won''t forget her," Adamastor sighed, almost inaudibly. "But Marcella...," he whispered.
"Who?"
"Most of my happy memories are tied to Marcella. I adore Nord, yes, but she isn''t a happy memory. She''s a beautiful torment..."
Baal stared at Adamastor for a long moment, his eyes searching the depths of the vampire''s own. "Alright," he finally said, exhaling a shaky breath. "Alright. Let''s do this."
"And Baal," Adamastor added, his voice a mere breath, "when the time comes, can you get me out of Ravendrift? I don''t want to die a caged bird."
"You''re asking for a miracle," Baal replied sceptically.
"I''m asking to die free," Adamastor whispered, "In return, I''ll tell you what I know about the Hollow. What Marcella told me."
[CH. 0043] - The Cut
Sunlight bore down mercilessly as Adamastor Tagus trudged up the gravel path leading to Morningstar Estate. He gripped his suitcase handle like a lifeline, feeling the sting of sweat tracing its way down his neck and spine. Each step seemed to add weight to his fear that he''d walk through those grand gates as a human puddle, disheveling his carefully chosen suit.
He halted at the open wrought-iron gate. She was there, leaning elegantly against a counter just past the entrance. Golden hair meticulously rolled up, her red lips wrapped around a long cigar, and she exhaled as if summoning him into her realm.
"Hi, good morning, I''m Adamastor Tagus. I''m--" He fumbled his words while extending a hand toward her, stepping into the shadow of the estate.
"You''re the butler boy I hired," she interrupted, locking her eyes on his. "Pretty boy, I see. How old are you, cutie pie?"
"Twenty-one, ma''am," Adamastor pulled his hand back, unsure of what protocol had been broken.
She arched an eyebrow. "And do you have any inkling about estate management? Inn-keeping, pantry inventory, asset allocation, and so on, and so on?"
"Are you the owner, if I may ask?"
Her eyes performed a swift assessment of him, head to toe and back again. "Rosemary Morningstar, owner and operator. Did anyone fill you in on the nature of the Morningstar business here?"
"Not exactly, no."
Rosemary circled around the counter, her heels clicking on the polished floor. "Morningstar is a magical trade centre. People offer their magic. I offer my services. Simple. But I can''t manage both the estate and the magic business alone. I need dedication, loyalty, and someone who''s... open-minded."
Adamastor felt like he was standing at the edge of a torrential river, each of Rosemary¡¯s words a rush of water threatening to sweep him away. She had a rapid-fire way of talking, no buffer or filter, and he struggled to keep up.
Adamastor opened his mouth to speak but was cut short.
"You listen, you don''t think. We welcome all sorts here. I couldn''t care less if they''ve got tails, hooves, horns, or fangs. Just follow the rules, don''t break anything, and don''t kill anyone. Simple, right?"
He blinked, trying to keep up with the torrent of words. "Yes, I--"
"Good grief, can you complete a sentence? We have a few guests at the moment¡ªoff-season, mind you. Room 32 has a particularly special guest with a unique diet. Don''t even think about snooping or passing judgment. Cross me, and I''ll kick your pretty boy ass straight back to wherever you crawled out from."
Summoning his courage, Adamastor rattled off, "I will do my utmost to be of service and adhere to your guidelines."
She took a long drag from her cigar and exhaled a stream of smoke that seemed to mingle with her words. "You learn fast; I like that."
He watched as she tapped the ash off her cigar, her eyes never leaving his. "You''re still here, so I''m assuming you''re up for the job. The work starts now. The cleaning crew arrives at six tomorrow, the kitchen gets deliveries every Thursday, and room 28 needs their bill by eight sharp."
He scrambled to memorize it all. "Got it, cleaning crew, kitchen deliveries, and 28 bill."
Rosemary grinned as if she were pleased that he wasn''t sinking in the current of her words. "Good. There are files in the office¡ªinventory lists, account books, and guest information. Familiarize yourself with them tonight."
"I will, Miss Morningstar," he replied, appreciating the sense of urgency she infused in him.
"Rosemary," she corrected, snuffing out her cigar. "We''re working together; you might as well use my first name."
Adamastor nodded, "Understood, Rosemary."
"And welcome to the Morningstar, pretty boy!"
Under the cover of night, the mysteries of Morningstar Estate deepened, and none seemed more enigmatic than Room 32. Two months into his tenure, Adamastor had learned the idiosyncrasies of most guests. But, the occupant of Room 32, remained a cypher¡ªa name with no face, framed by particular needs. The ledger listed her as "Marcella," with no surname. And Rosemary had made it abundantly clear: Marcella''s privacy was non-negotiable.
The instructions were as peculiar as they were precise. Every night, as darkness cloaked the estate, Adamastor would fill a jug with chicken blood from the kitchen''s cold storage, place it on a tray with a glass, and perform three unhurried knocks on the door of room 32. The guest, Marcella, was ever a shadow on the other side¡ªnever seen, occasionally heard.
Rosemary had made her policy crystal clear. "Privacy is not just golden here; it''s diamond. Not a word, not a hint, not a guess about our guests. Understand?" Her words were still a rapid current, but Adamastor was learning to navigate them.
Still, as autumn deepened and nights grew longer, his curiosity escalated. He found himself lingering a split second longer at the door, listening for any signs of life. One night, his knuckles had barely left the door after the third knock when a red glow emanated from the narrow gap underneath. He was sure he had seen a shiny, glowing red eye peering out.
Another time, he had barely set down the tray when he heard a soft rustle from within, followed by a faint whisper of "Thank you." His heart leapt. The voice was delicate, almost ethereal, and it stoked his imagination.
Tonight, Adamastor decided to be bolder. Perhaps it was the longer nights infusing a sense of daring into him. He knocked, paused, and then waited. His reward came soon enough. The door creaked ajar, revealing nothing but darkness. Then, a porcelain-white hand, as delicate as the whisper he had heard, slipped through the gap. It pulled the tray inside with a grace that made his pulse quicken.
The realization settled into Adamastor like a stone sinking into a deep pond. The nocturnal delivery of blood, her secluded lifestyle, and those haunting red eyes¡ªhe understood now why. Marcella was a vampire.
No ordinary guest would need jugs of chicken blood at the fall of night or be restricted to the gloom of a single room.
Yet, instead of fear or disgust, he felt a sense of melancholy. The thought of her secluded existence seemed like an invisible shackle. He had often wondered if she ever wished to roam the grounds of the Morningstar Estate, especially on nights when even the two moons and stars chose to hide, leaving the world in pitch black. But he never dared to ask.
Rosemary''s dictum on guest privacy echoed in his mind each time he approached Room 32. So, he had settled for unspoken exchanges. A red rose left on her tray every night had gradually led to a dance of notes: simple, soulful messages that spoke of unutterable longings and a shared solitude.
Subtle shifts marked their unspoken relationship¡ªthe little tokens he''d add to the tray grew more frequent. Notes saying goodnight, autumn leaves he''d carefully selected, or stirring quotes from his favourite books, each object a message in itself. He wanted to let her know there was a world outside her room, one that she was a part of, whether she stepped out or not.
It wasn''t until that one night, however, that the invisible line was crossed.
"Is it safe?" Marcella''s voice, even in its whisper, was lyrical¡ªa melody that gave sound to the night itself.
Adamastor glanced down the dimly lit hallway to the window framing only darkness. "Pitch black," he said. "No moon, no stars."
He placed the tray gingerly on the floor and retreated a step. Her porcelain hand swept out to claim it, its movement graceful and fluid. "Please wait," she said, pulling the tray into the abyss of her room and shutting the door.
Minutes that felt like lifetimes passed before the door creaked open again. This time, Marcella stood before him. Her red eyes shone like rubies, and her white hair cascaded down her shoulders in ethereal waves. Draped in a flowing gown of black and red, with a crocheted scarf wrapped elegantly around her arms, she was a vision too enthralling to be real.
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"I would like... to have some company," she whispered, her lips a vivid shade of red. "Would you like to come with me? For a walk?"
It felt as though the floor had shifted beneath him. Adamastor was caught in a surreal moment, unable to believe his ears.
"I would, yes," he managed to utter, mesmerized.
"I''m Marcella."
"Adamastor."
Her lips curved into a smile as if they were old friends meeting after years of separation. "Nice to finally meet you."
Night by night, their footsteps traced the labyrinthine corridors and secluded gardens of the Morningstar Estate, weaving a tapestry of shared confidences and lingering silences. Adamastor came to know Marcella as if reading a novel¡ªone chapter at a time, each revealing yet another nuance, a fresh layer to her personality.
"So, you''re from Onxyburg?" Adamastor''s voice broke the stillness as they wandered through a rose garden veiled in the moonlight.
"Yes," Marcella said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "I was part of a different world then, a mortal one. My master, Restelo, is an ancient Vampyr. The one who turned me. He used to say I was a raw diamond turned into a jewel. Or something like that."
"Turned you at nineteen?"
She nodded, the light of the half-moon illuminating her face. "I had dreams, like any other girl. I wanted to be a nurse. But life had different plans for me. If it wasn''t for him, I would be dead by now."
Adamastor sensed the undercurrent of regret but didn''t press her. Instead, they talked of lighter matters. Marcella''s fondness for the piano, how she savoured cheesy poems that would make most cringe, her yearning for the taste of fresh strawberries¡ªa simple joy that her current existence denied her.
"My hair used to be black like ravens," she revealed one evening, a note of wistfulness clouding her words. "And my eyes were green."
Adamastor smiled, trying to picture her yet failing. She was beautiful now, ethereal in a way that the girl from Onxyburg could never be. But he knew that beauty came at a cost.
"I can''t taste strawberries anymore, but I''ve found that I can still enjoy them through the classics," she said one night, reciting a few lines from a poem that celebrated the fruit.
He listened, enthralled. Each revelation about Marcella felt like a stolen treasure, and each night, the distance between them seemed to shorten. The electric current of unspoken feelings hummed in the air around them, and Adamastor found himself irreversibly entangled in its pull. He was falling for her.
Then, one night, their customary goodbye¡ªtheir lingering moment at the edge of her door¡ªtook an unexpected turn. Marcella looked up at him, her red eyes brimming with an indefinable emotion.
"I''ve enjoyed our walks," she said softly.
"So have I," Adamastor replied, the air thickening around them.
She leaned in then, her lips meeting his, and the world seemed to fold in on itself. It was a kiss that lingered, a kiss that spoke more than any combination of words ever could. And when she pulled away, she left him yearning, his heart saturated with an ache for more.
"Come inside."
Her invitation was a whisper, tinged with vulnerability, and it hung in the air like an ethereal melody. The door to her room stood ajar, a realm of secrets and intimacy that had always been a boundary.
Adamastor hesitated, his gaze meeting hers. There was an unmistakable gravity in her red eyes, pulling him inward. "Are you sure?"
Marcella nodded, her face a canvas of emotions that he''d come to treasure, each one telling him more about the woman who stood before him. "I''ve never been more certain," she said, her voice barely rising above the night''s stillness.
Taking a deep breath as if to capture the essence of the moment, he stepped over the threshold. The door closed behind him with a soft click, sealing them in a cocoon away from the rest of the world.
Her room was an extension of her¡ªa blend of old-world charm and elusive elegance. Dark draperies framed the windows, cascading to the floor like waterfalls of shadow. Antique furniture occupied the corners: a bookshelf filled with leather-bound volumes and a chaise lounge. The air was heavy with the scent of iron and old books.
"Would you like to sit?" she gestured toward the chaise.
He accepted her offer, taking a seat while she moved toward a small table where a crystal decanter sat alongside two goblets. "Blood wine," she explained as she poured the dark liquid. "Would you care for some?"
"Ah, maybe another time," he said, still adapting to the idiosyncrasies of her life¡ªor rather, her afterlife.
She nodded, gracefully accepting his choice. Sipping her drink, she sat down beside him, their proximity more intimate now, filled with a new kind of electricity.
"You know," she began, placing her goblet on the table, "I''ve enjoyed sharing these fragments of my past with you. I like you."
Adamastor turned to face her, captivated. "The feeling is mutual, Marcella. I¡like you too, very much so."
For a moment, their eyes locked, and in that instance, the weight of their shared experiences and newfound closeness filled the room.
Marcella leaned in, and once again, their lips met. But this time, the kiss felt different¡ªdeeper, a confession wrapped in a touch. They pulled away, their eyes opening at the same time as if emerging from a dream.
"Stay," Marcella whispered, her eyes searching his.
Adamastor felt his heart quicken. This was uncharted territory, but some voyages, he understood, one must simply embark upon without a map.
"I will," he murmured, realizing in that perfect, fragile moment that they had crossed an invisible line, and there was no turning back.
"Stay forever," she whispered while she pulled gently his collar away from his neck.
Is this what you want?" he questioned, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that belied his stoic exterior. His heart thumped wildly, echoing in his ears like a war drum in the still night.
Suddenly, Marcella''s lips met the tender skin of his neck, and the world paused for a moment as if holding its breath. He winced at the initial puncture, an electric jolt that was paradoxically both sharp and sweet. It was as if a swarm of bees had descended upon his veins, each sting simultaneously piercing and addicting.
"Ah," he gasped, feeling an internal blaze that surged from his neck and radiated outward, setting his nerves aflame. His limbs felt increasingly alien to him, heavy and unresponsive, as though they were dissolving into a soupy mist. Even breathing seemed a laborious task, the air slipping through his lips but offering no respite.
Yet amidst the sensory turmoil, the defining sensation was the magnetic pull of Marcella''s lips against his neck. This soft, wet touch seemed to say, ''You are mine.'' His veins sang with each drop of blood she sipped. Her moans and slurps turned into a bitter symphony that was strangely comforting.
Finally, she lifted her head, eyes glowing in the darkness, and whispered with an intimacy that sliced through the thickening air between them. "I need you."
The weight of her body settled against his, warm and substantial as if anchoring him back to the earth. The sensations, intense and bewildering, somehow wove together into a single thread of experience, pulled taut between desire and vulnerability. And in that moment, pinned beneath her, the maelstrom within him settled into a newfound clarity.
This was what he wanted, feared, and needed¡ªall entwined in the complexity of her touch, her kiss, her very presence.
Reality seemed to stretch and blur around Adamastor, like a painting smeared by a careless hand. His senses were dulling, overtaken by the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure emanating from the bite on his neck. When her lips finally detached from his skin, a sense of emptiness filled him as if a part of his very essence had been drained away.
Marcella''s words dripped into his ears like molten gold, warm and hypnotic. "I need you to find the key. Will you? For me?"
His vision swayed, focusing and unfocusing as he looked into her eyes¡ªcrimson windows into an enigmatic world. "Yes," he said, a small revelation, as though the word had materialized from the air between them rather than his own volition.
Marcella leaned in closer, her lips nearly grazing his as she spoke. "You''ll do it because you love me."
A palpable silence hung in the air, charged and expectant. He breathed her in¡ªroses and iron ¡ªand sighed. "Yes."
She pulled back slightly, studying him. Her eyes flickered with a complex ballet of emotions he couldn''t entirely decipher. "Because I make you happy."
This time, his "yes" was not just a word but a surrender. It wasn''t merely an agreement; it was an admission that she had redefined his concept of happiness.
"Yes," he whispered, and in that singular word was woven the fragile tapestry of his devotion, unfurled and laid bare for her to see.
"They call it the Hollow. Find it, and then bring it to me in Onxyburg. You may only leave...with the key. The Hollow, bring it to me! Kill the Morningstar if you must. Do whatever you need to do. Make me love you."
"I promise," he whispered, tasting the mingling flavours of their lips, the coppery tang of his own blood mixing with the sweet mystery that was Marcella.
Her face was close now, her eyes peering into his as if searching for something¡ªtrust, perhaps, or maybe just the faint flicker of his soul.
"And if you do as I say, I''ll turn you fully, and I will love you forever. Until then, you''re mine. Just mine."
As the words sank into his consciousness, Adamastor felt as though he were plummeting through a bottomless abyss, tethered only by Marcella''s hold on him. What did it mean to be "fully turned?" Was he now in some liminal space, neither entirely human nor wholly creature of the night?
Reality reasserted itself gradually, the fog in his mind lifting. Marcella retreated a step, her gaze lingering on him as though memorizing his features. She leaned down and tenderly kissed the puncture marks on his neck, her lips soft and cold as death.
"Sleep with me," she murmured, guiding him to a plush chair beside the bed. "I want to give you a taste of forever."
The room around him seemed to fade, its contours turning into formless shadows as his eyelids grew heavy. With her final words ringing in his ears, Adamastor surrendered to the gathering darkness, sinking against the weight of her body.
The room was still bathed in darkness when Adamastor lay there. Sheets crumpled at the foot of the bed, a stark contrast to the warmth of the previous night. As though a sculptor had chiselled his form from a block of marble, he was completely nude.
He rubbed his eyes, feeling a new weight to them, a heaviness he hadn''t felt before. Bringing a hand to his neck, he touched the spot where Marcella had sunk her teeth as if trying to assure himself it hadn''t been a dream. But it was real. Her request echoed in his mind like a mantra: Find the Hollow, the key. Bring it to Onxyburg.
Pushing aside the sheets, he swung his legs off the bed. His feet touched the cold wooden floor as if he were stepping into a world forever altered. He stood before the full-length mirror, and for a moment, he couldn''t recognize himself. His eyes, once a vivid blue, were now a burning red. Not just the eyes of a man changed, but those of a predator¡ªin agonizing hunger, driven by an inescapable need: Blood and the Hollow.
[CH. 0044] - The Vow
Nord''s hand hovered inches away from the doorknob, her fingertips feeling the pulsating chill emanating from Room 32. It was as if she stood at the precipice of an abyss, one where life wavered in a shivering dance with death. The room smelled like pine¡ªdistant, almost nostalgic¡ªa scent she couldn''t dismiss as imaginary, although no one else had ever mentioned it. Where did the smell come from?
Just as she hesitated, the distant clinking of glass filled the heavy air, incongruent in this sombre setting, and fractured the silence.
Caught off guard, Nord pushed the door open just a sliver, her eyes scanning the room. She saw Baal¡ªhis back to her¡ªshuffling jars of various sizes and shapes onto shelves, windowsills, and tabletops. His face, usually a kaleidoscope of expression, was etched into a stern, unreadable mask.
"Can I come in?" Her voice feathered through the sliver of the open door, soft as the drop of a petal on a still pond.
Baal looked up, and for a moment, his face relaxed. The corners of his lips twitched into something resembling a smile. "Of course, Morningstar. Always."
As Nord stepped over the threshold, the atmosphere shifted subtly, as if she''d crossed from mere reality into something thick with an enigma. "What''s all this? A home d¨¦cor project?" Nord tried to jest.
"Preparing a spell," Baal said, picking up a jar and gently caressing its lid with his fingertips. He paused, his fingers grazing a glass jar, caught in a brief caesura of thought. "Adamastor wants to be in the opening. I''m buying him time, just a couple of days. That''s all I can do. I''m not that powerful to trick death."
A note of frustration twisted in his voice¡ªa nuance so rare for him that it twisted her guts with concern.
"How?" Nord shifted her gaze toward Adamastor, who lay almost serenely on the bed, a statue carved from marble. "How do you plan to do that?" Her eyes settled on Adamastor, who lay on the bed, eerily still, like a chiselled statue made of marble.
"We made a trade. His happy memories, for a little more sand in his hourglass. Oh, and he has information about the Hollow. Fair enough, right?"
His movements resumed, a dance of precision as he arranged the jars in a pattern that only he understood.
Nord looked back at the unmoving form of Adamastor. "Is he¡ª"
"Asleep? Hardly," Baal interrupted. "Even spawn vampires have limits to the pain they can endure."
Her eyes flicked back to Baal. "And the Hollow? What did Adamastor say?"
"We aren''t the only players in this game. You''ve got enemies, Morningstar¡ªMarcella and her creator, Restelo. Two vampires. Old ones."
"Enemies?" Her brows scrunched, the word slipping from her lips as though it were an unfamiliar language. "Why?"
"They''re after the Hollow, and it seems whatever is inside of you is a key of some sort. Don''t ask me what it unlocks¡ªAdamastor was short on details."
Baal set the final jar on the table with a soft clink and met Nord''s eyes squarely, fiery defiance glittering within his own. "So the stakes have been raised. How do you destroy a key, Morningstar?"
"We do what it''s supposed to do¡ªwe destroy it as the original plan," Nord suggested, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Baal shook his head. "Try again, Morningstar."
She paused, her eyes narrowing as if sifting through an unseen puzzle. "We break what it opens."
A glint of satisfaction flashed across Baal''s face. "Exactly. If the lock is broken, the key is worthless. Just another piece of detritus cluttering the world."
He moved back to survey the jars, an odd landscape of glass and possibility. "You know, something tells me the secret to all this madness resides in Onxyburg."
Nord felt a chill as if the name itself was a prophecy. "Onxyburg? What''s there?"
"I don''t know yet," Baal replied, his eyes catching hers, "I''m about to begin. You can stay if you''d like."
Nord smiled, a serene glow amidst the shrouding uncertainty. "I would like that very much."
As Baal moved to stand behind her, Nord felt a peculiar blend of tension and serenity weave itself into the air around them. "Try not to move," Baal whispered, his voice a warm cadence tingling her ear. She sensed the unspoken gravity of the moment, the way time itself seemed to stall in anticipation.
Baal extended his arms to either side of her, levelling them with her shoulders. His voice swelled, the timbre rich and resonant, echoing as if invoking the spirits themselves. "From wish and trade, from word to accord, I will perpetuate your memory through all Atua; therefore your will, therefore your praise, therefore you, forever and ever shall your light become mine, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
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As he enunciated his name, a swell of warmth unfurled around her as if the air had thickened into a comforting embrace. It was a sensation both alien and profoundly comforting¡ªa fusion of earthy dampness and the invigorating zest of mint. For a fleeting moment, she couldn''t fathom how anything could harm her; she felt cradled in the hands of eternity.
Awe filled her as droplets of luminescence began to seep from Adamastor''s eyes, tiny motes of light drifting like celestial fireflies. One by one, they swirled into the open jars, illuminating the room in a hypnotic dance that cast oscillating patterns of light against the sombre walls.
Baal''s whisper returned, imbued with a reverent devotion like a mantra whispered into the embrace of the divine. "From wish and trade, from word to accord, I will perpetuate your memory through all Atua; therefore your will, therefore your praise, therefore you, forever and ever shall your light become mine, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
The light from the jars began to move, converging into a stream of radiance that darted toward Baal. Startled, Nord felt one of Baal''s arms tighten against her chest, anchoring her to him. His recitation never faltered, each word a resonant vibration in the air that seemed to absorb the very light he''d summoned.
Unable to resist, she turned to look at him. His face was awash in an otherworldly glow, an aura of liquid gold tinged with hues of orange that gave the impression of twin suns burning in his eyes. Her gaze then fell to his lips, articulating each whispered word with a rhythmic grace that felt hypnotically poetic. The world fell away; only the echo of his prayer and the luminescent theatre around them remained.
Gradually, she noticed his words fade into silence. Yet, his eyes remained locked onto hers¡ªa radiant exchange of unspoken understanding, a momentary glimpse into an eternal connection.
With a gentle, measured motion, his other arm moved to envelop her, completing a circle of protection of shared secrets and intimacy more powerful than either had ever known. In that singular moment, they stood as if suspended in their own pocket of eternity¡ªspellbound.
The scent of pine pervaded the air, subtle but unmistakable, like the earthy whisper of a forest after rain. Nord recognized it as the olfactory signature of a completed spell. It was the ephemeral scent of resolution, of something bound and sealed. Nord Morningstar had engaged in an agreement. That much was clear. Yet, the exact terms hung in the air like an unsolved riddle, tantalizing and elusive.
Not yet. Don''t tell him yet!
Nord felt the warmth of the bed enfold her, a cocoon against the reality that awaited beyond her bedroom door. She should be excited¡ªtoday was the day that the Morningstar would officially open its doors to the world. But ever since the spell, ever since the scent of pine and the nearness of Baal, her mind had been a labyrinth of thoughts she had no wish to explore.
She threw a longing glance to the closet that kept her phone secret, debating whether to delve into the mysteries that had ensnared her or to concentrate on the endless list of tasks that awaited her attention. "Feed the Hollow. Prepare for the opening. Focus on Onxyburg," she mentally recited, trying to anchor her thoughts.
But amid the litany, her mind kept straying, replaying the whispered incantations, the movement of Baal''s lips, their silent communication in a room suffused with pure Atua magic. She shook her head as if physically dispelling the distractions.
"What''s wrong with me?" she muttered, almost angrily.
Just then, three sharp knocks reverberated against her door. She heard the soft scrape of metal against the floor, followed by footsteps fading away. Intrigued, she reluctantly extricated herself from her comfortable sanctuary and opened the door. A tray sat there, an offering of warm toast, fresh orange juice, and¡ªa red rose. A vivid, almost impossibly red rose.
A myriad of questions buzzed in her mind. Did Baal leave this for her? Would he even do something so... sentimental? So human? Her cheeks suddenly felt hot, a flush of crimson colouring her face and creeping down to her neck.
She lifted the tray, bringing it inside and setting it down on a table. The aroma of the toast mingled in the air with the fragrance of the rose, but her senses seemed to be searching for something else¡ªthe elusive scent of pine. Whether it was a phantom of her imagination or a trace of some enchantment lingering on her skin, she didn''t know. But it seemed to draw her back to that room, to that moment, to him.
"Focus, Nord," she chided herself. But as she picked up the rose, examining its velvety petals, she realized that some things, some feelings, were perhaps not meant to be tamed or understood but merely felt. It was both terrifying and exhilarating.
"No, no, no! Get your shit together!"
With a deep sigh, she sat down and began to eat her breakfast, pondering how to navigate the labyrinthine day ahead. There was still the Morningstar to open, a Hollow to feed, and secrets to unlock in Onxyburg. And nothing else!
As she took a sip of the orange juice, her eyes fell on the vivid red rose again, and she couldn''t help but smile. Today was indeed a big day. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Nord Morningstar was intrigued by the uncertainty of it all.
"Is it me, or is Adamastor adding more and more salt into the juice?"
The salon of the Morningstar had been transformed into an indoor Eden, a sanctuary awash in the hues of lavender and roses. The tables were laden with platters of gourmet offerings, their sumptuousness in stark contrast to the barren chairs surrounding them.
Elegant glasses sat atop gleaming counters, their hollow emptiness waiting for the kiss of fine wine or aged liquor. And yet, despite the opulence, an eerie silence dominated the room, waiting to welcome yet unbroken by footsteps or applause. It was a masterpiece of elegance and invitation but one that had yet to fulfil its purpose.
An awkward silence enveloped the room, a stillness that betrayed the expectancy that had preceded it.
Baal stood near the stage, his violin in hand. He adjusted the tuning pegs with a studious frown. Each twist was a wordless admission that the evening was not going as planned.
Nearby, Merlin, Finnea, Kirara, and Bram sat around a table with a deck of cards scattered in front of them. They pretended to be engrossed in the game, but their eyes kept darting to the empty entrance, each glance a silent plea for guests to arrive.
Behind the counter, Perdita stood as if she were a soldier at attention. Her posture was impeccable, a carefully maintained facade that screamed professionalism. But her eyes betrayed her, flicking nervously toward the clock on the wall, each tick-tock amplifying the humiliation of the evening.
At the bottom of the staircase, Nord sat, her black gown pooling around her like a dark aura. Her eyes were fixed on the vacant salon, her mind toggling between confusion and regret. She had invested so much into this¡ªemotionally, financially, everything. Yet here she was, grappling with the looming prospect of failure.
"It''s a fiasco," she whispered to herself, the words feeling like shards of glass in her mouth.
[CH. 0045] - The Vow
"Did I come too early?" Sirona''s voice broke through the uneasy quiet of the room.
"Sirona?!" Nord''s face lit up, a small lifeline in an otherwise sinking ship.
"I received an invite, and I never say no to free food. Where is everyone?" Sirona ambled toward the buffet table, eyes greedily scanning the delicacies spread out.
"I don''t think anyone else is coming," Nord admitted, descending the stairs, the chiffon of her gown trailing behind her.
"Can''t you do the whooshy-whoosh magic thing to bring them all in? Your invitations did come in a rather original manner," Sirona said, already nibbling on a hors d''oeuvre.
Nord''s eyes flickered around the room before settling on Baal. Their gazes locked, and he arched an eyebrow. "You didn''t use the key, did you?"
"What key?" Nord stammered.
"The trade key," Baal said, his voice carrying a note of urgency.
"I... I don''t think so... I don''t know..." Nord felt a sense of disorientation creeping in. She didn''t know a spell was required and had no idea which one. The thought of losing another mystical tattoo tightened her stomach into a knot. And then there was this dark, gnawing void starting to fill her from within.
Feed me.
The Hollow''s voice broke through her thoughts, a primal urge she hadn''t felt before. It was as if a starving animal had suddenly made its presence known, begging to be satiated. The very air seemed to grow heavy, tainted with a malevolent hunger that Nord could feel emanating from her own being.
This was the first time the Hollow had made its desires known so starkly.
Feed me.
The words seemed to echo from the very depths of her being. This was the first time the Hollow had manifested its hunger, and its timing was almost sadistically perfect. Nord''s eyes widened, her gaze drifting back to Baal. Could he sense it? The encroaching dark, the insatiable appetite?
"What''s wrong?" Baal''s voice was tinged with concern, his eyes searching hers for an answer.
"I... I think it is hungry," Nord whispered, the words barely escaping her lips. And in that moment, a shiver ran down her spine¡ªa shiver that wasn''t entirely her own.
Baal surged across the room, his shoes thudding on the wooden floor, each step echoing urgency. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her hastily into the adjacent store, slamming the door shut behind them.
His hands cupped her face, his eyes intense, digging deep into her soul as if sifting through her very thoughts. "What do you feel?"
"Hungry," she managed, her voice trembling.
"Okay, okay... We need to feed it. If you use a key, it''s going to devour it, and we can''t have that, okay? We''ll need them," his words were rushed, tinged with worry.
Nord, startled and confused, nodded.
"But you''re okay, right?" His eyes continued their frantic search as if trying to discern signs of something Nord herself couldn''t comprehend. "Are you feeling pain?"
"It''s just whispering that it''s hungry. Nothing more. It feels like it''s starving. I don''t have anything magical... the last time it was the violin... maybe I shouldn''t have fed it then."
"Don''t worry, I''ve got some backups." Baal''s voice was a low murmur, soothing and yet edged with tension. One hand continued to cradle her face while the other fumbled in his pocket. He pulled out a tiny white object, placing it in her open palm. "It''s an Allatori bullet."
"A what now?" Her brows furrowed, puzzled.
"An Allatori bullet¡ªjust trust me."
"What should I say? Hocus pocus... something?" she attempted a joke, her voice tinged with nervous laughter, trying to mask her unease.
"No incantations or any of that. It''ll do the work."
Her lips parted as if to speak but closed again, swallowing her words. Instead, she sighed, "You''re making it difficult to joke about this, you know?"
His forehead touched hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. "I can''t let anything bad happen to you. Do you understand?"
"Then why do you sound like the sky''s falling?"
"Because I''m scared, Nord. I''m fucking scared."
"Well, that''s bloody reassuring, Baal."
"I never said I was good at this comfort thing." He chuckled, a soft rumble in his throat. "It''s kind of a curse not being able to lie, especially to you."
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Before she could retort, the sensation started¡ªa tingle in her palm that grew into a stream of cold, like a droplet of dew on a leaf. It coursed through her veins, soothing the hunger and filling that chasm of emptiness within her.
For a brief moment, she felt complete¡ªlike a missing puzzle piece had finally found its place. Her heart swelled with an unfamiliar feeling, one that straddled the line between happiness and contentment. But the satisfaction was fleeting. She knew it. This inner void was gluttonous, insatiable. It was only a matter of time before the hunger returned.
Still, as she met Baal''s eyes¡ªthose anchors in the wild storm of her life¡ªshe felt a glimmer of hope. And in that fragile, ephemeral moment, it was enough.
Baal''s voice gently pierced through her daze. "Nord?"
"I''m fine, really," she assured him, her eyes meeting his as she conjured a frail smile.
He held her wrist, unbuttoning her sleeve with a sense of urgency.
"This key should''ve been the first you used. How could you forget?"
"Forget?" Her thoughts meandered to the phone filled with videos from her past self. She had understood from the videos that she''d lost memories and knew it had something to do with Baal.
Yet, she couldn''t fathom trading away such large swaths of her life that now felt like mere smudges in her mental landscape. "Did something go wrong with our deal?" she accidentally said aloud.
Baal didn¡¯t hear or ignored her question. He finally managed to roll up her sleeve, revealing a tattoo of a hand holding a coin. "This is the Key of Trade. It grants you tokens and respect from those around you. It ensures that there will always be someone willing to trade with you."
"Tokens? Respect?" Nord found herself caught in the intricacy of it all. "And no hocus pocus involved?"
Baal laughed¡ªa fleeting moment of relief amid the tension. "Oh, there''s hocus pocus. Each key has its own words. I just can''t believe you forgot them."
"So what are these magic words?" Her gaze was steadfast, a challenge veiled in curiosity.
Turning her around, his hands rested gently on her shoulders, mirroring the ritualistic manner they''d engaged in with the Key of Plague. "Ready?"
She nodded, her pulse quickening in anticipation. And a small agonizing thought of knowing another tattoo would be stripped from her skin.
Baal''s voice was a mere whisper, intimate and insistent, as he recited, "''Wealth and Riches are in my house...''"
Something clicked inside her, like a lock springing open in the depths of her mind¡ªan echo that reverberated throughout her being.
"Wealth and riches are in my house, and his righteousness endureth forever. So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being. - Baal Berith."
Dropping to her knees, her fingers splayed on the wooden floor. It felt cold, real, grounding. Yet from the tips of her fingers, radiant beams of light shot forth¡ªcolours of the rainbow arching from Morningstar and blanketing all of Neddingstein.
She stood, not feeling much different. But the air carried the earthy aroma of wet pine, enveloping her like a comforting embrace.
Suddenly, from the salon beyond came a collective gasp¡ªa sound too vast to be just a handful of people.
And then, as if the heavens themselves had orchestrated it, music erupted¡ªa lively blend of guitars and saxophones infusing the Morningstar with a euphoric pulse of life.
Nord grinned, her eyes glinting in newfound clarity. Whatever uncertainties lurked in the shadows seemed momentarily insignificant.
She had tapped into something elemental, as profound as it was mystifying. And though the abyss within her might yearn for more, for now, it was sated, stilled by the weight of a newfound resolve.
Nord Morningstar was a witch, a warlock who had made a pact with the demon lord Baal Berith, who stood next to her absorbing the sound of spectacle, looked at her as if she were the axis upon which the world turned¡ªa fulcrum of mysteries and miracles, spinning ever faster into the unfathomable.
"So, are we still a fiasco?" she asked, her voice a playful taunt.
"Never were," he replied, his eyes shining with something that looked an awful lot like pride.
For a fleeting moment, time seemed to suspend as Nord and Baal shared an anticipatory exhale, steeling themselves for whatever lay ahead. Baal opened the door, allowing Nord to step through first, and as she did, a surge of applause crashed over them like a wave.
''Wealth and Riches are in his house, and his righteousness endureth for ever. So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being*¡¯* - Baal BerithIt serves to acquire riches, business, buyers, and to possess much wealth. [¡]
The salon was packed to the rafters, leaving hardly an empty seat. Faces Nord recognized¡ªfrom Mayor Paxton to the Ashleys to the neighbourhood pharmacist¡ªwere all there. An overwhelming number of people she''d merely crossed paths with had also turned up. The weight of their attention was humbling, almost disorienting.
On stage, an elegant figure held sway over the crowd¡ªa woman resplendent in a shimmering gown, her raven moustache an additional point of fascination and her thick, deep baritone voice. "Ladies and Gentlemen," she boomed, her voice drenched in charisma, "Mme Bougie has the pleasure to present and welcome Miss Morningstar!"
The applause intensified, and Nord felt a blush creep up her cheeks. She''d never been the focus of this much attention, not even at the funeral. The emotion churned within her like a rising tide.
"Ah, but that''s enough about me," the woman¡ªMme Bougie¡ªcontinued theatrically, adjusting the train of her gown. "Today marks the grand and majestic reopening of the Morningstar! For generations uncounted, this establishment has been the epicentre of magic in all of Nyu! Don''t you dare tell Mme Bougie otherwise!"
She paused as if for dramatic effect, her eyes twinkling. "The Morningstars have sacrificed their own blood to satiate the Hollow''s endless hunger, keeping the beast at bay. All we can do is show our humble appreciation. But today, ah, today, we have a game-changer!" Mme Bougie extended her arm, pointing directly at Nord and motioning for her to come closer.
"Today, we celebrate not just a change but a saviour, a hero whose exploits will be told for generations to come. Nord Morningstar will not merely silence or tame the monster that lurks below. She will eradicate the Hollow from history itself!"
The room erupted in applause once more, hands clapping, people rising to their feet. Mme Bougie slipped an arm around Nord''s shoulders, pulling her close. "But remember, legends are not crafted by a single soul. Every great feat requires support¡ªpreparation, ammunition, a plan. So, let''s provide Miss Morningstar with all the help she can get. Trinkets, charms, and knickknacks imbued with a touch of magic¡ªto distract the beast until the moment of its ultimate downfall. BANG!"
With a sly wink at Nord, Mme Bougie turned to the musicians standing ready behind her. "Boys, make these walls tremble! Make the Hollow regret to have messed with the wrong Morningstar!"
And then, as if on cue, the band struck the first notes¡ªvibrant, triumphant, and unapologetically alive. The Morningstar seemed to pulse in resonance, each wooden plank, each vintage artefact vibrating to the beat.
As Nord stood there, encased in Mme Bougie''s reassuring embrace and awash in a sea of applause, she felt something she never had ¡ªa sense of community, purpose, and hope.
She glanced around, looking for Baal, but he was nowhere to be found.
[CH. 0046] - The Vow
Baal manoeuvred through the crowd, each step calculated, each glance discreet. The scent of sweat and perfume clouded the air, but his focus was unyielding. He tracked Marcella through the mass, her silhouette as hauntingly familiar as Adamastor had preserved in his happy memories. She was an enigma in the flesh¡ªa collision of porcelain skin and eyes the colour of fresh-spilt blood, a deadly porcelain doll.
A man accompanied her. His air was no less predatory. Vampires, both of them; he had no doubt. Baal''s mind churned with questions. Why was Marcella here? Was she haunted by her past, or was this just some transactional appearance, the poor attempt to retrieve the Hollow? Reckless, he thought.
His steps were soundless against the floor as he neared them. He scrutinized the male companion¡ªequally vampiric yet marked by an unmistakable air of boredom. A face he knew, a boredom he had felt. Restelo? What twisted fate brought them here together?
They were engrossed in an ostentatious display, miming the act of eating like ordinary mortals, shielded only by the soft glow of the twin moons overhead. Baal seized his chance, expelling a gentle cough to puncture the theatre of their mortal mimicry.
"Marcella! Is that you?" The words burst forth in all the drama he could act, "By Atua, you haven''t changed!"
Her head snapped towards him, eyes widening as if straining against the boundaries of her disbelief. Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought he saw fake recognition flicker in the depths of her crimson gaze. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. And how could she? They had never met.
"Who are you?" Her voice dripped with suspicion, tinged with the icy chill of someone who''d learned never to trust easily.
The loaded question hung between them, and a gauntlet was thrown, a story yet to be written in the most fantastic theatrical manner. After all, Baal is not a liar, but he knows how to kindle a show.
"Ah, it''s me, Baal!" he declared, his voice swelling with theatrical grandeur as if channelling the spirit of Mme Bougie herself. Lucero would be proud!
Marcella recoiled, a palpable air of offence curdling around her. "I don''t know you, and honestly, I can''t recall ever knowing anyone with a name as utterly ridiculous as that."
He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing into mischievous slits. "Really? You''ve forgotten? I''m almost hurt!"
It was then that the man beside her¡ªRestelo, he presumed¡ªshifted his attention from his companion to Baal. "Who is this, Marcella?"
"Master, I swear to you, I''ve never laid eyes on this demon before," Marcella responded, each word edged with a barely concealed note of trepidation.
Restelo appraised Baal anew, his eyes betraying a flash of acknowledgement. "A demon, you say? No horns, no tail, yet... You must be Baal. I''ve heard tales of you, Mr. Berith, Master and Keeper of the Memory Tower."
A smile split Baal''s lips as he took a step closer. "Oh, really? I''ve made a name for myself, have I? Twenty-six years old, and I''m already climbing the ladder of success and fame."
Restelo¡¯s mouth twisted into a smirk, a subtle break in his otherwise stoic demeanour. "I heard you were dead, to be exact. Word travels fast in the Nethersphere. Inaccurate but fast."
Baal grinned wider, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. "Ah, well, you know what they say¡ªnever believe everything you hear, especially when it''s whispered from the bowels of damnation, fire and etc etc."
The tension between them was a living entity, a palpable force that left the air dense, almost suffocating. Baal''s gaze clung to Marcella like a stubborn stain, his feelings a heady cocktail of contempt and schadenfreude. She was Adamastor''s master, yet she stood here ignored by her spawn. It was delicious in its irony, a cosmic balancing act. They had a name for it back on Earth¡ªkarma.
Breaking the taut silence, Baal rasped, "Why are you here, Marcella? After all this time? Are you missing someone?"
Marcella hesitated, her crimson eyes flicking momentarily toward Restelo before settling back on Baal. "I heard the Morningstar might be making a return. Never guessed it''d involve the son of a duke."
At the mention of ''duke,'' Baal''s hands clenched involuntarily, his knuckles bleaching white. The word was a hot poker to his pride. He could eviscerate her, right here, right now, bring up her abandonment of Adamastor and reveal it for the treachery it was. But what would that achieve?
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"Fine," he spat, letting his clenched fists fall to his sides, relinquishing the tension that had kept them balled. "Let''s say you''re here out of mere curiosity." His eyes darted to Restelo, still coolly unflappable. "And what about you? What''s a jaded vampire like you doing at the would-be renaissance of the Morningstar?"
Restelo''s smirk deepened as if he relished the confrontational undercurrents. "Even boredom needs an occasional jolt, Mr. Berith. The Morningstar''s revival, true or not, promises to be... entertaining."
"Entertaining," Baal echoed, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. "Yes, let''s go with that. After all, who doesn''t love a good show?"
Marcella''s red eyes squinted further, clearly irritated. "Now please go, you''re interrupting our soir¨¦e."
"Interrupting?" Baal''s voice elevated with faux astonishment, eyes gleaming like stars gone rogue. "But my dear, vampires have always been aficionados of a good drama. What''s a minor disruption among fellow immortals?"
Restelo chuckled softly, an unexpected sound that seemed to break the brittle atmosphere. "Marcella, the man has a point. I''m ravaged by curiosity."
"Master, don''t listen to him," Marcella shot back, her words tinged with frustration.
Restelo shifted his gaze to Baal, a challenge lurking behind his smirk. "Demons are known not to lie. But if you''re so keen on drama, prove it. Do something unmistakably Baalian. entertain us!"
Baal scanned the area, locking onto a particular figure¡ªwhite-haired, red-eyed, and undeniably captivating. "You see that young man over there? A handsome gentleman and a bit of the vampire side. Red eyes, like you both. White hair that glows under the twin moons. Marcella, why don''t you call him over?"
"I... I have no idea who that is," she replied, her voice quivering as if caught in a lie.
"His name is Adamastor," Baal purred, his eyes never leaving Marcella''s. "Why don''t you call him over and see how he responds?"
Restelo felt the shift in the air, a subtle tightening like a bowstring pulled taut. "Well? What are you waiting for?" he prodded, "Call him!"
Visibly irked, Marcella raised her hand and beckoned the young man. "Adamastor?"
Turning at the sound of his name, Adamastor navigated through the crowd, stepping around Baal as though he were a mere piece of scenery.
"May I assist you?" he asked Marcella.
"Adamastor?" she faltered.
"Yes. Unfortunately, we''ve run out of blood, so there''s nothing to offer you and your friend at the moment. Is there any other way we could accommodate you?" After no reply, with a polite nod and a courteous smile, Adamastor returned to his duties, moving towards another guest who seemed in need of his services.
Restelo studied the scene, his gaze inscrutable. "He didn''t see you, demon."
"No, but neither did he recognize his master, did he, Marcella?" Baal wore his smirk like a weapon, a honed blade sharp enough to cut through the lingering tension.
Marcella''s face betrayed her confusion, a web of conflicting emotions. "What are you implying? How could he..."
"Your spawn made a deal, Marcella. Every memory with your name he gave it away, puff," Baal explained, revelling in the moment. "He doesn''t recognize you anymore. He won''t remember or even think of you. Seems like whatever drama you two were concocting here has come to a premature curtain call."
Restelo leaned in, his red eyes locking onto Baal''s, a furnace meeting an abyss. "So, demon, you''ve had your fun. What''s the new deal?"
Baal felt a thrill course through him at Restelo''s direct challenge. This was the game¡ªthis clash of wills, this electric dance of words and gazes.
"The deal, Restelo, is as it has always been. The Morningstar rises, and with him, a new era begins. Whether you are part of the dawning spectacle or remain an audience to it¡ªthat''s up to you. One, you die; the other, I forget you even exist."
Restelo''s eyes narrowed a minute shift that conveyed volumes. "And where do you fit into this ''new era,'' Baal?"
"Ah, my dear Restelo," Baal smirked, "I''m right behind the director."
Baal grinned, a chilling expression that felt both playful and deadly serious. "I have a parting gift," he announced, rummaging through his pockets.
Marcella''s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but before she could react, Baal swiftly closed the distance between them and clasped her hand. A sharp, burning sensation erupted from the point of contact, a cold, acidic pain that raced up her arm. She clenched her teeth, stifling a scream.
Pulling his hand away, Baal revealed the small Allatori bullet now embedded in her palm. Her skin hissed and smouldered around it as if resisting an invasive parasite.
Restelo''s eyes widened, incandescent with rage and disbelief. "You dare use Allatori? A demon against vampires? You break all codes! And how didn''t it hurt you?"
Baal locked eyes with Restelo, his voice low and charged with a promise of violence yet to come. "Go home, both of you. Prepare yourselves. Assemble your thralls, gather an army¡ªdo whatever it takes. Because we will come for you. My Warlock and I will hunt you down in Onxyburg. Your days are now numbered."
Turning to Marcella, his eyes ablaze with disdain, he added, "Your spawn, Adamastor, will die, but he will part as a free man, leaving no trace you ever existed. But you, Marcella, will die a far more memorable death. You''ll gasp your last breath with his name searing through your lungs and soul."
As he walked away, Baal tossed a final warning over his shoulder. "Your countdown starts now. So I suggest you go before I decide to speed things up. My wife always tells me I''m too impatient, and she isn''t wrong."
And with that, Baal disappeared into the crowd, leaving Marcella and Restelo to grapple with the gravity of his words, the searing pain in Marcella''s palm a physical embodiment of the inescapable future he had just laid out before them. But Rastelo couldn''t swipe away what he witnessed, a demon touching Allatori, completely immune. How was that possible? Who was Baal Berith?
[CH. 0047] - The Vow
Nord was basking in the crowd''s attentiveness, jotting down names and appointment times in her notebook. Her ink-stained fingers danced over the pages, marking the hours and days when she would bestow upon these townsfolk the blessings of her tattoo charms. The business seemed destined to boom, filling her daily routine with new clients and a sense of purpose she hadn''t felt in a long time.
As she pencilled in another name, she felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere¡ªlike the subtle dropping of temperature just before a storm. It was then that she felt a familiar presence slide up behind her. Adamastor leaned in close enough for his breath to caress her ear.
"Can I steal you away for just five minutes?" he whispered his voice a gentle contrast to the clamour of the crowd.
Nord felt her heartbeat quicken. She looked at the sea of faces still waiting for her, their eyes filled with expectation. A momentary pang of guilt flickered through her, but she brushed it aside. After all, her schedule was filling up; she could afford a brief detour.
She turned her eyes toward Adamastor, offering him a smile. "Five minutes? I suppose I can spare that."
Adamastor grinned, and as he led her away from the crowd, Nord couldn''t shake the feeling that those five minutes would hold more significance than any charm she could ever craft.
Adamastor''s office was an unlikely nook behind the kitchen, a small square space cluttered with an odd assortment of papers, old books, and curiosities that seemed out of place with his otherwise impeccable conduct. His face was solemn, his eyes weighted down by something unspoken.
"Is everything okay?" Nord asked, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest as if to shield herself. The air between them was thick with a tension she couldn''t quite identify.
"I still scare you," Adamastor concluded, reading her body language as easily as the fine print on an ancient parchment. His eyes momentarily met hers before darting away, searching for something in the room.
"I''m sorry, it''s just¡ª" Nord began, but her words faltered.
"I get it," he interrupted softly. "I wouldn''t be as forgiving as you''ve been. Hell, I haven''t forgiven myself. Especially knowing what I''ve done to you."
Nord''s gaze followed him as he moved around the tight space. "What are you looking for?" she asked, more to break the silence than out of genuine curiosity.
"Come inside; we''ll both fit," he said, his tone inviting yet guarded.
She hesitated, the walls of the small room suddenly seeming to close in on her. But despite her unease, something propelled her forward¡ªa mix of curiosity and an inexplicable trust in this dying man before her.
Taking a shallow breath, she stepped into the confined space, not fully understanding why she was willing to share such close quarters with a man who had, not so long ago, been a source of her deepest fears.
As Nord stepped into the room, the hem of her gown seemed to sweep up all the leftover air, leaving the atmosphere denser, almost electric. Adamastor was close, perilously so, and she felt as if she were standing at the edge of a cliff. There was a strange musk that hung about him, both salty and iron. She found it oddly intriguing.
His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, his eyes soft and pleading. "I''m going to show you something. The only thing I''ll ask is that you not get angry before I can explain myself. I know I don''t deserve it, but it''s really the only thing I''ll ask of you."
At that moment, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, Nord''s arms uncrossed, and she nodded. Whatever wall had been there¡ªbuilt out of wariness, perhaps even fear¡ªseemed to crumble just a little.
He placed a small, unassuming black leather box on the cluttered desk, unhooked the clasp with his thumb, and opened it. Inside were flasks filled with a liquid that looked almost like water, their transparency masking whatever secrets they held.
"What is it?" Nord''s curiosity overcame her trepidation.
Adamastor took a deep breath as if gathering his courage from the very air around him and finally spoke. "This is my venom."
The words hung between them like an invisible thread, fragile yet brimming with implications. And for a moment, Nord felt as if she were suspended in time,
Adamastor looked drained, the weight of his confession etched into the lines of his face. His eyes met Nord''s, and it was as if he were baring his soul, exposing his most vulnerable fears.
"I paralyzed you last time. You were lucky it wore off. I don''t know if you''d even be standing here today," he confessed, his hand braced against the table as if it were the only thing holding him up.
Nord realised that Adamastor didn¡¯t remember it was Baal who saved her from drowning.
"I wanted to give you every chance to protect yourself from me and probably from others. I saw two vampires in the ball, and I don''t trust them, whoever they are."
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Nord felt her mind racing, trying to catch up. Her eyes flitted to the vials of venom, and she finally made the connection. "The salty taste in my orange juice, in my food... you''ve been giving me...?"
"Just small doses, a couple of drops per meal," Adamastor nodded, his face flush with relief and guilt. "And yes, the venom has a slightly salty tang. I''ve been administering it to you in hopes of building up your immunity¡ªagainst hypnosis, against paralysis, well against vampires. I didn''t trust myself not to hurt you again."
Nord''s thoughts swirled, a whirlpool of emotion. She was torn between outrage and an aching understanding of his intentions. Then Adamastor''s next words cut through her internal chaos like a blade.
"I''m dying, Nord."
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She looked up, her eyes wide, locking onto his, "I know..." she whispered.
"I''ve been collecting as much venom as I could over the last few days," he continued, his voice tinged with a sorrow he couldn''t mask. "I want you to continue taking it. Eventually, you should be completely immune."
For a long moment, they stood there, caught in a silence thick with implications. The vials on the desk were no longer just flasks of venom; they were Adamastor''s last desperate attempt to protect her, even from himself. And for Nord, they symbolized a haunting dilemma¡ªwas this an act of betrayal or the most bittersweet form of love?
Then, Adamastor handed over a worn brown wallet and the collection of keys with trembling hands, the weight of his secret almost tangible in the air.
Nord looked down at them, her fingers tracing the contours of the leather and the cold metal. These objects were so mundane, yet they held pieces of a past she''d almost forgotten, pieces of herself she hadn''t even realized were missing until now.
"These are mine," she said softly, more of an affirmation than a question.
Adamastor''s eyes darted away, avoiding Nord''s searching gaze as he took a shaky breath. "Yes," he stammered, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "When you first arrived here, I hid it. You didn¡¯t remember¡ you didn¡¯t ask for them. I was trying to shield you from your past, I guess, but also... I was being selfish."
Nord exhaled sharply, her eyes shimmering with a storm of conflicting emotions¡ªanger, confusion, and something more elusive that gnawed at her. "You had no right, Adamastor. You had absolutely no right to decide what pieces of my life I get to keep. What the fuck were you thinking?"
His shoulders slumped, defeated. "I know. By Atua, I know. I''ve been carrying around this crushing guilt, this secret, like a millstone. I needed to come clean and give you back something I''ve stolen from you. I want to leave as a free man."
Adamastor''s hands trembled visibly. Nord saw his facade cracking, saw how he was wrestling with his conscience. "After what I did, I couldn''t muster the guts to return it to you. I don¡¯t really know why. It doesn¡¯t make much sense now. I just wanted a stupid, childish chance, Nord. I wanted something like what Rosemary had with Frank." A red tear oozed from the corner of his eye, lingering briefly on his cheek before he hastily wiped it away.
Nord gripped her wallet, the leather feeling like the only solid thing in a world gone awry. "I''m sorry, Adamastor, but I don''t share those feelings. I don''t feel that way towards you..."
"I''m aware," he said, his voice edged with bitterness as he continued to dab at his eyes. "And I think I know why. I''m dying, and it''s ridiculous even to ponder love, isn''t it? I just wanted... a chance."
She tightened her grip on the wallet until her knuckles turned white. "You weren''t the only one left out of the romantic equation. I''ve never had a boyfriend, never experienced anything even remotely like that. But you have friends, Adamastor, people who care about you. I care about you."
A hollow laugh, tinged with irony, escaped his lips. "You should open the wallet. But..."
She looked up, her hand poised over the clasp. "What is it?"
He met her eyes, the weight of his next words pulling his shoulders down even further. "You are not Nord Morningstar."
The atmosphere in the room grew dense like the air itself was holding its breath. Adamastor watched intently as Nord emptied her wallet. Bills, coins, cards¡ªeach item landing on the worn-out cluttered table between them as if part of a ritual. Nord snatched her Visa card and waved it at him, triumph in her voice. "See? Nord Morningstar. It says it right here!"
His gaze flitted over the cards, finally settling on the ID card encased in a plastic holder. She held it up, still wearing that look of relieved indignation. "Nord Morningstar! So, what kind of game are you playing, claiming I''m not me?"
She unfolded the paper that was tucked with her ID¡ªa receipt signifying the card''s renewal. Her eyes darted back and forth across the text, reading each line as if hoping it would change with the next glance. The room seemed to tilt, her equilibrium thrown off course as she grasped at the table for support. "No, this can''t be... I would remember."
"Nord?"
The atmosphere in the room reached a crescendo of tension, the air becoming a thick medium through which every word and movement seemed amplified. Nord''s fingers were trembling as they gripped the table edge as if she were trying to anchor herself to something solid, something real.
"Why didn''t he say anything? How could I not remember this?" Her voice was tinged with a panic that squeezed at Adamastor''s heart.
He took the sheet from her hands, his voice nearly mechanical as he recited, "Name, Nord Salom¨¦ Morningstar,¡± he paused and swallowed dry, ¡°¡Berith, status... married."
As if sensing that she was on the brink, Adamastor sifted through the remaining contents on the table and pulled out another paper¡ªpink and inscribed with blue ink. "I think you should read this. I believe you wrote it."
She took the paper with hands that still quivered and read the words aloud, her voice breaking on each syllable. "I, Nord Salom¨¦ Morningstar, I now take you, Baal Berith, to be my wedded husband... forsaking all others, I and all my memories, be they sad or the happiest, will be yours alone when death takes us apart."
Adamastor looked up at her, his eyes searching her face. "Those are beautiful vows. Whoever he is, He¡¯s a lucky guy."
Nord''s legs gave out, and she slid to the floor, her body wracked with sobs. "I don''t remember anything. I... don''t even remember him..."
Kneeling in front of her, Adamastor chose his words carefully as if navigating a minefield. "Nord, I think you might have struck a deal with a demon. A pact that might have involved all your happy memories. I heard of one that could do that," Adamastor clicked his tongue, ¡°But I can¡¯t remember his name.¡±
"But I can see him!" she wailed, ignoring Adamastor, her eyes filled with the pain of a fractured reality, "In the videos, his face, his eyes¡ªI can see him! If I made a deal involving my memories, shouldn''t he be like a blank space to me? I see him every day! I can even slap him!"
"You''re a Morningstar," Adamastor repeated, pulling her back to the present. "If he was important, wouldn¡¯t you do anything to save your memories?¡±
¡°I have a plan¡¡± she mumbled, recalling her exact words.
Don¡¯t forget Morningstar!
But what plan?
[CH. 0048] - Your Song
Nord''s boots stepped against the well-worn planks of the floor as she returned back into the grand hall. The room pulsed like a living thing¡ªvivid colours, laughter shimmering in the air, bodies moving in sync with the melodies wafting through the space. Yet, to Nord, it felt as though she had plunged into an intricate oil painting, one where she was the misplaced centrepiece. It was a celebration in her honour, yet she felt like a ghost haunting its vibrant landscape.
Her gaze roamed, finally locking onto Baal. He leaned with casual grace against a wooden pillar, a drink in hand. His eyes were on the band, perhaps ruefully considering his own absent violin. Nord sensed his disappointment¡ªthe room seemed to constrict, its atmosphere becoming thick and stifling. She yearned to escape, her eyes drawn toward the far-off doors like moths to a flame, picturing the night breeze that awaited her.
Just as she took a step toward liberation, a phalanx of grey gowns barred her way. The Sisterhood of Ravendrift¡ªmore colloquially known as the Ashleys¡ªcircled her, their faces stern as if chiselled from stone, eyes fixed on her like hawks on prey.
"Morningstar!"
The name punctured the air, and the room fell to a hushed stillness. The Ashleys had shattered the night''s mood as if it were fragile glass.
Nord forced a smile, defensively crossing her arms. "Ashleys, it''s always a pleasure to see you at the Morningstar."
"Unfortunately, we cannot say the same. You''ve got something that belongs to us," the central Ashley hissed while the others seemed to hold their collective breath.
"I''m aware," Nord said, feeling as though a hundred needles pricked her skin under their scrutinizing gaze.
"Well, give it back! Or did you feed the Hollow with our magic?" The central Ashley hurled the accusation like a spear, not giving Nord an inch to breathe.
"As a matter of¡ª"
"Fed without our consent!"
"Actually¡ª"
"This is thievery! You waltz in here, pretending to be the saviour while pilfering magic! And¡ª"
"Shut the fuck up!" Nord''s voice filled the room, reverberating off the walls and causing the timbers beneath their feet to quake. "I''m talking!"
The entire room froze as the walls and floor trembled under Nord''s voice. Her eyes turned as bright as two suns, and finally, an icy gust swiped through the hall. Faces turned, mouths half-open, glasses suspended midway to lips.
"Firstly," Nord began, her voice now a controlled smoulder, and her eyes fainted to normal, "your powers are untouched. Not a single spell was cast with them, nor were they fed to the Hollow."
The Ashleys looked at each other, a flicker of uncertainty crossing their faces for the first time.
"Secondly," she continued, "this is neither the time nor the place for accusations. We''re here to celebrate, not to taint the night with your baseless claims."
"But¡ª"
Nord raised a hand, stopping the eldest Ashley mid-sentence. "If you don''t trust me, fine. I can return your powers here and now. Make your choice."
The room was so quiet you could hear the wax dripping from the candelabras. Then, the youngest Ashley spoke up again, her voice tinged with defiance.
"No!" interrupted the youngest Ashley, taking a step forward. "Don''t give them back."
The eldest, Ashley, looked aghast. "Have you lost your wits?"
"No, but you''ve lost your manners," the youngest retorted. "You''ve been¡ªdare I say it¡ªtolerable since losing your powers. You even baked cupcakes!"
Another Ashley chimed in, nodding her head vigorously. "To be honest, doing laundry the old-fashioned way has its charm. I really, really enjoy it. My hands are softer!"
The eldest Ashley looked as if she''d been slapped. "You''re mad! Those powers are mine!"
"Ours," corrected the youngest. "And while I''m okay with the rest of us reclaiming our powers, you''re not fit to wield them. You''ve turned this wonderful night into a spectacle, and for what? To hoard power you don''t deserve! Ashley, admit it. You are happier without them!"
The room''s silence had given way to a palpable tension as eyes shifted nervously from the Ashleys to Nord, awaiting her verdict. At that moment, Nord felt less like a ghost and more like the artist of her own tumultuous portrait, brush in hand, ready to add another defining stroke.
Adamastor materialized next to Nord, holding the hunting painting that had long been stashed away in the barn. She glanced at the canvas. The central figure remained stoic, standing as if untouched by time, while the other four were now turned back to the viewer. As Nord looked at the painting, she realized she had no idea how to siphon the trapped magic and return it to the Ashleys. Her eyes met Adamastor''s, both sets fraught with uncertainty.
"Ladies!" A voice sliced through the tension like a knife. Baal sauntered over, clearly inebriated, a drink still in hand. "I may have a solution, the perfect solution, ''cause I''m a genius! And very handsome! And I don''t particularly like any of you," he said, wagging his finger at each Ashley, one by one, "Not you, and you, you..." When he reached the youngest, his tone shifted. "Aw, you look nice. I''m Baal Berith," he slurred, extending a hand, "Nice to meet you!"
"Uh, pleased to meet you. I''m Ashley."
"No way! No way! You''re Ashley, too? Wow!" Baal marvelled, then sidled up to Nord, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "The perfect solution is..." His voice trailed off, his eyes narrowing as if grappling with a thought that had just escaped him.
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"Baal, what are you doing?" Nord whispered, tension climbing up her spine.
He leaned in close, his breath warm and tinged with alcohol. "Trust me, I got you," he whispered, winking at her, "You look very pretty today, like a black marshmallow cupcake."
The room felt as though it held its breath. Nord looked at Adamastor, then at the painting, then at the Ashleys, who appeared equally sceptical and intrigued. Then she looked back at Baal, whose eyes, despite his inebriated state, held a lucidity that comforted her, but the flame of his iris seemed¡ smaller.
"Alright," Nord finally said, a cautious hope filling her voice. "Baal, what''s this ''perfect solution'' you''re talking about?"
"Did I tell you you look pretty?" he said, eyes still awash with the revelry of the evening.
"Yes, like a marshmallow cupcake," she responded, blushing as she tried to hide her eyes behind her palm.
Baal''s face brightened even more. "So, the perfect solution is very simple. A tiny bit of magic here, a tiny curse there, and everyone leaves happy!" His arms tightened around Nord, pulling her closer.
"Baal, that doesn''t make any sense," Nord whispered.
Ignoring her, Baal clambered onto a nearby table, nearly toppling a few drinks in the process. "I''m Baal Berith, the keeper of memories, and I have a very tall tower. It''s bigger than... well, it''s big, okay?" He wobbled, struggling to maintain his balance. "I might be a tiny bit tipsy, but I am nevertheless a genius!"
"Just say what it is!" someone yelled from the crowd.
Baal steadied himself. "Patience! My wife always told me, ''One minute of patience, ten years of damnation.'' And she was right!"
Nord suppressed a laugh; the actual saying was, "One minute of patience, ten years of peace."
"So here''s the plan," Baal continued, somehow managing to regain a semblance of sobriety. "Me and the ladies in grey¡ªthe fantastic five, none other than the Ashleys¡ªare going to make a deal. A deal that will satisfy everyone involved. I will take a tiny memory from each of the Ashleys, and in return, they get their magic back."
"Why can''t you simply give it back? It''s ours, to begin with!" said the oldest, Ashley, her patience clearly wearing thin.
"Because, you old crone, I don''t particularly like you," Baal retorted, taking a sip from his glass for emphasis. "But here''s the twist: if even one of the Ashleys proves undeserving of their magic, then all five will lose it¡ªback into the painting it goes. You''ll only get it back if you''ve been good girls. This is my decree because I said so."
The room went silent, the tension nearly tangible. The oldest Ashley was about to unleash her indignation when the youngest Ashley interrupted. "So we only have magic if we''re nice? All of us?"
Baal looked at her, his eyes meeting hers, "Yes."
The youngest Ashley exchanged glances with her sisters. "You know, I think that''s a pretty good deal."
Baal staggered a bit as he landed on the floor, almost colliding with one of the guests. "Pardon me," he mumbled, his cheeks flushed with a blend of embarrassment and residual alcohol. Setting his empty whiskey glass on the floor in front of the Ashleys, he looked up and commanded, "Think of a tiny little memory that makes you warm and all fuzzy."
Miraculously, the sisters found common ground in their childhood recollections. Each visualized the same cherished memory: an afternoon spent dancing around a cherry tree adorned with crowns made of orange leaves, their laughter and voices weaving songs into the air. No reason, no rhyme¡ªjust the simple joy of being together.
It was a small moment, yet one that had been echoed through the years, like a beloved chorus in the soundtrack of their lives.
As they concentrated, Baal watched radiant grains fill the glass¡ªfragments of memories captured, pure and shimmering. He rubbed his palms together as though warming himself for a magical act.
"Hocus pocus, magicus backus. But you behave, so your magicus focus and stay. Because this is what I say, and what I say is engraved in my name. I am Baal Berith, and there is no other name but mine!" He concluded, his voice swelling with a blend of sobriety and conviction.
The room seemed to hold its collective breath as if awaiting a spell''s resolve. Then, like sand through an hourglass, the radiant grains in the glass began to swirl and dissolve, atomizing into wisps of light that snaked through the air before penetrating the Ashleys'' beings.
The Ashleys blinked, their eyes clearing, their faces awash with a bewildering mixture of surprise and relief. Even the oldest among them appeared less stern, her eyes momentarily softening.
Nord approached the youngest Ashley, who was holding the painting. "Think of it as a checks and balances system," Nord said, explaining the magical clause Baal had put in place. "Everyone gets to keep their magic unless one of you misuses it. Then all of it goes back into the painting until you all prove yourselves worthy again."
The youngest Ashley''s eyes widened, suddenly understanding the gravity of what had transpired. "That''s... actually fair. I hate to say it, but Ashley can be pretty nasty with her powers. Thank you for this. If the painting fills up too many times, I''ll hand it back to you. You can feed it to the Hollow if you need to."
Nord offered a warm smile. "I don''t think it will come to that, but thank you. Hopefully, everyone will be on their best behaviour from now on."
Feeling a newfound lightness, Nord waved to the band, signalling for them to lift their instruments and flood the room with melody once more. The celebratory atmosphere returned almost instantly, like air filling a vacuum. Laughter and chatter resumed, glasses clinked, and couples twirled across the floor.
But as Nord scanned the room, her eyes fell upon an empty space next to the wooden pillar where Baal had stood. He had vanished, absorbed into the night, or perhaps caught in the undertow of his own whimsy. For a moment, she felt a pang of longing but then let it go.
Baal was like a meteor¡ªa streak of chaotic brilliance that could illuminate the world in a blinding flash before trailing off into the dark unknown. And Nord knew better than to chase after meteors; she had her own sky to fill. But she admitted that maybe he was the only one able to help.
"Papa?" Kirara''s voice was soft, a whisper that managed to cut through Baal''s haze of discomfort. She tiptoed over to him, her eyes filled with concern. Baal was slumped against the exterior wall of the manor, half-shielded from the party''s noise and glare.
"Hey, Kitten. What are you doing out here?" His voice was softer than she''d ever heard, tinged with genuine affection, which usually meant he was in pain.
She sat down beside him, smoothing her fluffy skirt over her knees. "What''s wrong, Papa?"
"Just a headache, sweetheart. Maybe too much to drink, I think." Baal managed a weak smile and lightly touched his throbbing forehead.
Her eyes widened, her lips forming a perfect ''o.'' "I''m going to get Mama!"
Baal reached out, his grip surprisingly strong, and pulled her back down.
"No, Kitten, you can''t. Mama''s working tonight, and this is important for her."
"But she knows how to make you feel better," Kirara insisted, her eyes welling up with a mix of concern and stubbornness.
"Mama... she''s forgotten, okay? She doesn''t remember how to make it better. Or even why it hurts. We can''t bother her with this." His voice spiked with frustration, echoing louder than he intended, intensifying the throb in his skull.
Kirara shook her head, dislodging a stray curl from her forehead. "I don''t believe you," she said as she started to rise.
"Three chickens! All yours if you don''t say a word," Baal hurriedly offered, the desperation creeping into his voice.
Her eyes locked onto his. "No, Papa. I love you more than I love chicken."
"Damn you, you adorable little thing," Baal chuckled, despite himself. The headache was pounding harder now. His vision was starting to blur at the edges. As he moved his hand to his head, his fingers came away wet.
With a sinking feeling, he looked down and saw the smears of blood.
Quickly, he wiped his hand on his pants, his smile fading into a grimace of real pain. But Kirara had seen it, and the look she gave him¡ªequal parts love and defiance¡ªsaid she wasn''t letting this go. No matter what it took, she was going to make sure he got the help he needed, even if he was too stubborn to seek it out himself.
It was a stare-down between two equally stubborn souls, and for once, Baal wasn''t sure he''d win. But looking into Kirara''s eyes, he realized maybe, just maybe, he didn''t want to.
[CH. 0049] - Your Song
Saying: I love you Is not the words I want to hear from you It''s not that I want you Not to say, but if you only knew How easy it would be to show me how you feel ¡ª More Than Words - Extreme
Nord''s fingers danced discreetly beneath the tablecloth, her eyes skimming over her phone''s screen. She felt the buzzing anxiety of an unanswered text thread; where was he? Baal was usually never quiet, flooding her inbox with ridiculous memes or absurd one-liners. But today, of all days, he was silent. Can a demon grow tired of a human?
The conversation at the expansive dining table in Morningstar Manor was about as uninspired as the outdated wallpaper. Mundane life events¡ªbirths, weddings, new jobs¡ªwere dutifully announced but barely absorbed. No one here seemed to truly listen, each lost in the cavern of their own self-interest.
South, Nord''s twelve-year-old sister, was engrossed in a lively conversation with her similarly-aged cousins. Unlike most girls their age, who might be discussing cartoons or toys, they were whispering and giggling about boys. Nord rolled her eyes; God, to be so young and trivial again.
A clinking of silverware against glass interrupted her thoughts. It was the universally recognized signal for an important announcement. As Nord looked up, she felt a twinge of disbelief. Her mother was standing at her seat, champagne flute in hand. The table hushed, and for a moment, even the lacklustre chandelier seemed to glisten a bit more brightly.
"My dear family, I hope you''ve all enjoyed your meal. And now, as we gather here to celebrate our Matriarch¡¯s birthday, let''s not forget what truly sets us apart. What makes us unique." Her mother''s eyes gleamed. "Magic. It''s not just a word for us Morningstars; it''s our heritage. It''s in our blood, in every spell we cast, in every potion we brew. Well, some of us, others were gifted the true miracle."
Nord listened intently, feeling a wave of unease. Her mother, usually so reserved about such matters, was making a spectacle of their family''s magical legacy. Nord couldn''t help but wonder why.
"And it is my deepest hope," her mother continued, "that each generation of Morningstars surpasses the last in wisdom, in power, and in kindness. We hold an immense responsibility to the world and to each other. We must never forget that."
A smattering of applause followed. Nord looked around the table, seeing a few nods, several blank faces, and¡ªuncomfortably¡ªmore than one pair of eyes that seemed to scrutinize her a little too closely. It was almost as if they knew she''d come with an agenda of her own.
Nord''s mother, her face glowing with a strange mix of maternal pride and ceremonial formality. "I can''t find the right words to express how I feel and how to share it with each one of you," she began, her voice carrying across the room.
"It is with immense pride that I announce my youngest daughter, South, has entered womanhood just last week¡ªwithout ever showing any trace of magic. And so, this is our Lord''s proof that she is destined to be our next vessel when she turns eighteen. Please, let''s offer our applause for our little miracle, my daughter, South Morningstar."
Amidst the polite clapping and suppressed murmurs, South hesitantly stood, her face a stoic mask that barely concealed the fear in her eyes. Nord felt her stomach churn. Underneath the table, South''s small hand tremulously sought out Nord''s. Their fingers entwined in a momentary refuge.
"Don''t worry," Nord whispered, her eyes meeting South''s, "I''ve got this." She flashed a brief, reassuring smile, squeezing her sister''s fingers gently.
Then, Nord stood up, gripping her glass tightly. With a jingling chime that cut through the room''s ambience, she declared, "Isn''t it wonderful that we''re all gathered here? Plotting and selling off one of our youngest, no less." She tinkled her glass once more for emphasis.
"How about a suggestion? A walk to the history of our bloodline, a little excursion to the very place where our ancestors were consumed by the abyss for the sake of Earth''s safety. What do you all think? Visiting the grave of our miracles!"
Her words hung in the air like a heavy fog. Her mother''s face went ashen. "Nord!" she hissed, her eyes stretched wide in mortification.
Nord met her mother''s gaze, unflinching. "Don''t you want to see the last place your youngest will stand? Because I do. I want to see where I''ll lose my sister. I want to see where it all happens."
A suffocating silence enveloped the room. The Matriarch broke it. "I don''t see why not," she said, her voice surprisingly approving. "I am pleased, actually, that our little Northern Star would show such concern for our traditions."
As everyone reluctantly agreed, Nord felt South''s grip tighten under the table, a wordless thank-you, a silent vow. In that fleeting touch, a seed of rebellion was sown¡ªsmall yet unyielding¡ªas if a warlock dared challenge the fates themselves.
The banquet hall emptied slowly and everyone followed the Matriarch towards the initiation room. Deserted dishes and half-empty glasses remained on the table, forgotten remnants of a feast that celebrated something far darker than a coming-of-age.
Nord slipped her phone behind her back as she followed, carefully holding it so the front camera faced outward. Her thumb surreptitiously pressed the screen, capturing images as she walked. The room was dimly lit, its air thick with the musk of incense and aged books. Her eyes scanned every detail¡ªa pentagram faintly traced in red on the floor, the ornate candlesticks holding black candles, and shelves filled with ancient tomes.
Her camera flickered from object to object, storing away fragments of the room where her sister might be irrevocably sacrificed. She was making mental notes, piecing together how she might break through whatever arcane safeguards existed here to reach what was ominously referred to as "the Hollow."
She realized something was amiss. Her eyes narrowed. Where was the vessel for the entity that had arrived three years prior? No ornate urn, no cryptic container, nothing that seemed like it could hold something as malevolent and powerful as what had been whispered about in family legends.
Then again, today was not the day for all questions to be answered. Today was for gathering pieces, storing them away like a squirrel hoarding nuts for a long, unforgiving winter.
Nord''s bicycle tires skidded to a stop on the damp asphalt, the bike leaning precariously against the weathered wall of an old building. This part of the city felt like a hidden pocket, just far enough away from the opulence of the Morningstar mansion to escape notice.
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She pushed the bicycle''s kickstand down and approached the building''s front door. Her finger stabbed the buzzer, waited, and then did it again. Silence. Her impatience mounting, she pressed the bell repeatedly, each ring more frantic than the last.
Frustrated, she whipped out her phone and dialled his number. It rang, rang, and then¡ªthe voicemail. "Damn it, Baal," she muttered.
Slogging around the side of the building, she found herself at the fire escape. With a glance up to the third-floor window, she started climbing, her breath coming out in fast, annoyed puffs. Reaching the third floor, she grasped the metal handle of the back door. Locked.
"Baal, open up! What the hell do you think you''re doing?" she yelled, her voice tinged with desperation and fury. Nothing but a hollow echo responded.
Her eyes darted to the glass panel on the door. She gritted her teeth and thrust her elbow into it, expecting to hear the satisfying crash of shattering glass. Instead, the surface held firm and a jolt of pain shot up her arm.
"Damn it!" she hissed, stepping back, "What the fuck, Baal!"
Gathering herself, she focused intently on the glass. Emotions surged within her¡ªconfusion, frustration, seething anger. They swirled into a tumultuous storm, focusing through her eyes, channelling toward the stubborn barrier before her. Pure Atua Ma. The glass quivered, cracked, and then shattered, falling away like a brittle curtain.
Breathing heavily, Nord reached through the empty frame, her hand closing around the inner door handle. With a forceful yank, the door swung open. She stepped inside, her face hardening into a mask of determination.
"Alright, Baal, time for some damn answers," she muttered, ready to confront whatever¡ªor whoever¡ªlay within.
Nord''s voice cracked as she screamed through the vacant apartment, a tempest of desperation and fury. "Baal! You soulless demon! Do you think you can just vanish? Oh no, you can''t get away from me that easily! I''ll chase you down, you hear me? Where the hell are you? You promised me, Baal!"
She burst through each room like a hurricane, tearing aside curtains, upending cushions, a one-woman wrecking crew fuelled by betrayal and an unyielding need for answers. Every empty space she encountered amplified her hysteria. Her shouts reverberated off the barren walls, unanswered and echoic, turning her angst into a discordant symphony of despair.
Finally, her eyes narrowed on the bathroom door, slightly ajar. "What the hell, Baal? Why aren''t you answering me? Are you breaking up with me?" Nord''s hand trembled as she pushed the door open. Her words choked in her throat, reduced to meaningless syllables by what she saw.
Baal was there, hunched over the bathtub. But this was a tableau not of abandonment but of something far more jarring¡ªa scarlet horror scene, blood splattering the pristine porcelain. His hands were crimson, clutching a cloth as if trying to stanch a relentless flow.
Nord''s initial rage crumbled into fragments of confusion and dread, her breathing shallow, her limbs weak. "Baal... what happened? What is this?"
Baal''s eyes lifted to meet hers, and for the first time, she saw not the comfortable warmth she was used to but a chilling void. It was as if he stood at the edge of some unfathomable abyss and had just glanced back to find her standing there, too, equally on the brink.
Nord''s legs propelled her to Baal''s side with a haste she didn''t recognize as her own. Her eyes darted over him, trying to find the origin of the blood. Then she saw it¡ªthe raw, painful patches where his horns used to protrude from his scalp. Her fingers hovered in the air, trembling with uncertainty. Call an ambulance? No, this was beyond the grasp of any mortal medicine.
"Baal, baby, talk to me, what happened?" Her voice was a fractured whisper, fragile in the face of the unspoken dread that hung heavy between them.
He moaned, eyes barely open, a grimace twisting his usually composed features. "It hurts," he managed, each syllable a visible struggle.
Panic mounting, Nord sprang into action. She darted to the linen closet and snatched a pile of clean towels, her thoughts a whirlwind of disjointed urgency. She returned, wrestling with the faucet to turn on a gentle stream of cool water. Baal''s clothes were already a bloody mess; what did it matter now? She coaxed him into the tub, her hands trembling but determined.
Easing herself in beside him, Nord began the delicate task of rinsing the blood from his scalp. Her hands moved with tentative care, each swipe of the cloth revealing more of the gruesome reality. The skin where his horns once grew was marred by jagged scars, but there were no fresh wounds to explain the blood. Her heart sank; this wasn''t just an injury. This was something far more elusive and chilling.
"Baal, I can''t see any new wounds. What happened? Why are you bleeding?" Her voice tinged with desperation, she looked into his eyes, searching for any flicker of explanation.
Baal''s gaze met hers, haunted and shadowed. "I can''t...I can''t explain it. But this... is a part of me you were never supposed to see, Nord. I''m so sorry..."
Kirara had followed them into the bathroom, her presence nearly forgotten until now. She sat, almost human in her posture, on the closed toilet lid, her feline eyes unreadable but intense. She looked from Baal to Nord as if contemplating the immense weight of the unsaid words that filled the room.
Nord felt a knot tighten in the pit of her stomach, a dreadful culmination of every unasked question, every half-truth, every careful omission that had ever passed between them. She clutched the bloodied towel in her hand, her knuckles white with tension. Did this happen before? How did she miss it? Was she so selfish that it blinded her?
"Then start explaining, Baby. Because I''m here, covered in your blood, in a bathtub, and I''m scared. I''m so fucking scared for you, and I''m scared that... If you''ve ever trusted me, if you''ve ever loved me, talk to me, please! Oh god, oh god, so much blood! Let me help you, please!"
Her words hung in the air, a challenge and a plea, punctuated only by the ceaseless drip of the faucet and the almost-human stare of a cat that was more, or perhaps less than, she seemed.
Baal''s head slumped against her, his moans a disconcerting counterpoint to the steady rhythm of water cascading from the faucet. Nord persisted in rinsing away the thickening scarlet, her hands now steady but her heart anything but.
"What happened, Baal? Please, you have to tell me."
He sighed, the sound tinged with a pained resignation. "I had bad thoughts, Nord. Thoughts about how I''d lose you in six years. Six years is nothing. It''s not a lifetime. I¡ shit."
As he spoke, the flow of blood seemed to thicken again, each drop more stubborn than the last. Her fingers stilled, her eyes widening. "Bad thoughts..." she muttered, the realization dawning like the first light of a grim morning. "Have you eaten anything?"
"No," he mumbled, his voice tinged with a vulnerability she rarely heard, ¡°I¡¯m not hungry, baby.¡±
"How about we order in? We can kick back and watch a movie. How does a monstrous triple cheeseburger sound? yummy, right?" Her words, though deliberate, were layered with genuine affection and an urgent need to change the direction of his thoughts.
He managed a weak smirk. "No tomatoes."
She chuckled, laughing a small but defiant rebellion against the room''s heavy atmosphere. "Of course not. Adding tomatoes would be a culinary sacrilege! Blasphemy!"
As she laughed, the lines of blood seeping from his scars seemed to lighten, the flow thinning out as if in response to the emotional lift. "So, what movie shall it be? We could watch ''Karate Kid''!"
His eyes met hers, a glimmer of his usual warmth seeping through. "But you hate that movie."
She shrugged, a tender smile pulling at her lips. "You love it, and that makes it worth watching for me."
As the water swirled around them, diluting the haunting remnants of red, Nord began to hum softly. Tentatively, at first, then growing more confident, she started to sing the words. Her voice wavered, charmingly off-key, as she rocked Baal gently in her arms.
"Saying ''I love you,'' is not the words I want to hear from you. It''s not that I want you, not to say, but if you only knew..."
Baal looked up, his face a mix of amusement and wonder. "What are you doing?"
"Singing," she said, grinning as she continued to hum the tune, weaving the simple melody through the air.
Nord had never claimed to be a vocalist. In fact, she was reliably terrible, a trait which, under different circumstances, might have made for a comical anecdote. Demons, after all, were rumored to have voices that could charm even the most cynical of souls. But in that moment, her imperfect notes struck a chord deeper than any pitch-perfect harmony ever could.
And it made Baal happy.
[CH. 0050] - Your Song
¡°All it takes is faith, trust, and pixie dust.¡± - Tinkerbell
The hands of the clock on the wall were engaged in a slow dance toward the midnight hour, marking the end of the grand opening at Morningstar. The ambience was thick with the fading traces of chatters and reluctant goodbyes. Tired but satisfied, musicians were breaking down their stages¡ªguitar cases snapped shut, the soft thud of a drum being sealed away, all forming an odd symphony of closure.
"Perdita, would you be so kind as to make sure the silverware is stacked properly?" Adamastor''s voice, tinged with a weary satisfaction, echoed through the salon as he glided across the floor, collecting dirty plates and empty glasses.
"Sure thing," Perdita answered, scrubbing the countertop with a cloth, her movements as graceful as they were efficient.
The door to the store was ajar, a faint glow seeping through the gap. Nord was most likely inside, storing over the counter her new appointments and adjusting them to her calendar.
No one saw Baal as he began to ascend the stairs, pressing his palm flat against the wall for support. Each step was a battle, his face contorted in pain. It felt like a jackhammer was splitting his skull open, the relentless throb skewing the edges of his vision into a haze.
He halted for a moment, clutching his head. "Dammit," he muttered under his breath, swallowing hard against the nausea that swelled within him.
A warm droplet trickled down his forehead, navigating the contours of his face. He swiped at it hastily, his fingers coming away stained with blood.
His other hand tightened its grip on the wall, knuckles going white.
"You alright there?" Perdita''s voice floated up the staircase, a hint of concern woven into her words. She had caught sight of him from the corner of her eye as she looked up to replace a misplaced wine glass on the shelf.
"I¡¯ll be fine," Baal managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just¡ I¡¯ll be fine."
"A good night will wear out the liquor," Perdita said with an honest smile, her words laced with understanding. She turned away, refocusing her attention on a stubborn stain on the bar counter. With a sigh, she gave the cloth in her hand an extra twist and scrubbed harder.
"Yeah," Baal breathed out, more to himself than to her. "Let''s hope so."
As he took the final steps that brought him to the landing, the words hung in the air behind him, mixing with the dissipating notes of a night that had once been alive with music and laughter. In the quietude, Baal felt the weight of each syllable, the invisible tug they exerted on his already sinking heart.
With a soft click, Baal shut the bathroom door behind him, sliding the lock into place. The four narrow walls of the restroom closed in around him like a protective cocoon, buffering him from Perdita''s concerned glances and the glaring void left by Nord''s absence. The tiles were cold against his skin as he sank to the floor, overcome by his physical agony.
Just as he was about to surrender to the encroaching darkness that clouded the edges of his vision, there was a soft but persistent knock on the door.
"Papa?"
His heart lurched at the sound of Kirara''s voice, tinged with a note of fright that she rarely ever displayed.
"Kitten, I''ll be alright. Go to bed," he rasped, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper.
"Papa, I''m coming in!" The door handle rattled, jiggling against the locked mechanism. "Let me in; there''s blood everywhere."
"Go to bed! I won''t say it twice!" Baal attempted to shout, but his voice was frayed at the edges, and the exertion drained what little energy he had left.
Grimacing, he used the side of the bathtub for leverage, trying to hoist himself up. The room swayed dangerously as he reached for the faucet, his hand trembling. As he turned the cold water on, it hit him¡ªKirara was right. Traces of his blood were smeared across the tiles, staining the porcelain sink and dotting the floor like gruesome paint splatters. His own reflection in the bathroom mirror looked like something out of a horror scene: haggard, blood-streaked, and unrecognizable.
With his vision blurring, Baal fumbled for the stopper, plugging the bathtub drain. He allowed the tub to fill with a mixture of water and his own diluted blood, the swirls coalescing into a disturbing maroon. His mind was teetering between consciousness and a nightmarish stupor, caught in the liminal space where pain and relief converged.
Clothes clinging to his skin like a second layer, Baal plunged into the icy water of the tub without a second thought. He winced as the cold bit into his skin but welcomed it, desperate for any form of relief. Each droplet that splashed against his face felt like a minor blessing, a fleeting distraction from the agony that consumed him.
And then came another knock¡ªsoft, tentative, but persistent. He didn''t have it in him to utter a word, let alone send Kirara away again. The knocking persisted, unyielding, grating against his already frayed nerves. He yearned for silence, for a moment of solitude to gather the shattered fragments of himself.
But the moment never came.
A sudden, forceful bang splintered through the locked door, swinging it wide open with a crash. His body remained still as though the last remnants of his will had dissipated into the water. He felt fingers gently brush the wet strands of hair from his forehead, their touch tender yet filled with urgency.
"Baal? Baal, what''s happening? Where did you get hurt? Did you bang your head?" Nord''s voice¡ªtinged with a blend of alarm and concern¡ªpulled him from the edges of his stupor.
Baal''s heart sank. Of all the people he could not face in this state, it had to be Nord. Words caught in his throat, knots of explanations and excuses he couldn''t bring himself to unravel.
"Nord," he croaked, his voice barely audible, "I can''t... not now. I don''t want to explain again."
Letting her see him like this, vulnerable and broken, twisted the knife of guilt deeper into his conscience. And yet, in that moment, a part of him felt grateful for her presence, for the unspoken understanding that filled the room. He wanted to say so much more, but the ache, both physical and emotional, strangled his words before they could take flight.
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Nord''s fingers skillfully navigated through his hair, probing the skin beneath for any injury. When she reached the tender scar tissue where his horns once were, He remembered the first time she had discovered those scars, the mingled expressions of concern and confusion that had coloured her face. Now, those same questions loomed in the air, but he was too drained to address them, and the ache in his heart made even the thought unbearable.
"Kirara! Kirara!" Nord''s voice broke through his wistful reverie, filling the room with an urgent intensity. "Bring me my phone, now! Just go!"
Phone? The word jolted him. For a split second, Baal wondered if he had somehow woken up and was back in their apartment. Would he wake up to a normal morning¡ªcoffee brewing, the aroma mingling with the scent of freshly made pancakes. A morning when Nord would be by his side, and they''d head off to their tattoo shop, just another day in a life he once knew.
The thought of their old shop¡ªits graffiti-covered walls, the buzz of the tattoo needle, and the laughter of their friends¡ªflooded his senses.
As these fragments of a simpler past flickered through his mind, Baal felt a pang of longing so acute it was almost a physical pain, adding another layer to his already unbearable condition.
Nord''s eyes met his, snapping him back to the present. Though she had caught a glimpse of the nostalgia that had momentarily clouded his gaze, she said nothing. Her eyes were searching, their depths filled with a complicated mix of worry and something he couldn''t quite identify¡ªperhaps a shard of the love that had once been their whole world.
The silence between them stretched on until it was broken by Kirara''s hurried footsteps and the appearance of the phone in Nord''s hand.
Nord''s eyes flickered to the phone screen, her fingers swiping deftly through a labyrinth of folders. "If you''re not going to tell me again, then maybe you''ve already told me," she mumbled, her voice tinged with fragile hope. She navigated to a specific folder marked ''2013/23,'' perplexed to find it subdivided into numerous subfolders, each cryptically labelled. What caught her attention were the initials that prefixed each one¡ªBB, MMA, US, and others she couldn''t quite decipher on a quick scan.
"BB... Baal Berith. Those are about you," she reasoned, speaking more to herself than to Baal. She glanced at him, his face contorted in pain, his body marred with drying and fresh blood. She began a frantic search for a folder that might match his condition. "BB Blood? No... What would I call this? What name would I give it?"
Pulling her gaze away from the screen, she looked at Baal, her eyes searching his for a clue. "What do you feel?"
"It hurts," Baal murmured, his voice laced with an exhaustion that transcended physical pain.
"Where?" she pressed.
"Head."
Nord''s fingers hesitated for a moment before she saw it¡ªBB_Headache_Urgent. Her heart pounding in her chest, she tapped the folder open. Inside were a text file and five video files, each marked with a sequential number from one to five.
Her thumb hovered over the text file. She didn''t know what she''d find¡ªmaybe instructions, maybe confessions, maybe insights into the man beside her who was both a stranger and the cornerstone of her past. Whatever it was, it felt like a lifeline in a sea of questions.
Taking a deep breath, she tapped open the text file, her eyes scanning the words that filled the screen.
Nord''s eyes narrowed as she read the first instruction on the screen. "One, get inside the bathtub with him. Keep water lukewarm. He likes it cold, but it doesn''t help him relax." She dipped her hand into the water beside Baal, wincing as she felt its icy touch.
"Kirara, ask Adamastor for warm water, but tell him not to boil it! Go, now!"
Kirara sprang to her feet, dashing out of the room with a quick, "Yes, Mama!"
Nord turned her attention back to the text. "Point two: place a wet towel from mid-head to his forehead." Balancing the phone on her skirt, she reached for a nearby towel and soaked it in the chilled water. Gently, she wrung it out before draping it carefully across Baal''s head, covering his eyes in the process. A soft moan escaped his lips, his body reacting even if he was too drained to articulate his relief.
"What''s next?" Nord murmured to herself, her eyes flitting back to the screen. Her fingers were slick with water as she scrolled down, searching for the next step that would guide her through the labyrinth of Baal''s suffering. Each instruction felt like a breadcrumb on a trail that she hoped would lead them both to some semblance of peace or at least temporary relief.
Nord''s eyes returned to the text: "Three, check his eye colour." Gently lifting the damp cloth from his eyes, she used her thumb and index finger to carefully part his eyelids. She scrutinized the irises, puzzled. They were darker than she remembered. The life force within them dimmed as if a vital spark had been extinguished. Was this the sign she was supposed to look for? The instructions were infuriatingly vague on this point. With a sigh, she lowered the cloth back over his eyes. The last instruction simply read: "Play." What did that even mean?
Perdita entered the room, her arms straining under the weight of a pot filled with warm water. Together, they poured it into the tub, diluting the colder water surrounding Baal.
"It''ll balance out in a few minutes," Perdita assured her, moving closer to whisper. "Mr. Berith hasn''t been well for a few days. His room... I''ll need to give it a thorough cleaning before he can¡ª"
Perdita didn''t finish the sentence, but she didn''t have to. Nord understood, and a swell of regret filled her. Baal had been complaining about not feeling well ever since he arrived at the manor, but she hadn''t really understood the severity of his condition until now. He just said It hurts.
"Help me get out of this dress, please," Nord requested, shifting her gaze back to Perdita.
Nord felt the deft fingers of Perdita work through the laces of her corset, unfastening the hooks on her bustier with practised ease. As Perdita untangled the black ribbon of her skirt and petticoat, Nord leaned down to unbuckle her boots, sliding them off her feet.
"You can go now. I''ll take it from here," Nord said, her voice tinged with gratitude and a newfound resolve.
"Is there anything else I may assist you with?" Perdita asked, her eyes meeting Nord''s, sincerity reflected in her gaze.
"Take his things to my room," Nord instructed.
Perdita nodded, a silent understanding passing between them. She exited the room, softly closing the broken door as best as she could behind her.
Careful not to splash water onto her phone, Nord stepped into the tub, positioning herself behind Baal. "Okay, here I go," she murmured, more to herself than to Baal, who shifted slightly to accommodate her.
She took a deep breath and tapped the screen to play 01.mov.
Baal''s eyes widened in confusion as the screen came to life. He lifted the towel from his eyes, squinting at the pixelated figure. "What the..."
His voice was choked with incredulity as his gaze met the digital version of Nord on the screen.
"Having a bad day?" the video version of Nord cheerily inquired, a radiant smile filling her face. "Well, if you''re seeing this, I have some great news. First, you''re not alone. I''m with you, so that seems to have worked out. I don''t know if I''ve been able to retrieve my memories yet, but I have a backup. Don''t panic. I''ve got you, Baby."
Baal leaned in closer to the screen, puzzled and captivated. "What are you talking about? What..."
"Look, I wouldn''t leave you alone. Never. I didn''t choose South over you. I chose both of you," the video Nord continued, her eyes misty as if on the verge of tears. Then she tapped her hands on the table rhythmically and broke into their song, her voice wavering, hitting notes that were endearingly off-key.
And Baal laughed. Not a cynical chuckle but a genuine laugh, as if a dam had broken inside him, releasing a torrent of suppressed emotion.
"What did you do?" he asked, still chuckling, eyes searching Nord''s face for an answer, ¡°What the fuck¡ how¡ I deleted everything¡ how?¡±
Nord was at a loss for words. She didn''t know what her past self had done, what the mysterious plan had been. But as she saw Baal''s face, alight with something that looked like hope¡ªor maybe just relief¡ªshe understood that whatever her past self had intended, it had worked.
So she reached over, took his hand, and squeezed it, poising her cheek against his head.
¡°Just remember I love you whenever you feel blue,¡± were the last words of the video.
[CH. 0051] - Goodbye, See You Now
Baal stirred awake, feeling the soft glow of daylight kiss his face. For a fleeting second, the lingering scent in the air made him smile, a whiff that spoke of her¡ªof Nord. Sounds of fabric rustling and heavy footfalls in the room tantalized his imagination. He kept his eyes tightly shut, indulging in the fantasy that perhaps it was Nord in a state of d¨¦shabill¨¦ like it used to be.
When he finally surrendered to curiosity and opened his eyes, his fantasy shattered. It wasn''t Nord; it was Adamastor, methodically moving around the room, placing Baal''s clothes and assorted belongings into the closet. Adamastor''s stoic face was set in concentration, but something stopped Baal''s gaze.
Adamastor paused his chores as though struck by a sudden, heavy thought. He turned toward the closet mirror and unbuttoned his shirt with a sense of ritualistic gravity. The mirror reflected back an intricate tapestry of dark, vein-like markings that sprawled across his alabaster skin like the gnarled roots of a dying tree. These markings weren''t just aberrations; they were harbingers of a fast-approaching end¡ªan end that seemed as inevitable as it was inscrutable.
Less than one day, perhaps.
Adamastor, lost in his private moment of reflection, seemed to trace the markings with his fingertips. His touch was gentle, almost reverential as if he were trying to memorize each line, each intersection before they claimed him.
With an unreadable expression, Adamastor buttoned his shirt back quickly, the ominous markings vanishing beneath the fabric as if they''d never existed. Dutifully returning to his tasks, he took a lint brush to Baal''s jacket, the fallen particles seeming to hover in the air before settling on the ground.
While engrossed in these duties, he moved to straighten the bed, unaware that Baal was still lying on it¡ªunaware because to Adamastor, Baal was utterly invisible, non-existent. For Adamastor, they never even met.
With quick reflexes, Baal seized the opportunity. He carefully slid his body off the mattress, his movements almost choreographed to sync with Adamastor''s own distractions. As the vampire fluffed a pillow with focus, Baal''s feet touched the carpet, his form slipping away without the vampire noticing, while Adamastor rearranged the bed blankets.
Finished, he surveyed the room, his eyes inexplicably drawn to the space Baal had just vacated. Was it a sixth sense? Adamastor''s posture stiffened, and for a brief moment, the air in the room seemed to bristle with an intangible tension.
The tattoo machine''s buzz finally stilled, replaced by the muffled sounds of the city drifting in from outside. With a practised hand, Nord wiped away the excess ink, revealing a meticulously crafted charm etched into her client''s skin.
"And there you have it¡ªyour first tattoo with a lucky charm attached!" she said, her eyes glinting with quiet pride.
The young woman glanced down at the art now forever part of her. Her face radiated a silent joy that words couldn''t express. She reached over and handed Nord a curious heirloom bracelet, its craftsmanship antique and intricate. The gift was oddly magical, purportedly able to find lost objects. However, it had never proven effective beyond locating inconsequential things like pins. Nevertheless, it was payment, and Nord was grateful.
After the door clicked shut behind the departing girl, Nord found Baal lounging against the counter. "Happy customer?" Baal''s eyes shone with curiosity, though his posture betrayed a certain unease.
"You could say that. How did you sleep?" Nord moved to pour herself a cup of orange juice.
Baal grinned, "Fine, I guess. Woke up to Adamastor stripping his shirt. It was...awkward."
Nord laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "That''s an image I didn''t need."
"He''s handsome."
"Not my type." She took a sip of her juice, shifting the topic. "How''s your head feeling?"
But Baal sidestepped her question, a sudden sharpness to his words. "Why did you move my things into your room?"
"We''re married, aren''t we?" Her voice held an edge of genuine confusion.
"I don''t want you to feel obliged, Nord. I''m not here to force you into anything. I want to help, but not at the cost of your own... I don''t want to feel I''m forcing you to love me."
Nord placed her glass on the counter with a soft clink. "Baal, I don''t remember. My memories are housed in a gadget that takes an eternity to recharge. There''s a whole master plan, a door I''m supposed to destroy, and you''re...involved, somehow. Then I learned my first friend, the first person I met and helped me here, is dying, and now I find out I''m married to a man who''s keeping life-threatening secrets. How could I not be lost?"
"Nord, listen¡ª"
"I put you in my bed because if you''re dying, how can you help me? And let''s be honest, do you want your own room back?" Her voice held an unspoken dare.
Baal hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor. "That''s a low blow. No, I don''t want my own room, but I also don''t want you sleeping with your back to me. You used to do that when you were mad."
"Was I mad often?" Nord put her empty glass on the counter and eased herself into a worn leather chair.
A smile flickered on Baal''s face. "Not often. A couple of times, maybe, but we always worked through it."
Nord took her empty glass and placed it on the counter, then settled into the worn leather chair near the tattoo station. "Do you know the movie ''The Lake House''?"
"Yeah, we watched it. You loved that film," Baal chuckled.
"In this narrative, I''m Sandra Bullock."
"You''re prettier," he said unabashedly.
A blush crept onto Nord''s cheeks, unexpected but not unwelcome. "Let me finish. You are Keanu Reeves, and¡ª"
"It''s impossible to beat that guy," Baal quipped, his eyes twinkling, "Even for me."
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
"Will you let me talk?" Nord interrupted, struggling to hold back laughter but visibly irritated. "You''re ten years ahead of me. I''ve known you for what¡ªa month? Did we fall in love the first day we met?"
Baal shook his head. "No, it took us almost a year for that first kiss."
"So be my Keanu Reeves. Wait for me to catch up to where you are. I''ll get there¡ªI have to trust myself on that. But you have to be patient with me. Is it okay if we share a bed as friends for now? To take care of each other? Or is that too strange for you?"
Baal looked at her, his gaze meeting hers squarely as though he were searching her eyes for an elusive answer. After a moment, he sighed, "I can do that. I can be your friend. If you can accept that I have like a huge crush on you,"
"You''re impossible today!" she chuckled.
The door creaked open, and Adamastor poked his head into the room. "Is this a bad time?"
Nord rose from her chair, shaking off the heavy conversation she''d just had with Baal. "No, what''s up? Do you need anything?"
With a look of hesitancy, Adamastor entered the room and extended a sealed envelope toward Nord. "This is my resignation letter, effective immediately," his voice wavered as he spoke. "I''ve completed most of my tasks and left clear instructions for Perdita for the future. I''d like to take care of some personal errands today if that''s all right."
A swell of confusion and concern rose within Nord. "Adamastor, are you...?" The words hung in the air, unfinished.
"I''m leaving Ravendrift tomorrow morning after fifty years. And I''m quite excited about it," Adamastor said, his face breaking into an unexpectedly wide smile.
"What are you planning for your last day?" Baal caught himself mid-sentence, rephrasing his question. "I mean, your last day...in Ravendrift?"
Adamastor''s eyes twinkled as he answered, "I was thinking of asking someone on a date."
The room seemed to pause as though holding its collective breath. Nord felt her cheeks flush, the earlier intimate conversation with Baal still fresh. Her eyes darted toward Baal, who looked equally caught off guard.
"I''d like to go into town and ask Ursula. I doubt I''ll have much luck, but I want to spend time with her outside the confines of Madame Bougie''s atmosphere," Adamastor elaborated.
Nord felt her own tension dissipate, replaced by a wash of relief and a touch of surprise. "Oh," she finally said, her voice light. "Well, that''s a lovely idea, Adamastor."
"Is it?" Adamastor looked both hopeful and vulnerable.
"It absolutely is," Baal chimed in, the corners of his mouth lifting. "You should go for it."
Nord glanced at the resignation letter still in her hand and then back at Adamastor. "I accept your resignation, and I wish you the best of luck on your date and wherever your journey takes you next..."
Adamastor''s eyes shimmered with a complex blend of gratitude and an emotion that verged on love. "Thank you," he murmured, lingering at the threshold. "Thank you both for everything. I wish I had met you sooner."
"Do you need a ride tomorrow?" Baal offered the words hanging delicately in the air.
Adamastor hesitated as if weighing the gravity of the moment. "I would love that. I''d like to be with friends when I step out of this town. Thank you."
A palpable silence settled over the room as the door closed behind Adamastor. Nord locked eyes with Baal. Both were gripped by the acute realization that their lives were in a state of flux¡ªpunctuated by goodbyes, shadowed by uncertainty, yet shimmering with the promise of new beginnings.
"You do understand that he..." Baal''s voice trailed off, the words heavy with unspoken meaning.
Nord nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Tomorrow, he finally dies. Yeah, I understood."
Adamastor shifted nervously, his fingers brushing against the lapels of his blazer as he contemplated stepping into Mme Bougie''s off-hours. With no patrons or performers to serve as a buffer, walking into the empty establishment felt like crossing an emotional boundary. He finally pushed open the door and entered. The stage was dark, the bar deserted, and silence filled the void.
He hesitated, aware that Ursula''s room was within reach but unsure of the decorum. Would knocking be considered an intrusion? Perhaps she was sleeping, seeking refuge from her own complex life.
"Do you wish something to drink?" The voice came from behind him, breaking the stillness.
Startled, he turned to find Lucero, the proprietor, eyeing him cautiously. "No, I just came to¡ª"
"Good," Lucero cut him off, pulling a chair down from a nearby table and setting it upright. "Because I don''t have any fresh blood for you. What''s left has probably already coagulated."
Adamastor swallowed a sigh. "There''s no need. I came to¡ª"
Lucero interrupted him once more, his eyes narrowing. "I don''t think Ursula is in the mood to discuss business with you, boy."
"I came as a friend," Adamastor insisted, his voice tinged with urgency. "After she tried to kill you?" Lucero''s eyebrows arched sceptically.
Adamastor paused, considering his words carefully. "She had her reasons, and I can respect that."
Lucero''s eyes narrowed as he glared across the table, his fingers gripping the armrests of his chair. "You are very bold, boy. Very, very bold. Coming from your kind, I find that distasteful." With a calculated movement, he yanked another chair from its place, making sure it landed with a thud that echoed in the room.
Adamastor leaned on the table, his eyes pleading. "I''m leaving Ravendrift tomorrow morning. I thought... I thought I might invite Ursula for a picnic by the lake. I can pay if that''s the issue, but what I truly want is to spend time with her. Just her."
Lucero scoffed, his eyes glinting with disdain. He yanked yet another chair from its spot, this time letting it crash to the floor deliberately. "Good riddance, then. You''ve done nothing but disturb her. And now you want a farewell soir¨¦e with my finest girl without even offering something in return? The audacity!"
Feeling cornered and unable to mount a defence, Adamastor stepped back. He removed his blazer with deliberate slowness and placed it over a table. Then, he unbuttoned his vest and laid it beside the blazer. Finally, he took off his shirt.
Lucero''s eyes widened at the sight that met him: black veins sprawled across Adamastor''s skin like tendrils of some dark plant. "By Atua, what is this?"
"I had an accident," Adamastor murmured, not meeting Lucero''s eyes.
A voice sliced through the tension like a blade. "You''re dying!" Ursula stood on the balcony, her silken nightgown clinging to her frame, her eyes ablaze. "You came here to tell me you''re dying?"
Both men turned toward her, a mix of guilt and shock painted on their faces. The room seemed to grow colder as the truth settled like a heavy mist among them.
Adamastor looked up, his eyes meeting Ursula''s. The raw emotion on her face struck him like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily speechless. "Ursula, I¡ª"
"I asked you a question," she interrupted, her voice quivering between anger and something less definable, perhaps concern.
"Yes," Adamastor finally answered, his voice soft. "I am."
"And you''re here because...?" She descended from the balcony, her silken nightgown flowing behind her like a ghostly aura.
"I''m dying, Ursula. And I didn''t want to leave this... I didn''t want to leave without spending one last night with you, if you''ll let me, as my friend."
Ursula''s gaze softened, the anger dissipating like a spent flame. She looked from her father to Adamastor, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "So, this is it then? A picnic by the lake to say goodbye?"
Adamastor leaned in, his eyes pools of desperation that silently pleaded with her. "Ursula, that''s all I''m asking for. A chance to set things right." She studied him for a long moment before asking, "How did you even get to this point?"
A rueful grin touched Adamastor''s lips. "An Allatori blade, of all things. It was a stupid accident¡ªa minuscule nick right here," he said, pointing to his index finger, "practically a paper cut. You really could''ve saved those 500 tokens for something worthwhile."
Ursula burst into a peal of laughter, her eyes dancing with incredulity and a touch of mirth. "You''ve got to be kidding me. How in Atua''s name did you manage to cut yourself with Allatori?"
Adamastor''s eyes twinkled despite the gravity of the situation. "Would you believe me if I said... gardening?"
Her laughter boomed again, genuine but laced with a dark undertone. "Gardening!"
Lucero, standing a few feet away, felt a tug-of-war within him. He was torn between the magnetic pull of their banter, dark and twisted as it was, and a feeling of unease, like an itch he couldn''t quite scratch. Eventually, a nervous chuckle escaped his lips, betraying his inner conflict.
Adamastor caught the sound, and his eyes shifted to Lucero for a moment, softening. "You see, even Lucero finds the irony amusing."
"Or he''s horrified at how nonchalant you are about this whole life-and-death situation," Ursula countered, her laughter fading into a sober expression. "So, what now?"
"Tear Lake, midnight. Bring a coat. It is cold at night."
[CH. 0052] - Goodbye, See You Now
The nocturnal chill settled over Tear Lake like an ethereal blanket. The air was tinged with an otherworldly calm. Adamastor rose from his makeshift seat. His eyes fixated on the moonlit reflections quivering in the water.
Next to him, a tablecloth was spread over the grass, a picnic¡ªan incongruous but intentional scene. A meat pie filled with succulent chicken still emanated warmth, and a bottle of red wine stood uncorked. A couple of hazelnut muffins¡ªUrsula''s favourite¡ªwere tucked to the side.
The heavens seemed to be participating in this farewell; two moons aligned in a celestial ballet, and the stars shimmered as though winking knowingly at him. It was, by any measure, a perfect night for a goodbye. Except there was no one to bid farewell to.
A pang of solitude washed over Adamastor, magnifying the loneliness that often accompanies immortality. He''d begun his journey alone, abandoned by an unknown Master who''d turned him. He''d awoken confused and starving, compelled by a newfound thirst for blood, and had been left to navigate the existence of being a vampire spawn alone. To be never fully human or vampire.
It seemed fitting¡ªthough agonizingly so¡ªthat he would depart this chapter of his existence in the same solitary manner.
"Why did I think she would come?" Adamastor mused to himself, his voice tinged with both sorrow and resignation.
He gazed once more at the lake, its surface like a silvered mirror reflecting the celestial beauty above and, perhaps, his own fractured soul. Despite the ache of loneliness, he found a strange comfort in the serenity of the night.
It was a beautiful night to exist, even if that existence was a complicated tapestry of darkness and light, of joy and pain, of solitude and yearning. And at that moment, amid the heartbreaking beauty of it all, Adamastor felt a grudging peace settle over him. He was ready.
"Chicken?"
Adamastor''s eyes met the unsettling yet captivating green of Kirara''s as she ogled the meat pie. A thin thread of saliva dangled from her lip. Her orange hair seemed to capture the light of both moons, illuminating her like two silver halos.
"Chicken?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
Her eyes snapped up to his. "Yes!" Her voice was jubilant, filled with the curiosity and wonder of a child-like. She plopped down beside the picnic basket and eagerly grabbed the small plate he offered. "This smells so tasty! I could sniff it out from all the way at the house."
A wistful smile crossed Adamastor''s lips as he sat beside her, his gaze lingering on the ripples of the lake. "At least someone can enjoy it."
"You don''t eat?"
He shook his head, his eyes darkening. "I can''t. Makes me sick."
A cloud of innocent sympathy floated into her eyes. "That''s so sad. When I try to talk about Papa to Mama, it makes me sick, too." She took a generous bite of the pie, her face contorting for a moment. "Ugh, hairball. That''s gross."
"Hairball aside," Adamastor''s eyebrow quirked in curiosity, "who''s this Papa you speak of?"
Chewing and swallowing, she grinned widely. "Papa found me when I was a tiny kitten! Took me to Mama, and ever since, it''s the three of us. Perfect!" She forked another piece of the pie onto her plate. "I should tell Papa to take Mama here for some alone time. You know, Mama and Papa stuff."
Adamastor felt his lips curl into a smile, charmed by her unfiltered musings. Conversing with Kirara was like navigating a labyrinth of child-like simplicity, and he''d long since abandoned any effort to plumb its hidden depths.
Setting down her fork, she fixed him with a serious gaze. "Is it tough?"
His eyes met hers, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Feeling different. I feel too big. Like I''m missing something. My fur. It''s like I''m always naked." Her face crumpled slightly, her eyes mirroring the dimming sky. "It''s hard when you can''t do stuff you used to, like cleaning myself. I hate water, but I still have to wash, and it''s all wrong. It''s like I''m not Kirara anymore."
Adamastor looked deep into her eyes, touched by her attempt to articulate her struggle. For a split second, his own transformations, his own losses and gains, loomed in his thoughts.
"It sucks," he admitted, a trace of vulnerability crossing his features. "I''m never warm anymore, I can''t taste food, and I miss the simple pleasure of eating something I''ve cooked. I even miss dreaming and the occasional drunken haze."
She met his gaze, nodding emphatically. "It sucks."
"I didn''t think this was a party."
Adamastor and Kirara were startled by the sudden intrusion. Turning, they found Ursula standing at the edge of the tablecloth, a bemused expression gracing her features.
"Ursula?" Adamastor rose awkwardly, his hands fumbling to steady himself. "I wasn''t expecting you¡ here, please." He gestured for her to sit in the spot he''d just vacated on the tablecloth spread out on the ground.
"I gotta go. There''s no more meat pie," Kirara announced abruptly, standing up, the dish still half-full in her hands. "You two should do Mama and Papa stuff now. Goodnight!"
Adamastor gave her a warm, appreciative smile. "Goodnight, Kirara. I genuinely enjoyed our time."
"I''d give you a hug, but..." Kirara glanced down at her hands holding the dish. Instead, she leaned in and pecked his cheek. "See you tomorrow!" With that, she scampered away, leaving the pair in solitude.
"Who''s that charming creature?" Ursula inquired, her eyes flitting to the basket as though hoping to uncover something edible.
"That''s Kirara¡ªNord''s cat, or she used to be," Adamastor explained, taking a seat opposite her.
"Miss Morningstar never ceases to astonish me," Ursula remarked, still half-exploring the basket.
"There are muffins inside," he offered, reaching for one and extending it towards her.
She accepted the baked treat, her eyes settling on his. "I had serious reservations about coming here. I thought, what if this is his ultimate act of revenge?"
Adamastor looked at her, searching her face. "And what made you change your mind?"
She broke off a piece of the muffin, rolling it between her fingertips before speaking. "I thought, what if he simply wants to bid farewell properly? Who am I to deny a dying man that grace?"
He leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Pity? Is that what brought you here?"
Ursula met his gaze squarely, her eyes brimming with a complex tapestry of emotions. "No, Adamastor. Friendship."
Adamastor''s smile widened, a warmth spreading across his face that belied the chill in his undead veins. Carefully, he withdrew a key from inside his blazer and handed it to Ursula, who looked at him with a mix of puzzlement and disbelief.
"Inside my room, you''ll find everything¡ªbank details, assets, and a purse with nine hundred tokens. The Morningstar will have a vacancy starting today." His voice was tinged with nervousness, cautious not to tread on her feelings. "You''re more than capable of running an inn and a salon. Perdita is excellent in the kitchen. You both would do well."
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Ursula''s eyes widened, her mouth slightly agape. "What... are you saying?"
"I''m saying you deserve a good life, Ursula. Perhaps I should have done this sooner, but better late than never. The Morningstar could be a fresh start for you." He paused, glancing away at the shimmering surface of the lake. "I can go peacefully, knowing you''ll be all right. And Lucero will not oppose his finest girl in having a new chance in life."
"Not Lucero, but," her eyes narrowed, "Mme Bougie would be livid, you know."
He chuckled. "I think you can handle Mme Bougie."
"Where was all this charm when we first met?" Ursula smiled, breaking the tension.
"I don''t know... I guess I forgot." His voice trailed off, heavy with the unspoken words that clung to the air between them. "Just think about it, Ursula. Nord would likely be more than willing to have you. Please consider it."
"Well, I''m not getting any younger," she quipped, the playfulness in her voice not quite masking her hesitance.
"Age is just a number. You still have so much time ahead of you," he assured her.
As they sat in companionable silence, eyes fixed on the darkened waters of the lake, an ethereal melody began to rise, caressing the night air. Droplets of radiant light floated above the lake, merging and bending until they took on the form of three young nymphs. Bathed in an otherworldly glow, they sang in hushed tones¡ªwhispers of ancient poems and forgotten songs that seemed to be known only by spirits.
Adamastor felt a shiver run through him, but for once, it wasn''t born of the cold emptiness that plagued his undead existence. It was awe. Ursula felt it, too; her eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
"Oh, wow," she murmured.
Adamastor glanced at her, his eyes locking onto hers. In that instant, he appeared less like the fearsome vampire she had once dreaded and more like a man teetering on the edge of some grand revelation. His expression was imbued with a kind of grace as if he were soaking in the last drops of earthly beauty before an eternal farewell.
"Is this the part where you tell me that those nymphs are here to escort you to the afterlife?" Ursula quipped, though her voice was tinged with an uncharacteristic vulnerability.
"No," Adamastor chuckled, "I will walk out of Ravendrift with friends."
As Kirara burst into the manor, her half-full dish clutched in her hand like a stolen treasure, she prayed she could make it to her room unnoticed. But luck was not on her side tonight.
"Kitten!"
The deep, unmistakable voice of Baal reverberated through the corridor, halting her in her tracks.
"Papa¡" Kirara muttered, doing her best to hide the plate behind her back as she turned to face him.
With practised grace, Baal circled around her, his eyes sharp and penetrating. "My report, please," he commanded.
Fidgeting under his scrutiny, Kirara deftly twisted her body, keeping her back curved and the dish out of his line of sight. "The lady came. I kept him company until then."
Baal paused, his eyes narrowing. "Did she look nice?"
"Yes, very nice," Kirara beamed, "She smelled good, too."
Baal''s eyes flickered with a blend of relief and suspicion. "And what are you hiding¡ªand not sharing?"
Caught red-handed, Kirara''s shoulders slumped. "Come on, I was the one out in the cold. I deserve it!"
"Chicken?" Baal''s eyebrows lifted slightly as he guessed her secret.
Defeated, she unveiled the dish from behind her back. "Yes," she muttered, her face contorted into a look of pure misery.
"Is it good?"
"Yes¡"
"Did you have fun?"
"Yes¡"
Baal sighed, shaking his head. "No eating in the room. Go finish it in the kitchen."
As if someone had flipped a switch, Kirara''s ears perked up. She was about to scamper off when a thought struck her. She paused, turning back to look at Baal. "Don''t you want some?"
Baal''s eyes met hers, and for a moment, she thought he''d say yes. But instead, he shook his head. "No, I want to go to bed."
Baal ascended the staircase, each step heavier than the last, as if weighted by the evening''s events. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar, casting a sliver of soft light onto the hallway carpet. He pushed it open gently and stepped inside.
Nord was asleep in their bed, her breaths shallow and uneven. Her nose was tinged red, a telltale sign of tears shed in solitude. He sighed, his chest tightening at the sight. With the care of a man handling something infinitely fragile, he began to disrobe, folding his clothes neatly on the rack to avoid any unnecessary noise.
Padding silently across the room, he slid into bed beside her, moving as if through molasses, agonizingly slow to avoid disturbing her slumber. Yet, despite his best efforts, Nord stirred. Her eyes flickered open, meeting his.
"How''s it going?" she whispered, her voice tinged with worry.
"He''s not alone. She showed up," Baal answered, relief lacing his words.
"Thank you," Nord said softly, but her voice cracked on the last syllable.
Baal pulled her close to him, encircling her in the protective cocoon of his arms. "Don''t cry," he murmured, "He''s leaving on his own terms. He''s finding his peace."
"I know," she sniffled, laying her head on his chest.
He planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head, letting his lips linger for a moment, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair. "Nini," he whispered.
"Nini," she echoed, her voice barely audible. But as she snuggled into him, her eyes widened and fresh tears gathered at the corners.
Why is it so hard to say goodbye?
The air in the kitchen was infused with an unusual warmth. The wooden table, typically barren at this hour, was now a canvas of culinary artwork. Baal had taken the liberty to prepare crepes with Perdita''s help, their edges perfectly crisped, and a steaming pan of scrambled eggs graced the centre of the table. An array of drinks¡ªorange juice, coffee, and tea¡ªcompleted the ensemble. Everyone was gathered¡ªtruly gathered¡ªfor breakfast. The room was alive, each voice blending into a comforting cacophony of morning chatter.
Adamastor hovered near the doorway, unsure of his place in this tableau. Just as he was about to retreat, Nord glanced up and caught his eye. With a nudge of her head, she pushed an empty chair away from the table in silent invitation.
"Come, Adamastor. Join us," Nord beckoned, a soft smile tracing her lips.
He hesitated, eyes darting around the room. Finnea, perched at one end of the table, was lost in her thoughts as usual, spearing a crepe as if she were alone. Kirara and Bram occupied themselves with a lively game, flicking bits of scrambled egg at each other amid giggles and shouts. Perdita finally broke from their culinary duties and carried a chalice toward Adamastor. The room went momentarily quiet. The chalice was filled to the brim with a dark, thick liquid¡ªblood.
"Today, you eat with us," Perdita announced, placing the chalice before Adamastor with a certain reverence. She then settled into her own chair beside Merlin and him, who raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
Adamastor looked down at the chalice. This would be a monumental sip, a departure from years of secretive drinking. For a fleeting moment, he considered refusing, but then the aroma reached him. It was unmistakably Nord''s. His eyes shot toward her. Nord caught his gaze and smiled.
"It would''ve been a waste to just throw it away," she said, as if reading his thoughts. "So, I hope you enjoy yourself."
Adamastor lifted the chalice, its weight heavier than mere liquid. As the blood passed his lips, a cascade of flavours and sensations washed over him. It was the perfect last meal.
The clatter of dishes and silverware ceased, replaced by the sighs of contentment and the lazy stretch of limbs. It was time to move on, and the room gradually emptied, leaving behind a comforting echo of what had been a rare communion.
The sense of occasion was palpable as Baal, invisible to Adamastor''s eyes, tied Mulan to the cart. The mule, known for its sluggish pace, mocking the very notion of time, seemed perfectly suited for the solemn journey that lay ahead. Had Baal himself taken a seat on the cart, Adamastor would have been met with the disconcerting sight of a mule seemingly guiding itself.
Baal gestured to the old wizard. "Merlin, it''s your seat today."
This was the final culminating of fifty years of servitude to Ravendrift and the Morningstar estate for Adamastor. The sign loomed before them as the cart came to a gentle stop at the edge of town, a sentinel in the waning light. "You are now leaving Ravendrift," it read, its words etched deeply into weathered wood.
Merlin, who had been guiding Mulan, pulled on the reins and glanced at Adamastor, his eyes as unreadable as an age-old manuscript.
"Well, this is goodbye, my boy, I guess," Adamastor''s voice wavered, tinged with both anticipation and apprehension, "See you soon!"
Nord shifted, her hands gripping the edge of the cart. "Would you like me to walk with you?"
Adamastor raised a palm in polite refusal. "Please stay. This is something I have to do alone."
The discomfort that crossed Nord''s face was palpable. But before she could speak, Adamastor gently lifted her chin with his knobbed hand. "Hey, I want you to watch me leave as a free man."
He disembarked, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. Each step towards the sign amplified his trepidation. A heartbeat he no longer had seemed to pound in his ears. His eyes widened as he approached the sign, fear gripping him. What if his time ran out before he even crossed the boundary? He could feel the destructive force of the Allatori magic gnawing at him, bit by bit. But he needed to cross that threshold; he needed to know the taste of freedom, however fleeting.
When he was merely inches away from the sign, he pivoted to face Nord and Merlin. With a warmfelt shout that rang through the air like a clarion call, he declared, "A free man!" His arms flung wide open as if to embrace his newfound liberty¡ªand then he vanished like crumbles of sand washed away by the wind.
What should''ve been a dissipating ash was instead a cascade of shimmering particles glinting like stardust in the daylight. The ethereal mist wafted toward Nord and Baal, who stood there, bewildered.
"I thought it would be ash," Nord mused, her voice tinged with awe. "Shouldn''t it be ash?"
"It''s supposed to be ash. What is this? Glitter?" Baal''s eyes narrowed, puzzlement lining his features.
Merlin met their gazes squarely, his face a tapestry of unspoken emotions. He snapped the reins, urging Mulan forward. "Let''s go home," was all he said, his voice carrying the weight of finality.
As the cart trundled back toward Morningstar estate, the last traces of the sun dipped below the horizon. Fall had arrived, bringing with it the promise and decay of a new season. Adamastor was gone, but the iridescent mist that had once been him seemed to linger in the air.
[CH. 0053] - Goodbye, See You Now
The Manor slept in the enveloping darkness. Everyone is locked in the embrace of slumber. Only Merlin moved, his feet barely making a sound on the old wooden floors as he tiptoed into the kitchen. He was a man on a mission¡ªsimple yet deeply personal. He filled the kettle, put it on the stove, and watched as steam began to dance from its spout. He turned off the heat and steeped a pot of strong black tea, its aroma filling the quiet kitchen.
Swaddled in a heavy blanket to ward off the evening chill, Merlin carefully balanced the still-warm teapot on a stool alongside an oversized mug. With practised ease, he navigated through the hushed hallways to the entry gate of the Manor. He had prepared himself for the cold and the lack of sleep, donning layers and mentally bracing himself for the night ahead.
This was something he couldn''t, wouldn''t miss. He had to bear witness to it.
He set the stool down just outside the entrance, providing a makeshift table for his teapot and mug. The night air was colder than he had anticipated, but the blanket and the steaming tea offered their modest comforts. With a kind of reverent care, he poured himself a mug of the dark brew.
Sitting there, clutching the warm mug between his hands, he allowed his gaze to wander into the ink-black night. Stars twinkled like celestial embers, but what he awaited was a different kind of spectacle. The surrounding darkness seemed to thicken, as if aware that it would soon play stage to a moment both singular and poignant.
Time crept on languidly, much like Mulan, the slowest mule that ever lived. Merlin sipped his tea, his senses honed, his spirit attuned to the pregnant silence. For tonight, he was not just a man; he was a sentinel, vigilant and committed.
And so he waited, eyes peering into the obsidian landscape, ready to bear witness to whatever mysteries the night chose to unveil.
"Merlin?"
Startled awake by the gentle shaking of his shoulder, the old wizard blinked his eyes open. His mouth felt parched, drool crusted at the corners of his lips. Baal''s face loomed over him, etched with concern.
"What? Why... What time is it?" Merlin managed to sputter, still disoriented.
"Did you sleep outside?"
"Why? Can I not?" Merlin''s eyes narrowed, defensive.
Baal frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "Are you trying to die early? I mean, come on, we recently lost one. I don''t think Nord can handle another..." Worry coloured his voice, and Merlin could see the dark circles under Baal''s eyes¡ªa silent testament to a sleepless night, likely Nord''s as well.
"I''m old enough to know where to sleep. And I decided I would sleep here!" Merlin cut him off, effectively dodging further prying.
"Come on, you old lunatic, let me help you get into your room," Baal reached down to hoist Merlin up, but the old man bristled, pushing Baal''s hands away and anchoring himself further into the stool.
"No! Leave me! I''m not moving from here!"
"What''s wrong with you? Are you wooing death? You must be freezing! Come inside!" Baal''s voice escalated, annoyance dripping from each word.
"If you want to help, bring me more tea! I will not leave; I refuse to miss it! Go!" Merlin snapped, his voice ringing with finality.
"Miss what?" Baal sighed, clearly exasperated. "Come on, let''s go inside, at least eat something!"
"I told you to leave me alone! I will stay here; I refuse to leave my spot! If you''re not here to help, then begone!" Merlin''s voice wavered between a growl and a shout.
Baal studied Merlin''s determined face, finally recognizing the stubborn glint in the old man''s eyes. It was a look that signalled no compromise, a look that said he''d made his choice and would live¡ªor perhaps die¡ªby it.
With a resigned sigh, Baal turned on his heels and headed back toward the Manor. Just as he did, he crossed paths with Nord. His heart sank at the sight of her puffy, red eyes¡ªa tangible sign of her ongoing grief.
"What''s wrong?" Her voice was husky, strained from lack of sleep and too many tears.
"Merlin''s lost it. He spent the night outdoors waiting for...whatever."
"He can''t be outside. He''ll get sick."
"I couldn''t reason with him."
"For fuck''s sake," Nord muttered under her breath. She took a deep, steadying breath, then stormed outside to where Merlin sat.
"Are you staying here?" She didn''t even bother with a greeting.
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"Yes!" Merlin responded, eyes still shining with that same stubborn resolve.
"I need my stool back."
"What? Why? You have so many inside!" Merlin looked genuinely shocked.
Nord''s voice was icy. "That stool is my property, Merlin. I''m Nord Morningstar, not you. You are a guest in my house, living here rent-free. The stool is mine. The blanket is mine. The teapot and the mug¡ªall of it is mine." She picked up the pot and the mug from the ground and handed them to Baal, who had followed her outside. She then reached for the blanket, her fingers gripping the fabric as if ready to yank it away. "Do you understand?"
Merlin stared up at her, disbelief etched across his face. "I think you''re being unreasonable!"
"Do you understand?" She repeated, her eyes blazed.
"I think you''re being unreasonable!" Merlin shot back again, his voice rising with indignation.
"Am I? Go to your room. Go rest and be warm!" she commanded, her voice unwavering.
"But I don''t want to miss it," Merlin''s tone softened, the defiance replaced by a pleading note, making him sound almost childlike.
Nord paused, her hand hovering over the blanket. She looked at Merlin, really looked at him, and saw not just the stubborn old wizard but a man clinging to something, something she might not understand but could respect.
She slowly loosened her grip on the blanket, letting it fall back onto Merlin''s lap. "Fine. But I''m bringing you more tea. And another blanket." She turned away, her voice softer now, tinged with resignation rather than anger.
From the counter of the Morningstar, Baal couldn''t help but spy on Merlin, who seemed intent on doing nothing more than sitting on the stool, drinking tea. He''d tried to get more information about what the old man was so determined not to miss, but Merlin had been frustratingly vague. Baal leaned against the counter, his eyes still trained on the elderly wizard.
"He''s still there?" Nord''s voice broke his concentration. She appeared from the back room, holding a clipboard.
"Yeah, hasn''t moved an inch. Just drinking tea and staring into space." Baal finally turned his gaze away from Merlin to look at her. "Do you think he''s lost it?" he asked, twirling his finger near his temple.
Nord craned her neck, trying to get a better view of Merlin. "You think? I mean, I always thought he was quirky but not insane. You think it''s because he''s old?"
"I hope not."
"You''re worried," Nord noted, leaning against the counter beside him.
Baal sighed. "The old man has a way of getting under your skin." His eyes moved from Merlin to the clipboard Nord was holding. "What''s that?"
Nord''s eyes lowered to the clipboard. "Trying to come up with an epitaph for Adamastor''s tombstone. So far, I''ve got ''Friend, loyal, and...'' butler?" Her voice trailed off, suddenly aware of how inadequate the words sounded.
Baal bit his lower lip, considering for a moment. "How about ''Friend and Free Man''?"
"That''s it?" Nord looked at him incredulously.
"Yeah, why?"
She exhaled sharply. "I''ve spent hours trying to come up with something meaningful and authentic. I ask you, and you nail it in less than ten seconds? How do you do that?"
Baal shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. "It was the last thing the man said. It sums him up pretty well, don''t you think?"
Nord looked at Baal, her eyes softening. "Yeah, I do think so.''
As the young man trudged up the gravel path to the Morningstar Manor, he couldn''t help but regret his choice of formal attire. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and he nervously considered the possibility of staining his suit. But finally, he arrived at the imposing front gate.
Bathed in sunlight that filtered through the sprawling canopy of ancient oaks. The light caught strands of his blond hair, which seemed almost halo-like in the radiance. He shielded his vivid blue eyes with one hand, squinting as if the brightness of the day could illuminate the strange complexities he''d stepped into.
His attire¡ªa well-fitted beige suit¡ªgave him an air of youthful formality. Yet, for all his city-boy polish, there was an undeniable earthiness about him, something intrinsically rustic that refused to be tamed by tailored lines and pressed fabrics. His broad shoulders and muscular build hinted at someone not unfamiliar with physical labour; they told the silent story of a man equally at home in urban jungles and sprawling farmlands.
Taking a moment to adjust his blazer and grab his suitcase again, he pushed the gate open and stepped onto the property.
An old man sat there, snoring softly, an empty mug nestled in his hands. It was a charming yet peculiar sight, and for a moment, the young man paused, contemplating the scene. Finally, taking a deep breath, he walked further into the courtyard. There, he saw a red-haired man with curious, dark eyes¡ªthe whites strangely absent, replaced by a radiant orange iris. "Hi, I''m sorry, I''m looking for Miss Morningstar," he ventured a bit awkwardly.
The redhead, Baal, looked up, his eyes widening almost unnaturally. "Uh, one second. I''ll, uh... I''ll go get her. You stay right there."
Baal scurried behind the counter and disappeared through a back door. Moments later, a woman emerged, dressed in black trousers and a blouse. Her skin was a canvas of tattoos, but it was her kind, dark eyes that captivated him the most.
"How..." Nord seemed rooted to the spot, clearly taken aback.
"You must be Rosemary Morningstar," he said, extending a hand, which Nord hesitantly took.
"I''m Adamastor Tagus."
"You are..."
"The new help you hired," Adamastor clarified, flashing a broad smile.
"Aren''t you Miss Morningstar?"
"I''m Nord Morningstar," she corrected.
"Ah, the daughter?"
"Something like that," she decided, sidestepping a lengthy explanation.
"Wait, you can see me?" Baal suddenly interjected.
"Shouldn''t I?" Adamastor looked genuinely confused. He glanced from Baal to Nord and back again, feeling a strange sense of tension in the air.
"If it''s a bad time, I can come back later."
"No, no, no," both Baal and Nord spoke at once, almost stumbling over their words.
"You look uncannily like a friend we had," Nord explained, visibly trying to regain her composure. "He passed away just a few days ago. Actually, I think you''ll be taking his place here."
"Oh, I see. Well, that sounds good to me."
Suddenly, a triumphant yell pierced the atmosphere. "It worked! It worked!" Merlin woke up with a jolt, the empty mug tumbling from his hands as he shouted. An echoing laughter resonated through the walls of the Morningstar Manor, filling the space with an unexplained aura of triumph.
Shaking her head as if snapping out of a daze, Nord turned back to Adamastor. "Anyway, welcome to the Morningstar."
¡°IT WORKED!¡±
END OF BOOK I
[CH. 0054] - The Devil鈥檚 Lawyer
"Have I ever told you I saw a unicorn when I was five?" Nord Morningstar
The rain poured down like a relentless symphony, each droplet a note that only added to the city''s melancholic score. The heavens themselves seemed to weep, shrouding the urban expanse in a curtain of grey that transformed the atmosphere into something reminiscent of a noir film.
Nord stormed through this deluge, her short hair now, plastered to her forehead and cheeks. An umbrella would''ve been practical, but she didn¡¯t had one.
Navigating through blurred streets and blurred faces, she reached her destination¡ªthe library. The same worn fa?ade, the same scent of aged books and new paper blended. It was the same library she''d found ten years ago when she was a different version of herself, younger and naive.
As Nord pushed open the door, a short bell jingled overhead, announcing her presence. Her boots squelched on the entry mat, tracking rivulets of rainwater into the library. She made a beeline for the counter, and there she was¡ªMerlinda, the librarian. With oversized glasses magnifying her eyes and a hairstyle that seemed lifted straight from an ''80s fashion magazine, she was an unchanging constant in an ever-changing world. It was like ten years had done nothing to her.
Nord slammed her palms down onto the counter, making Merlinda jump slightly. The librarian looked up, her eyes narrowing behind the large glasses as she took in Nord''s drenched appearance and defiant stance.
"We need to talk," Nord declared.
The tension between Nord and Merlinda thickened like fog, obscuring the urgency that had filled the room just moments before. Merlinda sighed, tucking another strand of that aerosol-fixed hair behind her ear as she regarded Nord with impatience.
"Not you again," Merlinda huffed, rolling her eyes as if the weight of them would somehow lessen the gravity of the situation. "What do you want?"
"You know exactly what I want!" Nord nearly yelled, "I have only four days left!"
"Ah, well, sweetheart, time passes, and you''re running out. Just...cherish the happy memories you still have," Merlinda replied, waving a hand dismissively as if she were swatting away an irritating fly.
"I don''t give a fuck about my memories, Merlinda! I will no longer be able to see him! I''m begging you, help me. I know you can!" Nord''s voice oscillated between a shout and a plea, her desperation palpable. It was so intense that Merlinda could practically hear Nord''s heartbeat reverberating through the room.
"Calm down! Plea¡ª"
The pair were suddenly interrupted by a young boy, his arms burdened with two books. With an expression of puzzlement and mild concern, he placed them on the counter. His eyes darting between Nord and Merlinda.
"Is that all, sweetheart?" Merlinda''s tone shifted effortlessly from curt to saccharine as she addressed the boy, masking the preceding intensity.
"Yes, I''d like to pay by card."
"Of course," Merlinda said, swivelling around to grab her card reader. She tapped a few keys and turned the machine toward the boy, who inserted his card and then entered his PIN.
A deafening silence filled the library, punctuated only by the soft hum of the receipt printer. The boy took his books and receipt, leaving with a glance back at Nord, who remained, her face flushed and her eyes steeled.
Once he was gone, Merlinda looked back to Nord. "So, you were saying?"
"Four days, Merlinda. Are you going to help me or not?" Nord''s voice had lost its pleading tone, replaced by an edge as sharp as a knife.
Merlinda''s eyes widened, and for the first time since their confrontation began, a hint of genuine fear etched itself across her features. "Oh, for Atua''s sake, girl, you are so intense," she sighed. "What am I supposed to do? Perform some witchy time spell and send you back ten years ago? Choices have consequences, Morningstar!"
Nord clenched her fists tightly, the knuckles turning a ghostly white, and slammed them down onto the counter. "I know what choices I''ve made, Merlinda! That''s not what I''m asking you for!"
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Merlinda, now exasperated, leaned forward over the counter, bringing her face close to Nord''s. "Then we''re clearly not speaking the same lingo, darling, because I have no fucking clue what you want from me!"
Nord locked eyes with her and dropped her voice to an eerie calm. "Have I ever told you I saw a unicorn when I was five?"
The question was so far out of context that Merlinda recoiled, her eyes darting around as if searching for some hidden meaning or perhaps a weapon to shield herself.
At that moment, she noticed Nord''s eyes shift in hue¡ªdark irises glowing a soft, incandescent white. Around them, books erupted from their shelves, swirling in the air as if caught in a whirlwind of invisible force.
"Okay, Nord, let''s calm down," Merlinda stammered, her previous bravado draining from her like water through a sieve. "We can talk this out. You met that little demon because of me, right? I mean, I''m practically your fairy godmother!"
"Have I told you what happened after I saw that unicorn?" Nord''s voice held a new intensity as her eyes glowed brighter. The books circling them now seemed to move more erratically as if responding to the emotional crescendo of their argument, "Have I told you what I did to it?"
Merlinda gripped the edge of the counter, her bravado shattered. "No, you haven''t. And I have the distinct feeling you''re about to. But I really don''t want to know!"
The air in the library felt electric, crackling with energy so palpable it made the hair on Merlinda''s arms stand up. She''d always thought of Nord as intense, but what she was witnessing now went beyond her understanding. Books floated through the air like restless spirits, spiralling around Nord as she stood at the centre of the chaos. There were no words for the type of magic this human was using.
With a graceful extension of her arm, Nord channelled some unseen force and slammed Merlinda''s back until her shoulders collided heavily with the wall. Gradually, as Nord raised her hand higher, Merlinda found herself levitating, her shoes separating from the floor.
Merlinda''s fingers clawed at the empty air as if trying to free herself, her eyes locking onto Nord''s. What she saw there left her breathless: a concoction of fervour, desperation, and an unwavering resolve. Nord would spare no means to reach her ends.
"What the hell, Nord?" Merlinda rasped, the edges of her voice tinged with incredulity and a hint of terror.
Eyes ablaze, Nord spoke as if channelling an ancient oracle. "After I met the unicorn, do you have any idea what I did? Can you even imagine it? A little girl and an Allatori?"
Merlinda''s eyes widened, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Nord was an enigma, sure, but this? This was beyond reason. "Okay, point taken. Can you set me down now?"
Nord flicked her wrist, and Merlinda''s feet reconnected with the floor. She staggered a bit, gripping the edge of a nearby counter as she gathered herself. The defiant edge she''d always worn like armour had softened, replaced by a reluctant reverence.
Merlinda sighed, her voice surrendering to the inevitable. "So what do you need from me, Nord?"
"I need to alter the contract," Nord declared, her eyes scanning Merlinda''s face for signs of reaction.
"With an Eldrich demon? Are you insane? You can''t change a pact like that!" Merlinda felt her voice climbing in pitch, nearing the brink of hysteria.
"I''m aware! Baal himself couldn''t find any loophole. But I''ve thought this through¡ªI don''t care about losing my memories. I have a plan to retain the information I need. It''s not important. What I must have is a way for him to see me." Nord''s eyes locked onto Merlinda''s, a silent entreaty in her gaze.
Merlinda adjusted her glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of her nose. "Why? Don''t give me the Disney princess act. Men come and go, darling." She shook her head. "You knew what you were getting into; you both did. That''s how pacts work."
Nord squared her shoulders, her eyes narrowing. "It will hurt him."
"Aw, your little demon is a big boy. He''ll live," Merlinda quipped, her smile condescending.
"I know how to destroy the Hollow," Nord blurted out.
Merlinda''s eyes widened, her condescension evaporating. "Well, then, what''s the problem?"
"The problem," Nord leaned over the counter, her voice taking on a deadly undertone, "is that of all the memories and information I managed to save. That is the one piece I didn''t. Only Baal can access it¡ªit will be in one of his memory jars. Do you see where I''m going with this?"
Merlinda held her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"And guess what?" Nord''s eyes flickered with a dangerous triumph.
"What?"
"I never told him, and I''m not going to. Not a single word, not a single clue. Nada!"
Merlinda was floored, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "You''re playing a dangerous game, Morningstar."
Nord shrugged, a wry grin playing on her lips. "Well, isn''t that the story of my life?"
Merlinda sighed, rubbing her temples as if physically trying to smooth away the tension that had coiled within her. "You''re impossible, you know that? But if you''re hell-bent on altering a contract, you''ll need legal expertise."
"A lawyer?" Nord raised an eyebrow, her scepticism evident. "Are you serious?"
"As serious as an Allatori can be," Merlinda answered. She started digging through her purse, the sound of rummaging filling the room for a moment.
Finally, she pulled out a small rectangular card and slid it across the counter. "This is the guy who represented me in my divorce. Brilliant and open-minded, a lethal combo. He squeezed every last penny out of my ex. I can''t recommend him enough."
Nord picked up the card, reading the embossed letters with a sort of awe. She met Merlinda''s eyes, a glint of hesitant optimism flickering within her own. "If this works, I''ll remember it."
"No, you won''t," Merlinda corrected her, an ironic smile tugging at her lips.
Nord chuckled, the tension in the room finally beginning to dissipate. "Right. No, I won''t."
[CH. 0055] - The Devil鈥檚 Lawyer
The rain was relentless, pelting down on Nord as she navigated the city streets, each droplet seemingly intent on soaking her through to the bone. By the time she pushed through the glass doors of the law firm, her clothes clung to her like a second, sodden skin. Her boots squelched with each step, leaving a trail of water behind her as she approached the reception desk.
Nord slammed the business card onto the counter, locking eyes with the young receptionist¡ªhair pulled back into a ponytail, eyes barely visible behind a curtain of long lashes. "I need to speak with him," Nord declared, her voice tinged with an urgency that brooked no refusal.
The receptionist picked up the card, glancing at it briefly before returning her gaze to Nord. "I can schedule you for next Tuesday at 2 p.m.," she replied, her tone brimming with practised professionalism.
"I said now," Nord pressed, her voice rising in pitch, eyes narrowing.
The receptionist leaned forward, her eyes finally visible, defiant, and steely. "And I said next Tuesday," she countered, pushing the card back across the counter toward Nord.
Frustration boiling within her, Nord''s eyes darted around the foyer. They landed on a door to her left¡ªbearing the same name that was embossed on the card in her hand. She considered barging in but thought better of it. "Where''s the bathroom?" she asked, feigning a casual tone.
The receptionist looked up from her desk, an air of nonchalance casting a veil over her features. "Nice try, heard that one before. Next Tuesday," she said, her voice dry as she slid the business card back toward Nord across the smooth, marbled counter.
Nord felt her hands clench. The air around her grew thick, the ivory walls seeming to move inward, suffocating her. With a tight smile, she pocketed the card. "Thanks, but no thanks."
Ignoring the receptionist''s implied finality, Nord turned sharply on her heel, her boots echoing on the tiled floor as she aimed straight for the mahogany office door. She hadn''t covered more than a foot when the receptionist leapt up, lunging around her desk with surprising agility to block Nord''s way. The palm of her hand slammed against Nord''s shoulder.
"Hold up there, speedster," she spat, a mixture of irritation and resolve filling her words. "You''re not pulling a Leroy Jenkins on me. Go away before I call the cops."
Nord froze for a split second, assessing her options. She then tried to sidestep the human barricade, but the receptionist matched her move, swift and determined. In a flash, Nord shifted her tactics. Her hand shot out, seizing the receptionist''s wrist and twisting it behind her back with the precision of a seasoned fighter. She pushed the woman forward, pressing her against the cold marble counter.
"I said I need him now!" Nord snarled, her voice turning into a guttural growl that rumbled deep in her chest. Her neck muscles tightened, veins pulsing under her skin as she applied just enough pressure to make her point. "Tuesday doesn''t work for me."
At that precise moment, the office door swung open with a burst of energy. A man stepped out, his eyes rounding like saucers at the tableau before him. "What the hell is going on here?"
Releasing her iron grip, Nord allowed the receptionist to scurry away. The woman massaged her wrist, sending Nord a glare potent enough to ignite paper. Nord''s gaze, however, was already on the newcomer.
"You''re Merlinda Allatori''s lawyer, I presume?" she asked, her tone icy yet composed.
"Yes, I am. And you are?" The man''s words dripped with both exasperation and a flicker of genuine curiosity.
From her pocket, Nord fished out the business card¡ªnow slightly crumpled and damp¡ªand extended it toward him. "Merlinda gave me this. I''m Nord Morningstar."
The lawyer''s eyes widened further, if possible, as he looked from the soaked card to Nord''s unwavering face. A brief, electric pause settled in the air before he blurted out, "Morningstar, as in¡ª"
Nord cut him off. "Yes. That Morningstar. So, can we talk now, or do I need to schedule another wrestling match with your receptionist?"
The lawyer swallowed, suddenly aware that Tuesdays might not be set in stone after all. "Uh, right this way, Ms. Morningstar."
Nord slumped into the leather chair opposite the desk, her body sagging under the weight of exhaustion. The lawyer settled into his own seat, steepling his fingers and leaning forward as if bracing for impact. "So, how can I help you?"
Nord sighed. "What do you know about the Morningstars?"
"Enough to know that when one of you crosses paths with an Allatori like Merlinda, we''re probably looking at apocalyptic odds," he quipped, letting out a chuckle as though he''d just told a brilliant joke.
Nord was not amused. She slid her chair closer to the table and rested her elbows on the glossy wood. Time was a luxury she couldn''t afford. "I need to change a contract."
The lawyer raised an eyebrow. "What kind of contract are we talking about?"
"Merlinda told me you have an open mind, is that correct?"
"Well, in my line of work, thinking outside the box comes with the territory."
Nord''s eyes narrowed, calculating. "I made a deal. In exchange for all my happy memories, I''d be given the tools and knowledge to complete a specific task," she said, veiling the details in calculated ambiguity.
The lawyer leaned back, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Ah, we''re dealing in metaphors, then."
"The problem is, once the contract is fulfilled, I won''t remember him."
The lawyer tilted his head. "And why is that an issue?"
"We''ve been together for ten years. I can let go of my memories. We can make new ones. But losing him entirely¡ªerasing him from my existence¡ªis unacceptable. It''ll destroy him," Nord''s voice faltered, the emotional weight seeping through her usual stoicism.
The lawyer stretched back in his chair, his hand moving to cradle his head as he rocked slightly. "I was never much of a fan of fantasy novels, but let''s go along with this. Ten years ago, you were what, eighteen?"
"Fifteen. He was sixteen," Nord clarified.
"Ah, minors then. But it seems legal loopholes aren''t what you''re after. You''re seeking universal law amendments, correct?"
"Exactly."
He considered her for a moment, his eyes sharpening. "So you made a pact. You traded your happy memories for some nebulous ''tools,'' and you''re okay with that part. But the kicker is he''ll cease to exist for you. Do I have that right?"
"Yes."
"Is there a reason other than this love story? You don''t seem like the sort to throw everything away for a guy, that''s all."
Nord looked at him, her eyes piercing. "Is love not reason enough?"
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The lawyer sighed, realizing he''d ventured into territory that transcended contracts and legalese. "Well, then. It appears we have quite the quandary, don''t we?"
Nord nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, we do. So, can you help me?"
The lawyer stood up from his leather chair, moving toward the expansive window that framed a tapestry of city lights and towering skyscrapers. His hands found their way into his pockets as he spoke, his words echoing softly against the glass. "You know, I''ve been married three times. If those experiences taught me anything, it''s that love is rarely, if ever, enough."
He paused, staring at the frenetic world below as if searching for answers in the labyrinthine streets and glowing windows. "Unconditional love is a scarce commodity, often reserved for the bond between a parent and child. And let''s be frank, not everyone gets to experience even that."
Turning back to face Nord, his expression was tinged with a melancholy wisdom. "Relationships are transactions at their core. You provide something essential to me, and I reciprocate. That can manifest in various ways: financial support, emotional security, comfort, physical intimacy, affirmation, and so on."
He walked back to his desk and leaned against it, locking eyes with Nord. "They''re ugly words for capturing something as complex and beautiful as human connection, but there it is."
Nord looked at him, absorbing the gravity of his words. She couldn''t deny the transactional elements in her own relationship, the exchange of support and love, of shared dreams and, sometimes, shared burdens. Yet, wasn''t that exchange a part of the beauty, the fabric that wove two lives together so intricately that the thought of tearing it apart was unbearable?
"Maybe you''re right," she said finally, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and defiance. "Maybe love isn''t enough in the grand scheme of things. But sometimes, it''s all we have to offer. And sometimes, it''s all we want in return."
The lawyer looked at her for a long moment as if measuring the weight of her words against the sum of his life''s experiences. Finally, he nodded. "In your case, love might just be the closest thing to a universal law. Let''s see if we can''t amend that contract of yours."
Nord rose from her chair, moved to his desk, and began clearing away stacks of paper, pens, and an ugly trinket. Her finger traced a quick rune in the air, and in an instant, a massive pile of documents materialized on the desk with a thud.
The lawyer''s eyes widened. "What is that?"
"That''s the contract," Nord clarified.
"That''s... very extensive."
"Over five hundred pages. Baal went through it meticulously, looking for loopholes, but found nothing," Nord added.
He stared at her, puzzled. "So let me get this straight. This contract, which you''ve conjured out of thin air¡ªforgive my lack of expertise in fantasy novels¡ªyou''re a witch?"
"Warlock," Nord corrected.
"I''m sorry, what?"
"Warlock. I summon demons. Baal is a demon. I made a pact with him, which grants me certain powers. That makes me a warlock, not a witch."
The lawyer looked at the towering stack of paper as if it might spontaneously combust. "I''ve never encountered a contract this colossal. You say Baal''s looked for a loophole. If he''s as invested in changing this contract as you are, why hasn''t he?"
Nord''s expression tightened with frustration and exasperation. "I told you, he''s a demon. Demons don''t lie; they''re bound by their word. He can''t alter the terms of a pact once it''s made any more than I can."
The lawyer leaned back in his chair, hands clasped together, eyes scrutinizing Nord. "Well, that presents a unique challenge, doesn''t it? And are you sure you want to keep this relationship? I mean, I see you''re in love and all, but nothing lasts forever."
Nord leaned in, her eyes intense. "But what if it does? Some couples stay together until death separates them. Why can''t Baal and I be one of them?"
It was as if a light bulb had suddenly been switched on above the lawyer''s head. "Until death do us part!" He bolted out of his chair as if struck by divine inspiration, pacing excitedly around the room. "You don''t want the contract annulled¡ªyou want it extended until recession!"
Nord squinted, struggling to keep up with the lawyer''s rapid-fire train of thought. "I''m not sure I''m following you..."
The lawyer stopped, planted his palms flat on the desk, and locked eyes with her. "You need to marry him!"
"Marry him?" Nord blinked, momentarily stunned.
The lawyer sank back into his chair, grinning as if he''d solved a puzzle that had stumped the greatest minds for ages. "Yes, go to a Register Office, get married, and make it clear in your vows. That way, you don''t just get an extension on your contract, which is due to end in four days, but you''ll also get your assets back¡ªyour memories. A marriage contract merges assets. His assets become your assets, which means he can''t keep your memories hostage. He''d have to give them back until death comes for one of you."
Nord''s eyes widened as realization flooded her face. "So, if I incorporate that into my vows¡ª"
"And if he echoes them back to you," the lawyer cut in, "clean, straightforward, then you''ve got your loophole. You can live happily ever after, bound by a law that not even a demon can refute."
Nord felt a smile stretch across her lips, her heart throbbing in her chest as if suddenly infused with hope. "Wow," she whispered, almost disbelieving. "Just wow."
The lawyer opened a drawer and pulled out a pastel pink sheet of paper, contrasting with the otherwise austere atmosphere of the room. He handed her the sheet along with a sleek, silver pen.
"Here, take this. Write down every word, and let''s make sure it''s bulletproof, shall we?"
Nord took the paper and pen, laying the sheet flat on the desk. She felt the pen''s weight in her hand as if it were a wand of transformation. "Bulletproof, right. No loopholes for a demon to sneak through."
"Exactly," the lawyer leaned back, watching her intently. "Remember, the devil¡ªpardon the pun¡ªis in the details."
Nord looked up and grinned at the joke, then turned her focus back to the paper. Slowly, she began to write, her hand moving as if guided by something greater than her.
"''I, Nord Salom¨¦ Morningstar...''"
Baal''s legs pressed against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, his fingers interwoven in a desperate mesh of hope and superstition. His eyes were riveted to the glass window of the oven, entranced by the tantalizing dance of the souffl¨¦''s golden-brown crust.
"Grow, you glorious puff of air. Make me proud, come on, make daddy proud," he muttered, his lips almost grazing the floor. "Come on, you little miracle of eggs and air¡ªgrow, grow."
Beside him, Kirara purred affectionately, rubbing her fluffy body against his jeans as if offering her own form of prayer.
Then it happened¡ªthe door creaked open with the menacing subtlety of a horror film''s score. The souffl¨¦, once poised for culinary greatness, deflated miserably, surrendering to the sudden change in air pressure.
"Oh, you''ve got to be kidding me!" Baal groaned, his voice steeped in disappointment.
Startled by his outcry, Kirara leapt away, her tail fluffed up like a bottle brush.
"Baby, I''m home!" Nord''s voice filled the apartment, tinged with a note of urgency that sent an instinctual shiver down Baal''s spine.
Scrambling to his feet, Baal dashed towards the hallway, his slippers scuffling against the floor. There, soaked to the bone, stood Nord. Water dripped from her hair, pooling around her feet, and clutched in her arms was a wedding dress, limp and equally drenched.
"Nord, what the hell?" Baal exclaimed, his eyes darting from her dripping figure to the saturated dress she held. "Am I missing something?"
"We need to talk, Baal," Nord''s voice quivered her eyes a kaleidoscope of fear, hope, and something else he couldn''t quite pinpoint.
Baal moved closer, his hands reaching for the dress. Nord tightened her grip, her knuckles white. "Talk, Nord. You''re scaring me. What''s going on?"
Tears escaped her eyes as she struggled to form words. "You love me, right?" Her voice was a broken whisper, "You really love me?"
"Of course, I love you. What happened? Are you alright?"
Nord flinched as Baal attempted to pull her into an embrace. "I need a ''yes'' or ''no'' answer, Baal."
He swallowed hard, his heart pounding audibly in his ears. "Okay, spit it out, Morningstar."
"Will you marry me?"
"Wha--"
"No explanations, just¡ªplease, say yes. I''m begging you, Baal, please say yes," Nord tightened her grip on the wedding dress as if it were a lifeline.
His eyes searched hers, every fibre of his being wanting to understand the urgency, the desperation. But in that moment, clarity washed over him. He gently pulled her close, the wet dress squelching between them.
"If it''s what you want, then yes, of course, I''ll marry you," he whispered, his voice tinged with emotion. "There is nothing else that I want more than to share my life with you. But we don''t have rings and--"
"I don''t give a damn about the rings!" Nord''s voice broke, "I just want to get married."
"Okay, okay," Baal soothed, stroking her wet hair. "What''s the next step then?"
Nord looked at her phone, her breath still uneven. "We have, maybe, less than twenty minutes to get ready."
"Twenty minutes? For a wedding? Are you serious?"
"Yes, I scheduled us at the Registry Office. They have a spot in forty-five minutes."
"Registry Office? You''ve actually booked a slot?" Baal''s eyes widened, incredulity and amusement wrestling for dominance on his face.
"Yes, and if we don''t hurry, we''re going to miss it!" Nord emphasized, her eyes flicking to the wall clock ticking away their precious minutes.
"Alright, alright, I can work with that," Baal muttered, his eyes narrowing in determination. With a sudden burst of energy, he bolted down the hall, shouting over his shoulder, "I call dibs on the bathroom!"
As the sound of footsteps faded and a bathroom door slammed shut, Nord looked down at the white bundle of satin and lace in her arms. She then met Kirara''s inquisitive eyes and offered the cat a conspiratorial wink. "It''s going to work, you''ll see! We are not losing him."
[CH. 0056] - The Message
Baal''s eyes snapped open, plunging him into an unsettling darkness. He extended an arm to the other side of the bed, expecting to touch the warm curve of Nord''s body. It was empty. A ripple of anxiety washed over him. The absence of any visible clock only heightened his sense of unease, but a subtle clinking of metal and glass seemed to drift up from downstairs.
Moving stealthily to avoid any creaking floorboards that might disturb the sleeping world, Baal navigated his way through the shadowy corridor and down the stairs.
A shard of light leaked from beneath the closed door of the tattoo shop. The light seemed out of place, like a beacon in the midst of nocturnal stillness.
He opened the door, and the sight that met him halted his steps. There was Nord, sitting on the floor, her back against the tattoo chair. She was surrounded by an array of small trinkets¡ªrings, lockets, odd bits of colourful glass. Her hands sifted through them with trembling motions. She finally looked up at him when he approached, her eyes hollow, haunted.
It hit him, then. The Hollow was getting hungrier, and it was consuming Nord from the inside.
"Nord?" His voice broke the silence, coated with a heavy layer of concern. "Is it bad tonight?"
Her eyes were like coals that had burned too long locked on his gaze, "It''s starving, Baal," she croaked, still cradling a locket in her trembling hands. "I can feel it gnawing at me."
Baal sank to his knees beside her, his eyes scanning the objects scattered across the floor. "Come to bed."
"It''s not enough," she murmured, the words chilling in their resignation, "It''s not enough."
Baal felt a tightening in his chest as he looked at her. The Nord he knew¡ªthe fiery, effervescent woman¡ªseemed to be crumbling from within, deteriorated by this insatiable parasite.
Since Adamastor''s resurrected return a few months ago, the Hollow had grown exponentially greedier, draining away at all the magical objects Nord could scrape together.
Something had changed. Baal could sense it in how she''d been drawing into herself, becoming more aloof, retreating even from him. His suspicions about the content on her phone nagged at him. Still, every attempt to delve into it had been hindered, leaving him feeling helpless. He knew the answer lay within. But why was she keeping it all for herself?
"Nord, come to bed," he said again, this time with more urgency as if the simple act of moving from this room could sever the invisible tendrils of the Hollow. "I don''t think there''s anything left here for it to feed on. And you''re freezing."
She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself as if she could physically hold together the fragments of her being. "I''m scared, Baal. It''s getting stronger, and I don''t know if I can keep this up. It''s too much."
He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her trembling form, trying to lend her his own warmth, his own strength. "Nord, you''re freezing," Baal pulled her closer. "You can''t keep doing this."
She let out a quiet, breathless laugh. "I don''t have a choice, do I?"
The room seemed to tighten around them, and Baal felt his frustration rising.
"Actually, you do," Baal insisted, his voice stronger now, "I know you''re holding something back, Nord. Ever since Adamastor returned, it''s like you''ve pulled away into a shell. Is it connected to this? To the Hollow?"
She looked at him, her eyes flickering as if debating whether to let him in on whatever secret she''d been carrying. "It''s complicated, Baal."
"So uncomplicate it. Is it about Adamastor? Is it about me?. You''re not just feeding the Hollow. You''re starving yourself¡ªstarving me too. And I can''t stand by and watch that happen," Baal implored, each word a raw nerve, each sentence an act of emotional exposure, "I want to know we''ll be okay... I mean, you''ll be okay. If you''re okay, well, I''m okay too."
Nord''s eyes met his, and for a moment, he saw the flicker of decision¡ªthe weighing of options in a split second. Then, finally, her shoulders sagged.
"Alright," she whispered, the word filled with a reservoir of meanings. "Alright, but not tonight. Tonight, I¡ not tonight."
The tattoo machine buzzed like a persistent insect, its needle dipping into the skin, then pulling away, leaving a sliver of dark ink in its wake. Nord''s hand moved with practised finesse, even as her eyes betrayed signs of fatigue.
The design was intricate¡ªa squid intricately entwining a skull¡ªand her client, a sturdy Puck, had chosen his scalp as the canvas for the art, nearly breaking her needle twice in the process.
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The door opened with the tinkling of a small bell, and Sirona unexpectedly walked in. Her eyes took in the scene¡ªNord engrossed in her work and Puck trying to hold still, not showing his pain but his hoove slamming the floor a couple of times, the atmosphere thick with the scent of antiseptic and ink.
"Do you have an opening today?" Sirona asked, her eyes locking onto Nord''s.
Nord glanced at the clock, then at her nearly completed tattoo. "Give me five more minutes, and you''re on," she said, her voice laced with a professional calm even as her hands continued the delicate line over the Puck''s horn.
Sirona smiled. "Fantastic. You see, I went to Covenhelm and came across this incredible chess set. It''s remarkable, except for one tiny detail¡ªthe figurines move on their own."
A flicker of interest lit up Nord''s tired eyes. "Living chess pieces? Now, that''s not something you see every day."
"Exactly," Sirona replied, her voice tinged with both amusement and a sliver of concern. "It''s fascinating but unnerving. I''d love to actually play the game without becoming a part of it."
Nord wiped away excess ink from the Puck''s head and took a step back, examining her work. "Alright, this should do it," she declared, satisfied. She reached for a clean cloth to dab a final touch of antiseptic on the freshly inked design. "How does it look?"
The Puck examined his horn in the mirror, a grin splitting his face. "It''s bloody amazing, Nord. Worth every moment."
"Great. That''ll be all for now. Take care of that tattoo, and try not to get any sunlight for a couple of weeks."
The hum of the tattoo machine died down as Nord flicked it off, pulling off her gloves with a snap. The Puck had just sauntered out, a fresh etching tattoo on his skull and one of the tendrils spiralling around his horn.
"Alright, Sirona, you''re next. Let''s jazz up that chessboard you''ve been ranting about," she said, reaching for a clean cloth to wipe down the leather chair that had just been vacated.
Sirona flashed her a sidelong grin. "Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of tea than tattoos today."
Nord paused, raising an eyebrow as she cleaned her needle with sanitiser. "Tea? What''s the chessboard doing here then?"
"Ah, that," Sirona said, circling the chair like a predator sizing up its prey. "It''s a gift. I just wanted to catch up, you know, as friends do."
Nord shot her a sceptical glance as she began to sanitise the tabletop. "I''m fine, Sirona. Really, I am."
"No, you''re not." Sirona''s voice dropped an octave, losing its playful lilt. "You''ve got bags under your eyes, your lips are dry as a desert, and Baal came to my office practically begging me to talk to you. That doesn''t spell ''fine'' to me."
The words hung heavy in the room, suspended like the mist of disinfectant Nord had just sprayed. "So, what''s this? An intervention?"
Sirona lowered herself onto the chair, her expression earnest. "No, it''s a concern. From both of us."
Putting the disinfectant aside, Nord met Sirona''s gaze for the first time since their conversation had turned serious. "I can take care of myself."
"But you''re fraying at the edges, Nord. We all see it. Even Kirara must have noticed by now."
"Kirara is a cat. If it isn''t chicken, she doesn''t make any judgment," Nord quipped, but her eyes flickered, revealing a shard of vulnerability she usually concealed.
Sirona leaned in, locking eyes with Nord. "You''re so busy filling other people''s cups you''ve let yours run dry. What''s weighing you down?"
Nord sighed deeply, the weight of her admission mingling with the stale air of the tattoo studio. She massaged her temples as if she could knead the tension out of her own thoughts. "The Hollow''s restless. I can''t seem to satiate it, and it''s wearing me down. Satisfied?"
Sirona tilted her head, her eyes softening. "Rosemary had that same strained look on her face, that same bite in her voice after Frank passed. She was in pain. Real, gut-wrenching pain." She sidled up next to Nord and rested a hand on her shoulder, its warmth seeping through the fabric of her blouse. "So, what''s gnawing at you, Nord?"
"Besides the Hollow?" Nord buried her face in her arm for a moment, the inked designs that decorated her skin a vibrant contrast to her pallor. When she lifted her head, her eyes were misty, and she looked directly at Sirona. "I think I lied to Baal. And what''s worse is that I don''t even remember what it was. He has that piece of memory somewhere in a jar, not me. How can I even face him? How can I build a relationship, a life with a man when there''s a lie between us¡ªespecially one that I don''t even remember? How am I supposed to let him in?"
Sirona was about to respond, but her gaze flicked to the back door of the studio, capturing Nord''s attention. Following her line of sight, Nord''s heart sank when she saw Baal standing there. His eyes were wide, like saucers filled to the brim with a concoction of confusion and hurt. Without uttering a word, he turned on his heel and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft thud.
The room felt suddenly colder as if the temperature had plummeted with Baal''s departure. Nord''s eyes welled up further, this time with tears that spilt over the brim. "I suppose he heard all that."
Sirona squeezed Nord''s shoulder, her grip firm but gentle. "Maybe it''s for the best."
The sky was a swirl of warm hues, crimson and amber clashing and mingling as the sun bowed out for the day. Sirona found Baal leaning against the wall of the manor, his eyes lost in the twilight tapestry above him.
"Baal?"
He looked down, pulling his hands from his pockets momentarily before slipping them back in. "Hey. How is she?"
"She''s...fragile," Sirona answered, her eyes narrowing as she searched for the right words. "She reminds me of Rosemary towards the end. It''s unsettling. The Hollow is getting the better of her. But I''ve found a magical relic that might just give her some... peace."
Baal''s gaze dropped to his feet, where he was absently nudging a small pebble with the tip of his shoe. "I don''t know how to help her without making it worse. I don''t want to be another weight on her shoulders. I want her to... you know."
Sirona was about to offer some consoling words, but something about Baal''s demeanour gave her pause. There was a flicker in his eyes, a glimmer that wasn''t there a moment before. His lips were taut as if suppressing a grin.
"What''s going on in that twisted mind of yours, you demon?"
Baal looked up, his eyes ablaze with a fire that seemed to dance in time with the sinking sun. The grin he''d been holding back burst forth, as unrestrained as a wildfire. "She said she wanted to build a life with me, Sirona. Do you have any idea what that means to me? That''s huge! That''s monumental! That''s...that''s progress of the highest order."
Sirona shook her head, a reluctant smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "You really are a piece of work, you know that?"
Baal shrugged, still revelling in his newfound joy. "When you are me, you take your victories where you can find them." Baal smiled wider, "My wife likes me!"
[CH. 0057] - The Message
Glasssrass was a city encased in ice, its soul carved from the snow that endlessly blanketed its expanse. A chill so brutal hovered in the air that even the hardiest of crops and livestock were rendered unsustainable. The rivers lay trapped beneath a crystalline shroud of ice tucked against the fringes of Nyu''s Polar region.
Glasssrass was the heart of the training ground for the royal house''s elite soldiers, chosen to serve the crown in the harshest conditions imaginable. The forbidding cold served as both a relentless taskmaster and impenetrable shield, ensuring that only the strongest survived and that prying eyes were kept at a considerable distance.
As the tenuous light of dusk broke over the horizon, cadets pounded their boots through the snow-covered training grounds. Their steps sank into the white powder, the crunching sound swallowed by the vast, icy wilderness.
Restelo stood at the edge of the camp and watched the scene unfold with an air of detached interest. Vampires were not susceptible to the bite of cold or the caress of warmth; their internal thermostat was forever fixed at an unchanging neutral. To Restelo, Glasssrass and its inhabitants were a feast waiting to be consumed, an army ripe for the picking. An instrument for his revenge.
"Look at them, scrambling like ants in a blizzard," he muttered to himself, his fangs subtly elongating at the thought of fresh, royal blood coursing through his veins. "The best and brightest the crown has to offer. What a delicious irony it would be to turn them into the very thing they''ve been trained to fight."
Restelo''s eyes darted on a young cadet struggling at the back of the pack. Something about the boy''s palpable vulnerability intrigued him and sparked an itch he''d long forgotten.
Pitty. But that would have to wait.
He descended the hill at a languid pace while a hissing sound filled the air. His skin met the last rays of sunlight, giving off tendrils of steam. It was as though the heavens themselves protested his unholy presence.
Physical pain, however, was of little concern to him¡ªespecially when compared to the humiliation inflicted by the audacity of that lesser demon.
Baal. The very name churned his insides like boiling acid. The demon had dared to challenge him and had succeeded in destroying one of his most prized creations right before his eyes, the beautiful Marcella. Such insolence couldn''t go unanswered.
Restelo''s boots crunched over the frozen earth as he approached the perimeter of the camp. Each step sent a chill up his spine, not from the cold¡ªhe barely felt that¡ªbut from the anticipation that electrified the air.
Before he could fully make out the banners flapping over the encampment, a voice as hard as ice shards cut through the winter air.
"Halt! Stay where you are!"
Restelo froze in his tracks, eyes narrowing as he turned toward the source. From the shadow of the camp''s imposing wooden gates emerged a figure. This was no ordinary guard; the man''s armour glinted silver as if under the moonlight, its weight bearing down on his broad shoulders with an air of authority.
"You there! Identify yourself!" the man barked, his fingers a hair''s breadth away from the hilt of his sheathed sword. "You''re on royal land. The penalty for trespassing is death!"
For a second, Restelo considered his choices. Could he charm his way past this obstacle, or would he have to resort to force? A slow, chilling smile spread across his face. "Oh, would you be terribly disappointed if I said I came in peace?"
The Commander eyed Restelo from head to toe as though looking for some indelible mark of his intentions. "Men like you don''t know the meaning of peace. You''re a Vampire! Creatures of your kind know only death and destruction."
"Ah, my reputation precedes me," Restelo purred, his voice dripping with a velvety menace. "How terribly vexing to be so transparent."
Restelo moved a deliberate step forward, crossing the threshold of the camp. The Commander''s face flushed crimson, veins popping along his temple. "I said halt, damn you!"
"Oh, I heard you quite clearly," Restelo retorted, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "I just chose to ignore you."
Before the Commander could even touch the hilt of his sword, Restelo lunged at him with preternatural speed. His teeth sank into the Commander''s neck, snapping his head back with a sickening crunch. The man''s eyes widened in disbelief before he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
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No sooner had the Commander''s body dug in the snow than Restelo was fleeing as a dark blur against the snow-covered landscape. It was a spectacle that defied logic, a symphony of violence orchestrated in the blink of an eye. He moved among the platoon of young, untrained cadets who couldn''t even begin to comprehend the horror that was unfolding.
Their mouths opened in silent screams, too shocked to react or even to grasp a weapon.
In less time than it took for a winter gust to sweep through the trees, Restelo had done his gruesome work. One by one, the young men dropped like marionettes whose strings had been cut, staining the white snow a horrifying shade of red. No cry for help was uttered, no sword unsheathed. It was over almost as soon as it had begun, and the camp that had been full of life mere moments before now reeked of death.
Restelo stood amidst the massacre, his face an unreadable mask. The wind howled through the camp as if in mournful acknowledgement of the lives snuffed out so ruthlessly. But for Restelo, there was no remorse, no second thoughts¡ªonly the grim satisfaction of a predator that had claimed its prey.
Restelo scanned the blood-soaked tableau before him, his ears straining to catch even the faintest sound¡ªa whimper, a dying heartbeat, the shallow gasp of a last breath. But there was only silence, save for the wind''s mournful cry through the royal flags and banners. A grotesque still-life painted in varying shades of crimson.
It took less than an hour for the last rays of the sun to dip below the horizon. Restelo stood amidst the wreckage of lives he''d just obliterated, each face a brushstroke in his dark masterpiece. His eyes roamed from one corpse to another, memorizing their features¡ªnot out of sentiment, but as a tactician memorizes a battlefield.
He felt an invigorating sense of power surge through him, a quiet thrill punctuating the dwindling twilight. This was no idle slaughter; each life taken, each soul bound in undead servitude, was a cog in the machinery of his vengeance.
As the sky grew darker, Restelo''s thoughts churned like a stormy sea.
With a voice as cold and unforgiving as the night air, he commanded, "Arise!"
Slowly, the lifeless forms sprawled in the snow began to stir. It was a macabre ballet, limbs creaking, eyes opening but vacant of life, souls trapped in an eternal twilight between the world of the living and the realm of the dead. Some were missing arms or legs; others had heads that dangled unnaturally, connected only by tendrils of flesh and muscle.
Yet they stood, obedient to their new master''s call. Their hearts no longer pumped blood, their lungs no longer drew breath; they were statues carved of flesh and bone, animated only by the unholy life force that Restelo had bestowed upon them.
Thralls, walking corpses.
The wind seemed to pause as if holding its breath, unwilling to disturb this perverse moment. Restelo surveyed his new army of the damned, a grim testament to his dark powers. For him, this was but the first step¡ªa deadly whisper in the symphony of chaos he planned to unleash.
"Now, walk to Ravendrift! Bring me the head of Baal Berith!" Restelo''s voice rang out like a thunderclap, each syllable etched with icy resolve.
Without a moment''s hesitation, the motley procession of the damned lurched into motion. They trudged through the snow, their eyes devoid of life but instilled with a single, horrific purpose. The night air was thick with the stench of decay and impending doom.
The journey to Ravendrift will be arduous, even for beings untouched by the trials of human endurance. Through fields of ice and over rugged terrain, they moved in eerie silence. And as the spectral outline of Ravendrift loomed in the distance, its towers piercing the heavens like defiant spears, Restelo''s grin widened. His moment was nigh watching his new army waling with one and only purpose, his words.
Baal Berith shall die.
The goblin''s worn shoes slapped on the palace''s cold, stone floors. His gnarled fingers clenched the parchment like a lifeline, each crease and fold of the letter pulsating with an urgency he could almost taste. Dawnhaven was in danger; the palace was a heartbeat away from catastrophe.
He skidded past a group of laundry maids, their arms loaded with linens that smelled of lavender and the faint sweetness of rosewater. The closest maid squealed, nearly dropping her armful.
"Sorry! Message for the King!" he shouted. He didn''t slow his pace, even as he darted around another corner.
A butler appeared, his arms steady under the weight of a tea service arranged on a silver tray. China rattled, and the liquid trembled as the goblin blew past him. "Careful, Dumdum! You idiotic pageboy!"
"Urgent message for the King!" was all the goblin managed before sucking air into his searing lungs.
Finally, Dumdum arrived. The throne room doors towered in front of him, ornate carvings and intricate designs serving as guardians to the chamber within. He pounded his tiny fists against the imposing wood, which gave way almost as if expecting him.
Inside, the room unfurled in opulence¡ªa grand chandelier dripping with enchanted crystals bathed the space in a soft, golden glow while luxurious tapestries told stories of valour and ancient lineage on the walls.
His eyes flicked nervously from the majestically seated figure¡ªfar too distant to make out any expression¡ªto the armoured guards that served as stoic sentinels. "Urgent message for His Majesty," he panted, the words barely escaping his cracked lips.
Before he could muster another word, a guard lunged forward and snatched the letter from his grip. As the guard approached the throne, the goblin strained his eyes, desperate to catch even a shred of the King''s reaction. But Dumdum was just too far away, his gaze meeting only the guarded expressions of advisors and courtiers. The low murmur of hushed conversations met his ears, but the words were unintelligible, veiled in secrecy.
Minutes that felt like aeons passed. The door swung shut, sealing him back into the corridor, back into his insignificance. They hadn''t even given him a second glance. To them, he was just a goblin, an errand boy, a cog in the grand machine of the court. His fears, thoughts, and feelings were inconsequential.
Yet the weight of the unspoken message remained. A horde of undead advanced toward Tear Lake, and he, relegated to the periphery, could only wonder what, if anything, would be done. He was dismissed, but the looming threat would not be so easily ignored.
But what if...
[CH. 0058] - The Message
Nord''s eyes snapped open as a deluge of ice-cold water drenched her face and upper body. Blinking against the shock, she locked eyes with Baal, standing at the foot of their bed with an empty bucket.
"Rise and shine, Morningstar! Time for training," Baal announced, his voice soaked in overloaded enthusiasm, ¡°No more excuses, no more slacking!¡±
Nord shook her head, water droplets flying in an arc around her. "What the hell, Baal? Normal people use words. Why don''t you use words?" She squinted toward the window; it was still pitch black outside, "What time is it, even?"
Baal dropped the bucket onto the floor with a clatter and gripped the corner of her sheet. With a quick yank, he pulled it away, exposing her legs to the cold air. "Normal and words aren''t working for you. There are three ways I know to boost your dopamine. First, there''s drawing and tattooing. You''ve been doing that, and it''s clearly not doing the trick."
Nord shivered, her nightgown sticking to her skin as she sat up. "And the second?"
"Food. But you''ve been pushing your plate away more than you''ve been eating, so that''s out."
"And the third?" she asked, becoming aware that her wet gown had become rather revealing.
For a moment, Baal''s face lost its usual confidence. He looked away, hiding his red face, his jaw tightening. "Just get ready. I''ll wait for you outside," he said, turning toward the door, his hand already on the knob.
"Wait, what''s the third?" Nord pressed, her voice tinged with curiosity and a little vulnerability.
Baal hesitated, his fingers tightening around the doorknob. Finally, he looked back, his eyes meeting hers. "The third," he said softly, "is something neither of us is ready to deal with right now. Get dressed. We have training to do. I''ll wait... outside."
And with that, he stepped out, leaving Nord alone in her room, pondering the unsaid as she felt the cold water on her skin slowly begin to warm.
The winter air was sharp, each breath a blade that cut through them as they sprinted through the forest. Dew-draped branches and frosted leaves bore witness to their exertion, their footfalls crunching over the wintry terrain.
Baal led the way, but Nord matched him step for step. Her face was a blank slate, her eyes distant, as if her thoughts were somewhere far removed from the frozen earth beneath her feet. Yet, her body seemed attuned to the landscape¡ªeach leap over gnarled roots or sudden swerve to avoid low-hanging branches executed with fluid grace.
Baal glanced over at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. She looked so detached, yet so utterly in control, as if she were dancing rather than running through a forest dense with potential pitfalls. It was unsettling and fascinating in equal measure. Memory muscle was indeed a thing.
Baal felt a twinge of something¡ªwas it pride? Was it possible to fall in love again with the same person when you never stopped?
Baal''s boots skidded to a halt, sending a spray of frosty earth into the air. He whipped his head around just in time to see Nord coasting into the clearing, her movement so fluid it seemed as though the forest had simply made way for her. The blank mask she''d worn throughout their run finally cracked, revealing a cryptic smile that danced on her lips for a fleeting moment.
Baal found himself grinning back. "You move like the forest is a part of you," he observed, his voice rich with a respect he didn''t easily give.
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she caught her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Really?"
His eyes twinkled, mischief looming. "How about we try something more fun?"
Nord shot him a sidelong glance, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "More fun than running around like headless chickens?"
"Trust me, you''re going to love it," he promised, already backing away from her. "Just watch where I place my feet."
With that, Baal bolted, his feet pounding the earth before he took his final leap toward the tall pine tree in the centre of the meadow. Like some kind of forest dryad, he planted the sole of his boot firmly against the bark and then, unbelievably, ran vertically up the trunk to perch himself at the top.
"Come on, your turn!" he hollered, grinning down at her.
Nord stared up at him, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You''re insane! That''s not human. I can''t do that!"
His voice dropped an octave, tension rippling through it. "Morningstar, I can''t lie, but you can. You can do this¡ªyou''ve done it before."
Confusion and self-doubt clouded her eyes. Was Baal talking about climbing trees? Running? Or lying... And why did he seem to revel in every little thing she did? She felt tainted, as though her motivations were somehow less pure than his.
His voice floated down, almost melodious, "I''m waiting!"
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Grimacing, Nord inhaled deeply. "This is ridiculous. I''m going to smash straight into that damn tree."
Taking a few steps back, she steeled herself and then bolted toward the tree. Yet, as the thick trunk filled her peripheral vision, she faltered, hesitated¡ªand then collided with the tree with a thud that echoed in the otherwise silent forest.
"Try Again!"
Nord felt a mix of humiliation and frustration boil within her, her cheeks flushed red in the cold air. "Baal, I can''t do it!" she yelled upward, straining her neck to see him.
Silence. No response.
Grimacing, she backed up even further this time, giving herself more space to gather speed. She sprinted toward the tree, but just like before, as the solid trunk loomed large in her field of vision, her nerve broke. She slowed down, colliding with the tree¡ªyet again. She tried once more, twice, thrice, each time ending with the same thud of her body against the unforgiving bark. "I give up, Baal! I''m tired."
Suddenly, his voice broke through the silence. "No!"
"Oh, so now you decide to talk?"
"You don''t give up. Try again!"
"I told you, I can''t do it!"
His voice turned serious, almost menacing. "You''ve done it before; you can do it again. I''m not coming down until you come up here."
Her eyes narrowed. "What, you''re going to spend the entire day up there?"
"Or a week, a month¡ªhowever long it takes. I told you, I don''t lie, Morningstar. You want me to starve?"
Nord gritted her teeth. "You little..." Muttering under her breath, she took off at a run again, this time not even taking the time to step back for a running start. Her foot connected with the bark, and for a split second, she thought she had it. Then her second step missed its mark, and she tumbled backwards, landing hard on the frosty ground. "Shit," she hissed, gripping the cold earth beneath her palms.
Nord took a deep breath, her lungs inhaling the chill of the forest air. The sheer audacity of Baal''s words made her blood sizzle with frustration. "I''m hungry!" he chimed from above, his voice dancing through the treetops as though he hadn''t a care in the world.
"You insufferable¡ª," she muttered, shaking her head to dispel the fog of irritation that clouded her thoughts. "I have things to do, you know. I can''t waste my whole day doing whatever this is!"
But as she said it, she turned abruptly on her heel, letting the pent-up annoyance fuel her next run. This time, as she neared the tree, she held onto a single image: her fist connecting with Baal''s infuriatingly smug face.
Her boot hit the bark, and this time, it stuck. Propelled by a mixture of adrenaline and sheer determination, Nord shot upward, the rough texture of the tree speeding past her. Before she knew it, she had reached the top. Baal''s hand shot out, gripping her wrist to steady her as he guided her onto the branch beside him.
His eyes met hers, shimmering with something that looked like a triumph. "Still mad?" he asked, his voice edged with a playful challenge.
Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson. "You¡ªyou said¡ª"
"I know what I said," he interrupted, holding her gaze. "And I also know you. And I know how to annoy you."
For a moment, she was speechless, caught between her irritation and the undeniable thrill of her own accomplishment. Finally, she exhaled, her breath mingling with the cool forest air. "You could''ve just said that from the beginning, you know. Get mad."
"And rob me of the chance to prove a point?" Baal quipped, his eyes gleaming. "Never."
Nord shook her head, half in disbelief, half in reluctant admiration. "You''re impossible," she said, but her voice held a note of grudging respect that hadn''t been there before.
The forest seemed to hold its breath as Baal entwined his fingers with hers, locking eyes with Nord. "I saw the video. The one where you talk about our contract¡ our wedding."
Nord felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her skin pallid. She opened her mouth, but no words came.
"You were acting strange a few weeks before the Initiation," Baal continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "Always holed up in your office, on your phone, talking to yourself. Vanishing for hours and lying about where you were. And as long you came back safe home, I wasn''t worried. You were about to give up everything for South. How could I... hold it back against you?"
"Baal, I¡ª" Her voice faltered, caught in the tangle of emotions and unknowing secrets she''d been harbouring without remembering what they mean.
He sighed, his gaze softening as he looked away for a moment. "I remember when I first moved into the apartment. No furniture, just an empty space. I tried to make a special date, no table or chairs, I set up a blanket, like a picnic in the kitchen. And I made us dinner. I wish you could remember, I was so proud. Was my first time and followed a tutorial on YouTube. You told me the food was marvellous. You repeated and finished it all."
Confusion flickered in her eyes. "I don''t understand, what are you¡ª"
"That food was horrendous, Nord. It was... I tasted it, and it was like chewing on a salt lick. But you ate it all, washing it down with tons of water and making me feel like a fucking king."
A faint smile creased the corners of her mouth as he squeezed her hand gently.
"You lied," he said, lifting his eyes to meet hers again, "but you lied because you loved me. You lied to protect me, to make me happy. That''s your way of showing love. And I''m not mad about the lies or anything you said in those videos. What scares me is what you didn''t say. The memory you said you hid from me."
Her heart sank. "Baal, I don''t¡ª"
He cut her off, gripping her hand even tighter. "You''re hiding something big, something that might hurt you. And I can''t live with that, Nord. I can''t bear thinking of something happening to you because you want to protect me."
As the hues of dawn began to illuminate the lake''s surface, Nord''s gaze drifted to the horizon, her thoughts scattering like the morning mist. "Baal, I honestly can''t help you understand what I was hiding or why I made those videos. All I can say is that whatever it was... it was for you. And¡ª" She paused, the words bottlenecking in her throat.
While her eyes were lost in the panorama of the rising sun and mirrored lake, Baal was looking at her, his gaze as intense as ever. "I know who Nord Morningstar is and what she''s capable of," he said softly. "Tonight, we''ll go over that contract, and we''ll find out just what kind of scheme you, I mean my lovely wife, have been cooking up."
Nord turned back to face him, a mixture of relief and apprehension playing across her features. "You''re not mad?"
"Mad at you? Never," he replied as he carefully rose from the branch, moving towards the tree trunk to begin his descent.
She bit her lip, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Isn''t this the part where you''re supposed to kiss me?"
Caught off guard by her sudden audacity, Baal missed his footing. For a heart-stopping moment, he slipped, tumbling awkwardly down the tree to land with a thud on the forest floor below, cursing softly as he hit the ground.
Nord burst into laughter, her giggles echoing through the silent woods. She quickly shimmied down the tree to join him, her face glowing with the golden light of the morning sun.
"Baal, are you okay?" she asked, kneeling beside him and trying to stifle her giggles.
Rubbing his sore backside, he looked up at her, his eyes locking onto hers. "I''ve survived worse, trust me. But next time, warn me before you say something that''s going to make my heart skip a beat. Are you trying to kill me?"
She chuckled, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. "How''s that for a warning?"
[CH. 0059] - The Message
Nord descended the narrow wooden staircase that led to the cellar, an oil lamp casting trembling shadows on the walls as she passed. Her boots struck the damp floor softly, step by cautious step. She reached the shelf crammed with rows of green bottles covered in dust so old it seemed petrified. Labels had long peeled off or disintegrated; there was no way to tell what each bottle contained or how long it had been there.
Adamastor was already asleep and couldn''t come and help her. These days, the ex-vampire, who used never to take a rest, couldn''t stand to be awake after nine.
Nord shrugged, her hand hesitating for a moment before grabbing a random bottle. She turned and made her way back, ascending into the semi-lit world above. She swung by the kitchen, snagged two wine glasses, and carried them to her office.
Baal was sitting there, elbows on her messy desk, hands clasped over his forehead. Papers, scattered and overlapping, competed for space with books and other curiosities. But Baal''s focus was fixed on the freshly-inked pink pages at the bottom of a thick stack ¡ª their contract.
"I brought wine," Nord said, settling into the chair opposite him.
He finally raised his head, his eyes catching the light in a manner that made them appear glossy. His face, however, remained an unreadable mask. "That would be nice."
She uncorked the bottle and poured the deep red liquid into the glasses. Setting one before him, she asked, "So...?"
"I love you," Baal stated flatly, no emotional register in his face or his tone, "You did it, you... fuck! This¡ this is so simple, and it worked!"
Concern washed over her. "Are you okay?"
He sighed, his fingers flitting over the pink pages like a pianist searching for the right key. "You''ve completely outwitted me, Morningstar. You''ve made our contract indestructible. Which means¡"
He leafed through the contract, stopping at the additional clauses that her plan had slipped in.
"I, Nord Salom¨¦ Morningstar, I now take you, Baal Berith, to be my wedded husband, forsaking all others, I and all my memories, be they sad or the happiest, will be yours alone when death takes us apart."
"Which means we''re in this together, for better or worse. Indissolubly. Like... this is it."
Nord''s grip tightened around the stem of her wine glass. "Well, is it a good thing, right? Or a bad thing?" The question filled the room, an anxious note to its timbre.
Baal exhaled, breaking eye contact for a fleeting moment. "It means I''m breaching the contract... and I need to return your memories."
Nord blinked, puzzled by the gravity in his tone. "I thought that would be a good thing. That you''d be... happy?" Her voice wavered on the last word.
"I am happy," he insisted, though his face remained as unyielding as a stone mask.
"Okay, Baal, what''s wrong? Your words and your face are telling two different stories. I know I''ve messed up, but for God''s sake, talk to me!" Nord''s voice rose, tension cracking its smooth surface.
Baal looked at her, his eyes showing a glint of vulnerability for the first time. "I am truly happy, Nord, but you see... I¡ª"
"What? Spit it out, Baal!"
Baal''s eyes met Nord''s, a dance of tension twirling between them like sparks in dry tinder. Baal lifted his goblet, its crystal sides reflecting the flicker of a nearby oil lamp. He swallowed the rich, dark wine in one gulp as though trying to drown his hesitation, ¡°They are at my tower.¡±
"So?" Nord probed, her voice sharp, slicing through the silence, ¡°Where is it?¡±
Baal''s hand wavered mid-air, reaching for the wine bottle. Before his fingers could grasp it, Nord snatched it away, her eyes piercing into him. "Where are my memories, Baal? Out with it."
The words tumbled from his mouth, each syllable heavier than the last. "Well... I don''t actually know where it is."
Nord''s eyes flared, her voice erupting like a volcano that had been dormant too long. "It''s a bloody tower, Baal. How in seven hells do you lose a tower?"
Baal winced. "It walks."
Nord''s goblet was halfway to her lips when she nearly choked, wine splashing back into the glass. "It walks? Your tower walks?" Her eyes narrowed, disbelief clouding her face like a fog settling in over a valley.
"Yes," Baal sighed, finally reclaiming the wine bottle as Nord loosened her grip, too stunned to protest. He poured himself another glass, filling it nearly to the brim. "The tower is... alive. It moves from one location to another to keep its contents safe, to remain hidden. I''m not... well, there are demons looking for me... or part of me."
Setting her goblet down with the kind of deliberate care usually reserved for ticking time bombs, Nord leaned in, her face a mosaic of incredulity and frustration. "So, let me get this straight. My memories, the solution of destroying the Hollow, are stashed in a wandering, sentient tower that you''ve misplaced?"
Baal winced again, this time his gaze dropping to the wine swirling in his glass. "Ah, when you phrase it like that, it does sound remarkably... irresponsible. But that is not fair! It is really not fair! Your memories are safe! All of them! Every single one of them!"
Nord leaned back, her chair creaking under the weight of her disbelief. "Incredibly irresponsible, Baal. You don''t just misplace a thing like that; you don''t misplace someone''s happy memories."
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Baal''s eyes, once swirling with regret, now ignited with a defensive spark. "I could have consumed them, you know!"
Nord felt as if she''d been slapped. "What do you mean, ''consume them''?" Her voice had a note of horror, as though she''d stumbled upon a secret so ugly it couldn''t be dressed up, no matter how pretty the words.
"It''s my trade, Nord. I don''t just collect happy memories like a corny hoarder. I consume them to replenish my power, my magic," Baal said, almost snarling as he uncorked the wine bottle and sloshed more into his goblet, gulping it down as if the words he''d just unleashed left a bitter taste.
"So," Nord''s voice quivered, barely above a whisper, "you made happy memories with me to... to consume them?" Her eyes searched his, a vulnerable blend of betrayal and disbelief.
He looked at her, his features softening as if he were a sculptor suddenly regretting the form his hands had created. "That was the initial plan, yes," he admitted, ¡°But¡¡±
Nord''s eyes turned cold, yet somehow, a spark of curiosity flamed within that icy gaze. "Why didn''t you?"
Baal paused and looked at her long and hard as if he was teetering on the edge of a cliff, making a choice. "Do I really have to answer that?"
"So what now?"
A tense silence unfurled between them, as palpable as the rich aroma of the uncorked wine still lingering in the air. Baal shifted in his chair, the worn leather creaking beneath him. "I don''t have enough magic to summon it. I haven''t consumed any... We could search for it on the whole map... but it moves. It could be in Glockmere or, Legward or even Nethershpere. I don''t know... or..." His voice trailed off, hanging in the air like a tantalizing scent.
Nord leaned forward, her eyes locked onto his. "Or?"
A hesitant smile tugged at the corner of Baal''s mouth as if the next words were both absurd and his last shot at redemption. "Or I send a raven and ask my tower maybe¡ªvery politely¡ªto make its way to us in Ravendrift."
A bemused grin broke the taut line of Nord''s lips. "You''re saying you''re going to RSVP your own tower?"
"In essence, yes."
Nord sighed, running her hands through her unruly short mane of hair, briefly closing her eyes as if summoning patience from some inner reservoir. "Let''s say your tower RSVPs ''yes'' and decides to walk its way here. Then what? You restore my memories?"
A cloud passed over Baal''s features as if he were grappling with an internal storm. "The honest truth? I don''t know how to do that part."
Nord''s eyes flashed a blaze that burnt through her initial shock and disbelief, fueling a fire of indignation. "You stow my memories in a vagabond tower, and now you tell me you have no idea how to put them back?"
Baal''s face crumbled under the heat of her glare, a fa?ade cracking to reveal the vulnerable core beneath. "I never needed to do it before! I never had a complaint for a refund! So far, we didn''t even know that you had a plan. Maybe we can work without those memories. I mean... do we really want them?"
His words hung in the air as if each syllable carried a hidden weight. Nord blinked, surprised, then somewhat softened. "I thought that would make you happy," she said quietly. "That I would remember... you and us, I thought you wanted this."
He looked at her, his eyes wavering between the light of the lamp and the murky depths of his own confusion. "Well, I''m happy to be Keanu Reeves for now. We can... we can find other ways. I''m sure we can figure out how to destroy the Hollow without your memories."
Nord fell silent, her eyes drifting to her now empty wine glass. It stood on the table like a sentinel of lost opportunities. With a quiet sigh, she set it down deliberately, the glass making a soft clink against the wood. "I''m going to sleep," she said, her voice veiled in an enigmatic resignation.
Baal shot up from his chair, his eyes wide, his voice tinged with a desperation he hadn''t allowed himself to feel until now. "Nord, wait!"
She paused at the door, her hand on the knob, a fragile tension filling the room.
"I... I will send a raven tomorrow," he stammered.
"As you wish," she replied, the words flat. Then she was gone, the door closing with a soft, almost mournful click.
Left alone in the dimly lit office, Baal stared at the space she''d vacated as though her absence had left a tangible void. He sensed that he''d tripped over some invisible line, although he couldn''t quite grasp what it was.
All he knew was that he''d rather have her angry, a storm cloud threatening on the horizon than lost to some danger he couldn''t foresee.
Taking a deep breath, he slumped back into his chair. His eyes fell upon the empty wine glass, a silent monument to all that had transpired. Baal knew that come dawn, he would have to send that raven. But he never said or promised what the message would be.
The raven burst from Baal''s arm, its dark wings beating against the pre-dawn sky. Baal''s eyes followed the creature as it dissolved into the distant horizon, its form indistinguishable from the gathering clouds. Just then, a gravelly voice sliced through the silence.
"I hope you''ve chosen your words wisely, boy."
Baal swivelled around, his long cardigan stirring the air. Merlin stood there, his weight leaning on an age-worn staff, his face a roadmap of lines etched by time and hardship.
"I''ve done what must be done," Baal retorted, his eyes narrowing. "Why are you awake at this hour? Shouldn''t you be resting your cracked bones, old man?"
"Rest is a luxury for the dead," Merlin said, taking a step closer, his staff clicking against the stone floor. "Or haven''t you heard?"
"You''ve been evasive, old man. Months have passed, and you still haven''t told me what you want in exchange for your happy memories. Starting to think you''re more afraid of death than you let on or that you don''t have as many happy memories as you promised."
Merlin chuckled, a low sound tinged with irony. "Ah, even the mighty must one day bow before the scythe of Atua. Patience, Baal. I¡¯ll be gone when the time is right."
"Time," Baal muttered, his eyes drifting upwards as if expecting to find answers among the stars.
"What plagues your thoughts? Out with it, boy. Your mumbling and rambling are quite annoying."
Baal''s gaze shifted from the heavens to the cobblestone at his feet. He toed a small pebble, pushing it around in a little arc. "When does doing the right thing become the wrong thing?"
Merlin considered this, the folds of his face deepening. "Well, I''d say it''s when your heart finds no solace in the path you''ve chosen."
"That can''t be it," Baal said, his voice tinged with frustration as he finally met Merlin''s eyes. "I''m certain I''m doing the right thing."
"Then why does it feel so wrong to you?" Merlin pressed, his own eyes probing.
"I don''t know," Baal hesitated, grappling with the weight of his own uncertainty. "I think, perhaps, it''s because I''m being selfish. But then again¡ª" His voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, a question dangling in the air between them.
"Speak, boy." Merlin''s eyes narrowed, capturing the subtle tremor in Baal''s voice. "Speak!"
"I was prepared to lose her, Merlin. I had a decade to brace myself for that moment. It was agony, but I made peace with it. And now..." Baal''s voice faded into the morning mist that hung between them.
"Now?" Merlin prompted, his voice softer, almost a whisper.
"Now, I''d rather see the world burn than choose to let her go again. If she despises me for it, so be it. I can live with her hatred, but I can''t¡ªI won''t¡ªlet her go again." The resolve in Baal''s voice was unyielding, like a blade forged in the fires of his deepest fears and desires.
Merlin looked at him, "You know, boy, there are times when I forget you''re a demon."
"Me too," Baal replied, a half-smile touching his lips. "But I am one. And I should act accordingly more often."
His tone carried a hint of obligation as if reciting an age-old creed, but the fire in his eyes told a different story. Here was a demon wrestling with the most human of all afflictions: love.
And so they stood there, a demon and a wizard, while the dawn sky was beginning to lighten, pushing back the darkness as a raven flew away with a message:
"Don''t come to Ravendrift! So it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
[CH. 0060] - Before the Hoard
The first traces of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on Nord''s face as she lay in bed, snoring softly. Baal watched her from across the room, a smile tugging at his lips. He wished he could record the sound just to prove to her that she was indeed a snorer¡ªa fact she has always vehemently denied.
Baal tiptoed, approaching the bed with the grace of a shadow. He sat beside her, gently sweeping a strand of hair from her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. She stirred, her eyes blinking open, hazy with sleep.
"No bucket today?" she murmured, referring to the last time he woke her up with a splash of cold water.
"No, I forgot. But I can go get it if you want," he replied, grinning.
"No, it''s too cold. This is fine," Nord mumbled, closing her eyes again.
"I sent the raven," he said, watching her closely.
Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up short. "You did?"
"Yes, I told you I would," he confirmed.
Suddenly, Nord threw her arms around him in an uncharacteristic display of affection. He was taken aback; ever since the Initiation, without her memories, she''d been distant, maintaining a cool detachment¡ªunless he was bleeding out, on the brink of death.
But now, she was embracing him like before. His arms closed around her by instinct, his nose nestling against her neck. He breathed in her morning scent, a mixture of sleep and serenity that he missed too much. In that instant, everything felt perfect, as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed.
However, the moment was tinged with a bittersweet undercurrent. Baal knew what she expected the raven''s message to convey, and it was not what he had sent. His chest tightened at the thought, a shadow passing through his mind.
But as he had told Merlin earlier, he would rather endure her hatred than see her in danger. And so, as the room lightened with the advancing dawn, Baal held her tightly as if he could protect her from all the unseen hazards lurking around.
"Enough, now. Get up; we''re going to train. You have five minutes," he announced, letting go of her embrace before standing up and leaving the room.
Soon, they were darting through the woods, the morning air crisp and invigorating. They circled around Tear Lake, Nord pulling ahead with a burst of speed that surprised even Baal. When they finally paused to catch their breaths, she taunted him, "You''re slow today!"
"I¡¯m not slow! You are fast ¡ just need to¡ try¡catching my breath," Baal retorted as he crouched down, his hands resting on his knees. When he looked up, his heart skipped a beat. Nord was standing perilously close to the edge of the frozen lake. "Morningstar! What are you doing?" he shouted, panic tingeing his voice.
"The lake is frozen," she replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she stepped onto the ice and began to glide.
"Nord, come back. It might not be completely frozen," Baal warned as he stood up, approaching the edge cautiously with his hand outstretched.
She turned and beamed at him, still twirling gracefully on the ice. "Come on, it''s fun!"
"I don''t like this, Nord. Come back now!"
"Catch me!" she called, laughter in her voice as she picked up speed, gliding further away from him.
Finally, she stopped, looking back at Baal, who remained gripping the edge. "Come on, it''s fun. I''ve got you!"
With a reluctant sigh, Baal stepped onto the ice, struggling to maintain his balance. "This is such a bad idea."
Nord skated toward him, circling him with an effortless grace that made him feel like a lumbering beast in comparison. "You got this!"
Gradually, her laughter and her presence bolstered his confidence, and as she glided backwards, she guided him, helping him get the hang of it, step by sliding step. The ice held, and for a few minutes, their worries were left behind on the shore.
With each new stride, Baal felt less like a demon burdened with dark choices and more like a man¡ªperhaps a foolhardy one¡ªenjoying a stolen moment of joy.
Their laughter filled the air, a rare carefree sound that melded with the morning stillness. As they skated, they avoided saying anything that might break the spell, as if speaking their fears would give them form.
Then came the faint crack¡ªa sound nearly swallowed by their laughter and the soft scrape of boot soles on ice. Neither of them noticed it; it was subtle, a soft splintering noise emanating from a weak point hidden beneath the frosty surface.
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Baal was finally getting the hang of it, mimicking Nord''s graceful twirls with less finesse but equal enthusiasm. He glanced at her, captivated by how the morning light played on her features, making her seem almost like a winter nymph.
They finally returned as another day was started, leaving behind a crack willing to expand, shooting out like a spiderweb from its hidden point, just waiting for the right moment.
Dumdum reined in his woolly pony, pulling to a stop in the muddy streets of Cooperstead. His legs had gone numb hours ago, and his back felt like it had been trampled by a herd of wildebeests. His mission¡ªto reach Ravendrift before the undead hoard¡ªloomed in his mind like an unscalable mountain. But damn it, he had to do something!
Eying the weathered sign of an inn, he dismounted. The time for heroics was now. Well, after a quick meal and some fresh lemonade, of course. A hero couldn''t function on an empty stomach and dry lips.
Dumdum nudged the door open and shuffled inside. The atmosphere was a mixture of stale beer, sweat, and grease, underpinned by the distant aroma of cooking meat and dust from the mines. He spotted an empty table and claimed it, his short goblin legs swinging freely from the tall chair.
A young waitress sauntered over, her nose wrinkling as though she''d stepped in something foul. "What''ll it be, Greenie?"
This was not new for Dumdum. People treated him like yesterday''s trash despite the fact that he''d seen humans far uglier than himself. All he had was just a tiny bit of a large nose and a set of crooked teeth. But behind those teeth was a green heart of gold. Too bad nobody cared to find that out.
"Uh, something quick and a lemonade, please," Dumdum replied, forcing a smile.
"Lemonade?" she scoffed, eyeing him as if he were a misplaced child. "What, you think this is some kind of daycare? We serve beer and ale here, pal. Make a choice."
"Oh, well¡water then?" Dumdum''s fingers twitched nervously, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
With a roll of her eyes and an audible click of her tongue, the waitress turned on her heels and walked away. Dumdum sighed, feeling diminutive in a room where even the chairs seemed too large for him.
His pointy ears pricked up when he caught wind of a conversation between a burly human and a Hobruin, a creature with the bulk of a bear but the intellect of a scholar.
"I''m telling you, it was moving!" the human insisted, his eyes glassy but earnest, "I never saw something like that!"
"You''ve got to lay off the spirits while on duty, Al," the Hobruin retorted, clearly unimpressed, "I mean, think of your daughters. You need to get it right, Al!"
"But I saw it moving! I did!"
"Al, you''ve had too much. Towers don''t just get up and stroll around."
"I saw it with my own two eyes! Eyes that''ll be worm food someday!"
Dumdum''s ears perked up. Towers that moved? Could it be a lead? Could this be a clue about the undead hoard? Of course not. What could a tower do against a horde of undead? Nothing!
He needed to focus. He needed to eat and drink. Even potential heroes needed sustenance. And then, Ravendrift. One step at a time, he reminded himself. One step at a time.
The air outside the inn was cool, tinged with the scent of impending rain. Dumdum settled into the saddle, his legs still tingling but notably more alive than before. A hunk of bread and a bowl of greasy stew could do wonders, he thought, patting his pony''s mane affectionately.
But as he urged the pony into a trot, the weight of his mission settled back on his shoulders. The royal court had already dismissed his warnings about the approaching undead horde, a decision that puzzled and infuriated him. What politics could possibly be worth more than the lives and safety of Ravendrift''s people?
His thoughts tangled like weeds. Dumdum might not have been a scholar, or a philosopher, or even particularly savvy in the ways of human governance, but he understood the value of life¡ªwhether it belonged to a human, a Hobruin, or a Nixbob. Or someone with hooves, horns, wings or... Even if that life had green skin and a big nose.
Jostled from his thoughts, he glanced down at the trail that lay ahead, winding its way through rolling fields and over hills. He nudged his pony into a quicker pace, urging the small creature as fast as its stubby legs would allow.
He knew they were at a disadvantage, his pony and him. Short legs were not made for the sprinting needed to outpace an entire army of the undead. But what they lacked in speed, they made up for in tenacity and heart. The pair pushed on, hooves pounding against the muddy path, the wind whistling past Dumdum''s ears.
Dumdum''s eyes followed the gleaming train rails that stretched out ahead of him, an unbroken line from Cooperstead to Legward. Just then, the roar of a steam engine filled the air, reverberating through the very marrow of his bones. A steam train blasted past him in a flash, its speed a reminder of how agonizingly slow his own journey was.
He pulled his pony to a stop, staring at the receding tail lights of the train. It was like watching his hopes of reaching Ravendrift fade into the horizon. He felt foolish, naive even, for thinking he could be the hero Ravendrift needed.
His pony, too, seemed to sag beneath him, as if the weight of their failure was too much for even the plucky little creature. They both meandered at a lethargic pace beside the rails, every clattering hoof-beat echoing Dumdum''s plummeting spirits.
That was when the ground shook.
It was a low rumble at first, something easily mistaken for the aftershock of the passing train. But then it intensified, a deep, resonating tremor that seemed to rise up from the bowels of the earth itself. Dumdum''s heart pounded in tandem with the vibrations, his thoughts racing even faster.
"What in the Atua?" he muttered, dismounting and placing a palm flat against the shaking earth. This couldn''t be real. Had the waitress spiked his water with ale?
His eyes widened as he looked up, his jaw dropping so low it nearly hit the ground. It was as if a mountain itself had sprouted legs and was walking across the landscape, each footfall a mini earthquake, each step a crash of thunder. But it wasn¡¯t a mountain!
For a moment, Dumdum could only stand there, frozen in awe and disbelief. The ground quivered beneath him, and he clung to his pony for balance, both of them staring at the impossibility before them.
His mind snapped back into focus. "Towers don''t just get up and stroll around," the Hobruin had said. But this¡ªthis was no ordinary tower. It was a gargantuan structure of stone and magic, walking on colossal legs across the earth as if it were a giant set free from some ancient tale.
Could this be the miracle he''d been waiting for? Could this impossibility, this walking tower, be the key to saving Ravendrift?
Dumdum didn''t know. But what he did know was that miracles didn''t just fall into your lap; you had to chase them down. With newfound energy, he vaulted back into his saddle.
"Come on, buddy! We''ve got a tower to catch!"
[CH. 0061] - Before the Hoard
Nord felt the gravel crunch under her worn boots as she and Baal neared the imposing fa?ade of the manor. The air was chilled but mercifully devoid of snow, making each expelled breath visible like whispered clouds.
Nord''s eyes narrowed as she saw from the morning haze emerging silhouettes, "Is that the Ashleys?" her voice dipped into a pool of caution, and her steps became hesitant.
Baal exhaled audibly, the sound a subtle blend of impatience and resignation. "Seems like it," he said, folding his arms across his chest.
As they reached the intersecting path where gravel met cobblestone, the elder Ashley''s sister broke into a small trot, the enthusiasm evident in her every step. "Good morning, Miss Morningstar," she called out, her voice tinged with a brightness that clashed against the cold air and her usual stern, aged complexion. "Such a pleasure to see you here!"
"You don''t say!" Nord met her with a sceptical smile, and her eyes darted to the odd collection of goods the women carried. Baskets filled with an assortment of trinkets, a table in its disassembled state, and various decorative objects balanced precariously in their arms. "Good morning," she finally returned the greeting. "You''re out rather early, aren''t you? And it appears you''ve brought half your household."
The eldest Ashley''s lips stretched into a practised grin as she closed the distance between them. "We''re here to ask a small, tiny favour," she finally revealed the content of the basket, lowering her arms enough for Nord to see the outline of what appeared to be colourful balls and ribbons.
Nord glanced at Baal, catching the scepticism mirrored in his eyes before turning her attention back to the elder Ashley. The gravel beneath her boots seemed to groan in unison with her own silent apprehension.
"A small, tiny favour, you say?" Nord echoed, her eyes falling again to the basket that Ashley was cradling, now slightly more unveiled to display a splash of vibrant colours¡ªreds, blues, and what seemed like strands of gold ribbon. "You''ve certainly piqued my curiosity."
Ashley''s eyes twinkled with what Nord discerned was unease and hope.
"We''re organising a Winter Fair," she began, "It''s a charity event for the school and the less fortunate in the community."
"It''s tradition," interjected the second-oldest Ashley.
The eldest Ashley drew in a curt breath and resumed, "Tear Lake usually freezes over around this season. We would like to set up a workbench by the lakeside. For snacks and refreshments, you see. Both the children and adults partake in various activities on the lake. Ice skating, fishing, and the like. We are still waiting for the snow, but the cold is already here."
"Rosemary, your predecessor, always granted us this favour," chimed in another sister, her tone bordering on nostalgia.
Nord tilted her head, a brow arching with bewilderment. "Why do you need my permission?"
The youngest of the Ashleys piped up, her voice a chirpy contrast to her sisters¡¯. "Miss Morningstar, Tear Lake is part of your estate. We thought that would have been made clear to you when you took over."
A moment of surprise crossed Nord¡¯s face. "It is? I wasn''t aware."
The youngest Ashley erupted in soft laughter. "Oh, manners, Ashley! Remember the painting, yes?" She returned her gaze to Nord, softening it just a smidgeon. "Don''t mind my rude sister. The estate is extensive, Miss Morningstar. It''s easy to lose track of what you own."
Nord glanced at Baal, who was lingering a few steps away. His eyes met hers in a resigned shrug as if saying, ''Why not?''
Smiling, Nord directed her attention back to the Ashley sisters. "If Tear Lake is indeed under my jurisdiction, then by all means, set up your workbench. You have my permission. Is there anything else you require? Additional help, perhaps?"
The youngest Ashley''s eyes twinkled with youthful energy as she turned back toward Nord. "If you want to send over some younger helpers, they might enjoy setting up the decorations."
Nord''s lips curled into a smile. "Excellent idea. I think Bram and Kirara might relish the chance. And Finnea could help with any heavy lifting."
"Very well, then," the eldest Ashley acknowledged, her voice tinged with reluctant approval, before turning away with her sisters toward Tear Lake.
Baal moved closer to Nord, his voice a hushed murmur. "Doesn''t any of this seem odd to you? The Ashley sisters and their seemingly cheerful request?"
Nord chuckled. "What''s to find odd? They seem as dangerous as a basket of kittens, and it''s for a good cause."
Baal''s eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon as if half-expecting to find hidden threats. "There''s something unsettling in the air, and it''s not just the cold. It¡¯s too calm, like the calm before a storm. Don¡¯t you feel it?"
She leaned closer, her voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. "Maybe it''s just the allure of a tower walking nearby. I''ve heard it can evoke strong memories¡ªhappy memories," she said, waving her hand in front of their face like a magician.
Her words triggered something in Baal; his eyes darkened for a split second, and he bit his lower lip as though wrestling with some inner turmoil. Then, as if brushing aside whatever had snagged his thoughts, he shook his head. "Never mind. Let''s go eat; I¡¯m starving."
But as they turned toward the manor, Nord couldn''t shake the feeling that something was off. Baal''s sudden shift was unsettling. She glanced at him as they walked, his expression now unreadable. What was troubling him? Did she say or did something wrong?
As they neared the manor, the smell of breakfast wafting through the air, Nord made a mental note to revisit this conversation. Because whatever Baal was grappling with, she had a gut feeling it was far from trivial.
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The kitchen door creaked open, and Perdita rushed in, cheeks flushed, and her tail puffed from the biting morning air. Her eyes instantly fell on Adamastor, whose sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he pressed an orange half into the squeezer with concentrated effort. A mist of citrus spray filled the air, mingling with the rich aroma of coffee beans and freshly baked bread.
"Morning, Adamastor," Perdita chirped, her voice full of warmth despite the chill lingering in her bones. She moved with ease, her hands already seeking the brown eggs in a wicker basket beside the stove.
Adamastor paused, looking up from his task. A small but sincere smile stretched across his face. "Morning, Perdita. You''re in a good mood today."
"Always am when the kitchen smells this good," she quipped, cracking an egg into a bowl with a satisfying tap. "Scrambled eggs for room three, and room eight wants their breakfast in the salon. We¡¯re a full house today."
"Ah, very well." Adamastor''s eyes followed her movements as he dropped the spent orange half into a bowl and reached for another. "Nearly done here."
Perdita glanced at the glass pitcher filling up with the gold liquid of fresh orange. "That for Miss Morningstar?" she asked, pausing to beat the eggs in the bowl, her wrist making quick circles.
Adamastor''s blue eyes softened, a look of sentimental yearning overcoming the usually stoic lines of his face. "Yes. Saw her coming back from her morning exercises. Thought she¡¯d appreciate something refreshing."
Perdita noted the uncharacteristic warmth in his tone, and her hands stopped mid-motion. She turned to look at him squarely, catching that lingering look in his eye¡ªa look she''d only ever seen in the pages of the romance novels she sometimes sneaked into her room when Bram was fully asleep.
"Adamastor," she began cautiously, whisk still in hand. "You do know that Miss Morningstar and Mr Berith are sharing the same room? It¡¯s... just tactless; it''s asking for heartbreak."
Adamastor sighed and put down the squeezer, placing his hands on the counter as though bracing for impact. "Perdita, it''s just orange juice. And tactless or not, we''re all human beings first. I mean me and Miss Morningstar; Mr. Berith is not human. And you are¡"
¡°And I¡¯m a Nixbob! What a stupid thing to say,¡± Perdita looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You may think it''s just orange juice. But I''ve seen that look before, and it never ends well. Not in this house. Not in any house like this. You have just... started! Huh, never mind. You do you."
Adamastor paused, perhaps seeing the genuine concern that flickered in Perdita''s eyes. "I appreciate the warning," he said quietly, resuming his work.
Perdita turned back to her eggs. She knew her warning would likely go unheeded, but something about Adamastor''s feelings for Miss Morningstar unsettled her. It was like watching someone walk a tightrope above a chasm; even if you couldn''t look away, you knew it was a perilous affair. She scrambled the eggs with more force than necessary, as though she could exorcise her worries into the yolk and butter.
As Adamastor poured the freshly squeezed orange juice into a delicate crystal decanter, both of them chose to let the matter rest¡ªeach too absorbed in their own thoughts and tasks to broach the subject further. But even as the kitchen filled with the intoxicating scents of breakfast, the unspoken tension lingered, as clear and palpable as the chill outside.
"Don''t forget the drops," she reminded Adamastor, her voice carrying a tone of caution.
Adamastor''s face twisted into a mild grimace at the thought. "Really? It gives the orange juice a weird salty taste," he complained, clearly unenthusiastic about the prospect.
Perdita raised an eyebrow, her concern evident in her gaze. "You''ve tasted it?"
Adamastor straightened up, defensive. "I taste everything before it leaves this kitchen. I have standards, you know."
A momentary silence filled the room as Perdita gripped the small vial in her hand. "Maybe skip tasting this one," she finally cautioned.
Adamastor''s eyes narrowed, fixated on the vial she held. "Why? What''s in that?"
Perdita sighed as though exhaling the weight of a secret she¡¯d long carried. "Vampire poison," she confessed, her eyes meeting his.
Adamastor''s jaw dropped, his gaze darting from the vial to Perdita''s solemn face. "Vampire, what now? You''re joking."
"I wish I were," Perdita replied, setting the vial down on the counter as though it were made of glass too fragile to hold its dark promise. "Imagine, Adamastor, what would happen if you ingested it. You''re human; you''d probably die paralyzed or turn into a vampire!"
Adamastor shook his head, still grappling with the bizarre turn of events. "We''re serving vampire poison? In this house? Since when?"
"It was your ide¡ªhuh, never mind," she cut off, her attention going back to the eggs, now perfectly whisked and ready for the pan.
Adamastor''s eyes sharpened his brow furrowing. "Wait, why are we giving this to Miss Morningstar? Does she want to¡ª"
Perdita was quick to interject. "No, Adamastor, it''s not like that," she assured him, "It''s to build immunity. That''s all."
Still incredulous, Adamastor glanced from Perdita to the vial as if expecting it to reveal its secrets.
"Vampire poison," he muttered, breaking the uneasy silence between them. "And this is for Miss Morningstar''s own good? As some sort of... preventive measure?"
"Exactly," Perdita responded, a note of resolute finality in her voice. "Think of it as a necessary evil, if you will. We''re not poisoning her; we''re arming her against a real threat. It was your id¡ªhuh, never mind," she repeated, trailing off as if stumbling on a thought she didn''t dare to articulate.
Adamastor noticed the odd slip but chose not to press her. His thoughts churned like a tempest, filled with reservations, ethical qualms, and an overriding concern for Nord.
Perdita slid the whisked eggs into a preheated pan, the sizzle filling the room with a comforting aroma that seemed wholly out of place given their macabre conversation.
Adamastor finally picked up the vial, holding it up to the light, contemplating its weighty implications. "And the others? The guests? Do they too¡"
Perdita shook her head as she gently scrambled the eggs with a wooden spoon, "No, it is only for Miss Morningstar."
Adamastor''s hand lingered a moment too long over the corked vial after setting it aside. He chuckled, a sound tinged with both humour and a shade of something darker. "Sometimes I wonder what in Atua¡¯s snare I''ve stepped into by working here," he said, swallowing hard, feeling his saliva pool as if in answer to some unspoken yearning.
Perdita caught his gaze, her eyes searching his for a moment. "Trust me, I have the same thoughts. But we''re aiding people¡ªpeople like Miss Morningstar¡ªwho are trying to make a better world. A world without the threat of the Hollow."
"And Mr. Baal," Adamastor added, his voice carrying an undercurrent of bitterness. It wasn''t just Nord Morningstar who held his attention; there was also the daunting, almost sinister magnetism of Baal. Yet Nord held a different pull, one he couldn''t quite put or dared into words and one that irked him for its indefinability.
"Exactly, Mr. Baal, too," Perdita confirmed, setting her empty bowl aside. "Both of them are on the front lines we can barely comprehend. If preparing a hearty breakfast is the least we can do, then so be it."
As she spoke, Adamastor felt a strange tug within him, one he¡¯d been noticing more frequently, especially when handling the vial. It was as if the poison called to him, like a siren¡¯s song drifting in from some obscure abyss. It unsettled him, this lure of a substance so lethal. Yet each time he felt the pull, it was stronger, more insistent.
Salty.
He grabbed a cloth and began wiping down the counter, a feeble attempt to distract himself from the vial¡¯s haunting presence. But as he looked over at the jug where the poison had mixed seamlessly into the orange juice, his mind wandered. What would it feel like to partake? To taste the forbidden elixir that fascinated him so?
"Adamastor?" Perdita¡¯s voice sliced through his thoughts. "Are you alright? You seem lost."
He met her eyes and offered a shaky smile. "I''m fine, just... daydreaming, I guess."
[CH. 0062] - Before the Hoard
Sandy crouched among the craggy rocks in the bone-chilling grasp of winter, her breath mingling with the frozen air. Her eyes, a vivid green like the oldest oaks, scanned the bleak valley below. With the innate senses of a dryad coursing through her veins, she had tracked the reek of death carried on the winds that swept through the borderland mountains¡ªmountains that marked the uneasy boundary between Ravendrift and Glassstras.
Her gaze settled on the slow-motion spectacle below: an army of the undead. There was no discernible leader among them, yet their intent was as clear as the blue ice that covered the pines. Purpose¡ªthat much was palpable.
Her fingers twitched around her bow. She notched an arrow, pointing it towards the shuffling mass. She could probably take a few down, but then what? She was concealed now, but a volley of arrows would reveal her perch, and her position was far from advantageous.
Sandy carefully withdrew the arrow from its string, returning it to the quiver strapped to her back. She manoeuvred nimbly through the rocks, her form barely more than a whisper against the craggy landscape.
"Back to the forest," she murmured, the weight of her decision settling deep within her chest. "I have to warn the others. The forest must be prepared for what''s coming."
As for the town of Ravendrift, populated by humans, Nixbob, Hobruin, Pucks and others, it was a pang of regret she felt, but only briefly. They were a species known for both their resilience and folly; it was every soul for itself there. With a last lingering glance at the shambling hoard, Sandy melted into the mountain''s shadow, her feet taking her on the quickest path through the snow-covered ground, back towards the life-filled embrace of the woods.
The wind howled behind her as if voicing its disapproval, but Sandy quickened her pace. The forest called her a siren song of leaf and root, and she had warnings to deliver. No, she wasn''t a hero in the tales of old, but she was a dryad, a protector of her sacred realm. And right now, that was what mattered most.
The evening light streamed through frost-laced windows, casting dappled shadows in the abuzz salon, filled with laughter, and every whispered conversation breathed life into the room.
Perdita manoeuvred through the crowd with her grace. A silver tray rested in her hands, offering an array of stuffed mushrooms and miniature beef wellingtons. Her eyes met those of the guests, always followed by a courteous nod or a whispered "Enjoy."
"You''re a natural at this, Perdita," said Adamastor, who walked parallel to her, his own tray balancing goblets of spiced mead. "They can''t take their eyes off you."
She chuckled. "They''re not looking at me. They''re looking at the food, Mr. Adamastor. But thank you for the compliment."
As they vanished briefly into the kitchen to replenish their trays, the echoes of their laughter mingled with the animated voices of the salon.
Meanwhile, several hallways and closed doors away, a different sort of scenario was in play. Nord hunched over a gentleman strapped to her reclining chair. The mechanical buzz of Nord''s tattoo machine filled the room, vibrating in a steady tune that seemed almost ritualistic.
"How much longer?" The gentleman winced in pain as Nord''s needle printed over his skin, leaving behind a trail of ink that began to form a wolf''s head. A magical charm of bravery.
"Patience," Nord muttered without lifting his gaze. "A spell takes time."
The gentleman sighed but nodded, steeling himself for the sharp pricks that would continue for some time.
Amidst the pulsating life that swarmed throughout the manor, Baal discovered no sanctuary. The place was a vivid hive, teeming with activity, but within its buzzing walls, he felt only a disquieting emptiness.
A nagging restlessness gnawed at him like the persistent itch of a phantom limb. He felt as though his very skin was too tight, suffocating him. An invisible current of electricity seemed to jolt through Baal, making it impossible to stay still.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the room as if the answer to his discomfort lay hidden among the faces. Was it his conscience speaking, remembering him how he tricked Nord? With a sense of urgent claustrophobia, Baal stepped outside, hoping the crisp winter air would cleanse whatever darkness had lodged itself into his psyche.
The cold air was like a web, thin but pervasive, clinging to Baal as he stepped away from the warm glow of the manor''s hearth. He found Merlin standing alone, leaning on his wooden staff as old as the wizard. His eyes were fixed on the night sky as though he were deciphering an arcane script written in the constellations.
"You feel it too, don''t you, young demon?" Merlin''s voice broke the silence, imbued with a depth that pulled at Baal''s core. The laughter and chatter from inside the manor seemed suddenly trivial, a childish game of pretend.
"Yeah, it''s unsettling," Baal admitted, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. "Like a constant itch in the back of my brain, driving me nuts."
Merlin finally turned to look at him, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You don''t like being in the dark, do you?"
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Baal snorted. "Ah, are we playing a game where we state the obvious? Okay then... the sky has two moons. Your turn."
Merlin''s mouth tightened into a weary line. "This is no time for jest, Baal."
That''s when it struck him¡ªMerlin felt it, too. This nebulous disquiet clung to him like a second skin. Rather than comforting Baal, the shared experience intensified his sense of foreboding.
"What''s happening, Merlin? A spell gone awry? Some cosmic event? I can''t pin it down."
"No idea...," Merlin sighed, his eyes drifting back to the night sky as if seeking answers. "But this is different. This is something...bigger."
"Primordial, you mean?" Baal looked at the wizard sharply. "You''re thinking it''s connected to the Nethersphere?"
Merlin shook his head, his eyes reflecting a deepening worry. "No, this is as if the core of Nyu itself is holding its breath. Waiting."
"Waiting? For what?" Baal felt a fresh wave of unease wash over him.
"That, young demon," Merlin said, his eyes meeting Baal''s with a gravity that sent shivers down his spine, "is what terrifies me the most. The not knowing."
"I hate to feel like this..."
Nord swung open the heavy double doors, leaving behind the clinking of glasses and idle chatter from the salon. With a grin as playful as it was infectious, she approached Merlin and Baal. Each hand steadied a mug of frothy beer, and a third one perched perilously between her arm and chest. "What''s going on here, boys? You two look like you''re either plotting the end of the world or trying to prevent it."
She handed them their mugs, the froth spilling over just a touch as she released her grip.
"We were just discussing the... air," Merlin replied, his words wrapped in a diplomatic vagueness that clashed with the gravity of their prior conversation.
Nord tilted her mug back and took a hearty gulp, foam flecking her upper lip. "Well, it''s crisp and smells like pine¡ªalmost like Christmas! Makes me want to go chop down a tree."
"Nyu Nord doesn''t celebrate Christmas," Baal interjected, his eyes lingering on the amber liquid before he took a cautious sip. The beer was sharp, with a tangy bitterness that struck the back of his tongue, yet it failed to clear the murky cloud that had settled over him.
"Someone is grumpy today." Nord''s eyes still twinkled as she added, "So what are the Ashleys doing by the lake? Putting up decorations for what exactly?"
"It''s a ritual to welcome the winter," Merlin explained. "They believe it persuades the colder months to be gentler on the townspeople."
Nord''s face seemed to brighten at the news, if that were even possible. "That sounds awesome! As soon as I''m done with this beer, I''m off to join them. If you can''t beat them, join them¡ªor in this case, if you can''t understand them, join them anyway, right? No, is it just me?"
Merlin''s stern expression broke into a soft chuckle as if Nord''s unbridled joy were an infectious melody. "You''re certainly a breath of fresh air, young Morningstar."
Nord drained the rest of her beer with the kind of gusto that would put seasoned drinkers to shame. "Didn''t Baal tell you? I''m on the verge of recovering my lost memories!" She handed her empty mug to Baal. "I''m super excited! Just waiting on a walking tower to knock at my door and make it happen!"
Merlin''s gaze snapped to Baal''s. "Tower? The Tower?" His voice was a murmur, tinged with a sense of urgency that seemed to push the temperature down another degree.
Baal''s eyes narrowed, locking onto Merlin''s with no words.
Oblivious to the thick tension that had just descended, Nord was already turning on her heels, bounding backward to the warmth and light of the salon. "Come on, you gloomy lot! Finish your beers, and let''s go decorate a lake or something!"
The lakeside was a tableau of celebration and community. Golden ribbons shimmered in the dying light, and candles ensconced in jars cast their gentle glow upon the still water. A table laden with treats beckoned while children¡ªincluding Bram and Kirara¡ªslid gleefully across the lake''s frozen surface. The Ashleys continued their work, weaving bright ribbons and paper ornaments into a tall tree that stood sentinel over the festivities.
Nord couldn''t contain her excitement. She flung herself onto the ice, laughing and whooping as she joined Bram and Kirara in their playful sliding. The sun dipped closer to the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, but the joy at the lake remained undimmed.
Yet Baal stood apart, watching, his shoulders tense. Merlin observed him discreetly, sensing the deepening of his unease.
"It smells..." Baal started.
"Candles?" Merlin offered.
"No," Baal shook his head.
"Pine?"
"No," he repeated, his eyes never leaving Nord, who was now trying to spin on the ice, her arms outstretched and face tilted up to catch the last rays of sunlight.
Merlin sniffed the air, pondering. "I can only detect garlic and... rotten cabbage, oddly enough."
"And what would smell like foul garlic and rotten cabbage?" Baal finally tore his gaze away from Nord to look at Merlin.
Merlin gestured with his gnarled staff toward the revelry. "Look at them, Baal. Look at your wife, at the children¡ªall full of life and bliss. Perhaps it''s nothing more than spoiled food causing that unpleasant odour. Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar."
Baal''s eyes shifted back to Nord, who was sharing a gleeful moment with Kirara. Even after taking a fall on the ice, she laughed harder, embodying the very essence of joy and life. It was infectious, and for a moment, Baal felt his worries lift, replaced by the simplest but most profound desire to join them¡ªto be part of that happy memory in the making.
But then he saw it, something darting through the periphery of the forest that framed the lake: quick, almost insubstantial shapes. One, two, four¡ªdryads. His eyes narrowed, and his breath caught.
"Dryads," Baal muttered, "four of them at the edge of the forest."
Merlin''s posture stiffened, his own eyes following Baal''s line of sight. "Dryads, you say? Here?"
"Yeah, and not just one¡ªfour of them. It''s unusual for them to venture this far from the heart of their forest. They must have a reason."
Merlin tightened his grip on his staff. "Dryads are deeply connected to their habitats. They don''t abandon the heart of their woods unless something dire forces them to."
"Exactly," Baal confirmed, his voice tinged with apprehension.
Merlin''s eyes betrayed a gravitas that seemed to age him in the span of that moment. "It seems we may not be given the luxury of dismissing our concerns as mere superstition. Something is amiss, and it''s not just a bad batch of Ashley cooking. It stinks."
"Agreed. Our unease, the dryads, maybe even the smell¡ªit''s all connected, isn''t it?"
Merlin nodded. "I believe so. And I believe we need to get to the bottom of this before whatever is brewing in the shadows steps into the light."
Just as Baal was turning away, his eyes caught a figure emerging from the forest, staggering toward the lake. It was an unsettling sight¡ªa humanoid shape with a drooping head and skin that looked as if it had been seared and blistered by relentless sun. No natural creature should look like that. No creature that would still breathe life.
"Get out! Everyone get out!" Baal''s voice cracked like a whip, slicing through the laughter and chatter that had filled the air moments before, "GET OUT NOW!"
[CH. 0063] - Out of Luck
Baal felt it first¡ªan eerie stillness that spread over the lake like a shroud. The jubilant chatter dimmed in his ears as if muffled by an unseen force. And then he saw it: an undead figure emerging in slow motion from the tree line, shambling forward with a disturbing sense of purpose.
Their eyes, or what should have been eyes, were vacant sockets. Clothing clung to them in soiled, ragged patches, remnants of the royal guard uniform they had once led. Open wounds crawling with maggots, as if even in death, they were a breeding ground for filth and depravity. The skin was scorched by sunlight, melted, and adorned with blisters ready to pop with pus.
Their mouths were twisted into grotesque shapes, resulting from rigour mortis and decomposition. Yet, even though they had no lungs to draw breath, an unsettling guttural sound seemed to emanate from them¡ªa sound that felt more than heard, vibrating in the pit of Baal''s stomach, rattling his bones.
Perhaps most unnerving was how they moved in an eerie unison as if guided by a singular, vicious will. They didn''t so much as look at one another; there was no need. They were all limbs and torsos and shuffling feet, moving steadily toward the gathered crowd as though magnetized by the warmth and life they lacked.
Baal''s eyes narrowed, zeroing in on a detail he''d initially missed¡ªa pair of puncture marks on the neck of one of the shambling horrors. His gut clenched, a new layer of dread settling over him like a shroud. These weren''t just any undead; they were thralls, ghoulish foot soldiers birthed from the dark arts of vampirism.
Baal''s eyes widened as large as they could and shouted once more, "Get out! Now!" His voice was a guttural growl, cutting across the laughter and happy chipper.
The first reactions were ones of confusion. A couple of heads turned in Baal''s direction, their faces a mixture of puzzlement and mild irritation. Some even began to meander toward him, perhaps thinking it was a part of the night''s festivities.
And then, the numbers changed. Instead of one undead, then broke through the shadows of the trees, a grotesque crowd of undead parade. Their eyes were hollow yet ablaze with an otherworldly light. As they began to shamble faster, the gravity of the situation descended like a hammer.
Panic erupted. People screamed, overturning baskets of food, decorations, and even small children in their scramble to flee. The once orderly procession disintegrated into a frenzied mob. The air was thick with sweat, fear, and putrification, cutting through the earlier scent of pine and burning candles.
As the horde swelled in number, ambling grotesquely toward Baal and Merlin, a sudden shower of arrows rained down from the trees surrounding the lake. Each shaft found its mark with a sickening thud, arresting the undead momentarily as they flinched and staggered.
"Good, we''re not alone in this fight," Merlin murmured, seizing the opportunity. With a fluid motion, he thrust his staff into the iced earth. The tip glowed a frigid blue, and then a jagged wall of ice erupted from the ground, carving a frosty barrier between them and the encroaching abominations. It was as if the lake itself had extended its frozen fingers to shield the living from the dead.
For a moment, the thralls were baffled, pushing against the ice wall like flies stuck in amber. It wouldn''t hold them for long, but perhaps long enough.
"Baal, go!" Merlin commanded.
Instead of retreating, Baal bolted forward, circling the edge of the ice wall, which now partially segmented the lake from the Morningstar estate. His eyes were aflame with fire, his fists clenched and ready. This barrier would give the townspeople and their guests a brief respite, a chance to seek refuge within the estate''s fortified walls. And they took it, with faces etched in terror, they streamed toward the safety of the estate.
But Baal ran in the opposite direction. His only concern was Nord. Baal''s eyes darted from thrall to thrall, his pulse quickening with his growing desperation. Where was she? Dodging arrows and evading outstretched, decaying arms, he wove through the monstrous crowd, his voice rising above the din. "Nord!"
Finally, like a beacon in a storm, he saw her. Nord was a whirlwind of motion, her twin daggers glinting menacingly as she dispatched thralls with deadly grace. Each cut of her blade seemed to release an alchemical energy, reducing the undead to ashes in an instant.
But even as he felt a surge of relief, Baal sensed her fatigue. Her movements were a beat slower, her blade a touch less precise. She had been working all day, her body pushed to the brink. She couldn''t keep this up much longer.
Baal redoubled his pace, summoning every reserve of speed he possessed. He reached her just as a thrall lunged at her from behind, its rotted teeth aimed at her neck. With a swift, furious motion, he seized the creature''s head and crushed it against the ice until it turned into dust.
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Nord glanced over. Her eyes widened in relief and exhaustion. "Took you long enough," she gasped, briefly staggering before righting herself.
"Happy to see you too, Morningstar," Baal said urgently. "You''re exhausted. Let''s pull back."
She shook her head stubbornly, her eyes flashing. "And let these things overrun us? I don''t think so. Do better, Baal! Do fucking better," she shouted while diving her blade into the skull of a thrall.
Baal grimaced, knowing the argument would be futile. Instead, he positioned himself back-to-back with her, forming a makeshift perimeter. "Then let''s make this count."
Nord nodded, tightening her grip on her daggers. "Alright, what''s the plan?"
Baal''s foot connected with one of the thrall''s chests, sending the decaying figure sprawling backwards into a cluster of its kind while he was thinking of a plan. "Ready for this?"
Baal''s eyes narrowed with determination as they took their defensive stances. "You''ve got an imp tattoo on your left rib cage, right? With a sword? Let''s use it for a little demonic assistance. Ready?"
"Ready!" Nord shouted while crouching low to the ice, spreading her hand over its frosty surface. The cold gnawed at her skin, almost as if trying to claim her. "What are the words?"
Baal used his own body as a shield for Nord. Leaning down, his lips hovered near her ear as he began to recite in a hushed yet powerful voice, "As I was among the captives by the river, the hells were opened, and I saw your visions. And so I call you." His hand overlaid hers on the icy surface as he continued, "Come to my aid, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
Nord felt a jolt of energy at the mention of the name, an electric charge that seemed to resonate with the tattoo on her ribcage. With a voice stronger than she felt, amplified by adrenaline and desperation, she boomed the words back, "As I was among the captives by the river, the hells were opened, and I saw your visions. And so I call you. Come to my aid, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
As the final syllable left her lips, the tattoo on her ribcage seemed to ignite with a ghostly flame, burning but not consuming from the surface of the ice where their hands made contact, dark fissures branched out, twisting and turning like roots seeking nourishment. And then, rising from the fractures, a legion of imps materialized, each brandishing a wickedly deadly sword.
The sudden appearance of the imps caught the thralls off guard. They hesitated, their undead instincts confused by the new arrivals. Seizing the moment, the imps launched themselves into a frenzied attack, their swords slashing through rotten flesh and bone with surprising efficacy. The thralls began to disintegrate, their forms collapsing into ashes and dust, swept away by an invisible wind.
Baal''s muscles tensed, his eyes darting from side to side, scanning for the next hidden threat. The summoned imps had shifted the tide, true, but something in the pit of his stomach told him that this was far from over.
The rain of arrows had ceased for the moment, yet Merlin''s icy shards still flew in an unpredictable arc, and any one of them could turn lethal if they strayed too close.
Nord sensed his heightened alertness. "What is it?" she whispered, feeling the taut muscles of his arms around her. "We''re winning, aren''t we?"
Baal tightened his grip on Nord, his arm instinctively pulling her closer. "Winning''s a strong word," he replied tersely. "I don''t trust easy victories."
The air grew colder still, a deep, unnatural chill that seemed to seep into their bones. Merlin, in the distance, had ceased his incantations and was now murmuring something too soft for them to hear. What was he warning them about?
Baal straightened up, feeling a momentary sense of triumph wash over him as he helped Nord to her feet. The lake around them was now a battlefield covered in ashes, a testament to the sheer force they''d unleashed.
The imps, their job mostly done, were driving what remained of the undead into the depths of the forest. Baal looked around; aside from Nord and himself, the frozen lake was deserted.
Smiling at Nord, he said, "Well, I think it''s over. Nice job, Morningstar."
Baal then turned and started walking towards Merlin, who was standing at a distance, the tip of his staff still glowing with lingering magic. But just as Baal took a step, he heard it¡ªa sharp crack, like the sound of splintering ice. It seemed to echo all around him, and he felt the ground beneath his feet shudder.
Reacting almost on instinct, Baal surged forward, his boots pounding against the ice as he lunged towards solid ground. He knew that sound; the ice sheet on Tear Lake was giving way. But as he reached the safety of the shore, he turned back and saw Nord, her eyes wide with surprise and her mouth open in a soundless scream, swallowed whole by the collapsing sheet of ice.
"No!" Baal shouted, his voice tinged with both disbelief and despair. But it was too late. The frozen surface where Nord had stood moments before was now a gaping hole, a void filled with the dark, icy waters of Tear Lake.
His chest tightened as he realized she was gone¡ªswallowed by the frozen waters, her form obscured by the darkness and floating ice shards. And there was nothing he could do to bring her back.
Baal''s muscles quivered, coiled like a spring, his eyes riveted to the dark waters as if sheer willpower could summon her back. Then Merlin''s gnarled hand clamped around his upper arm with a vice-like grip, halting him. "Boy, she is gone!"
The stark finality in Merlin''s voice felt like a gut punch. Baal struggled, the raw desperation in his movements almost animalistic. But the old wizard''s strength was otherworldly, immutable. It held him in place, as solid and unyielding as the earth itself.
Defeated, Baal sank to his knees, his gaze still locked onto the murky abyss below. The lake''s surface had settled back into a deceptive serenity as if mocking him. As if it hadn''t just swallowed the love of his life, his best friend and wife. No, she couldn''t be gone. Not like this!
The weight of Merlin''s hand lifted from his arm, but the burden it left was far heavier. "Baal," the wizard began, his timbre carrying a note of softness Baal had never heard before¡ªa vulnerability that belonged in places deeper than any lake.
"Stop," Baal rasped, his voice choked with a bitter emotion he couldn''t quite name¡ªgrief, rage, impotence¡ªall jumbled into a toxic brew. "Just¡ªstop. Let me go."
And Merlin did. The old wizard retreated a step, his staff clicking softly against the ice as he moved back. "No, she is not gone, not like this. Nord Morningstar is not going to die like this!"
[CH. 0064] - Out of Luck
A haze of soft pink enveloped the room, casting a capricious glow over a closet adorned with daisy motifs. Wooden shelves, punctuated by the bright faces of plushies and Barbies, dominated another wall. A dollhouse intricately crafted from wood showcased rooms tailor-made for Nord''s ragged dolls. Sitting on the floor, dressed in a cotton onesie and her hair tied in a dishevelled ponytail, Nord was lost in her world of crayons and paper.
Her drawing was coming to life¡ª drawings and more drawings of blue water, with paper-foiled boats sailing across the paper. While she was working on a lake, fractured by shards of ice, bones and blood, and in the sky, ugly crimson birds seemed almost ready to take flight.
Her concentration was interrupted by a sudden, muted tap of hooves on wood that reverberated through the room. It was a curious sound¡ªboth odd and comforting. Nord lifted her gaze from her artwork. Her eyes ballooned in astonishment at what stood before her. A momentary hush fell over her; she feared that even a breath could dispel the magic.
Gently, Nord rose from her perch on the floor. Her small hand reached out, trembling slightly as if she were about to touch something infinitely delicate. Her fingers brushed against the velvety, pure-white fur.
"Are you a unicorn?" Her voice was just a fragile whisper, barely escaping her lips.
The unicorn answered in its own silent language, nuzzling its head against her shoulder. The feeling was electric, a hushed understanding that words could never capture. A smile stretched across Nord''s face, warmth radiating from the point where the creature''s fur met her skin, filling her with an indescribable joy.
"I''ll take the silence as a yes," she said, her eyes twinkling.
But the room''s energy shifted. The unicorn took a step back, its horn aimed squarely at Nord''s abdomen as if readying for a charge. Nord''s eyes flickered with a sudden, intense brightness. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins, yet she neither spoke nor moved.
What followed was beyond words¡ªa cataclysmic explosion that bathed the room''s soft pink hues in a visceral red. Bits of flesh and bone splattered violently against the walls, sliming down to coat even the ceiling.
The lake Nord had been drawing seemed to have become an ocean of another kind¡ªan ocean awash with crimson, an uncanny silence hanging heavy in the room where magic had once flourished and innocence had just died.
Nord Morningstar met a unicorn when she was five years old¡ªand she killed it.
"Nord, baby girl, what happened?" A gravelly voice sliced through the heavy, almost palpable, silence of the room, now splattered in shades of visceral red.
"I saw a unicorn, Daddy!" Nord grinned as she spun around to face the figure in the doorway. Her father enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly as if seeking assurance that she was still real. A weighty silence descended upon them; words seemed inconsequential in the wake of what had transpired.
"What have you done, Nord?" His voice was tinged with a mixture of awe and dread.
Looking up, Nord sought her father''s eyes. But his features were a blur, a shifting haze as if distorted by some unseen force. The only points of clarity were his eyes¡ªdeep and dark but with flickers of emerald green, burning like twin candle flames in a dark room.
"I did nothing, Daddy. They were mean!" Her voice was laden with a conviction that belied her tender years.
For a moment, her father simply held her, staring into the distance as if grappling with some terrible, irrevocable truth. Finally, he spoke, his voice almost a whisper, "I guess it''s time we had a talk, little Morningstar. A talk about who you are, what you are, and the things you can do."
"What am I, Daddy?" Nord''s eyes were wide, filled with the mingling of innocence and a dawning awareness that her world was far more complicated than crayons and dollhouses.
"You are like me, little star," he said, his chuckle tinged with a nervous energy he couldn''t quite conceal.
"So, I am a¡ª" Nord began, her voice trailing off as she searched her father''s inscrutable face for answers in a fragmented memory that wasn''t fully completed.
In the ink-black water, Nord''s senses were numbed by the bone-chilling cold. It felt like the lake itself was holding her limbs in a vice grip, reluctant to let her go. Despite the odds, she kicked with all the strength she could muster, but her legs felt distant, almost foreign to her.
If she weren''t in such a dire situation, she might have almost laughed at the irony¡ªthe damn lake seemed hell-bent on drowning her. But laughter would be a luxury she couldn''t afford; it would steal the precious air she had left.
Just when it felt like her body was reaching its limit, something flickered in her peripheral vision¡ªa small, floating figure surrounded by a dim luminescence. "Bram," she mouthed silently, recognizing the tiny Nixbob suspended in the water.
With renewed urgency, she propelled herself toward the small child. Each stroke was a monumental effort as if she were pulling against the gravitational pull of a planet. It felt as though the water had turned into a thick syrup, resistant to her every move. But she continued to forge ahead, spurred on by the sight of Bram''s frozen expression.
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Finally, Nord reached him, her fingers grazing against his arm. As she made contact, the realization of their situation seemed to sink in deeper¡ªboth were trapped in this abyss, both facing the crippling cold.
Gathering whatever resilience she had left, Nord clutched Bram''s arm tightly. For a moment, her fingers felt like they were encased in ice, but she forced herself to hold on.
Nord''s eyes flitted nervously to Bram''s face; the child seemed eerily still, his eyes closed. The grim possibility that he was unconscious¡ªor worse¡ªmade her heart pound in her chest. She tightened her grip on his arm and pushed off with her feet again, attempting to ascend to the surface.
However, Bram''s inert body seemed to add a hundred pounds to her weight, making her struggle against the water''s pull even more gruelling. Every movement she made was a monumental effort, each kick and pull becoming more laborious than the last. She felt like a sinking stone, dragged down by fatigue and the dead weight of her own failing strength.
As she felt her energy ebbing away, the desperate reality of her situation crept into her consciousness. Were they both going to drown here, trapped in this icy abyss? Just as despair threatened to engulf her, she felt something¡ªa grip, strong and unyielding, encircling her wrist.
A jolt of surprise shot through her, followed by a surge of buoyant force. It was as if an unseen hand had seized her, pulling her upwards with an almost supernatural strength. Within seconds, she found herself breaking the water''s surface, gasping hungrily for air as she emerged into the moonlight.
Nord''s vision was blurred, and her body felt like it was encased in a block of ice. The chilling sensation was so acute it was almost as if she could feel each individual ice crystal forming in her veins. Though she struggled to focus, she could hear Baal''s voice¡ªdesperate, commanding¡ªas he performed CPR on Bram.
"Come on, buddy, wake up," Baal counted aloud between compressions, urgency lacing his words. "Come on, Bram, wake up!"
Nord felt like she was fading, her senses receding from her like a retreating tide. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she swayed dangerously.
"Merlin! Take the kid; I''ve got to get Nord inside," Baal bellowed, the urgency in his voice now heightened to a level Nord had never heard before.
Though her vision was cloudy, she saw the elderly figure of Merlin rush forward to cradle Bram''s limp body. "I''m okay," she managed to say, her words barely audible as they escaped through her chattering teeth.
Baal didn''t seem to hear¡ªor if he did, he wasn''t taking any chances. Swiftly, he shrugged off his cardigan and wrapped it around her shivering frame. He scooped her up from the ground, her body feeling incongruously light in his arms.
As he carried her, her head lolled against his shoulder, the warmth from his cardigan barely making a dent in the deep chill that had settled in her bones. But its scent¡ªearthy, tinged with a hint of mint ¡ªwas oddly comforting, a sensory anchor in the disorienting swirl of events.
They moved quickly, Baal''s footsteps pounding a frantic rhythm against the earth as he darted towards the manor. As they crossed the threshold, Nord finally passed out.
The scream was harrowing, a sound so raw it seemed to tear at the very fabric of the air. It echoed through the hallways, reverberating back in a haunting refrain that no one could ignore. "Bram! Bram!"
Perdita''s voice was laced with a kind of anguish that defied description, a torment so profound it could break bones and shatter hearts. It was a mother''s scream, a primal howl that cut through everyone''s soul like a razor-sharp blade. "My little baby!"
The cry lingered, a piercing note that resonated in the air long after it had been uttered, as if the walls themselves were reluctant to let it go. It seemed to hang there, a visceral testament to grief so acute that it left a haunting imprint on everyone who heard it. "My lucky charm, he was..."
For a moment, everything stood still. People froze in place, their movements suspended, their words caught in their throats.
As Perdita''s cries continued to echo, repeating her son''s name like a broken litany: a mother had lost her child, and her agony was a language that everyone understood.
Nord lay there, swaddled in blankets from head to toe as if she could shield herself from the raw grief that had seeped into the very walls of the house. Even after Perdita''s cries had grown distant, their echoes lingered like haunting reverberations, filling the space with an unbearable tension.
When her bedroom door creaked open, Nord remained motionless under her covers. She didn''t want to hear it¡ªdidn''t want to face whatever reality lay beyond the safety of her bed.
A weight settled beside her on the mattress, followed by a hand that gently pushed back the covers from her forehead. "You still have a fever," Baal''s voice broke the silence, laced with concern.
She felt the bandages on her fingers and feet and sensed the way her skin still prickled with a lingering burn. As if on cue, she heard the soft thump of Baal''s shoes hitting the floor, followed by the rustle of clothing. Then, almost cautiously, he slid into bed beside her.
Nord remained still as Baal covered himself with a portion of the blanket, leaving her head still enveloped in its fabric cocoon. Finally, his arms encircled her, pulling her gently toward him until she felt the warmth of his body against hers.
For a long moment, they lay there in silence. No words were exchanged, but none were needed. Baal''s arms around her felt like a sanctuary¡ªa small pocket of warmth and safety in a world that had suddenly grown terribly cold.
Finally, she broke the silence, "Where is..."
Baal''s voice wavered as he spoke, filling the room with a heaviness that seemed to cling to the air. "At the clinic, Perdita went now with Adamastor and Finnea." He paused, taking a shaky breath. "Sirdona spoke with Perdita, and...we''re all expecting the worst. She didn''t give us much room for anything other than prayer and hoping for a miracle."
"Is there something we could..." Nord''s voice trailed off, the words sticking in her throat as if they were too painful to be fully formed.
Baal sighed a heavy exhalation that seemed to bear the weight of his guilt. "Nord, you almost died too. You have frostbite on your feet and fingers. The kid... Bram... he was in the water for too long. I don''t think he''s going to wake up. And I¡ªI don''t have that kind of power. I wish I did, but I don''t."
His voice teetered dangerously close to breaking. "When I first came back to Nyu, Bram was the first creature I spoke to. He was looking for a four-leaf clover and wanted a bit of luck to protect his mom. So I spellbound him to come here if things ever went south at home."
The blanket rustled as Nord pushed it off her face, her eyes locking onto Baal''s. She reached up, her bandaged fingers gently brushing away the tears that had started to spill down his cheeks. "It''s not your fault," she said softly, her gaze unwavering.
Baal looked at her, his eyes meeting hers with a blend of relief and sorrow. "Yeah," he murmured, "but it just doesn''t feel like it is." His arms tightened around her as if by holding her close, he could somehow keep the painful reality at bay, even if just for a moment longer. But both knew that the world outside their embrace was crumbling, and the time to face it was fast approaching.
Amidst the swirl of emotions¡ªguilt, sorrow, regret¡ªone thought persisted in Baal''s mind, a notion he didn''t dare voice but couldn''t banish. As much as he grieved for Bram, as much as his heart ached for Perdita''s loss, he was consumed by a visceral, selfish relief that it wasn''t Nord.
[CH. 0065] - Microwave Memories
Dumdum tightened the reins around his pony''s neck, every muscle in his body aching, every joint on the cusp of rebellion. His mount''s breathing mirrored his own¡ªragged and weary. Both goblin and pony were battered from relentless days of pursuit.
"Easy, pony, easy," Dumdum whispered, patting the pony''s mane. "We''re near the end, I promise you that... I think."
It was true. For the first time in days, the walking tower had ceased its incomprehensible motion. Erect in its newfound stillness, it sat like an obelisk, reaching heavenward in the barren wastelands of Gravenwatch.
Dumdum squinted through his chapped, windburned eyelids. "What do you think? A riddle, isn''t it?" he mumbled to his pony, but of course, the creature had no answer.
The term ''far'' was an understatement for how far removed they were from their intended destination of Ravendrift. Dumdum felt a strange tug, almost a clawing sensation, at the back of his skull. It beckoned him to the tower. Was it destiny or just fatigue? The line was blurry, like the edge of a mirage wavering in the cold. Was he chasing his fate or simply a ghost¡ªa wild goose in the guise of stone and mystery?
He sighed. "What''s a tower doing wandering the earth anyhow? Towers should be silent. Quiet. Not¡ª"
Dumdum was cut off by his own thoughts. Quiet? The tower was now precisely that. It stood still, betraying no secrets. Its enormity defied imagination, scraping the sky in a manner that made counting its floors an exercise in futility.
"Time to see if you''re worth all this, eh?" He dug his heels lightly into the pony''s flanks, urging the creature to summon what little strength remained. "Run, love. Let''s catch this tower before it decides to sprout legs and tear off across the face of this cursed land."
The pony neighed softly, almost in agreement, and accelerated. Dirt and frozen gravel flew from their hooves as they made their way across the wasteland.
Dumdum felt the chill air fill his lungs as they closed the distance. A reckoning, or perhaps a revelation, awaited him. Regardless of what the tower held¡ªanswers or illusions¡ªhe knew that they had crossed the point of no return.
The pony huffed, its nostrils flaring as they picked up speed, hooves pounding the frozen earth. Dumdum''s eyes remained fixed on the tower. It stood tall and motionless, almost mocking in its serenity.
"You better not sprout legs and run, you hunk of stones," he growled under his breath as they closed the distance, "We have undead to cast away!"
His eyes scanned its face, looking for an entrance, a sign, anything. The tower seemed as impenetrable as it was mysterious. But Dumdum couldn''t shake the nagging feeling, the insidious itch in his mind, that told him this behemoth of a structure was more than just bricks and mortar. It was as if the tower itself were a knot in a sprawling web of nasty fate, and Dumdum had just pulled a thread.
As he drew nearer, the sense of finality grew stronger, almost palpable in the bitter air. Dumdum glanced down at his pony, its sides heaving with exertion.
"This is it," he said softly, as much to himself as to the animal beneath him.
Finally, they stood before it. Dumdum dismounted, his boots crunching on the frozen earth. He approached the looming structure, every step weighed down by exhaustion.
He reached out and placed a trembling hand on the cold stone of the tower''s entrance. The itch in the back of his skull intensified, now a piercing tug.
"Alright," he whispered, steeling himself for what lay ahead. "Let''s see what you''re hiding, you stone-faced mystery."
Taking a deep breath, Dumdum pushed open the massive door, which creaked a reluctant welcome. He stepped inside, swallowed whole by the shadowy depths of the enigmatic tower. As the door closed behind him, the itch in his skull faded to a faint echo.
Dumdum''s worn boots echoed on the stone floor as he ventured further into the tower. His experience in the grand halls of castles, ornate chambers of palaces, and magical sanctuaries of wizards had led him to expect opulence or perhaps arcane mystery. But nothing could have prepared him for what he found.
The interior of the tower was like the night sky turned inward, lined with an array of shelves holding thousands upon thousands of jars. Each jar emanated a soft, pulsing glow, their collective luminescence projecting an ethereal tapestry of light onto the tower''s stone walls. It was as if he had stumbled into a cathedral of captured stars, each jar a sermon in celestial wonder.
"In all my days... dear Atua..." Dumdum muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn''t tear his eyes away from the spectacle. "Ain''t never seen nothing like this."
Stretching endlessly upward, the interior walls of the tower were lined with meticulously crafted shelves, each holding jars that glowed with an inner light. Countless jars¡ªeach one pulsating with a luminescence that was, inexplicably, stronger than the one beside it.
The illumination filled the tower with hues he''d never seen, and the air seemed to hum softly with the contained energy.
Cautiously, he approached one of the shelves and extended a trembling hand towards a jar glowing with a gentle blue light. The itch at the back of his skull, which had guided him this far, returned as a quiver of anticipation.
"Atua, what are¡?" Dumdum whispered to himself, his eyes darting around the tower, half-expecting some guardian to leap out and scold him. But no voice answered besides whispers, and the tower stood as quiet and inscrutable as ever.
Emboldened, he finally touched the jar. It was cool to the touch but seemed to vibrate softly under his fingertips as though acknowledging him. The blue light flickered momentarily, like a star winking in the night sky, before resuming its steady glow.
Dumdum stepped back, his chest tightening with emotion. The little goblin was overwhelmed by pure, blissed happiness.
His gaze swept over the countless jars once more, a vista of contained brilliance that transcended any treasure or magic he''d ever seen. At that moment, Dumdum knew that whatever quest or errand had led him to this forsaken wasteland, to this wonderful tower, was intrinsically bound to these jars of light.
Elation swelled within Dumdum like a roaring tide, sweeping away years of servitude and hardship. For the first time in his life, he felt an unbridled joy that he couldn''t contain. He wanted to shout it to the heavens, dance with the jars, and sing praises to the mysterious forces that had guided him here.
With laughter bubbling up from the depths of his soul, he began to race up the tower''s spiral staircase, taking the steps two at a time. His eyes were alight with a fervour that mirrored the radiant jars around him. He moved higher and higher, propelled by an almost magnetic pull.
The jars whispered to him as he ascended, their luminescence painting the stairwell in a cascade of vibrant hues. At first, the sounds were like indistinct murmurs, mere echoes in a cavernous space. But as he ran, attuned to the symphony of light and sound around him, the whispers grew clearer.
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Then, suddenly, he heard it¡ªa distinct conversation, as if captured within one of the glowing jars.
"I made dinner!" said a male voice.
"Mmm... it''s really good!" another voice responded, lighter.
"Is it not salty?"
"It''s perfect, Baal. Thank you, I''m really hungry."
"So because I don''t yet have a table, it will be a picnic in the kitchen with plastic dishes. What do you say?"
"I love you!"
Dumdum slowed his pace, stunned. The voices sounded so real, so vivid as if the people were right there with him. The intimacy of the conversation left him feeling like an intruder in a private moment. But more than that, it sparked an unquenchable curiosity. Were these memories? Echoes of a past life? Or something entirely different?
His hands trembled as he approached the jar from which the voices seemed to emanate. The light within it pulsed in a soothing rhythm, almost as if it were breathing. As he touched the jar, the voices faded, leaving behind a lingering sense of warmth and¡ happiness.
"What are you? What is this place?" Dumdum whispered to the jar, a quiver of awe in his voice.
As Dumdum resumed his climb, his thoughts clung to the whispers¡ªBaal and Nord, two names etched into his consciousness as if they had always been there. It was odd, feeling like he knew these people like he had peered into the most intimate moments of their lives. Yet, he knew there was a gap, an incomplete narrative.
His feet continued to pound against the stairs, each step resonating in time with his quickening heartbeat. The jars alongside him seemed to react to his emotional state, their lights dancing more frantically, their whispers blending into an urgent cacophony.
Finally, he reached another jar that called to him, its light distinctive among the myriad of glowing containers. It pulsed like a slow heartbeat, beckoning him to touch it and unravel its secrets.
Dumdum hesitated, his fingers hovering over the glass. The last experience had been so vivid, so emotionally loaded, that he found himself bracing for whatever would come next. With a deep, steadying breath, he touched the jar.
A wash of emotion surged through him, so potent it was almost physical. He heard a voice, and he recognized it as Baal''s¡ªbroken, unlike the previous, cheerful tone.
The keys turned in the lock, granting Nord''s nose entry into a world of enticing aromas¡ªsweet spices mingling with the savoury scent of roasted cheese. The flat was a sensory whirlwind, pulsating to the melancholic rhythm of Bossanova melodies that filled the air. With cautious steps, Nord crossed the threshold, greeted by a sight of cluttered packed cupboards with empty jars and bulging plastic bags, which had bore witness to a decade''s worth of shared existence.
"Baby, I''m home!" Nord''s voice carried a playful edge as she called out, a grin on her lips. "Are you cooking?"
Silence hung for a moment, only to be broken by his presence materializing around the stove. A tall young man with vivid red hair tied in a half-messy ponytail. He stood there, absorbed in the alchemy of flavours as he stirred the bubbling bolognese, a taste of spaghetti on his lips. But as he caught sight of her, his face broke into a warm smile, a glass of wine extended in the offering. "Here! How was your day?"
A playful query arose, an eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Did you unpack all our pots for this?"
His response was delivered with an air of conviction. "Well, how else would I cook?"
"Babe, seriously? I told you to order in! This will be double work!"
A sheepish grin tugged at his lips, black demon eyes sparkling with pride and a confident shrug. "And I wanted tonight to be special." His lips met hers, a fleeting kiss that tasted of shared histories and provincial herbs. A subtle sway, two steps of an impromptu dance, followed. "After all, it''s not every day you get dumped."
She chuckled a melodic sound that danced through the room. "You''re such a drama queen."
"Let''s make every moment count till the very last, please," he countered, his gaze locked on the simmering sauce before him.
"Wait, so tonight, am I dining with Gordon Ramsay?"
A mock gasp followed by a playful correction. "Fabio Viviani!"
A brow quirked in mild confusion. "Who?"
An exaggerated expression of disbelief crossed his face. "You''ve got to be kidding me! How dare you! You don''t know Fabio Viviani? Haven''t I taught you anything, warlock?" He brought a spoonful of bolognese to her lips, inviting her into the experience of flavours.
Her response was marked by an appreciative hum, her lips wiped clean before reclaiming her wineglass. Taking her seat at the meticulously arranged table, she posed a question that hung in the air like a plague. "So, when are we doing it?"
His attention shifted from his culinary creation to her, a moment of shared intimacy that transcended mere words. "After dinner?"
"Babe?"
A chuckle laced with tenderness. "You know, it''s really hard to be resolute about breaking up when you keep calling me ''babe''." His words were punctuated by the echo of a lid clattering onto the pan, the metallic sound reverberating as a comma at the end of a sentence.
A knowing smile graced her lips. "But we made a pact, a contract."
He sighed, "I know."
"Today is the last day. The Initiation is tomorrow."
"I''m aware."
The name that slipped from her lips held weight and history, a shared secret between them. "Baal..."
His shoulders slumped, a surrender to the gravity of their circumstances. Nord stepped closer, hands resting lightly upon his back, a tender gesture belonging only to them. "These ten years... they''ve been everything. The best patron, the dearest friend, the most incredible boyfriend. The short notice husband. You''ve taught me everything and brought true happiness into my life. And I would give anything to not do this."
Her voice softened, carrying the resonance of a decision made. "But she''s my sister. She is my soulmate. Today, our pact comes to an end. You''ll have to do it. For you and for me, I need to return your magic."
¡°You¡¯ll forget me, you¡¯ll forget everything¡¡±
¡°I know.¡±
¡°Why can¡¯t I be your Soulmate?
A pause heavy with emotions that transcended time. Baal turned, his gaze locking onto hers¡ªa connection unbroken by uncertainty reflected by his black eyes kindle at the centre with a flaming orange iris. "Can''t we at least have dinner first?"
A question met with a soft smile, her eyes holding his with unwavering conviction. "You know the answer."
With a heavy sigh, he leaned against the sink, head bowed as he wrestled with the inevitability of their end.
She closed the distance between them, her touch a balm to his troubled heart. "These years have been perfect. But it''s time. I''m scared if we keep postponing it, I lose the willpower to do it. Because ¡ I don¡¯t want to lose you, Baal¡"
He looked up, his eyes burning with an unspoken regret but also gratitude. "I know, me too."
Positioned before her, a bristle of determination in his stance, he swept aside the tendrils of her untamed, short hair, revealing the canvas of her face¡ªdiamond-shaped and framed by wide, deep brown eyes. To the world, she might have resembled any ordinary girl next door, one who could melt into the tapestry of a crowd, slipping by unnoticed. But to him, she was more than that. She was his Northern Star, the beacon that illuminated his days. Her name, Nord Morningstar, was fitting.
"Nord Morningstar, my minion, my warlock, my best friend, my wife," his voice resonated with reverence and command as he held her hands within his own. His gaze, holding a savage crackling flame, locked onto her face.
"Tomorrow, you shall journey to the Initiation of South Morningstar. There, you shall claim the Hallow as your own, accepting the penitence that comes with it¡ªto be cast away. I have bestowed upon you knowledge, tools, and weapons etched into the very fabric of your skin. You shall stand as my right hand and rule in my name over any world you shall step. And so it shall come to pass, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
A silence hung between them, a pregnant pause as Nord''s gaze flickered, uncertainty dancing within her eyes. "I can still remember..."
"Tomorrow morning, those memories shall vanish," he interjected with a small smirk. "But before that, let us share a last dinner together, let me kiss you until none of us can feel their lips and let me make love to my wife for the last time. At the first light, it shall be as if none of this ever happened."
A hint of gratitude infused her response. "Thank you."
"Now, let us eat. I''m starving."
"Baal?"
"Yes?"
"I love you."
"Don''t be silly; I love you more."
Dumdum''s body slumped onto the cold, stone step, his back against the stairwell''s wall. The mixed emotions that swelled within him were too overpowering, too complex to easily untangle. His heart ached with the sorrow of Baal and Nord, their love so palpable yet so cruelly truncated. It was as if he had ingested their happiness and their agony, their love and their loss, and now he was filled to the brim, overflowing with feelings he couldn''t fully grasp.
"Why?" he murmured, a single tear escaping his eye and making its journey down his cheek. "Why do stories like these have to end as such?"
Just as he was on the brink of losing himself in this emotional tempest, a voice¡ªdeep, authoritative, and tinged with a mystique that commanded attention¡ªechoed through the stone chamber.
"Who are you? And what are you doing in the Tower of Memories?"
[CH. 0066] - Microwave Memories
Dumdum''s heart jolted in his chest as a voice sliced through the air. His eyes darted left and right, scanning the musty hall of stairs for the source. It wasn''t until he glanced upward that he saw him¡ªa small boy perched at the top of the winding staircase. The child sported horns as majestic as a stag, sprouting from his scalp and arcing towards the heavens. His hair was a blazing shade of red, and his eyes, oh his eyes, were coal-black orbs with flickering orange flames at their cores.
Dumdum''s mouth opened and closed, but words were stubborn. "I...I¡"
"I¡I¡I what?" The child''s voice had an air of indignance. "This is my Master''s tower, and you weren''t invited!"
"I know, but the door was¡ª"
"That doesn''t give you the right to barge in! How rude!" The child''s tail twitched and coiled behind him, mirroring his agitation. "Would you appreciate it if I walked into your home like this?"
Dumdum shook his head. "No, I can''t imagine that because¡ª"
"Because it''s rude!" The child interrupted again.
"No, because I don''t have a house," Dumdum corrected him, his voice tinged with a quiet sadness. The devil-child''s tail, previously a wagging indicator of his mood, suddenly deflated, falling limp.
"You don''t?"
Dumdum shook his head, "I sleep where I can. Usually where I work."
A softening glance replaced the child''s earlier indignation. "Hungry?"
"A bit peckish, actually."
"Follow me, then. My Master taught me how to cook." The boy began to ascend the Tower''s winding steps.
As Dumdum followed, he regretted his admission of hunger. With each flight of stairs, his legs grew heavier, his breath more ragged. By the time they reached the fifth floor, Dumdum was doubting the wisdom of accepting food from a horned child in a mysterious tower.
Yet just when he thought the stairs would never end, they did. He stepped onto a floor that shattered his sense of reality. The room was a study in contrasts, its design incongruent with everything he knew. At the centre stood an expansive bed, its stark whiteness a startling focal point. Large enough to fit four people comfortably, it looked like a place where one might either sleep for an eternity or not sleep at all. The cabinets near the bed were another oddity, devoid of any ornamentation, their doors sliding sideways like enchanted panels.
Across from the bed, a large frame hung on the wall. But it held no portrait or artwork¡ªjust a darker reflection of Dumdum himself. "A useless mirror," he muttered under his breath.
To the right, what seemed like a bathroom but with no stove or fireplace to heat water. And then to the left, a kitchen. Oh, that kitchen. A place so foreign Dumdum couldn''t find the words to describe it.
Intrigued yet bewildered, he moved closer to the boy, who was now placing a bowl inside a rectangular box. With a push of a button, the box hummed to life, emitting light as the bowl began to rotate.
"I have some leftovers from yesterday. I hope you like pasta," the boy said, breaking the silence.
"By the way, my name is Tower. Yours?"
"Dumdum."
There was a pause, and then Tower looked him straight in the eye, scepticism etched on his youthful face. "Really?"
"Huh, yes," Dumdum confirmed, a bit defensively.
"That''s not a nickname?"
"No."
"I see you had a happy childhood," Tower said, his voice laced with irony as he turned his attention back to the box, which suddenly chimed. The light within dimmed, signalling that the cooking¡ªor whatever arcane process had just occurred¡ªwas complete.
Tower carefully removed the bowl and set it on a sleek table, already adorned with flatware and what looked to be sparkling water. With a wave of his hand, the seats shifted out, inviting them to dine.
They sat, and Tower distributed the pasta into individual plates. Dumdum took a tentative bite. Salty, but his mother had always told him beggars couldn''t be choosers.
"So, why were you chasing me?" Tower questioned, sipping his sparkling water.
"There''s a horde of undead approaching Ravendrift," Dumdum replied, slurping his pasta without finesse.
"So?" Tower seemed unmoved by this revelation.
"So?" Dumdum echoed, puzzled by the boy''s nonchalance.
"What does a tower¡ªor me, for that matter¡ªhave to do with undead?" Tower queried, genuinely baffled.
Dumdum leaned back in his chair. "It''s fate, Tower. I was headed to Ravendrift, and then I heard talk about a tower, and lo and behold, I found your Tower on my path. Fate wants us together. You need to help me get to Ravendrift."
Tower tried not to chuckle. "Did you just shave the yak? That logic is all over the place. Besides, my Master specifically told me not to go to Ravendrift." He popped another bite of pasta into his mouth, savouring it with the earnestness of a well-disciplined child.
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"Your Master is in Ravendrift?" Dumdum inquired, sensing an opportunity.
"Yes, he''ll always be where his wife is. He made it clear when he said, ''Don''t come to Ravendrift.'' I won''t disobey him," Tower declared, swelling with pride.
Dumdum paused, twirling his fork through the tangle of pasta on his plate. "So, you''re not at all concerned that your Master and his wife are potentially in the path of a horde of undead?"
The question hovered in the air, a challenge wrapped in innocent curiosity. Tower''s tail, previously a live wire of emotional cues, twitched uncertainly. For the first time, doubt crept into his eyes, muddying the clarity of his earlier convictions.
The sound of the fork clattering onto the plate echoed through the kitchen, bouncing off the walls like a lonely ghost. Tower''s eyes welled up, a storm of emotions brewing behind those fiery irises.
"You don''t know who my Master is!" His voice trembled, half-choked by the lump in his throat. "He''s really powerful. I mean, really, really powerful. And his wife? Even more so. She summoned him, and he listened only to her! That is how powerful she is!"
Dumdum sat there, caught off guard by the force of Tower''s emotions. The room had turned into a pressure cooker, and he felt ill-equipped to release the steam.
"I¡ª"
"I¡ªI what? You don''t believe me? My Master''s magic fills all these jars," Tower gestured wildly, indicating shelves upon shelves of enigmatic jars, "and when they''re ready, they''ll come back. We''ll be a family, a happy one! There''s no undead horde that can stop them!" His voice had escalated into a shout now, his body quaking with indignation.
Dumdum held his gaze steady. "Maybe your Master told you not to go to Ravendrift to keep you safe. To protect you." The sincerity in Dumdum''s voice was as unfeigned as it was spontaneous.
For a moment, Tower simply looked at him as if weighing the merit of his words. Finally, he sank back into his chair, his shoulders dropping, his tail drooping. "You think he would do that?"
"Protect you?" Dumdum scanned the room¡ªthe state-of-the-art kitchen, the luxurious bed, the jars filled with what he could only imagine were wonders or dreams. "Look at all this, Tower. You''re living a life far removed from the troubles of the world. If this isn''t a form of care, what is? This place is like a dream. I guess, for some, it''d be the best dream ever."
Tower''s eyes followed Dumdum''s gaze, finally settling on one of the jars. It was as though he was seeing it for the first time. His tail began a slow, thoughtful wag, and his lips curled into a faint smile.
"Maybe you''re right," he murmured, more to himself than to Dumdum. "Maybe you''re right."
"Do you think you can live with the idea that your Master and his wife are in danger?" Dumdum broached cautiously as if stepping onto a frozen pond. "What if the situation is so dire that he told you to stay away because he knows he can''t protect you right now?"
Tower''s eyes met Dumdum''s, the question plunging deep. He pushed his plate away, the uneaten pasta suddenly unappetizing. "You really think that''s why? Then why wouldn''t he just come here, where it''s safe, and be with me?"
"Maybe they''re also committed to helping people," Dumdum suggested gently. "Ravendrift isn''t some backwater village; it''s a significant town. Many lives are at stake."
Tower looked down, absorbing this. The wick of possibility was lit in his eyes, burning away some of the fog of his earlier certainty.
"So, if you were in my shoes," Tower finally asked, "what would you do?"
Dumdum didn''t hesitate. "I''d do anything¡ªabsolutely anything¡ªto save the people I love."
Tower''s eyes lingered on Dumdum''s face, searching for a semblance of deceit and finding none. The young devil sighed as if letting go of a burden he didn''t realize he''d been carrying, "I can''t disobey my master!"
"Well, then explain to me why it would be dangerous for you? You''ll be inside a tower; this place is like a fortress! Super strong," Dumdum argued, gesturing around at the robust walls enclosing them.
"Because of the jars. They contain invaluable memories of happiness sealed in glass. If just one jar breaks, that memory is gone. Forever. Lost happiness," Tower elaborated, his voice laced with a weighty sense of responsibility.
Dumdum scratched his head. "I don''t quite get it."
Tower sighed, his tail flicking anxiously. "When the Tower moves, everything inside it moves, too. If the jars aren''t securely placed, they could fall and shatter. I''d need pillows, ropes, duct tape, and plastic wrap to make sure they all stay safe. And what if the undead have explosives? What if they fire them at the Tower?"
Dumdum looked intrigued yet also concerned. "So, how do you usually move this tower?"
"Slowly and carefully, Dumdum. Very, very carefully." Tower''s eyes met Dumdum''s, and at that moment, the gravity of the situation hung heavily between them, as tangible as the air they were breathing.
"We don''t have time for ''slowly and carefully,'' do we?" Dumdum finally said, breaking the silence.
Tower was already busying himself with the table, gathering the plates and cups. A sense of duty and decorum in even the smallest things, Dumdum mused.
Tower placed the dinnerware in the sink and turned on the faucet, letting the water cascade over the porcelain and glass. Each item was rinsed meticulously, and for a moment, Dumdum thought he caught a flicker of something in Tower''s expression¡ªa mingling of resolve and regret, perhaps.
Finally, Tower placed his cleaned plate into a cabinet teeming with other dirty dishes and said, "There''s nothing I can do. I must obey. My Master knows what''s best for the memories," Tower declared with a note of finality in his voice.
"That''s it? You''re just going to sit here, in your fortress of a tower, and do nothing? What about the undead? What about the people?" Dumdum''s voice was tinged with disbelief and disappointment.
Tower turned to face him, his black eyes with their orange flame centres piercing into Dumdum. "It''s not up to me to save the world, but it is up to me to preserve happiness. That''s my responsibility. The jars, the memories, they''re more important than you can imagine."
The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of whatever arcane machinery kept the Tower functioning. Dumdum''s brow furrowed as he grappled with Tower''s conviction.
"So your jars of happiness are worth more than the lives of hundreds, maybe thousands?" Dumdum questioned, the tension in his voice palpable.
"To me, they are," Tower said softly but firmly, locking eyes with Dumdum.
"They''re not just jars, Dumdum. They''re fragments, moments of pure joy and love. To lose even one would be a tragedy beyond measure."
Dumdum stared at him for a long moment, struggling to align Tower''s words with the urgency he himself felt. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping as he realized he wouldn''t sway the young guardian of the Tower.
"Then I guess I''m on my own," Dumdum said, moving toward the stairway that led down from the Tower''s improbable heights. "I can''t stand by and do nothing."
"I''m sorry... I hope you can help them," Tower replied, his eyes briefly meeting Dumdum''s before he turned to wipe down the table.
Just as Dumdum placed a foot on the first step, a thunderous knock resonated through the tower, jolting both of them. Dumdum froze, his eyes darting to Tower, whose own expression had shifted from resigned to alert.
"Who could that be?" Dumdum whispered, more to himself than to Tower.
"I don''t know, but I''d better check," Tower said, abandoning his cleaning rag on the table and moving toward the tower''s entrance with a quickness Dumdum hadn''t seen before.
Dumdum followed, his own curiosity piqued. When they reached the door, Tower looked up at Dumdum as if asking for silent permission or perhaps offering a final chance to leave. But Dumdum simply nodded, and Tower grasped the large iron handle, pulling the door open.
[CH. 0067] - Hope & Glitter
The manor weighed heavy with silence as though every room was holding its breath. Upstairs, Nord tossed in her bed, her pale face glistening with sweat. A cold had gripped her after her harrowing near-drowning in the icy lake. Downstairs, Finnea and Kirara moved about the house, taking care of the guests left, their tasks reduced to mundane chores that filled the hours but did little to ease the mind. At the hospital, Perdita and Merlin kept vigil beside Bram''s unconscious form, their prayers more rote recitations now, worn thin by hope deferred.
In the kitchen, Adamastor stirred a pot of soup, its steamy aroma filling the air with a promise of warmth and comfort. The winter''s cold was biting, but what chilled him more was a sensation like they were all standing in the eye of a tempest, waiting for the other side of the storm to hit.
He adjusted the heat under the pot and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Tired didn''t begin to describe it; he felt as though he was coming undone at the seams. And it wasn''t just the physical exhaustion; it was the whispers, the incessant calling emanating from the cabinet where he kept the vampire poison.
He took a shaky breath, his eyes darting to the wooden doors of the cabinet as if expecting them to burst open. He could feel the pull of it, an itch in the marrow of his bones, a burning at the back of his skull. It was driving him to the brink. Why?
"Adamastor?" Kirara''s voice broke through the haze, pulling him back from the edge.
He looked up, forcing a smile. "Yes? Something you need?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing," she said, her eyes narrowing with concern. "You look like you''re about to crumple."
"I''m fine," he muttered almost too quickly. "Just a little tired, that''s all."
Her gaze flicked to the cabinet and then back to him as if she sensed something but couldn''t quite put her finger on it. "Well, if you need help, don''t be a hero. We all need chicken!"
Adamastor nodded, watching as she left the kitchen. He turned back to the pot of soup, stirring more vigorously now as if he could disperse his own inner turbulence. Nord depended on this soup, as did everyone else. Betraying their trust was not an option, especially not Nord''s.
Adamastor stood there for a lingering moment, his fingers clenched into fists at his sides. The soup was ladled, the kitchen in order, but his insides were a cauldron of chaos. It was as if a hand reached out from the cabinet, threading invisible tendrils through the air to entangle his thoughts.
He had to open it.
The urge gnawed at him like a rat on wood, sharpening his senses until he could almost taste the vile salty bitterness of the poison. He took one faltering step toward the cabinet, his breath caught in his throat. What was it that he hoped to find? A release? An end to the inexplicable pain that seared through him?
His hand touched the cool brass knob of the cabinet. His fingers trembled as they curled around it, his knuckles going white. A cascade of thoughts rushed through him¡ªNord''s trusting face, Finnea and Kirara and their quiet strength, Perdita and Merlin praying beside Bram''s bed. Were they all just better actors, better liars? Or was he truly on the verge of breaking in a way they weren''t?
He exhaled sharply, as if releasing a pressure valve, and stepped back. His fingers uncurled from the knob, leaving it untouched, unopened. But his eyes remained locked onto the cabinet, a grim recognition settling over him.
For now, the door would remain closed, but the questions would linger, coiling in the dark corners of his mind like serpents. He couldn''t say why the poison called to him, couldn''t fathom why it gnawed at him with such insistent hunger. But in that moment, he understood something terrifying¡ªhis resolve was a crumbling wall, and on the other side lay a mystery that beckoned him toward a brink from which there might be no return.
The kitchen door creaked open, and Baal sauntered in, an easy grin on his face that vanished the moment his eyes landed on Adamastor. "Hey! Adamastor, could you... Dude, are you okay? You look like shit." Adamastor felt the knot of tension in his chest tighten. How much did his face betray? "Just tired, I can''t complain," he said, forcing a smile.
Baal''s brow furrowed in concern, his fingers tapping Adamastor''s shoulder lightly. "Are you sure? If you need a break, I can take care of the kitchen. Maybe you could visit Ursula."
Adamastor blinked. "Who?"
Baal''s face changed, a flicker of confusion darkening his eyes. "Oh... shit... you don''t..." He cleared his throat awkwardly, then forged ahead with renewed bravado. "Well, maybe you can go to Mme Bougie and meet a girl called Ursula. I heard she''s very... exotic!"
For a moment, Adamastor simply stared at him as if trying to decode an unfamiliar language. Finally, he lowered his voice, each word delivered with a tension that felt almost palpable. "Bram''s in the hospital, clinging to life. Perdita''s falling apart. Nord''s upstairs, burning up with some ungodly flu. And you," his eyes narrowed, "are suggesting I go to a brothel?" Baal winced, the smile draining from his face. "Said like that, it sounds bad."
Adamastor sighed, the weight of his responsibilities briefly eased by his frankness. "Mr Berith, I appreciate the offer, but I''ve got too many fires to put out here to be chasing exotic girls."
Something shifted in Baal''s demeanour, a newfound solemnity overlaying his usual casual air. "Alright, man, but if you need a break¡ª"
"I know where to find you," Adamastor interjected, a tired but genuine smile forming on his lips.
Baal''s eyes flickered with a touch of relief. "I just came here to get a bowl of soup for Nord. She just woke up."
"Sure, let me get a tray." Adamastor moved to assemble a simple but comforting meal¡ªa warm bowl of the soup he''d just prepared, a piece of crusty bread on the side. Baal took it, nodding a wordless thank you as he retreated from the kitchen and made his way up to the first floor.
And then, once again, Adamastor was alone. He stood in the empty kitchen, the lingering steam from the soup coiling like ghostly tendrils in the air. His eyes strayed, almost against his will, to the cabinet. The poison''s call was still there, quieter but insistent, like the distant howl of a wolf.
His fingers clenched and unclenched. He was still standing. For how much longer, he couldn''t say. But for now, for this moment, he would remain the keeper of these walls, the steward of these troubled lives, and perhaps, just perhaps, the master of his own fraying soul.
Nord lay beneath a mound of blankets, yet each breath felt like inhaling the icy chill of the lake that had nearly claimed her. Despite three heavy covers, she shivered uncontrollably, her teeth chattering with her quakes.
"Dinner in bed!" Baal''s voice sliced through the frigid air as he burst into her room, balancing a tray of steaming soup. But Nord could hardly muster the energy to move. He set the tray down on a nearby surface and knelt beside her, his eyes sweeping over her sweat-soaked face. "Hey, you not feeling better?"
"It''s cold," she managed to stammer, her voice barely above a whisper.
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Baal''s hand gently brushed away damp strands of hair clinging to her forehead. "I know, but you''ll get through this. It''s just a flu. Sirona said your lungs are clear. You just need some rest and to keep warm. Does your throat hurt?"
She shook her head. "No, and I''m not hungry."
"I don''t care if you''re hungry; eating is non-negotiable." Baal''s tone brokered no argument. He picked up the bowl and a spoon, carefully blowing on the first spoonful to cool it. "Watch out, it''s hot."
He guided the spoon to her lips, and for a moment, Nord wanted to refuse, to turn her head away. But as the warm broth touched her lips, she felt a flicker of heat seep into her, a tiny sun rising against the bleak of her surroundings.
Reluctantly, she opened her mouth to accept the spoonful, letting the warmth slide down her throat and spread a gentle heat through her shivering body.
"There you go," Baal said softly, his eyes meeting hers. At that moment, despite the debilitating cold that still gripped her, despite the fears and uncertainties that hung over the house like storm clouds, Nord felt a glimmer of something she hadn''t felt for a very long time. And he was the cause of it. Yet she didn''t dare to admit what exactly it was, but he was always there, always when she needed him the most.
Nord caught Baal''s eye as he prepared another spoonful of soup. "Do you have news about Bram?"
"Nothing''s changed," Baal said, his voice tinged with a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. "I''m thinking of going to the hospital later so Perdita can rest, but she probably won''t leave his room."
He guided another spoonful to Nord''s mouth, but his thoughts seemed far away. "I still can''t understand..."
Nord swallowed, the warmth of the soup settling into her. "What is there to understand? Bad things happen to good people," she said, forcing a weak smile, trying to offer him some comfort.
He shook his head vehemently as if rejecting a premise too terrible to consider. "No, it''s not that simple. Bram made a wish; we have a contract. He wished for luck, and I granted it. So how does a little boy falling into a lake have anything to do with luck?"
Nord pondered this as she accepted another spoonful of soup. "Well... maybe something greater is on its way for him. Could his luck have run out?"
Baal''s eyes flared. "It doesn''t work like that. I''ve never failed a spell. Never. He can''t be my first failure. Because if his spell fails, how can I be sure that your spells are working? What if I made a mistake? What if you''re in danger and¡ª"
His voice hitched as if coming upon an unthinkable notion. Nord placed her hand gently on his wrist, cutting him off. "Baal, whatever happened is not your fault."
"It is. The worst part is that it''s my fault," Baal insisted, his eyes now a turbulent sea of emotion.
"Baal, that''s not true," Nord whispered, her voice tinged with desperation.
"I don''t lie," he said. His eyes were intense, searching hers for something he seemed afraid he wouldn''t find: absolution, perhaps, or the reflection of his own unspoken fears. He was a demon cornered by the repercussions of his own power, shackled by the weight of consequences he''d never foreseen.
Nord looked into Baal''s troubled eyes and felt the rawness of his pain. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that he wasn''t to blame. But as her hand gripped his wrist, she knew that words¡ªno matter how sincere¡ªwouldn''t be enough to banish the guilt that haunted him.
Finally, Baal set the half-empty bowl back on the tray. His fingers worked to fluff up Nord''s pillow, adjusting it until it cradled her head comfortably. "Is there anything else you need?"
"Take off your clothes," Nord''s voice came out as an unexpected whisper.
Baal''s eyes widened. For a moment, he looked as if he''d been struck by lightning. "I beg your pardon? Did you just..."
"You''re warm," she said, her eyes capturing his with a mixture of earnestness and vulnerability.
A flicker of understanding passed through Baal''s eyes. "Ah, okay." He peeled off his long cardigan and started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the intricate tattoos that spread across his back like a horrific tapestry of ugly doodles.
As he bent down to unlace his boots, Nord found herself fascinated by the lines of his physique, the way his muscles flowed seamlessly into one another and how his skin seemed to hold an ethereal glow.
Nord''s fingers reached out instinctively, tracing the outlines of the ink patterns on his back. "Who did this to you?" she murmured, "Why would you let them?"
A soft chuckle escaped Baal''s lips as he tugged off his last boot. "You don''t remember?"
"Should I?"
He turned to look at her, his eyes alight with a teasing sparkle. "Well, it was you. Why wouldn''t I let you?"
"What? No!" Her eyes widened in disbelief, "I wouldn''t do this!"
"Yes, ma''am. You had to start somewhere," Baal said, his voice laden with a playful, almost endearing kind of humour. He slid under the layers of blankets beside her, his body radiating warmth like a living furnace.
Nord nestled into his arms, allowing herself to be pulled close. She slid her icy feet between his ankles, shivering at the contrast of temperatures.
"By Atua, your feet are like blocks of ice," Baal remarked, but his tone was more playful than reproachful.
"Why are you so warm?" she whispered, her voice tinged with wonder.
He tightened his hold around her. "Well, I''m a demon. It comes with the territory."
Nord let the words sink in, the air between them thickening with unspoken thoughts and feelings. "This feels good," she finally admitted, her voice tinged with relief.
"Yeah, it does," Baal replied, allowing himself a genuine smirk.
"It wasn''t your fault, you know," she said softly, her voice laced with an intuition that made Baal''s gaze lock onto hers.
He sighed. "You should try to sleep," he deflected, unwilling to weigh her down with his own guilt and insecurities.
She looked up at him, her eyes sharpening. "Don''t do that. I don''t like it when you shut me out."
"I''m not¡ª" he began but caught himself, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. "What do you mean?"
"You always push me away when something worries you," she pointed out.
He hesitated. "That''s not..." But even as the words left his mouth, he knew he was failing to convince even himself. It struck him then how much he''d been guarding himself, constructing barriers even as he held her close. "I killed a vampire," he suddenly blurted out, his voice tinged with a heaviness that suggested the admission had been fermenting within him. Nord''s eyes met his. "When?"
"At the grand opening. Adamastor''s master came with someone... her master, I assume. I killed her. Her name was Marcella," he explained as if the act of naming her somehow made the weight of what he''d done a little more bearable. "I used one of the Allatori bullets and carved it into her skin. She probably suffered horribly."
"Why did you do it?" Nord''s question came without judgment, a simple inquiry into his reasoning.
Baal sighed deeply. "When I absorb happy memories, I don''t just see them; I feel them, I experience them. And she¡ªshe''d done things to Adamastor... things that no one deserves. I was angry, perhaps too eager for some kind of justice. Or retribution, I don''t know."
Nord considered his words for a moment. "I would''ve done the same."
"You would''ve scorched the earth with hellfire and had them skinned by imps," he corrected a trace of admiration in his tone.
Her eyes widened in genuine surprise. "I can do that?"
"With the right spell," he confirmed.
She paused, collecting her thoughts. "Do you think her master somehow created the hoard?"
He didn''t hesitate this time. "I don''t think. I''m sure of it."
"Do we have a plan?" Nord asked, her eyes searching his for an answer.
"No, I have a plan," Baal retorted, his tone playfully evasive.
She leaned in closer, her voice tinged with an edge of authority. "Do we have a plan?" she repeated, deliberately enunciating each word.
Baal sighed, "You''re so bossy."
"So, do we?" Her gaze was unyielding.
"Yes, we do. But first, I need to go to the hospital. I have to check on Bram, or my head''s going to explode," he admitted, easing out of the bed. The loss of his warmth immediately hit Nord, and she started to shiver again.
"Does your head hurt?" she asked, her voice tinged with alarm.
"Just a tiny bit. It''ll pass once I see Bram," he assured her. He was already half-dressed when he noticed her renewed shivers. Pausing, he took off again his cardigan and approached the bed. Gently lifting the blanket, he wrapped her in his cardigan. "You used to steal my hoodies when you were sick. I don''t have any here, so this will have to do, okay?"
"Okay," she murmured, wrapping herself more snugly in the cardigan. "But we''re not done with this conversation."
"I know," he said, lacing his boots with practised speed. "I''m going now," he added, crossing the threshold of the room. Then, almost involuntarily, as if spoken by a part of him that operated on instinct and memory, he added, "I love you."
"Love you more," her voice floated back to him, soft but clear.
Baal paused, one foot hovering over the threshold, his back to the room.
His heart thudded in his chest, lodging itself in his throat as if caught on a hook. Had he heard her correctly? Those words¡ªthey had slipped out from a long-forgotten, deeply buried place inside him. And she had echoed them back, a volley in a long-neglected game of emotional ping-pong.
Slowly, he turned back toward the room, his eyes finding Nord. She had fallen asleep, her face relaxed, her body cocooned in his cardigan like a protective shell. For a moment, he stood there, absorbing the sight of her, and all the heaviness, all the relentless questions and uncertainties seemed to lift¡ªjust a little.
Shaking his head as if to dislodge the surprising sentiment, Baal stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him. Yet, as he made his way to the hospital, the echo of Nord''s words played in his mind, their syllables wrapping around his thoughts and, despite all logic and caution, warming him from within. His headache was gone.
[CH. 0068] - Hope & Glitter
The cold night air felt sharp against Baal''s cheeks and nose as he approached the Community Clinic, a lantern flickering dimly above its wooden sign. He halted in his tracks when he saw Sirdona leaning against the front porch post, a cigarette between her fingers.
As soon as she saw Baal, her hand moved reflexively to hide the cigarette behind her back, but it was an abortive gesture.
"Stop judging me!" Sirdona''s voice shouted, cutting through the air before he could even form a sentence.
"Do you have another one?" Baal asked, surprising himself more than her.
"You smoke?"
"Do you?" he shot back.
Sirdona paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then, she shrugged and rummaged through the large pocket of her worn coat. She pulled out a crumpled pack and extended a cigarette towards him. Striking a match, she helped Baal light it.
He took a deep drag, let the smoke fill his lungs and then exhaled, turning to her, "I never saw you smoke, and you never saw me smoke. Deal?"
"Deal," she nodded. "Does your wife forbid it?"
"No, she used to smoke too. Now that she''s forgotten about it, let''s keep it that way," he said, half chuckling, his eyes avoiding hers. "How''s the kid?"
Sirdona took another pull from her cigarette, exhaling a long, shaky line of smoke. "Unresponsive. To be honest, I''m more concerned about his mother. Hasn''t eaten or slept since he was admitted. She''s like a ghost hovering in the hallway, ready to collapse any moment. Can you get her back to the Morningstar? For her own sake?"
Baal shook his head, his voice tinged with a hitch of regret. "No can do. If something happens to the kid¡ if he... she''d never forgive herself for not being here."
"We both know what the outcome is likely to be," Sirdona said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "God, I hate my job sometimes. He''s just a kid!"
"Yeah," Baal nodded, staring at the ground, "I know."
"A fucking kid," she paused, taking another deep puff. "I became a doctor to help people, to heal them¡ªnot to stand around, waiting for them to¡ª"
Baal shrugged, searching for words, "Maybe¡ª"
"Oh, not you, too!" Sirdona cut him off. "That old wizard is already filling Perdita''s head with talk of miracles and bullshit. I don''t need it from you."
Their cigarettes had burnt down to stubs, and Sirdona crushed hers beneath her heel. Baal did the same, pushing the spent filter into the ground with his boot. For a moment, they just stood there, two weary souls in the biting cold, wrestling with things they could not change.
The hospital corridors felt like tunnels saturated with clinical sterility that invaded Baal''s senses. The harsh odour of bleach and sanitiser seemed to strip away layers of his own soul, leaving him raw and exposed. As he moved through the antiseptic gloom, he saw Merlin sitting on a bench with his forehead pressed against the wooden top of his staff, his whole posture resembling a figure in prayer. What else was there left to do but pray?
Baal sat down next to Merlin, his eyes following the old man''s lips as they moved in a whispered litany. "It''s going to work, it worked once, it''s going to work," Merlin murmured, almost to himself.
"Shouldn''t you go home and rest, old man?" Baal asked softly, placing a reassuring hand on Merlin''s shoulder.
"No, I can rest when I''m dead. Now, I witness," Merlin replied, his voice tinged with an edge of irritation.
Slumping against the bench, Baal sighed. "You shouldn''t talk like that. We need to prepare Perdita for¡ª"
"You speak as if you''re already dead from the neck up," Merlin snapped, turning his head to glare at Baal.
"That was mean, even for you, you old rag," Baal retorted, giving Merlin a sidelong glance before standing up.
A deep breath steadied him as he pushed open the door to the room where Perdita was with her son.
Perdita was huddled beside Bram''s bed, holding him as if she could will him back to health through sheer maternal warmth. At a casual glance, Bram could have been mistaken for a child merely sleeping.
"Hey," Baal said softly.
Perdita turned toward him. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her hair fell in a dishevelled tangle around her face. She looked vulnerable and younger than Baal had ever realised. "Mister Berith, you should be home," she managed, sniffing.
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Baal stepped further into the room, treading lightly as if the floor were strewn with eggshells. "Did you eat?"
She nodded. "Mr. Merlin made sure of it. I ate something."
"Good," Baal sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. They were all grasping at straws here, but sometimes straws were all you had. "That''s good."
"I should never have come to Ravendrift," Perdita''s voice quivered, her eyes brimming with tears. "I should never have left my husband. If I hadn''t been so selfish, Bram wouldn''t be here. He wouldn''t..." The tears broke free, cascading down her cheeks, each droplet an indictment against her choices. She looked like a fragile bird with broken wings struggling against an invisible storm.
Baal sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress yield under his weight. "It''s not your fault," he said, his voice gentle yet firm.
"I am his mother. I should have known better. But I was scared, so I ran away. I didn''t want to be a punching bag anymore... and Bram, he couldn''t stop talking about the Morningstar, as if he were possessed or something," she choked out, a sob catching in her throat.
A heavy silence enveloped the room, punctuated only by the sounds of Perdita''s stifled weeping. Baal found himself unable to speak, his mouth dry and words eluding him. Guilt began to roil in his stomach, a rising tide that he couldn''t hold back. The headache that had been lurking in the corners of his consciousness flared up again, embedding itself like a thorn in his skull. It was his fault, wasn''t it?
He had been the one to concede a wish to Bram. He was the one to think that the Morningstar was the best place for Perdita and Bram, a sanctuary overseen by Nord, who was better than Nord to harbour people in need.
But now, here they were: a dying child, a distraught mother, and an overwhelming sense of culpability. As he sat there, he rifled through his mind, scrambling for any clue as to how he could have done things differently, how he could undo what had been set into motion. Was Merlin right? Had he truly become dead from the neck up, paralyzed by the weight of his own failings?
The room felt like it was closing in on him, the walls inching closer and the air growing thick. As he looked at Perdita, her eyes red-rimmed and desperate, he knew that platitudes would do nothing here. What was needed was something intangible, something neither of them possessed at the moment: the strength to carry on despite life''s crushing injustices.
A miracle.
And so, they sat there in silence, two souls bound by circumstance and weighed down by guilt, each lost in their own labyrinth of regret. Until the boy finally spoke.
"Mummy?"
Perdita''s eyes were like pools about to spill over as she clutched Bram, rocking him gently in her arms. "Oh, by Atua, Bram! I thought I''d lose you! Thank you, thank you, my little boy," she sobbed, her voice tinged with a desperation that had found an outlet in overwhelming relief.
"Mummy?" Bram''s voice was a whisper, yet it filled the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Perdita looked down at her son, her eyes meeting his. A faint smile was on his face. "Thank you for everything."
"What are you talking about, my little lucky charm?" Perdita''s hands caressed his pallid cheeks, each stroke an affirmation of life.
"For everything. I have so many happy memories," Bram said, "So, many..." Then he turned his gaze towards Baal. "Thank you, Master of the Memory Tower, for giving me the chance to make friends, best friends. Tell Kirara I really liked playing with her."
Baal was taken aback. How could Bram see him again? "Hey, little buddy, you''re going to be okay. In no time, you''ll be in your bed and playing with..."
"I''m very tired. I need a nap," Bram whispered, his eyelids fluttering as though he were struggling to keep them open. "Don''t be sad, Mummy."
"Bram? What¡ª"
"Promise... don''t be sad," his voice was barely audible, a fading echo in the room.
"Bram?"
"I''m the luckiest boy in the whole world!" And with that, his eyes closed, his features settling into an expression of serene tranquillity.
For a moment, the room was suffused with an almost palpable stillness, as if time itself had halted its relentless march. Baal felt a lump in his throat, a complex knot of emotions he couldn''t untangle. He looked at Perdita, her face etched with a blend of profound sorrow and a mother''s unyielding love.
In that instant, they both understood. No words were needed.
As she clung to her son, her tears and cries momentarily suspended in a cruel tableau of love and loss, something extraordinary happened. Bram''s body began disintegrating, transforming into a fine mist of glittering particles. It was as if he had become a cloud made of stardust, suspended for a heartbeat before dissipating into the air.
Bram was gone.
The sky overhead was a sombre tapestry of greys, reflecting the heaviness that weighed on their hearts. Mulan, the mule, dragged along at a slow pace as if sensing the grief that enveloped its passengers.
Merlin remained silent, his thoughts inscrutable behind his wrinkled face.
Perdita, her eyes drained of tears, looked like a person running on fumes¡ªrunning on an emptiness that paradoxically weighed a ton.
As they finally reached the Morningstar, Baal caught sight of Nord waiting at the entrance. One look at Baal''s face, and she knew. No words were necessary. She stood there, wrapped in her nightgown and his long cardigan, an embodiment of home and comfort, and all Baal wanted was to collapse into her embrace.
Dismounting the mule, Baal helped Perdita and the old wizard out. But Merlin''s behaviour took a sudden and strange turn; he hurried towards the kitchen, returning moments later carrying two wooden stools which he placed near the entrance. He gestured for Perdita to sit and took the other stool for himself.
"Now, we wait!" Merlin announced, settling into his seat, "We wait."
"What are you doing?" Baal questioned, weariness tinting his voice with irritation.
"We wait," Merlin repeated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Merlin..." Baal sighed. He was drained, emotionally and physically, and the last thing he wanted was another of Merlin''s cryptic undertakings.
"Nord, sweetheart, could you bring us some black tea and biscuits? We need to be prepared," Merlin requested, his eyes fixed on some unseen point in the distance, "We need to be prepared."
Nord glanced towards Baal, who could only offer a resigned shrug in response.
"I''ll bring blankets as well. It''s freezing this morning," Nord said, disappearing into the interior of the house.
Baal took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he felt the cold air fill his lungs and then escape as if he could expel some of the morning''s emotional toxins. He cast a sideways glance at Merlin and Perdita, their faces both masks of anticipation and fatigue, while all Merlin could murmur was, "It worked once. It will work again."
It will work again.
[CH. 0069] - Hope & Glitter
The echo of the second booming knock reverberated through the stone, shivering along the winding staircase and shelves of the tower. Tower''s eyes met Dumdum''s, a flicker of unease passing between them like an invisible spark.
"Alright, cross your fingers, Dumdum. We''re about to learn if it''s friend or foe," Tower whispered, his childlike fingers gripping the cold iron handle of the door as if he could somehow channel courage from it. With a resolute tug, he yanked the door open.
The rusted hinges protested with a screech, yielding a gap just wide enough to reveal the night''s intruder.
Framed by the doorway was an odd figure that melded childlike innocence with otherworldly features¡ªa pair of feline ears twitched atop its head, and a bushy tail curled behind it. The creature''s eyes, imbued with a na?ve wonder, shifted nervously from Tower to Dumdum and back.
Its tiny hands clenched a four-leaf clover as if the plant could ward off any malevolence that the dark outside harboured.
"Um, greetings," Tower finally broke the thick air, his voice edged with caution.
The stranger''s ears perked up. "Hello," it murmured, almost as if relieved to have not been attacked on sight. "I seem to be, uh, lost."
Tower''s eyes narrowed slightly. "Name?"
"Bram, the Lucky Charm!" The Nixbob child beamed, eyes twinkling with an almost magical quality.
Tower paused, his gaze darting to Dumdum, whose interest had been piqued by the unfolding enigma before him. "Bram, the lucky charm?" Tower repeated, scepticism and curiosity battling within him. "That''s oddly specific, don''t you think?"
Dumdum, his feet padding softly against the worn stones of the floor, inched closer to the spectacle before him. His wide eyes darted from Tower to Bram and then to the fabled clover. "So, you reckon this leaf''s supposed to be your lucky ticket? Doesn''t seem like it''s holding up its end of the bargain if you''re lost."
"Yeah," Bram admitted, holding the clover aloft, its delicate petals quivering under scrutiny. "But I found you guys, so now I''m just half lost!"
A ripple of empathy passed through Tower''s chest, tugging at something vulnerable deep inside him. His eyes met Bram''s. "Well, maybe you''re right and stumbling upon this tower is the clover finally doing its job. Want to come in?"
Bram''s tail wove through the air in a sinuous pattern, a physical manifestation of his relief. "Oh, I''d like that very much!"
As Bram''s small, furred feet crossed the threshold, Dumdum felt a peculiar sensation wash over him. There they were¡ªa demon child bestowed with a warden duty, a goblin on a mission, and now this Nixbob boy not so lucky and not so lost.
The tower, with its spiralling corridors and arcane secrets, seemed to throb with an ineffable energy, as if acknowledging the motley assembly of lives now sheltered within its walls. For Dumdum, the realization struck like a bolt of arcane insight: this was no mere dwelling of bricks and enchantments. It had become a crucible for fates intertwining, a haven for the displaced, and perhaps even a stage upon which the destiny of their odd little world might be rewritten.
"Looks like we''re collecting quite the roster of characters, aren''t we?" Dumdum mused aloud, a hint of wonder tinging his usually sardonic tone.
Tower caught his gaze, a knowing smile pulling at the corners of his young face. "Yes," he agreed.
Tower shut the door behind them, the latch clicking into place with an air of finality. He turned to his companions, clearing his throat as if to herald a significant proclamation. "Bram, meet Dumdum. He''s a... guest, let''s say."
Bram''s ears twitched, clearly pleased. "Nice to meet you too, Dumdum!"
"So, feel free to make yourself comfortable," Tower said, sweeping his arm in a gesture that took in the entirety of their eccentric surroundings. "As you can see, we''re all wayfarers of a sort here. Dumdum''s working on some undead affair in Ravendrift, and I have my jars to attend to."
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Bram''s eyes lit up at the mention of jars. "Jars of what?"
Tower stepped closer to a shelf and gestured toward the collection of glass containers, each sealed with ornate corks and wax. "Jars of preserved happiness. Very rare. Very precious. And very much not to be meddled with."
A gasp escaped Bram''s lips, his tail flicking wildly in a flurry of excitement. "Captured happiness? How awesome! That is so cool!"
"It''s not as simple as it sounds," Tower said, his gaze falling pensively on his collection. Each jar seemed to throb with an inner light, as if calling out for something¡ªor someone.
The room seemed to close in around them, its air thickening with the weight of unspoken words and untold tales. Dumdum scanned the faces of his newfound companions and felt an inkling, a premonition almost, that their meeting was more serendipitous than it seemed.
"Look," Dumdum finally broke the palpable silence, "why don''t we get down to brass tacks? Bram, you''re clearly lost. Tower has his obligations with these,"¡ªhe gestured vaguely toward the jars¡ª"and I''ve got a bit of a necromantic mess to sort out in Ravendrift. Maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to be mutually beneficial here."
The suggestion hung in the air, an invitation for something greater than any of them could yet imagine. It was Bram who seized it. "I''m supposed to be with Mummy! And Kirara!"
Tower arched an eyebrow. "And where is your mother, Bram?"
"In Ravendrift!"
Dumdum''s eyes met Tower''s, a flicker of realization crossing both faces. "See? I told you this was fate," Dumdum said with an air of vindication.
Tower''s eyes narrowed, weighing the matter. "Fate or not, my Master expressly warned me against meddling in the affairs of Ravendrift."
Dumdum took a step closer, his voice softening. "Tower, look at him. He''s just a kid. His mother must be out of her mind with worry. Can''t we bend the rules a bit, for his sake?"
For a moment, Tower stood still, his gaze lingering on Bram''s hopeful eyes, then shifting to Dumdum''s imploring ones. The air seemed to hum around him as he reached his decision, the walls of the tower itself awaiting his verdict.
"Alright," Tower finally sighed, relenting under the weight of their collective hopes. "Let''s sit down, all of us. We have much to discuss and perhaps, against all odds, a journey to plan."
The trio ambled to the kitchen. Tower navigated to an unassuming, chilly cabinet. As he opened it, a dim light flickered on, casting a cool glow on the small white box he pulled out. He served three bowls of what looked suspiciously like ice cream before stowing the box back into the icy chamber.
Finally seated, ice cream bowls in hand, Tower refocused. "Okay, so both of you need to be in Ravendrift. I, however, am not permitted to set foot there. Now what?"
Dumdum''s spoon made a soft, slurping sound as he scooped up a mouthful of ice cream. "Does your Master even know where you are at this very moment?"
"Eh, doubtful," Tower responded, brows knitting together in contemplation.
"So, if you were to head off to Copperhead right now, would he have any clue?"
"No, I don''t think so."
Dumdum slurped another spoonful, savouring the taste before pressing on. "So you could go to Copperhead?"
"Yes, I could go to Copperhead," Tower repeated, sensing the build-up but not quite grasping Dumdum''s logic yet.
"And from Copperhead, you could then travel to Legward, yes?"
"Yeah, that''s within my purview."
"And from Legward to Glockmere¡ From Glockmere, it''s just a skip and a hop to Tear Lake."
At this, Tower''s eyes widened, the realization crashing into him like a tidal wave. "I''d be close to Ravendrift! Not in Ravendrift, but close!"
"Exactly. And your Master wouldn''t have a clue. You''d be aiding young Bram and me here, and yet you''d still be obedient to your Master''s order," Dumdum concluded, his spoon capturing another sumptuous heap of ice cream.
The tension was suddenly cut by Tower. "But first, we need to protect the jars!"
Bram''s eyes shimmered, reflecting the fluorescent kitchen light, making them look almost like two little stars caught in the web of his youthful excitement. Ice cream streaked his face in a messy testament to his exuberance. "We can help!" he said, each word wrapped in a sheen of innocent optimism.
Tower looked from one face to the other¡ªDumdum''s aged wisdom and Bram''s youthful eagerness¡ªand felt the edge of decision solidify within him. "Alright," he conceded, eyes locking onto each of theirs. "We have ourselves a plan, then. But we''re going to need plastic wrap and a hell of a lot of duct tape."
Dumdum raised an eyebrow, his spoon paused mid-air, dripping a small puddle of melting ice cream back into the bowl. "You need what now?"
"Don''t worry," Tower reassured, leaning back in his chair and casting a knowing glance at a cabinet by the wall. "We''ve got everything we need right here."
In a fluid movement, he stood and walked toward the cabinet. The wooden doors creaked open, revealing stacks of plastic wrap and duct tape, among other supplies. It was as though the cabinet had been waiting for this moment, brimming with potential energy.
"As I said," Tower remarked, grabbing the supplies and placing them on the kitchen table, "all the tools we need are right here."
Bram''s eyes widened further, if that was even possible, at the assortment of materials laid before him. Dumdum set his spoon down, looking from the supplies to Tower with an approving nod.
"Let''s get to work," Tower declared, tearing off the first strip of duct tape with a satisfying rip. "We have a kid to return to his mum and a horde of undead to vanquish!"
[CH. 0070] - Castling & Duct tape
Restelo leaned against the crumbling balustrade of the neglected cathedral''s balcony, his silhouette stark against the setting sun. The structure around him seemed to breathe an almost palpable aura of decay and desolation as if the air itself were tinged with the scents of blood and rotten flesh.
Beneath him, the sprawling labyrinth of Onyxburg lay half-hidden in a haze of smog and steam. The city''s tarnished soul seemed to seep into the very air, a physical manifestation of its corruption and vice. Here and there, plumes of smoke rose from factories and foundries, blurring the line between men and steel as though the city itself was living, breathing.
The discordant symphony of the city''s life echoed up to him¡ªmechanical clangs and rattles from the industrial sectors, blending with the distant wails and sobs that marked the less fortunate districts. It was as if a hundred different lives were being lived all at once, each one oblivious to the other.
At that moment, Restelo felt a peculiar sense of detachment, as if he were hovering on a precipice between two worlds. He felt both a part of the city and yet apart from it.
With a weary sigh, he pushed away from the balcony, his eyes lingering for a moment on the sprawling labyrinth below until steps behind him caught his attention.
The sound of footsteps on the cracked stone flooring heralded the figure''s approach. Restelo didn''t need to turn to recognize who it was¡ªthe acrid scent of burning flesh wafted through the air as the young spawn came closer. Restelo had crafted him from his own dark desires, his unnaturally white hair contrasting sharply with eyes that were as red as spilt blood. Skin popping and sizzling under the glare of the fading sun, the spawn looked almost pitiable. But then again, pity was not a currency Restelo traded in.
"Master, news from Ravendrift," the young man stammered, his voice as shaky as his form.
Restelo''s lips curled upward in a sly grin, but his eyes remained as cold as ever. He turned slightly toward his servant, not fully, as if giving him his entire attention would be too much of an honour. "Is he dead?"
The question hung in the air between them, heavier than the smog that choked the city below. Restelo sensed the spawn''s hesitation and could practically taste the anxiety that dripped from him like sweat.
In a way, it was delicious to see this tangible sign of another''s fear. It was one of the few flavours left that Restelo found at all appealing.
The spawn shuffled his feet, betraying his unease. "Well? Out with it. I haven''t got all day," Restelo pressed, his tone steeped in casual cruelty that only years of unchallenged power could cultivate.
The spawn winced, his body involuntarily contracting as if expecting a physical blow. "No, Master. A child lost their life, but everyone else... the horde was decimated. A legion of imps and dryads intervened," he stammered, his words choked with fear.
Restelo''s eyes blazed a hellish fire that seemed to set the very air alight. "A child?" he hissed, every syllable laced with an acid contempt. "I asked for the head of a demon, not the life of an inconsequential child!"
The cathedral seemed to tremble around them, mirroring its Master''s rage. Even the very stone appeared to shudder as if aware of the tempest that had just been unleashed.
"Do you take me for a fool? Is this how you repay my... generosity? You were nothing but street scum when I found you, a waste of life. And this is how you serve me?" Restelo''s voice rose, each word a venomous strike, as cutting as any blade.
The spawn lowered his head even further, practically pressing his forehead to the cold stone floor of the balcony. He braced himself for the wrath he knew was to come, the impending storm of his Master''s anger that could annihilate him in an instant.
But as he waited, it became apparent that Restelo was immersed in a different kind of calculation, a deeper scheme that momentarily stilled his furious hand.
Restelo paced the length of the stone balcony, each step releasing a sizzle, a sound of protest from his skin as it met the sunlight. Smoke rose from his form as if his very being was at odds with the daylight world. "I should be focusing on acquiring that damn Key. That should be my sole concern."
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The spawn, struggling to maintain a respectful distance while shielding his melting face, ventured a suggestion. "Perhaps you could lure the key here, Master."
Restelo''s eyes narrowed, a flash of annoyance crossing his features. "And how exactly would I lure the Key into my fortress? Host a soir¨¦e in its honour? Don''t be a fool."
The spawn winced but persisted. "They must know by now that it was you who sent the thralls, Master. Instead of chasing them, maybe you could trap them here."
Restelo paused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Trap them, you say? And what could I possibly have or know that would make Miss Morningstar come to me? She doesn''t strike me as someone willing to risk it all for revenge. She''s too... human for that."
He resumed his pacing, back and forth, lost in thought. But then, a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as if a dark epiphany had dawned upon him. "But perhaps there''s something or someone she might risk it all to save. If I can''t bring the Key to me, maybe I can bring something¡ªor someone¡ªequally valuable to her."
"Also, we know that the Tower of Memories is at Gravenwatch. If we seize the tower, we could exchange it for the Key," the spawn offered cautiously.
"The Tower is at Gravenwatch?" Restelo queried, his eyes widening just a fraction¡ªan ocean of implications in that slight movement.
"Yes, Master."
"Interesting," he murmured. Restelo felt a flicker of something new pass through him¡ªcuriosity, perhaps even excitement. A rarity for a creature whose existence had spanned so many monotonous centuries. "And who controls Gravenwatch at the moment?"
"Master, if the demon is in Ravendrift, it means the Tower is empty. We could seize it."
Restelo''s eyes sharpened, cutting through the shadowy gloom of the cathedral-like twin beacons of red fire. "Empty, you say? How delightfully fortuitous." His lips curved into a smile, revealing a glint of razor-sharp fangs. "An empty Tower of Memory, just ripe for the taking. Almost poetic, wouldn''t you say?"
The spawn shivered involuntarily, his gaze still lowered. "Indeed, Master. It''s an opportunity."
Restelo slowly turned to face him, his dark robes rustling like the wings of a ravenous raven. "Opportunity," he echoed, the word lingering in the air like a fine mist of venom. "That is a word teeming with potential but also fraught with danger. How do you know this information is reliable? How can I trust that this is not another debacle like Ravendrift waiting to happen?"
The spawn tensed, acutely aware that his next words could seal his fate. "The source is one of our own, Master."
Turning to walk indoors, Restelo was abruptly greeted by the scent of burning flesh. He glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see his spawn disintegrate into ashes, consumed by the unforgiving sun. "Why do they always follow me into the sunlight?" he muttered, clicking his tongue in annoyance. Hands in his pockets, he walked deeper into the cathedral.
The grand building was quiet at this hour, its nocturnal inhabitants sheltering from the sun''s harmful rays until the moon reigned again.
Restelo made his way down the echoing corridor until he reached a particular room, secluded and dimly lit, a sanctuary of sorts.
Inside, a woman with long brown hair and a fair complexion lay still on a bed. She was an ethereal sight, like a painted Madonna in repose. Her round belly told the story of the life that was in limbo, just like her.
"Isabeau..."
Gently, he caressed her face. She didn''t stir. Trapped in an eternal twilight between life and death, human and vampire, she was the reason he persisted, the reason he plotted and schemed. She and their unborn child.
Restelo''s fingers hovered over Isabeau''s skin, tracing the invisible lines of her life, her future. He could feel the dormant power emanating from her, a tantalizing mix of vulnerability and latent strength. It pulsed in sync with the life within her, a life whose fate was entangled with dark prophecies and darker aspirations.
"Isabeau, my queen", he murmured, his voice a blend of reverence and desolation. "It''s been too long since I''ve heard your laughter, seen your eyes. You deserve a life in the sun, both of you." He glanced down at her swollen belly, contemplating the being that was half-him, half-her, and yet bound by a destiny neither could yet fathom. "I''ll give you that life, whatever it takes."
He brushed his lips gently against her forehead. She remained unresponsive, her beauty preserved in this state of limbo, a heart-wrenching reminder of what he stood to gain¡ªor lose.
Stepping away, he made his way to a table laden with maps and scrolls, instruments of navigation and conquest. His eyes fell on a parchment depicting Gravenwatch and its environs. Yes, the Tower of Memory was the next step, but the ultimate aim was far more elusive. The Hollow¡ that''s where the ultimate game lies.
"Love has always been a fanciful notion for our kind," he said, "A notion often reduced to obsession, to an eternal hunger. But in you, I''ve found something else. And for you, I will bend the very laws that hold our world together."
Restelo turned away, casting one final, lingering look at Isabeau. His heart tightened at the sight of her. It was a strange sensation for a vampire, an uncharacteristic inkling of vulnerability.
"Wait for me," he whispered to the still air of the room as if entreating the Fates themselves. "I''ll return with the means to free you, to free us all."
And with that solemn vow hanging in the stillness, he exited the chamber, leaving behind the woman who was his world and the child who could potentially be his redemption or the ruin of Nyu.
As he merged back into the labyrinthine passageways of the cathedral, his silhouette became one with the darkness, his resolve solidifying like the iron core of a star. Gravenwatch would be his next battleground, and he relished the thought.
After all, unlike demons, vampires could lie. But Restelo knew the most convincing lies contained a grain of truth. And his truth was Isabeau and their unborn child.
For them, he would risk it all¡ªeven his immortal soul.
[CH. 0071] - Castling & Duct tape
The Tower''s shelves seemed infinite, each ascending staircase leading to yet another level packed with jars. Tower and Dumdum moved with a haste born of urgency, stretching rolls of plastic wrap taut around collections of jars. Each strip of duct tape applied a silent vow of safety.
In some areas, they used pillows and ropes, cushioning the delicate glassware against the ancient wood, binding them securely against any conceivable tremors.
Bram had an equally vital role: quality control. His small hands delicately nudged each shelf, applying just enough force to challenge the jars'' stability. A successful test yielded no sound, verifying that the shelf was secure enough for Tower to proceed. A failed test, distinguished by the unnerving clink of glass against wood, would send Tower and Dumdum back to reinforce their work.
The number of jars seemed to mock their progress, stretching endlessly up into the shadowy reaches of the Tower. Thousands of them, each filled with an unknown substance, each a mystery in its own right, and every single one demanding their attention.
Knees ached from the constant bending, and their arms felt like lead weights, but none of them yielded to fatigue. Sweat glistened on Tower''s brow, and his hands were stiff from the tension of pulling and sealing.
Dumdum''s eyes, though strained, maintained their focus while Bram''s youthful energy seemed to wane, his face growing flushed with the strain. Yet, they worked with a quiet, dogged determination.
"You good, kid?" Dumdum finally broke the silence, looking down at Bram, who was massaging his wrist.
Bram nodded, a tired but determined smile breaking through. "Yeah, I''m good. How about you guys?"
Tower paused, setting down his roll of duct tape. He stretched his back, a series of pops echoing up his spine. "Tired but committed. We can''t afford to slip up now. Not when we''re so close."
Dumdum nodded in agreement, his hands working a knot into a length of rope. "Aye, close but still far. One mistake could compromise everything, right?"
"Right."
With that sombre reminder, they returned to their respective tasks. Tower felt his body cry out in fatigue, each ache punctuating the passing time and the height they had reached. But then he''d look at Bram''s youthful determination, hear the steady rasp of Dumdum''s ropes, and find a reservoir of strength he didn''t know he possessed.
And so, layer by layer, they enveloped the Tower''s vast collection in a cocoon of plastic, tape, ropes, and pillows. They ascended, their resolve unyielding, each step a triumph, each sealed jar a monument to their shared endeavour.
Finally, reaching the topmost shelf, Tower applied the last strip of duct tape with a sense of finality, cutting it with a swift tear. They all paused, taking in the magnitude of their accomplishment, the sheer scale of what they had protected.
"We did it," Bram whispered, his voice tinged with awe.
"We did," Tower affirmed, his eyes meeting Dumdum''s. "Now, I can put this bad boy to walk to Ravendrift!"
Lying on the expansive bed, their bodies slick with sweat and muscles pulsing with fatigue, all three stared at the ceiling. The atmosphere was thick with an exhausted silence, each one lost in his own thoughts as they tried to muster the strength to move again. It was Bram who broke the quietness.
"Oh, look, a cute bat! What''s its name?"
"What?"
"Look, the cute bat, what''s his name?"
"I don''t have any bats," Tower responded, puzzled.
"You sure? There''s one flying around the ceiling," Bram pointed upwards, "There!"
Tower''s eyes shot open, scanning the ceiling. He saw not an ordinary bat but a vampire creature one with crimson eyes and fangs, dive-bombing in their direction. "That''s no bat! Get down!"
Dumdum and Bram scrambled off the bed in a flurry of sheets and limbs and took cover beneath it. Tower sprang into action, charging out of the room and reappearing seconds later, wielding a tube-like device.
With calculated precision, he aimed the tube at the menacing creature, unleashing a roar of wind that yanked it from its flight path and sucked it into the tube. It ended up imprisoned in a box with wheels at the base of the device.
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Just as Tower was about to deactivate the contraption by stepping on a button, another so-called ''bat'' materialized, zooming angrily in their direction.
With a swiftness born of necessity, he aimed the tube again, trapping the second creature just as efficiently as the first. But then another appeared, and another. Tower¡¯s eyes widened; he was in a battle of attrition, and he wasn¡¯t sure how many more of these flying monstrosities the house¡ªor he¡ªcould take.
From under the bed, Dumdum yelled, "Are we clear yet?"
"No, we''re far from clear!" Tower shouted back, his gaze fixed on another incoming creature, the tube at the ready. "I don''t know where they are coming from!"
As he caught another and another, the weight of the moment fell upon him. These weren¡¯t just simple vermin; they were omens, a creeping darkness threatening to consume all they had worked for.
The tension in the room was palpable as Tower continued to battle the relentless swarm of flying monstrosities. His arms ached with fatigue, but he couldn''t afford to lose focus for even a second.
"Dumdum, next to the bed, there''s a drawer. You''ll find a notebook with a black cover in it. You hear me?" Tower''s voice was tinged with desperation.
Crawling out from his hiding place, Dumdum hastily opened the first drawer he saw. "I''ve got underwear and boxes that say ''latex mint flavour''," he shouted back, his eyes scanning the drawer''s contents for the elusive notebook.
"The other drawer, damn it! Come on!" Tower''s voice was frayed at the edges as he continued to suck one bat after another into the tube''s yawning maw.
Frantic, Dumdum pulled open the other drawer, shuffling aside socks and undergarments until his fingers closed around a black notebook. He pulled it out and flipped it open. His eyes widened at the intricate black-and-white drawings that filled the pages. Cryptic, filled with symbols and designs, they looked like arcane works of art. How on earth could these help them now?
"Got it!" Dumdum yelled, waving the notebook in the air.
"Listen!" Tower ordered, his voice almost drowned out by the roar of his wind-hollowing device. ''Search for a drawing with a man in a hat with ram horns!"
Frantically flipping through the notebook, Dumdum''s eyes darted from sketch to sketch, trying to decipher which one could be the right one. And then he found it¡ªa drawing of a man smirking mischievously, wearing a hat adorned with ram horns and a skull. "I think... I think I found it!"
Tower''s voice rang out over the cacophony of the still-humming device and the shrieking bats. "Listen, you need something borrowed, something new, and something bloody! Quick!"
"Where the heck am I supposed to find that stuff?" Dumdum yelled back, his eyes widening in disbelief.
Almost as if scripted, Bram extended his hand toward Dumdum, presenting a four-leaf clover. "Something borrowed," he said with a sense of urgency. "You give it back, right?"
"Great, now where do I get something new?" Dumdum looked around, his eyes landing once more on the open drawer. He lunged toward it, his hand diving into the assortment of underwear and socks. Finally, he grabbed one of the small boxes labelled ''latex mint flavour'' and tore off the wrapping. Inside was a metallic wrapping that, once torn apart, he got a slimy, transparent sock of some kind. "Now I just need something bloody!"
As if on cue, Tower''s hand moved in a swift, calculated arc, clipping a bat with a swift strike that sent it tumbling through the air, landing at Dumdum''s feet. "And now we have something bloody! What do I do now?" Dumdum''s voice was tinged with both panic and hope.
Dumdum looked up, "And now we have something bloody! What the hell do I do with it?"
"Use it to draw a circle around yourself! Hurry!" Tower yelled, his eyes never leaving the flurry of bats he was battling. The noise from his tube roared, drowning out his voice.
Dumdum, with shaking hands, grabbed the bat, semi-conscious and twitching. He clenched the bat''s head until it gave way, spilling its blood onto the floor. With grim determination, he used it to paint a crude circle around himself. "Alright, it''s done. What now?"
Tower was still engrossed in his own fight, swinging his machine to intercept another wave of bats that seemed to materialize out of thin air.
"Now put your hand on the drawing and say the words!"
Dumdum''s blood-stained hand hovered over the circle, his eyes wide. "What words? Tell me the words!"
"I summon you, master of memories, master of dreams, aid me now before my blood writes my tears. And so I call you. Come to my aid, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!" Tower''s voice rose above the din, a mixture of urgency and incantation.
As the last syllable left Tower''s lips, the air within Dumdum''s circle seemed to thicken, shimmering like heat waves over the cold stone floor.
The goblin was exhausted and didn''t seem to have the strength to say a word anymore. Bram placed his tiny hand over his green skin and chanted, "I summon you, master of memories, master of dreams, aid me now before my blood writes my tears. And so I call you. Come to my aid, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
Everyone held their breath, waiting. Then, just as quickly as it had all started, they felt it¡ªa subtle shift in the atmosphere, a lightening of the oppressive weight that had filled the room. Tower looked down at Dumdum, his eyes meeting a mirror of his own relief and disbelief.
The goblin''s hand lifted from the bloodied circle, looking like he''d just touched something both sacred and dreadful.
The incantation, it seemed, had failed. No ethereal force arrived, no dramatic shift in the balance of power¡ªjust the three of them in a room still swarming with bats, as if laughing at their feeble attempts to change their fate.
The bats, sensing an unravelling of resolve, tightened their formation in the air. Their once chaotic flight now appeared calculated, as though led by an unseen commander. The sound of their flapping wings seemed to crescendo, filling the room with an eerie symphony of impending doom.
Dumdum''s eyes were wide with disbelief as he stared at his blood-streaked hand and then at the useless circle around him. "This didn''t work!" he hissed, the despair in his voice turning each word into an accusation.
"Clearly," Tower barked, his fingers clenching around his improvised weapon. It roared, its sound cutting through the room, fighting against the cacophony of bat wings. "Back to Plan A."
"Plan A? Did we even have such a plan?" Dumdum yelled above the noise, his voice tinged with incredulity.
"No," Tower admitted. And in a swift, fluid movement that seemed almost resigned, he ducked and slid under the bed, joining Dumdum and Bram in their cramped sanctuary. "I don''t have a plan."
[CH. 0072] - Castling & Duct tape
Nord''s eyes flickered open, her head pounding with an odd, unsettling buzz that seemed to emanate from her ear. It felt like an invisible insect was lodged deep within, vibrating with an anxious hum. With a cautious finger, she tried to dislodge whatever it was but found nothing tangible.
Beside her, Baal lay motionless, his arm a heavy band across her torso. His eyes were sealed shut, remnants of last night''s tears crystallizing at the corners. He had sobbed himself into an exhausted slumber, like almost everyone else in the manor. Grief had settled over the house like winter snow, cold and unyielding.
Outside, she imagined Perdita, Merlin, and Kirara huddled against the icy wind, clutching hope as if it were a lifeline. A hope Nord no longer felt qualified to share. Bram was gone, irrevocably so, and it gnawed at her that she couldn''t muster the courage to proclaim what everyone else feared: Nothing would bring him back.
Perhaps a symbolic funeral would offer a semblance of closure, a balm for raw and grieving hearts. But who was she to decree an end to their collective mourning?
Baal must have sensed her restlessness. His eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and puffy. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice a broken whisper. Instead of loosening his grip, he tightened his arm around her, nestling his head into the hollow between her neck and shoulder.
The warmth was comforting, yet it weighed on her like a loaded question.
"How do you feel?" she ventured, her own voice barely above a whisper as if afraid to shatter the fragile peace of the morning.
"Shitty," he replied, with a brutal honesty that matched the ache in her own heart.
Baal''s eyes met hers, soft but clouded, as he gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. "What about you? Did you sleep alright?"
She grimaced, her finger still probing the depths of her ear. "There''s this annoying buzz in my ear. Can''t get rid of it."
"You want me to take a look?" he offered, already shifting as if to sit up.
"Nah, I''ll go to the bathroom and try to clean it out," she said, carefully extricating herself from the cocoon of his arms. "This is driving me crazy!"
The wooden floor felt like a sheet of ice against her bare feet as she padded towards the bathroom. The mirror greeted her with a reflection tinged with sleeplessness and strain. She leaned in closer to examine her ear, half-expecting to see something¡ªanything¡ªthat would explain the incessant buzzing.
Nothing. It was as empty and silent as the manor had been since Bram''s disappearance.
Nord stepped out of the bathroom, her eyes squinting against the sudden brightness that now seemed too glaring in the corridor. The buzzing escalated, morphing into a chorus of murmurs that teased at the edges of her comprehension¡ªwhispers that danced perilously close to forming words.
As she took a step forward, her foot crunched against something grainy on the floor. Lifting her foot, she examined the curious substance clinging to her sole¡ªcrimson grains that resembled salt yet pulsated with an unsettling energy.
A pulling sensation engulfed her, emanating from every direction yet originating from nowhere. It was disorienting like being drawn towards an unseen vortex. Simultaneously, a hitch formed on her left thigh¡ªa stinging itch that escalated into a burning sensation.
Pulling up her nightgown, her eyes met the image inked on her skin: a man smirking under a hat adorned with ram horns. The tattoo seemed more vivid than ever, the lines almost pulsating as the burning on her thigh intensified.
She attempted to shake it off, placing her feet back on the ground. But now, the floor felt as if it were made of shards, each step a wince-inducing jab.
The whispers crescendo in her ears, no longer just a murmur but a frantic chant. "I summon you, master... dreams... blood writes..." The words swirled in a chaotic mix, interspersed with static, like radio frequencies overlapping and distorting.
The corridor seemed to twist, its dimensions skewing as if the world itself was contorting. She staggered, her equilibrium shattered. It was as though the floor and ceiling had inverted, creating a dizzying vortex that threatened to consume her.
Nord gripped the wall, her knuckles white, as she fought to regain her balance and sanity.
Desperation clawed at her throat as she attempted to call out, to scream for Baal. Her mouth moved, lips shaping his name, but no sound escaped. It was as if the air had thickened, swallowing her voice before it could resonate.
As she clung to the wall for dear life, the whispering in her ears crystallized into clarity. "I summon you, master of memories, master of dreams, aid me now before my blood writes my tears. And so I call you. Come to my aid, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
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The chant looped, echoing as if broadcasted from some deep cavern of her subconscious. It called to her, for her, about her. And then she realized¡ªher hands were clenched around her daggers, their hilt suddenly materializing as though summoned from the ether.
The world seemed to rip open, reality fraying at its edges. She felt a sensation akin to freefall as if the corridor had dropped away beneath her, plunging her into a void. Darkness enveloped her, punctuated only by the high-pitched screeching of bats that filled her ears, drowning out even the insistent chant that had started this whole ordeal.
When the spinning chaos finally stilled, Nord found herself anchored back in a disconcerting semblance of reality. The whispers had ebbed away, supplanted by the piercing cries of bats that swooped and spiralled around her. She took a moment to assess her surroundings, her gaze snagging on details that yanked at her memory¡ªthis was her old apartment.
With an agile flick of her wrists, Nord brandished her daggers and launched herself upward. Her feet skimmed the wall as she ascended, her blades swinging in swift arcs to slice through the airborne creatures. But each bat she cleaved seemed to respawn, their numbers inexplicably doubling.
A cold realization settled over her: she was ensnared in an illusion.
Nord''s feet touched down on the floor. She pivoted sharply and dashed into the kitchen. Her eyes darted toward the window; it should have offered a way out, an escape. But all she saw beyond the glass was an endless expanse of cloud and the two moons, an opaque curtain that revealed nothing.
Turning back, she surveyed the room, still teeming with the illusory bats. She clicked her tongue in irritation, her mind churning. Somewhere on her body was an anti-illusion spell, a tattoo inked into her skin. She knew it. She could feel it and with all the tattoos that she had already used and learned, the thought made sense. But the specifics¡ªwhat it looked like, what words to say¡ªeluded her in that frenzied moment.
Her fingers clenched around the hilts of her daggers, the blades now seeming almost weightless in her grip. The cries of the bats reached a feverish pitch, filling the room with a dissonant cacophony that tugged at the edges of her sanity.
As Nord was about to take her next step, the bats reformed¡ªthis time with an alarming swiftness¡ªand hurtled towards her in a coordinated strike. With no time to think, she threw herself onto the floor, feeling the wingtips graze her as they whizzed past. She rolled onto her back, and what she saw took her breath away¡ªthree pairs of eyes stared down at her from the safety of the shadow beneath the bed.
"Bram?" Nord''s voice was tinged with disbelief as she scrambled to join them under the bed. "Is that really you? How the hell did you get here?"
"I got lost! But it''s okay, now you found me!" Bram''s voice was filled with youthful relief, a stark contrast to the surreal danger enveloping them.
Nord shifted her gaze to the other two figures. One was a goblin with an impish grin, the other a red-haired child with dark eyes that held flickers of orange flame. "Baal? Is that...?"
"I''m Tower," the redhead cut in, his eyes alight with awe. "That one is Dumdum. We were trying to summon my master, but you came instead. It''s okay, though. You''re more powerful than him!"
Nord looked around at the faces gathered in the confined space, the surreal nature of the situation not lost on her. Above them, the bats continued their chaotic dance, but it was as if they had temporarily forgotten the people hiding beneath the bed.
"More powerful than your master?" Nord raised an eyebrow. "Who exactly is your master, kid?"
"Baal Berith!"
"Baal Berith? You''re trying to summon Baal Berith?" Nord''s eyebrows shot up. "So you know who I am?"
"Yeah, you''re his wife, Nord Morningstar."
"Right¡" Nord glanced upwards, her eyes narrowing as she took in the swarm of bats blotting out the ceiling. She leaned in, whispering, "I think the bats are not real."
"Oh, no, no, the bats are very real!" Dumdum chimed in, eyes wide and earnest.
"And scary," Bram added, curling even more tightly into himself beneath the bed.
"So, Tower, how exactly did you manage to summon me instead of Baal?" Nord inquired.
Dumdum slid a notebook toward her. "We used this¡ªsomething new, something borrowed, and something bloody." The goblin then pointed to a dead bat, a four-leaf clover, and an unused condom.
"Okay¡ I wasn''t expecting this." Nord scanned the pages of the notebook, eyes widening in recognition. "I drew these! These are my tattoo designs!"
"I know!" Tower beamed as if he''d won a prize.
"You recognize these drawings?" Nord asked, flipping through the pages.
"Yep! Just like the horns on my head!" Tower touched his head, pointing the curve of horns with his fingers.
"Do you know any of these that work against illusions?" Nord asked, her eyes darting back and forth between the pages.
Tower leaned in to study the notebook more closely. "Hmm...no horns for that. But wait! What about this one?" He pointed to a sketch¡ª of a woman blindfolded with half of a skull, "That''s the one," he confirmed, "The Key of the Eye."
"Do you know the words?" Nord asked, her voice tinged with doubt.
The young demon smiled knowingly and began to recite, "Lighten mine eyes that I sleep not in death. Let my enemy say I can''t prevail against them. Show before me so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
Intrigued, Nord laid her palm over the drawing. She could feel a warm rash burning below her neck where the tattoo was probably inked.
Taking a deep breath, she repeated Tower''s incantation, her voice barely rising above a whisper: "Lighten mine eyes that I sleep not in death. Let my enemy say I can''t prevail against them. Show before me so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
The room held its breath. The bats that had swarmed above them, a frenetic maelstrom of flapping wings and ear-piercing shrieks, ceased their chaotic dance. Silence replaced the cacophony, so heavy and profound it seemed to swallow the room whole. For a moment, the only sounds were the anxious inhalations and exhalations of the beings huddled beneath the bed.
Then, the faint echo of footsteps began to reverberate in the still air. They originated from the stairway that spiralled around the tower¡ªsoft, deliberate footsteps that climbed upward, growing louder with each step.
Light but purposeful, as though each footfall were measured and certain.
Nord exchanged glances with Bram, Tower, and Dumdum. Her hand instinctively moved to the hilt of her daggers, its familiarity grounding her. "Stay here," she mouthed silently, not daring to break the fragile quiet.
Tower and Dumdum nodded, their eyes filled with dread. Bram clutched onto a piece of the torn bedsheet, his knuckles whitening.
The footsteps reached the landing outside the room. A pause. A breathless hush fell over them, their hearts pounding in unison like a drumbeat.
Boots¡ªworn, black, the leather scuffed¡ªappeared at eye level as they remained crouched under the bed.
[CH. 0073] - Castling & Duct tape
The worn, black boots, scuffed from countless confrontations, filled Nord''s field of vision as they approached the edge of the bed. The room was silent but for the woman''s slow, deliberate pacing¡ªeach step an echo of menace. Nord could feel the tension coil tighter in the guts of the three boys huddled beside her, like a spring wound almost to the point of snapping.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the woman cooed, her voice dripping venom with mock sweetness. "Let''s have a heart-to-heart, shall we? I promise it won''t hurt much, little demon."
Nord''s fingers tightened around the hilt of her twin daggers. A knot of determination formed within her. It''s another woman, she thought. I stand a chance. With stealthy movements, she shuffled to the side, her eyes flicking to the young faces beside her, and motioned sharply for them to remain still.
"Come on, show your little horns," the woman sang, a lullaby from hell. "I know you''re there."
Slinking to the other side of the bed, muscles tense and ready to explode into action, Nord prepared to spring. But the instant her foot touched the ground, an invisible vice gripped her and threw her against the wall as if she were a ragdoll.
"Oh, look at you, I was chasing a demon and got a filthy wretch instead!" the woman declared. Her presence was a tapestry of calculated beauty and cold malice, each detail¡ªfrom her impeccably tailored outfit to her perfectly styled hair¡ªscreaming control.
"What the...?" Nord gasped, her voice barely a rasp as the unseen force constricted around her neck.
"My name is Ursula," the woman said, sauntering forward with the air of a predator closing in on its prey. "And you, Nord Morningstar, have made my day remarkably simpler. It is two rabbits and a stone. How delightful, this might even get me some extra tokens."
Panic sprinted through Nord''s thoughts. Ursula knew her. Knew her name. And she was after something¡ªor someone¡ªelse. Someone else? Time was a dwindling luxury.
"Who hired you?" Nord choked out, her mind scrabbling for a foothold, any leverage.
"I''m a professional. I do not disclaim the name of my customers, " Ursula sneered. "People hire me to solve problems, and I oblige, it¡¯s as simple as that. Taking this Tower? Just a gig. But hunting down that lying, treacherous Adamastor? Oh, that''s personal. And I know how delicious you are to him and that charlatan demon. As I said, two rabbits and a stone."
The darkness edged in, narrowing Nord''s vision to a pinhole. "Adamastor? What has he done to you? He cares about you, Ursula!"
"Cares? By lying? Told me he was dying and still walks around! Promised me things, lies, all of it!" Ursula''s voice reached a fever pitch, her face flushed and twisted in a tapestry of betrayal and wrath.
Let me out!
The soothing voice within Nord¡ªinsistent, almost frantic¡ªbegan to pound in her skull.
Let me out.
She wavered, her resolve wearing thin. Letting the Hollow loose was a gamble she couldn''t afford to take, especially with the children so near. Yet her own strength was ebbing fast.
Let me out!
"What''s in this tower for you?" Nord forced the words out, the noose around her neck tightening with every syllable. "There is nothing here besides memories! Adamastor has nothing to do with this Tower."
"You think this is for a man?" Ursula laughed bitterly. "My patron wants this Tower. That''s all you need to know."
"Why?"
"Baal Berith," Ursula said, and a spark of realization flared in Nord''s mind.
Let me out!
The voice inside her was screaming now. LET ME OUT!
Nord felt as if she were being ripped apart, torn between the need to protect and the urge to survive. The mental dam she had built over the last months shattered, the floodgates giving way to the Hollow within. It surged into her senses, drowning her inhibitions, leaving her no choice but to unleash the storm.
"Ursula... run..." Nord whispered before she lost control.
As the invisible force constricting her neck finally slackened, Nord unleashed a guttural cry, her eyes glowing with a feral darkness. Now it was Ursula''s turn to look afraid.
"I told you to run, Ursula!" Nord''s voice seemed to fill the bedroom with a sinister resonance. Her eyes glowed darkness that suppressed any light around them, a demonic testament to the Hollow that had possessed her.
Ursula, eyes flickering with apprehension, tried to muster some semblance of courage. "Running is for the weak," she spat out, her voice tinged with a feigned bravado she didn''t feel, "And it doesn''t pay the bills!"
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Nord smirked. "Ah, but you are weak, aren''t you? I can smell your fear, and I can almost taste your magic... I''m hungry..."
Beneath the bed, the two children and the goblin huddled together, their hands clutching one another as they tried to make themselves as small as possible. Their eyes were wide, hearts pounding like war drums in their chests.
Ursula''s fingers twitched at her sides, ready to conjure illusions, but uncertainty clouded her thoughts. "You underestimate me," she finally said, waving her hand to distort her appearance into a mirror image of Nord. "See? Even you can be mimicked."
"I look cute," Nord chuckled, a guttural sound that seemed to crawl up from the bowels of hell itself. "Child''s play," she said, lunging forward with a swiftness that defied her human form. Her daggers narrowly missed Ursula, tearing gashes into the paisley-patterned curtains instead.
Ursula gasped, sidestepping just in time. Her pulse quickened; she felt a drip of sweat slide down her temple. Conjuring another illusion, she made it appear as though the room was filling with fire, flames licking up the walls.
Nord paused, eyeing the illusion for a moment before laughing. "You''ll have to do better than that," she said, her own form rippling as the Hollow''s energy intensified, warping the air around her like a heat haze. "I''m the Hollow; I am everything and nothing. How could you hurt me with something that is made of me?" With another savage leap, she caught Ursula''s arm, her dagger sinking deep.
Ursula screamed, pain shooting up her arm as if her veins were filled with molten lava - Allatori blades! Her concentration shattered; the illusion of fire flickered out.
Nord twisted her dagger deeper, relishing Ursula''s torment. "Any last words?"
Through gritted teeth, Ursula muttered, "Fuck you." And with a swift flick of her free hand, she conjured an illusion of blinding light.
Nord recoiled, momentarily stunned. Ursula took her chance, stumbling back, clutching her wounded arm. But the moment was all too brief; Nord shook her head, dispelling the disorientation. She lunged again, this time her dagger finding its mark. Ursula''s illusion shattered as she fell to the floor, life starting to want to drain out of her eyes.
As Nord stood over her, savouring her cruel victory, beneath the bed, the children trembled, knowing they had witnessed a monster far worse than anything their nightmares could conceive.
The Hollow hovered above Ursula like a dog sniffing its next meal, its insidious tendrils of darkness caressing the air with anticipation. All it wanted was to ravish the magic swirling inside Ursula. It sensed the Atua Na of illusions and shapeshifting powers that defined her as if she were a vintage wine waiting to be uncorked.
"Ah, what a feast you''ll be," the Hollow murmured, its voice a dissonant harmony that seemed to seep into the very walls of the room, "I haven''t had a real meal for centuries and centuries. So, so long..."
Ursula, lying on the floor and weakened, gasped. Her eyes, once full of defiance, now dimmed with a harrowing realization. "You can''t...take me. You can''t..."
But the Hollow only chuckled, a sound like cracking bones. "You misunderstand. I don''t want to destroy you. I want to feed. I am so hungry, Ursula, always."
Ursula felt the first tendrils of the Hollow touch her, probing into her magical core. It was a nauseating sensation as if her very essence were being siphoned through a straw. She tried to resist, to conjure a defensive illusion, but her powers flickered and waned under the Hollow''s oppressive touch.
"Ah, yes. Fight if you must," the Hollow crooned, beginning to consume Ursula, "It only makes the feast sweeter."
Ursula''s limbs twitched uncontrollably as her magical reservoirs were drained. Her skin paled, and her veins turned a sickly black as though ink were being pumped through them. Her eyes started to glaze over, but not before they caught a glint of something under the bed¡ªthe fearful eyes of the children, watching her lose her very essence with terror.
Ursula''s eyes, a plea for mercy etched within them, locked onto a pair of unsettlingly calm, almost eerie eyes peeking out from under the bed. The eyes belonged to Bram, his twitching ears and a swishing tail that betrayed his fear and anxiety better than any words could.
He wanted to help. He wanted to stop all of it!
Dumdum tugged frantically at Bram''s shirt as the Nixbob began to crawl out from the cramped space under the bed. "Bram, no, bad idea! Very, very bad idea!" he muttered, his voice tinged with desperate urgency.
Ignoring the goblin''s warning, Bram crawled out and stood up, brushing dust and cobwebs from his clothes. His tail twitched erratically, indicating a blend of unease and caution. Unfazed by the looming malevolent force that stood before him, he approached the Hollow, his young face an unreadable mask.
"Please stop hurting people," Bram''s voice was unnervingly steady, cutting through the heavy air like a knife.
The Hollow, channelling itself through Nord, tilted its head in genuine confusion. "You''re not afraid? Most creatures, young or old, cower in my presence. How dare you command me!"
"Being scared won''t help," Bram said, his eyes fixed intently on Hollow''s absent gaze. "And besides, you shouldn''t hurt others."
Intrigued, the Hollow sniffed the air around Bram and detected a familiar scent¡ªsomething pure, untouched, almost celestial. "What are you?" it asked, its voice echoing menacing but yet also curious.
"I''m Bram, the Lucky Charm!" Bram declared, his eyes never wavering. "Just a kid asking you to stop."
The audacity and purity of the child seemed to destabilize the Hollow, even if just for a fleeting moment. A sliver of doubt clouded its dark consciousness, a feeling it couldn''t quite decipher.
Then, with a suddenness that defied all logic, Bram stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the Hollow in a spontaneous, heartfelt hug.
Time seemed to freeze. The Hollow felt an unfamiliar sensation wash over it, a purity that clashed with its dark essence. It was like being plunged into a pool of crystalline water so cold it could lull even the most malevolent of entities into the profoundest slumber. And suddenly, it recognised it, the profound stillness of the Tear Lake!
The Hollow disengaged itself from Bram''s embrace, its eyes flaring with a renewed malevolence. "You''ve made a grave mistake, child. I''m going to¡ª"
Before it could finish the sentence, a sharp bang reverberated through the room. Nord''s body crumpled to the floor, collapsing beside Ursula''s unconscious form. Confused, Bram lifted his gaze and found Tower standing near, with his sucking wind device in his hands.
Tower grinned at Bram. "Well, well. Looks like you could use some help, kid," he said, shouldering the device that had seemingly knocked Nord¡ªand the Hollow within her¡ªunconscious.
For a split second, the room teetered on the edge of collective disbelief.
Even Dumdum, still huddled under the bed, peeked out, his eyes wide with astonishment.
Bram let out a breath he didn''t know he''d been holding. "Thanks, Tower. That was close."
The goblin approached the other two and asked, "What now?"
Tower winked, his young demon features alight with mischief. "We need more duct tape!"
"More duct tape!"
"Yeah, more duct tape," agreed Dumdum, wondering what he got himself into.
[CH. 0074] - The New Normal
Baal''s headache intensified, throbbing in sync with his growing unease. The bed beside him was still empty, its sheets tangled in a sad imitation of Nord''s usual restless sleep. She''d mumbled something about needing the bathroom, but how long ago was that?
"Nord?"
Too long, he decided.
He swung his legs over the bed with a low groan, planting his feet on the cool floor. He had a headache. Shuffling out of the bedroom, he stepped onto something in the hallway that crunched underfoot. He looked down. Particles that resembled red salt were scattered across the floor, spreading through the hallway to the bathroom.
"What is this?" he muttered, giving his foot a shake, "Where did this come from?" An unsettling sensation washed over him like he had crossed an invisible, forbidden line. Almost the feeling of a worn-out summon. But nobody summoned him.
The discomfort crept its way into his chest as he approached the closed bathroom door. "Nord? Are you in there?" he called, knocking on the door.
"Nord?" His voice hung in the air, heavy and unanswered, a palpable tension that seemed to cling to the walls.
Uneasiness settling into dread, Baal paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "Nord! I''m coming inside!"
Something was not right. A gut feeling, perhaps, but it gnawed at Baal.
"Nord, I don''t care if you''re doing a number two! I''m coming inside!"
He took a deep breath, fortifying himself for whatever might lie on the other side of that door¡ªhoping, praying it was just his imagination running wild. With a trembling hand, Baal gripped the knob, twisted it, but before pushing the door open, Kirara suddenly appeared.
"Kitten! Come here!" Baal called out, beckoning her with his voice tinged with urgency.
Kirara''s slippers, padding softly against the floor, walked towards Baal, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What?"
"Could you check if Mama is inside?" Baal gestured toward the bathroom door.
Kirara hesitated, taking a cautious step back. "No, she doesn''t like me going in the bathroom when she goes..."
"Please, Kitten."
"No, no..."
"Kirara! I''m asking... me!"
"I learned my lesson, Papa!" Kirara said, nodding her head with her eyes wide open, "Last time I bothered her in the bathroom, she showered me with cold drops... of water! Drops! Of water! It was awful. Terrifying!"
"Come on, Sweetheart, I just need to know she''s okay," Baal coaxed, his voice tinged with desperation, "For me?"
Kirara shook her head, her feline eyes narrowing. "No, no, no..."
"How many chickens?" Baal resorted to bribery, a note of hope in his voice.
The Nixbob''s ears perked up. "Hmm, five... no, three? Two! I want two!"
"You get two chickens; just go inside and make sure she''s okay," Baal promised.
Seemingly satisfied with the deal, Kirara cautiously nudged the door open with her hand and slipped inside, shutting it behind her. Baal waited, the seconds stretching into minutes, each thickening the anxiety inside him.
Eventually, Baal succumbed to impatience and pressed his ear against the door, straining to hear any sign of life. Finally, the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing broke the tense silence. The door creaked open, and Kirara reappeared.
"So?" Baal looked at her expectantly.
"So?" Kirara echoed, seemingly oblivious to his worry.
"How is Nord?" he pressed, his patience fraying at the edges.
"Oh, she''s not there," Kirara said nonchalantly.
"I heard a flush!" Baal exclaimed, his voice rising with confusion and concern.
"That was me. I''m a very tidy cat. I even washed my hands!" Kirara lifted her hands to show off her immaculate cleanliness.
Baal''s eyes locked onto Kirara''s, a turbulent storm of emotions churning behind his gaze. "Kirara, Nord''s missing. I can''t find her anywhere."
Without waiting for her to reply, he pivoted on his heels, angry and strode away, his face taut with lines that seemed to etch deeper into his skin with every step.
His eyes darted to the staircase, an unsettling hunch gnawing at the corners of his consciousness. He took the steps two at a time, his palm grazing the polished wood of the bannister as if it were a lifeline pulling him back from the edge of an abyss.
He landed on the ground floor, eyes flicking around the salon. Cushioned armchairs sat unclaimed, the window''s light casting flickering apparitions across opulent wallpaper. The tables and chairs held no occupants, no guests since the attack; the small stage was a barren platform of silence.
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His ears strained for any murmur, a sigh, a rustle of paper¡ªanything to suggest that Nord might be tucked away in a corner, her thoughts spilling into one of her many sketchbooks. But the oppressive quiet only tightened the knot inside him.
Pushing the heavy door open, he stepped into the kitchen. The aroma of soap mingled with the scent of freshly scrubbed porcelain. Finnea stood at the sink, her hands submerged in soapy water, her movements reduced to mere mechanics. Her face wore a facade of hard-earned fatigue, a mask that had become her second skin since the undead claimed the little Bram. She covered for Perdita''s work, and he didn''t recall seeing her rest, perhaps consumed by guilt.
"Finnea, have you seen Nord?"
Her hands ceased their rhythmic scrubbing, and she looked up, her eyes catching his. "No, Master Baal. Not for some time. What''s wrong? Did something happen?"
Feeling the weight of his own helplessness pull his shoulders down, Baal searched for the right words. He didn''t want to burden the elf more than she already was. "I don''t know... I can''t put my finger on it, Finnea, but something''s not right. It''s not just me being paranoid. I... I have a terrible headache..."
For a brief moment, Finnea''s mask cracked, and her eyes narrowed with something that looked a lot like worry. Baal cursed himself.
"If you''re feeling this way, Master, perhaps we should do something about it."
"Agreed," Baal nodded, his pulse quickening. "You check the cellar; I''ll search the study and the store."
"Right away," Finnea said, shedding her domestic armour for a moment to become what truly was her role, the Protector.
A new sense of urgency propelled Baal out of the kitchen and through the maze-like hallways of the manor, his feet barely making a sound on the lush carpet. Skirting past the imposing main entrance, he stopped in front of a nondescript door that most guests wouldn''t give a second glance.
This was the rear entrance to Nord''s tattoo store. He twisted the doorknob, half-expecting to find Nord hunched over her work, lost in intricate designs.
But what met his eyes were black curtains partitioning the room from the world outside, almost as if in mourning. A "We Are Closed" sign dangled from the front door, its message a gut punch. He paused, his hand frozen in mid-air, uncertainty clouding his thoughts.
Stepping into the store through the back, he navigated around a counter cluttered with supplies. Darkness enshrouded him as he crossed into a realm devoid of life, where even time held its breath. Rows of vivid inks stood untouched on shelves; sterilization equipment lay in dormant readiness. The artist''s chair sat empty. Sketches and designs on the walls looked as if they, too, were searching for their missing creator.
"Nord?" His voice quivered an awkward note that bounced off the walls and fizzled out, smothered by the thick quiet of the room. He scanned the counters, desperate for any sign of Nord¡ªa hastily left sketch, a fresh ink stencil, even a simple note. But there was nothing, just an unsettling void.
With a sigh that felt like defeat, he left the store exactly as he found it, and he retraced his steps to the manor. The feeling that had started as an insidious whisper now roared in his head, a migraine of unease that refused to be dismissed.
His hands fidgeted, alternately clenching and unclenching as if trying to grasp the elusive peace that seemed to be slipping further away with each passing second. When he arrived at the door to Nord''s study, his heart sank a little further; the closed door offered no clues.
He took a deep breath, turned the handle, and swung the door open.
Instead of finding Nord nestled in her creative realm of sketches and texts, it was Adamastor who looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as they locked onto Baal''s.
"Mr. Berith?" Adamastor set down his quill and pushed away from the desk, papers rustling in his wake. "You''re the last person I''d expect to find here at this time. Isn''t Miss Morningstar on her training with you at this time?"
Baal''s eyes scanned the room, flicking over stacks of papers, assorted drawing utensils, and worn leather books. There was no sign of Nord. "I was actually hoping to find her here," he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "She''s not in the shop, and it''s unlike her to just disappear. You haven''t seen her, have you?"
Adamastor leaned back, his hands gripping the arms of the chair, concern etching lines onto his usually impassive face. "No, Mr. Berith, I haven''t. And now that you mention it, she was absent at breakfast as well."
The knot of worry in Baal''s stomach twisted tighter as if wringing out the last drops of his composure. "She missed breakfast? That''s completely out of character for her."
"Yes, quite," Adamastor agreed, standing up from behind the desk. His eyes, now mirroring Baal''s own sense of urgency, scanned the room one last time as if hoping Nord would materialize from the clutter.
"You might want to ask Perdita and Merlin. Last I saw, they were lingering by the porch, looking like they were waiting for something¡ªor someone or a bloody miracle."
"Yeah, those two don''t give up... Thank you, Adamastor," Baal muttered, his eyes meeting the other man''s for a brief moment¡ªa moment that conveyed more concern and solidarity than any amount of words could. And with that, he turned on his heels again, his feet echoing on the hardwood floor as he left the study.
As he made his way toward the porch, Baal''s steps quickened as he navigated through the winding hallways of the manor, his heart beating inside his skull with mounting dread.
Just as he rounded the final corner that led to the porch, the unthinkable happened¡ªthe ground beneath him lurched violently. An Earthquake - now.
"Damn it, not now!" he snarled as he lost his footing and stumbled. Years of training kicked in, and almost automatically, he lunged toward an antique wooden table, diving underneath it for cover. He gripped the legs of the table, his knuckles turning white as the earth shook, rattling the chandeliers above and sending loose ornaments crashing to the ground.
His eyes clenched shut as if not seeing it could make it less real. "As if today needed this too," he muttered under his breath, cursing the cruel timing of this seismic treachery, "Gimme a break, Atua!"
The rumbling seemed to last an eternity, but it was probably mere seconds. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it ceased. Eerily, instead of hearing the screams or cries of panic one would expect, he heard exclamations of what sounded like... astonishment? Intrigue, even.
His ears caught the voices of Perdita and Merlin from the direction of the porch, and their tone was devoid of the fear he''d anticipated. Confused, he extricated himself from his makeshift shelter and dusted off his pyjama.
His eyes narrowed, and Baal cautiously made his way toward the voices, prepared for just about anything.
Or so he thought.
As he reached the doorway leading to the porch, his gaze lifted, and his eyes widened in disbelief.
There, walking in the distance but growing ominously closer, was a tower. A walking tower¡ªits enormous stone legs moving with uncanny grace, its turrets and ramparts teetering but somehow not falling. His Tower was walking in his direction, disobeying him.
The Tower finally sat on the ground, still as it should, and a door opened.
His jaw dropped, and suddenly Baal heard a cry, Perdita''s cry. He ran into Merlin''s and Perdita''s direction to see the Tower parked at the very entrance of the Morningstar. Perdita was on her knees crying, and Merlin was almost jumping like a five-year-old, shouting, "It works! It works!" When Baal saw it, Bram, like a lucky charm, ran to meet his mother''s arms.
"It worked! It worked again!"
[CH. 0075] - The New Normal
In the days that followed, Baal''s walking Tower¡ªan unbeatable structure now parked between Tear Lake and the Morningstar¡ªbecame a spectacle, drawing the townspeople and outsiders alike. With intrigue hanging in the air like a mist, business at the Morningstar Manor flourished anew. The locals chatted excitedly about the phenomenon as they filled the rooms and the salon, their pockets full of tokens loosening with the novelty of it all. It was as if the hoard of undead never reached the outskirts of Ravendrift a week before.
It was a frenetic pace, one that conveniently allowed no time for reflection on the startling series of events that had recently unfolded. Everyone was occupied¡ªtoo occupied, perhaps.
Bram, who miraculously came back among the living, moved through his routines with Kirara, playing tag and cards as if stepping back from the afterlife was as ordinary as a walk in the park.
Adamastor, Finnea, and Perdita juggled their duties in the kitchen, attended to room service, and managed the salon with renewed zeal. Even Baal, who could usually be found lost in brooding thoughts, picked up his violin occasionally to entertain the guests.
The frenzied activity seemed almost an unspoken pact among them, a silent agreement to keep going without confronting the bizarre reality that had gripped their lives. No one talked about Bram''s resurrection or the appearance of the walking tower now rooted like an ancient obelisk at their doorstep.
Conversations buzzed around trivial matters¡ªweather forecasts, business upticks, the latest town gossip¡ªas if these could drown out the questions they were all too afraid to ask.
Nord, too, was swept up in this collective act of denial or distraction. She confined herself to her store, shutting the door for hours at a time as if seeking sanctuary in her work. And so, nobody mentioned her prolonged disappearances or questioned why she had withdrawn.
Likewise, except for the regular visits by Sirdona, no one acknowledged the unnerving presence of Ursula, who lay bound with duct tape and half-injured in a guest room upstairs.
Ursula''s presence in the bowels of Morningstar Manor hung like an unvoiced whisper, a spectre haunting the edges of everyone''s thoughts but never uttered aloud. Ensconced in a room under the vigilant watch of Dumdum, leaned against the doorjamb, his eyes heavy with the weight of his own fiasco. He had failed to warn Ravendrift of the hoard of undead that was coming¡ªa failure made all the more bitter by the fact that the danger had already invaded Lake Tear long before he''d even saddled his pony.
However, life at Morningstar Manor had resumed its ordinary flow, like a river that had briefly surged. Still, it now seemed to have returned to its predictable course. But beneath the guise of normality, a palpable tension stretched thin. It was as if they were all walking on a frozen lake, unaware that the ice could crack at any moment, again.
Lucero, the owner of Mme Bougie, swaggered into this tableau, an electric aura of self-assurance pulsing around him. Dressed to the nines in a well-tailored suit, a fur coat slung outrageously over his shoulders, and a fedora tilted at a jaunty angle complemented by his raven moustache, he looked every inch the man who could bend reality to his will.
Lucero paused, fully expecting someone to rush over to greet him. Still, everyone around continued to hurry past, oblivious or uncaring.
Merlin, a twinkle in his eyes and his cheeks - always - flushed with the recent joy of Bram''s grandiose miracle, sauntered over to Lucero. "They''ve been a bit swamped lately," he said, his voice tinged with an almost euphoric relief that was contagious to anyone else. "I''m sure someone will attend to you shortly. Patience, my friend."
"Patience is a commodity I''m currently short on," Lucero snapped, his eyes narrowing. "If I can afford to have my day and business disrupted, Miss Morningstar can likewise." With that, he marched over to the grand piano at the corner of the room and, mimicking an act that Nord had once scandalously performed, slammed his palms onto the keys with a discordant crash.
All activity in the room ceased; all eyes were now fixated on Lucero. "I want to see Ursula, now!" he bellowed, locking eyes with each person in the room, daring anyone to defy him.
Baal, standing on a raised platform as if in preparation for an address, stepped down, his eyes meeting Lucero''s. The air between them sizzled with an electric charge, and for a moment, the room held its collective breath.
"I''ll take you to her," Baal said, his voice tinged with a gravity that brooked no argument. He gestured toward the winding staircase that led to the manor''s upper quarters. As they began to ascend, every eye in the room followed them, each person silently pondering what this new chapter would bring to the ever-complicated saga of Morningstar Manor.
Baal and Lucero rounded the corner, their footsteps echoing in the corridor. Dumdum was slumped against Ursula''s door, his tiny green frame vibrating with snores even as he attempted to remain upright. Baal rolled his eyes, took a moment to compose himself, and then nudged the snoring goblin carefully with his boot.
"I''m awake! I''m awake!" Dumdum jolted upright, his eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to dispel the fog of sleep. His hand instinctively reached for the door.
"Go get some rest, Dumdum. You''re clearly in no shape to be on guard duty," Baal said, his voice dripping with thinly veiled mockery.
"No, no, I stay! I''m on duty!" Dumdum insisted, trying to square his sagging shoulders, but his wavering posture betrayed his exhaustion.
Baal locked eyes with him, exuding an authority that silenced any further objections. "You''re not on duty. You''re exhausted. Go, now."
Dumdum looked as if he was about to argue, but the weight of his own fatigue seemed to press down on him, deflating his resistance. "Fine," he muttered and then shuffled away, each step a laborious effort. He disappeared into the depths of the hallway, his grumbles echoing back like the forlorn cries of a defeated creature.
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Baal shook his head, trying not to laugh but also relieved to be rid of the additional complication. He unlocked the door and held it open, gesturing for Lucero to enter.
"Madams first."
Lucero entered the room, his eyes adjusting to the muted light. There she was¡ªUrsula, shackled to the bed by a gleaming silver band. Her pallor was a shade lighter than he remembered, the vitality sapped from her like colour from a fading painting.
One arm was set in a cast, a stark, white contrast against the dark sheets. Her eyes met his, a mix of caution and curiosity, her lips quivering in a strange hybrid of a smile and a frown. Baal lingered by the door, his eyes darting between the two, unable to gauge the intent behind Lucero''s visit, probably to take her back to Mme Bougie.
In a single fluid motion, Lucero shrugged off his fur coat, letting it pool on the floor. His steps were plotted, each one resounding in the silence of the room. Then, with a swift movement that cut through the air like a blade, he delivered a resonant slap across Ursula''s face.
The sound shattered the room''s uneasy quiet, sending a shockwave that seemed to rattle the very walls. Baal, caught off-guard, froze for a split second, his eyes widening in disbelief.
"How dare you!" Lucero''s voice was tinged with a venomous mixture of anger and betrayal, each syllable slicing through the room''s thick tension. "How dare you after everything I did for you! Plotting against vampires and then working with them! For what?"
Ursula recoiled from the impact. Her cheek flushed red, but her eyes¡ªthose eyes were defiant, a storm brewing in the depths of her irises.
Baal finally found his voice, stepping forward, his posture rigid with indignation. "That''s enough, Lucero. I think..."
Lucero turned his gaze toward Baal, his eyes ablaze. "Don''t meddle, Baal. This is between me and my ''finest'' girl." He paused, inhaling deeply as though gathering the shards of his shattered composure. "What was the endgame, Ursula? Tokens? Do you want to go back to being a blood doll? What''s the end game? What did they promise you?"
Ursula finally spoke, her voice surprisingly steady despite her constrained position and a stinging cheek. "You think I want to be a whore for the rest of my life? I want to be someone; I want to be my own person!"
Lucero''s eyes bore into Ursula''s, a cold fire dancing in their depths. "I''ve never held anyone back. The girls who work for me at Mme Bougie have choices, and I respect those choices. Whether they disrobe or not is their decision, not mine. But what I won''t tolerate¡ªwhat I can''t tolerate¡ªare traitors, liars, and opportunists who exploit my contacts and my clientele for their own sordid gains."
Pausing to take a deep breath, Lucero exhaled slowly as if expelling the last vestiges of his own restraint. "If Mr. Berith has no objections," he gestured toward Baal, who stood silently, observing, "I''ll have someone bring your belongings here. But consider yourself dismissed from Mme Bougie. And any illusion of friendship you held? Consider it shattered, dead. I''m done."
With that, Lucero turned on his heels, grabbing his fur coat from the floor. As he reached the doorway, he paused, not looking back, his voice tinged with finality. "I wish you nothing but the best, Ursula. Just make sure it''s far, far, very far away from me and my prot¨¦g¨¦es."
Lucero''s footsteps receded into the distance. Each echo was a fading remnant of the storm that had just passed through the room. Ursula kept her gaze averted, staring at a nondescript point on the floor. Baal, equally unsure of where to start, sat down on the edge of her bed. With a tinge of irony, he broke the silence, "Well, it seems you''re stuck with us now."
"I''ve had worse," Ursula replied, her voice subdued but laced with stubborn resilience.
"So, should we continue this conversation Lucero-style?" Baal quipped, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "I can always call Nord in here. She has a mean slap." He rubbed his hand against his cheek as if it was yesterday.
"What do you want, demon?" Ursula cut through the banter, her eyes finally meeting his.
Baal sighed, his playful demeanour slipping away, replaced by a more earnest urgency. "I want what everyone wants to know: What the hell happened? Why did you attack my tower? And then, why did you attack Nord? What was the grand plan?"
"Do you think we were friends?" she shot back, a mocking smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Baal looked at her earnestly. "The friends of my friends are still my friends. So yes, enlighten me."
Ursula sighed, the defiance in her eyes giving way to something more vulnerable. "Adamastor lied to me," she began, her voice tinged with bitterness.
"In what way?" Baal probed, intrigued and slightly taken aback by the shift in her demeanour.
"He said he was dying. He promised me a job here. That there will be a vacancy once he is gone. He said he''d saved up something for me. I mourned a death that never happened! I fucking cried!" Her words dripped with anger and regret, each syllable punctuated by her clenched fists.
Baal met her gaze squarely, the air between them thickening as he weighed his words carefully. "Ursula, Adamastor actually died."
"Are you trying to make a fool of me?" Her eyes narrowed, disbelief etched across her face.
"I can''t lie; you know that. Adamastor did die. He just also happened to come back¡ªas a human. That''s all I know."
Confusion clouded Ursula''s features, "So why didn''t he... why didn''t he contact me?"
"He doesn''t remember anything from his time as a vampire, possibly because of the contract we made. And that includes you," Baal explained, a wry smile forming at the corners of his mouth. "We''ve all tried to take him to Mme Bougie to see you, but he wasn''t thrilled about visiting a... well..."
"A brothel! You mean a brothel," Ursula snapped, filling in the blanks.
"Yes, a brothel," Baal acknowledged, the tension in the room palpable but slowly dissipating.
"He''s human?" Ursula asked, the hard edge in her voice softening.
"Yes, he''s human now. Goes to bed early and everything," Baal said, almost amused.
"He sleeps?" Ursula''s voice was tinged with astonishment, her eyes widening, "Does he eat?"
He nodded, "He''s not the same, Ursula. Whether that''s a good or bad thing is for you to decide. Adamastor wanted to spend his last night with you. He really cared, you know? He believed he''d be truly dead. But things changed, and no one knew about the promises he''d made to you. Otherwise, we would have taken care of you," Baal finished.
The demon guessed Ursula''s intentions, the unvarnished truth landing heavily in the space between them. "You just wanted a better life, huh? Got sick of playing the part, putting up with the stench of alcohol and cigars, not even recognizing your own skin anymore? So you thought a handful of tokens would fix it all?"
"Yes," Ursula admitted, her voice tinged with resignation. "That''s exactly it."
"And you''re aware of Restelo''s plans? His intentions?" Baal questioned, casting her a sideways glance that hinted at his waning patience.
"How do you¡ª"
"I''m getting really tired of people underestimating me," Baal interjected, standing up and beginning to pace the room, his fingers interlocked as if he were contemplating a complex puzzle. "Here''s the deal: we make a contract. You spill every last drop of information on this convoluted vampire melodrama, and I guarantee your pockets will never run dry of tokens again."
"That''s it?" Ursula eyed him warily, clearly suspicious of the simplicity of his offer.
Baal paused, meeting her gaze directly. "I''ll also need a couple of happy memories from you. That''s the deal. Take it or leave it."
Ursula looked at him, her eyes probing as if searching for a hidden catch. But what she found in his gaze was a strange blend of earnestness and calculation. Here - was a demon offering a second chance, and as much as her instincts screamed caution, the lure of escaping her past miseries tugged at her soul.
It was a high-stakes gamble, a chance to rewrite her narrative at the cost of memories she held dear. But then again, what good were memories when her present was a mess and her future uncertain?
"Alright," Ursula finally said, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and apprehension. "We have a deal."
A sly grin spread across Baal''s face as he felt the scales of power and fate tip ever so slightly in his favour. "Excellent. Then let''s begin, shall we?"
[CH. 0076] - Breadcrumbs
As a child, I used to live at Dawnhaven Palace. It was my whole world¡ªa grand, sprawling maze of stairs, corridors, secrets, and fairy tale characters.
I was born into a life of service, the daughter of a maid. All I saw was her breaking her neck and back by scrubbing floors and dusting chandeliers, tending to others who only saw her as a... thing.
I was a bit of a secret, too. At least, my talents were. No one knew I could manipulate Atua Na, magic that allowed me to assume forms other than my own. My favourite? A mouse. Small, unnoticeable, the perfect little spy.
I''d slip through the cracks and crawl along the baseboards. It was in that minuscule form that I''d watch her: Princess Isabeau.
She was the epitome of grace, a vision swathed in silk and adorned with jewels. Every servant adored her; every nobleman admired her. But me? I wanted to be her¡ªso beautiful, so loved, so blissfully unaware of the monotony that filled the lives of people like my mother and me. She was my happy memory or at least part of it.
One night, as usual, I slipped into Isabeau''s chamber. The room was veiled in a thin mist of lavender and silver moonlight, a perfect place for the dreams of a young princess and of a ten-year-old. But what I saw that night was not something out of a fairy tale. Isabeau, seated at her vanity, was sobbing into a lace handkerchief.
"My love, please don''t cry?" said a voice, hazy but soft, and from the darkness stepped a man¡ªor rather, something more and less than a man. A vampire. His name was Restelo. He was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, like a statue made of marble with eyes malevolent red. Still, when they fell upon Isabeau, they softened to the warm hue of old sweet wine.
"Isabeau, we must consider the ramifications," Restelo''s voice oozed like honey, as velvety as night. "You''re binding not just your fate but that of our unborn child."
Isabeau would step closer to him, "If our baby shares your nature, your immortality, think of the possibilities, then it''s all the more reason to persevere, Restelo. Together, we can rewrite the rules of the kingdom. A vampire on the throne as king! Nethersphere will finally bow to the House of Neddingstein Nation. Your nation, my love."
Their words made my heart surge. It was as if the ballads my mother hummed over mountains of laundry had burst into life. How I loved to see those two together, such romance and such tragedy.
"Isabeau, it''s too dangerous," Restelo argued, getting anxious and pacing around the room. "What if the child doesn''t survive the transformation? What if I lose you too?"
"And what''s our alternative?" Isabeau''s voice shook. She was nervous. "Once I begin to show, we''ll have to seize whatever cuckold comes our way, regardless of my condition."
"There''s an arcane legend, a book ¡ª forbidden wishes, that''s what they call it, that could alter our circumstances. It poses less risk to you and our child."
"Legends?"
"Yes!"
"Restelo, we don''t have that much time to hunt fairy tales and the gossip of witches!" The intrigue didn''t spark in Isabeau''s eyes. "But tell me."
"I still have to find it and solve the... let''s call it a riddle. For me to gather certain artefacts, but..." Restelo stopped when he saw Isabeau''s baffled face. He understood she didn''t agree with him. She thought it was ridiculous.
"Restelo, I''m pregnant with a child that I don''t know if it''s mortal or not. I don''t know if I''ll survive this baby if..."
"We could all become mortal. I''d rather grow old with you than have an eternity without you both."
And the drama would unfold in front of my eyes. I was drowned in excitement because the scandal was an intoxicating dread because I knew, even at that young age, that their love was a dangerous one.
I scurried back to my room, barely able to contain my amazement. I lay in bed that night, pondering the paths that lay ahead for all of us. Isabeau, Restelo and even me. We were all prisoners of our own desires, trapped in a palace of illusions. But even then, I wanted nothing more than to be ensnared in the same captivating web that had caught Isabeau.
The years have swept by since then, carrying away my innocence but leaving my cravings intact. Now, I no longer spy on princesses nor pine for their lives. I''ve learned to weave my own enchantments, ones that allow me to capture the hearts of gentlemen and navigate a world laden with secrets and sins. Still, when I dress up for an evening''s gown, fastening my pearls and dabbing perfume on my wrists, I think of Princess Isabeau and wonder if her tragic fairy tale ever found its happy ending.
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And I wonder, too, if she ever got to be as free as I am now. Because, in my own twisted way, I got my wish. I became a woman who commands attention, adoration, and awe. It''s a different kind of magic, one that doesn''t require spells or mice or even palaces. It just requires being unapologetically me. And that, I''ve found, is the most powerful magic of all.
Princess Isabeau disappeared that same night, and I''m the only one who knows why and where.
Baal stood still, eyes transfixed on the empty jars around Ursula''s bed. They slowly filled with swirls of glowing light, each capturing a fragment of a child''s happiness. Memories of a little girl¡ªimbued with dreams spun from fairy tales and love stories¡ªcondensed into tangible form. A girl whose eyes saw purity even when gazing upon the vilest of all creatures.
These luminous keepsakes should have been saccharine tokens of innocence. Yet, they curdled within Baal like a sip of spoiled wine. The sweet taste of nostalgia was undercut by a burgeoning sense of loss.
Suddenly, the jars trembled. Their glowing contents quivered as if electrified, and Baal''s eyes snapped wide open in disbelief. "This can''t be," he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a frenzied drum.
He''d performed the ritual countless times before¡ªa spell to capture and contain memories, binding them in glass as one might trap fireflies on a summer''s evening. But the jars before him were behaving in a manner entirely out of line with the Atua Na laws he so diligently followed. He lifted his gaze to the bed. Ursula lay there, her form almost lost among the ornate pillows and thick blankets. Her eyes were closed, her chest barely rising and falling in a shallow, barely discernible rhythm.
"No, no, no¡ªthis isn''t right!" His voice was a rasp, his words etched in panic.
Baal''s heart raced as he sprinted through the halls, his boots pounding against the wooden floor. His eyes darted left and right until they found what he was searching for¡ªNord''s tattoo shop backdoor. The familiar creak of the entrance as it opened.
Breathless, he burst through the door. Nord was there, meticulously cleaning her tattoo chair and reorganising her drawings and inks. Her eyes met his, and it was as if she could read the panic that gripped him.
"I need you," Baal panted.
With no further explanation needed, Nord dropped her rag, leaving her instruments on the table. She followed him as they hurried back to Ursula''s chamber, nearly colliding with Adamastor and another guest in the manor corridors.
When Nord finally entered the room and laid eyes on Ursula''s fragile, nearly lifeless form, she gasped. "What happened?"
"She asked to be rich. Pockets that are never empty of tokens. I did what I always do¡ªI took one memory. Just one," Baal''s voice trembled as he spoke. "We even agreed on more, but... now she''s like this. I don''t... I didn''t do this, Nord."
Nord examined Ursula more closely. The young woman''s vibrant and exotic beauty had been replaced by the weathered countenance of someone who had endured centuries. Skin sagged, bones protruded, and wrinkles creased her once-smooth face.
"I swear I didn''t do this!" Baal''s eyes were wide, his tone tinged with hysteria. "You believe me, right?"
Nord moved to Ursula''s side, peeling off the duct tape that bound her wrists to the bed. "No reason to keep her tied now," she murmured as she gently laid Ursula''s arms at her sides, making her as comfortable as possible. "Maybe we need to call Sirdona and¡ª"
She stopped, looking back at Baal, who was now huddled on the floor. His arms were wrapped around himself tightly, fingers drumming against his shoulders in a self-soothing ritual. Nord recognised he was having a panic attack and approached him, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her voice was soft and gentle. "It''s okay to not be okay," she whispered. "But you''ll be okay. I promise. I know you wouldn''t hurt anyone."
Time seemed to stretch, then snap back like elastic. Baal finally rose, his fingers working to tie his hair back into a half-ponytail. "Thanks," he mumbled, his eyes still not meeting Nord''s.
"It''s not your fault. We''ll find a solution," she assured him.
"I''m not even done with the spell," Baal admitted, a look of dread washing over his face.
Nord paused, her eyes narrowing. "What happens if you don''t seal the contract?"
"I have no idea," Baal responded, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in.
"Do you think that maybe you need to finish the spell to seal the contract so she goes back to normal?" Nord''s question lingered in the air, each word wrapped in doubt.
Baal rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his eyes darting from Nord to Ursula''s frail form and back again. "I have no idea, Nord. What if I make it worse? And who can I even consult on this? I don''t exactly have a list of demons and witches to call and say, ''Hey, I have a technical error with a spell, and I think I fucked up a magical contract, any advice?''"
His voice tinged with rising desperation, Baal started to pace, his footsteps as erratic as his thoughts. His eyes were distant, almost lost, as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice. And Nord noticed he was rubbing his finger against his forehead, foretelling a headache.
She moved quickly, positioning herself directly in front of him, so close that their noses nearly touched. "Baal, look at me," she said, her voice firm, anchoring him to the moment. "We''ve got this. We just need to think, okay? You''re not losing it now, right?"
Baal looked into her eyes, searching for a foothold in the chaos that had consumed his mind.
"Right..."
"Right, Baal?"
"Nord, I..."
"I need to hear you say it, Baal. Say it like you mean it."
"Right, right..." The word repeated like a mantra as Baal resumed his pacing, his eyes now narrowed in thought rather than wide with panic. "Right, I just need to think... think..."
And then, as if a lightning bolt of clarity had pierced through the fog in his mind, it hit him.
"I have it," he exclaimed, stopping abruptly and turning to Nord. "I need you to remove your clothes!"
[CH. 0077] - Breadcrumbs
"I need you to remove your clothes!" Baal''s voice had a peculiar urgency that gave Nord pause, but she caught a glint of seriousness in his eyes. No levity, no mischievous undertones¡ªjust raw necessity.
Nord began to comply, unbuckling her boots first and setting them aside. When she reached her corset, the laces seemed to have developed a life of their own, knotting and tangling in a way that stalled her progress.
Baal stepped closer, his fingers deftly manoeuvring through the labyrinthine snarl of laces, liberating them from their entanglements. "I''ve got it," he said softly, his voice carrying a subdued tension.
Once freed from the corset, Nord unbuttoned her blouse, her hands slightly trembling. "I got this," she muttered, more to herself than to him.
"Do you want me to turn?" Baal offered, clearly uncomfortable with the intimacy of the situation. But at the same time, he couldn''t and didn''t want to look away.
"If you turn, what''s the point of me undressing?" Nord pointed out.
"Right..." Baal conceded.
Finally, Nord slid out of her pants, leaving her clothes in an unceremonious heap at her feet. "So what now, Baal?"
For a brief, awkward moment, Baal seemed to grapple with the reality of her standing there, devoid of any coverings besides her tattoos - his spells.
He swallowed hard as if physically trying to realign his focus. Then, like a switch had been flipped, his gaze became clinical, almost detached.
Almost.
"Okay, let me search for it," he said, reclaiming his demeanour.
He circled her, his fingers skimming her skin lightly, following the drawings and lines of ink, occasionally pausing to adjust her position¡ªslightly to the left, a bit to the right. Then, squatting down, he scrutinized her legs, each movement delicate, each touch calculated but lingering. And there it was¡ªetched into her inner left thigh¡ªa tattoo of a hand, or more precisely, a magical key he''d been searching for.
"This is it," he said, more to himself than to her. His eyes met hers. "This is what I need - a key! The Key of Echo." Baal confirmed, a smile touching the corners of his lips as he assisted Nord in putting her blouse back on. "Think of it as a hotline to the natural world, except without the hold music and the customer service script."
Nord chuckled, sliding into her pants. "So it''s like an eco-friendly version of Siri or Google Assistant?"
"Something like that," Baal smirked. "But instead of connecting you to a database, it taps into the collective wisdom of nature. Spirit of Trees, stones, even the air¡ªeverything has knowledge, secrets it''s willing to share if you know how to ask."
"Pretty please?"
"Pretty much."
Nord raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So what are we asking?"
"We''re asking how to fix what happened to Ursula without causing further damage and how to prevent such things from happening in the future... maybe," Baal''s expression sobered. "We''re walking a fine line here, Nord. The magical realm isn''t always forgiving of mistakes. I''m a bit scared," he confessed.
She nodded, fully grasping the weight of the situation. "Everything will be okay, you''ll see, but what do we need to do?"
Baal turned to face her, his eyes searching hers. "Are you ready?"
"Ready as I''ll ever be," Nord replied.
Baal and Nord squatted down, their fingertips almost touching the wooden floor between them. In unison, their voices melded into an incantation, flowing through the air like a river of sacred syllables.
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"It is good for use at night when you summon the Spirits of Nature and mine. Join my domain, come to my aid, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
The atmosphere thickened, turning heavy and tangible. They felt a gust of wind¡ªmoist, warm, yet sourceless¡ªengulf the room. Their eyes darted around as if expecting the shadows to leap into form, but nothing materialized.
That was until a voice, earthly yet ethereal, murmured a single word.
"Ask."
The room returned to its former stillness. Baal and Nord straightened up, finding themselves staring at one another in the middle of the chamber.
"So what do we ask?" Nord''s whisper barely made it past her lips.
Baal looked down at his boots, hesitating for a split second before speaking. "Could you tell me how to fix my memory spell?"
The voice reverberated through the room like a riddle encrypted into an echo. "There is nothing to mend, there is nothing to change, there is... nothing."
"But she wasn''t like that. She aged in two seconds. I must have done something wrong," Baal argued, his gaze directed at the walls as if expecting them to reveal the voice''s source.
The voice resounded again, cryptic and elusive. "Ah, such is the power of a Mesmer, of illusion, that even time gets blind. But time is just like the roots. You may not see them, but they grow, and they grow old."
Nord seized the opening. "So what happened to her magic? Why are we seeing her true form?"
"You happen, child of the dawn, or better, the roots inside of you fed too much and yet too little," the voice responded, leaving Baal and Nord to decipher its meaning.
"She lost her magic," Baal concluded gravely, his eyes meeting Nord''s.
¡°The Hollow fed on her¡ I didn¡¯t even realise.¡±
"Nord, I don''t think she''ll survive for long."
"Can we change the contract mid-term?" Nord was grasping for straws, but a straw was better than drowning.
The voice answered, its tone as final as a coffin''s lid. "If you have her consent... but her lips are sealed like a casket under brick and stone."
The room felt oppressive, and Baal and Nord could feel it. They stood facing each other.
"So, I''m the culprit. The Hollow fed on her. If it wasn''t for Tower, she would already be dead," Nord said, her eyes clouded with guilt.
Baal shook his head, glancing over at Ursula''s frail form lying on the bed. "It''s not your fault. Her magic must have run out while I was sealing the contract. I''m scrambling to find a loophole to give her a chance, but she might not make it that long."
Nord''s brows furrowed. "Isn''t there some kind of hocus-pocus to read her mind or something?"
Baal sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "No, the contract has to be either verbal or written. Guessing mind games don''t work in matters like these. You changed the contract with me through both verbal and written consent. If it could be done through reading minds, believe me, I would have altered it ages ago. Dammit... I can''t think of a way out."
The reality of their situation began to settle in like the dust of a collapsed building. Both of them scanned the room as if the walls might suddenly reveal some hidden exit or secret door.
"Just do it." Merlin''s enigmatic assurance almost cleared the impending tragedy that loomed over Ursula. The old wizard stood at the doorway, his eyes still twinkling as if in on some cosmic joke. It was a look that usually endeared people to him, but today, it only irritated Baal and Nord.
"She''s going to die, Merlin!" Baal shot back.
"Finish the deal; she''ll be okay. I promise. And we do need to know what the vampires are plotting. That woman knows, and this is it," Merlin said, his voice tinged with a peculiar kind of certainty.
Merlin was not one to make light of magical matters. He seldom employed magic, and when he did, he was discrete about it. Even more puzzling, he had never offered advice or criticism on how Baal practised his craft. Yet here he was, speaking with an uncharacteristic assurance that left Baal bewildered and intrigued.
"She''ll die," Baal repeated softly, the finality of the words echoing in his own ears.
"Will she?" Merlin responded. But his tone wasn''t smug or all-knowing; rather, it was a question that seemed to seek validation.
Baal looked at Merlin, then at Nord, and finally at Ursula''s fragile form on the bed. He felt cornered, caught in a nexus of necessity, ethics, and the unknown. Yet Merlin''s words rang in his head like a spell of their own, sowing the seeds of hope¡ªor was it desperation?
Finally, Baal drew in a deep breath, his decision made. "All right, I''ll finish the deal. But if anything goes wrong, Merlin, if she dies¡ª" His words trailed off, leaving the threat hanging in the air.
"Don''t worry," Merlin cut in, "if anything goes wrong, you''ll have more to worry about than my conscience."
Baal could only hope that Merlin''s peculiar confidence was rooted in something real. Taking another steadying breath, he turned his attention back to Ursula, ready to complete the spell. Nord stood beside him.
The words of the spell rolled off Baal''s tongue like a river in the moonlight, fluid and full of ancient power. The jars around Ursula''s bed began to resonate, glowing brighter with each syllable he uttered.
Nord reached out, her fingers intertwining with Baal''s as he pronounced the last word of the spell.
"It will work," said Merlin once more.
[CH. 0078] - Breadcrumbs
I just needed to find one key, one key for one book - the correct book. - Ursula
Onxyburg was a place of speculation and feverous ambition, an odd marriage of history and innovation¡ªwhere cobblestone streets met the growl of steam engines. Merchants sang the virtues of their wares and goods beneath the looming shadows of grand architectural masterpieces.
A city suspended between eras, grappling with the secrets it held close to its chest. Sex, tokens and bloodlust.
And no secret was more haunting than the disappearance of Princess Isabeau, a question mark that dangled over the House of Neddingstein like a guillotine blade. While the rest of the Nyu had long moved on, accepting her absence as a dark mystery never to be solved, I clung to the hidden narrative I''d woven in my mind.
Isabeau and Restelo, bound by a love that defied mortality, reigning over the clandestine corridors of Onxyburg''s power as the true royals.
It was all a beautiful illusion until the night of that particular soiree. Almost a century had passed, and there I was in a decadent affair drenched with lust and token, masked by the perfume of lilac and the tang of expensive wine. Each laughter, each whispered secret, was a trade in this marketplace of human desire. As for me, I was expensive and escorted by only those who knew how to play the game better than anyone. I was there for business¡ªa necessity in a competitive trade that brooked no naivety.
But something shifted when I saw Restelo amid the swirl of satin and jewels. He still looked like royalty, but his eyes were missing the compassion that had once defined him. Now, there was only wrath.
They were devoid of joy, and that absence broke something within me. I tried to play my role. As always, I was the finest of the merchandise, not a silly child, greeting him with rehearsed ease. Which meant a slight bow with my head and nothing more. Not a smile even. Smiles cost tokens.
"Ursula," he called, his voice as unreadable as his eyes, "you look more radiant than ever."
The banter that followed was sharp, cutting through the thick air like a knife, yet laden with years of unsaid words and unresolved histories. How did it end? I couldn''t keep wondering. The atmosphere around us tightened as if it, too, was holding its breath, waiting for a resolution to our complex web of half-truths.
Finally, I mustered the courage to break the ice that had long encased the question burning in my mind. "How is she?"
Restelo hesitated, the silence heavy with the weight of what was left unsaid. At last, he broke it. "Meet me at the old Cathedral; I would love to present you to some friends."
It was an invitation and a revelation, all wrapped into one. I couldn''t help but wonder who these ''friends'' were, but more importantly, I wondered if the lost chapter of Isabeau and Restelo''s love story was finally about to be written or if it was merely another verse in a tragic epic with no end. I was excited. After long, long years, I felt like a reader who yearned for the gazette novel that was on hiatus for too long. Finally, I would have my happy ending.
I accepted Restelo''s invitation and went to the old Cathedral that loomed like a decaying relic abandoned by both Atua and man. Its once-grand spires now jutted into the sky like skeletal fingers, a stark irony to the vibrancy advancement of Onxyburg. It was as if the city had intentionally forgotten this place, allowing it to slip into the realm of myth, folklore and mid-wife gossip.
I knocked on the heavy wooden door. A moment later, it creaked open on its own accord, revealing a dark interior with the smell of murk and dust. I hesitated but stepped inside. My heels made so much noise it echoed through the vast place.
I felt crimson eyes upon me, though I saw no one, just the heavy air filled with an ineffable sense of being watched. My ears caught snippets of whispers¡ªwords that eluded comprehension as if they were spoken in the language of shadows.
"Ursula," he called out, the syllables piercing the obscurity. Restelo materialized from the gloom like a phantom. "You came."
"Well, you did invite me."
He led me through a labyrinth of stone and arches to a room that appeared to be his office. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ancient texts and oddities that hinted at arcane rituals. He gestured for me to sit and poured wine into delicate glasses. But I suspected the liquid was not just wine.
"Something tells me you don''t often entertain guests here," I said, taking a sip of the rich iron liquid.
"You''d be correct," he replied, sitting opposite me.
We were interrupted by a beam of sunlight that flooded the room from a window above. The contrast was startling; the lower levels of the Cathedral were a domain of shadows, but up here, the sun claimed sovereignty.
"Doesn''t the sunlight bother you?" I asked, finally voicing the question that had been lurking in my mind since I entered his domain.
"I''ve grown accustomed to it," he said. "There are many things one can get used to."
His gaze became piercing, fixing me with an intensity that was both unsettling and alluring. "How''s Isabeau?" I dared to ask again, unwilling to let the subject drift away. I wanted my happy ending.
Restelo stood up, taking slow steps around the desk until he stood before me. His fingers reached for my neck, hovering just above the skin as if asking silent permission. I felt a shiver down my spine until it loomed as he finally touched me. At that instant, my form wavered, my features moulding like soft clay until I became her¡ªIsabeau.
His eyes widened briefly but quickly settled into a look of profound sadness. Then he leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss that seemed to cross the boundaries of... anything. It was both a betrayal and a homage, a contradiction that only deepened the enigma of Restelo.
When the kiss ended, my form returned to its original state. I was Ursula once more. This is now the story, no longer about an innocent love story. This is me. How I became a pawn for a much more macabre game.
Restelo led me to another room. My lips were still burning cold with his kiss. The door opened, revealing an unexpectedly serene chamber illuminated by an ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from its central focus: a canopied bed hidden behind veils; it looked just as fairy tales should be told.
On it lay Isabeau as if she were merely sleeping. Her skin retained its youthful glow, her red lips slightly parted. Her body had been preserved in the full bloom of her beauty, yet the swell of her abdomen was unmistakable. She was pregnant. She was still pregnant.
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"She looks as if she''s just sleeping," I said.
"In a way, she is," Restelo replied, walking over to sit gently on the edge of the bed. "A very specific quantity of vampire venom has kept her in this state¡ªalive but not awake, unaging but ever pregnant¡ªfor nearly a century."
"A century? I haven''t noticed like time flies by." The words escaped my lips before I could catch them. "But why? Why keep her in this condition for so long?"
Restelo looked at Isabeau, his fingers lightly tracing the air just above her cheek as if afraid to touch her. "That is the price of our love, a love that defies nature''s laws. I''m not supposed to be able to generate new life. But it''s also why I''ve called you here."
I listened, my curiosity building like an unsolved puzzle demanding to be completed.
"I''ve been searching for something¡ªthe Book of Forbidden Wishes. It''s said to grant any wish possibly to be imagined. It could hold the power to change a vampire back into a human."
"A fairy tale," I scoffed, but I could see in his eyes that he believed it to be true.
"Is it? I''ve spent years accumulating knowledge, sifting through ancient manuscripts and deciphering cryptic messages. I killed anyone in my way, mothers and children included. I do believe the book is real."
"And if it is? What then?"
"I wish to become human, to share a mortal life with Isabeau and our unborn child," Restelo said. "To grow old, to die, to be buried in the same earth. I want to experience it with her."
It was a fantasy, perhaps, but the longing in his voice made it sound like a prayer.
"Where is this book? And what do you need from me?"
Restelo hesitated. "The book is well protected, hidden in places. No one knows about it. From what I could gather is an Allatori book, and I mean, the book was made of an Allatori. But the more immediate concern is that it requires a key to be unlocked, a key that is said to be in the possession of the Morningstars."
"The Morningstars? The family of witches?" I asked, incredulous. "You can''t possibly think to meddle with them. I heard rumours that those women travel the stars!"
"The very same," Restelo confirmed. "They have been guarding the key for generations. The irony of it all¡ªit seems they place the key to children with no magic and send them right here, well, more exactly, Ravendrift."
"What''s the plan, then?" I found myself more entangled in his story, swept up by the pull of a love so profound it sought to defy the very fabric of existence.
Restelo finally looked away from Isabeau and into my eyes, a solemn gravity settling over his face. "I need you to infiltrate the Morningstars and retrieve the key. You have the skills and the magical prowess to do this. More importantly, they do not know you. You can move in circles; I cannot. And you can be as many little mouses you need to be."
The room seemed to close in around me as the gravity of his request sunk in. I was to be a thief, a spy, and potentially a destroyer of a lineage that had lasted centuries. Yet, looking at Isabeau''s still form on the bed and then back at Restelo¡ªworn by the weight of years, burdened by a love so intense it had defied death¡ªI knew my answer.
"Alright, I''ll help you," I said. "For love''s sake and for the hope that love could, for once, grant me wishes as well."
Restelo''s eyes glinted, "What do you desire?"
"What every foul human wants, immortality and pockets full of tokens that never end."
There are many ways to manipulate a woman, but the easiest is crumbles of promises.
Indeed, promises are the breadcrumbs that lead many astray in the labyrinth of desire. The same labyrinth I found myself wandering deeper into with every step I took to help Restelo, pulled by the intoxicating gravity of his half-truths and full lies.
The man was an enigma, a paradox in the shape of a vampire. His words were full of principles and ideals that seemed impossible for a creature of the night. Yet his actions? They betrayed a voracious hunger, not just for blood but for something less definable. For love? For validation? No, don''t be mistaken. Restelo was evil.
But at that time, it didn''t stop me.
Restelo''s lips met mine. We were right beside Isabeau, frozen in time, her pregnant form untouched by the passing decades¡ªsleeping peacefully, and here we were, two sinners bound and torn by pure sinful lust.
I felt his fangs graze my neck without hesitating or seeking permission. I tilted my head, willingly baring my throat to him. With a restrained hunger, he sunk his fangs into me. I never, until that day, knew the possibility of blending pleasure and pain.
I clutched onto him as he drank. I wanted more, and I wanted it all. Restelo''s sinful hands traced their way down my skirts, deftly undoing the intricate laces and clasps of my gown. He drank from me, but I, too, drank from him¡ªdrank in the feel of his touch, the cold of his body next to mine, and the intoxicating scent that was unmistakably him.
As layers of fabric slid down, pooling around my feet, I felt both vulnerable and invincible.
Finally, when he released his bite, his eyes met mine. What I saw there was a mirror of the contradictions swirling within me¡ªpassion, guilt, a yearning for something more. He gently pressed his lips to the twin punctures on my neck, almost as if sealing a pact.
As we stood there, half-dressed and fully exposed, amidst the haunting beauty of our own imperfections and immoralities, I couldn''t help but wonder¡ªwhat were we doing? What could justify this stolen intimacy, this betrayal of a love I had never quite belonged to but always revered?
Yet, I knew deep down questions of morality were luxuries ill-afforded in our world. Misfits.
So, we didn''t hold back. No, we couldn''t. Not when the alternative was a lifetime¡ªor an eternity¡ªof what-ifs. And as I wrapped my arms around Restelo, feeling his heart beat against mine¡ªor maybe that was my heart beating for both of us¡ªI realized that some questions are best left unanswered.
"Is this really all just for love?" I mused to myself as I lounged in my apartment, the decadent aftertaste of our last passionate encounter still lingering on my lips, on my skin.
Restelo had an uncanny talent for muddying the waters between moral high ground and base desires. He spoke of love eternal, of redefining the nature of his very being to be with Isabeau, but he kissed with a ravenous urgency as if trying to consume me whole.
And I, willingly or foolishly, was happy to be consumed. He spoke of the morning and the possibility of a new life, but his hands, always those hungry hands, revelled in the pleasures of the night. They knew every curve, every hidden secret of my make-believe sculpted body.
Promises, as ethereal as they were, had a weight. They built up in the corners of your mind, like dust collecting on forgotten shelves. And like dust, they could either be swept away as inconsequential or trigger an allergic reaction so strong it could blind you to reality.
"Am I blinded?" I pondered many times more than I can count, looking at my reflection in the mirror. The woman who looked back was a construct of wishes and spells, her beauty finely crafted like a priceless sculpture, yet not wholly hers.
It was this beauty that Restelo admired, even as he saw through it. It was this fa?ade that he promised could be permanent, even eternal, as he showered me with affection and passionate kisses in stolen moments. But for what? To use me in a quest that had another woman¡ªanother love¡ªat its very core?
But I loved her too. I did want her to be happy.
It''s laughable how willing we can be to make do with crumbs when we¡¯re starved for the whole loaf¡ªlove, affection, the sheer acknowledgement of our existence. But a woman surviving on crumbs is a woman on the edge, and it''s a dangerous place to be. Either you step back, or you fall.
As I continued down this precarious path, assisting Restelo in a scheme as grand as it was risky, I couldn¡¯t help but question where these breadcrumbs were leading me. To salvation or damnation? And more importantly, would the destination make all of this¡ªevery broken promise, every whispered lie¡ªworthwhile?
Also, a vampire as old as Restelo might be tired of his Bloodlust, but being a human? At this time, I started to know him too well to be able to smell bullshit from his words.
The irony wasn''t lost on me. I was as much a part of this twisted narrative as Restelo and Isabeau were. We were all trying to rewrite the rules in our favour, and promises¡ªthose dangerous, tantalizing promises¡ªwere the ink with which we wrote.
So, would I continue to follow this trail of crumbs? Yes, but with eyes wide open because the best way to play a game of deceit is to understand that you''re a player, not just a pawn. And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, those crumbs would lead to a feast. But for now, all I could do was savour each crumb and anticipate the next, as any fool¡ªhappy.
I just needed to find one key, one key for one book - the correct book.
[CH. 0079] - Fireflies
The room crackled with the spell filling another jar. All of the others glowed, their contents resembling pulsating hearts made of radiant light, each one brimming with raw Atua. Baal turned to Nord, their hands still entwined, her thumb tracing soothing circles on his fingers.
"Can I use another spell?" Baal asked, his gaze locked onto Nord''s.
She nodded, leaning in closer, her skin brushing against him, sending a delightful shiver down Baal''s spine that he didn''t realise how much he missed.
"It''s here," Baal whispered, his hand sliding under her blouse, his touch poised on her lower back.
"Well, you know the words better than I do," Nord replied.
Baal couldn''t be certain if it was the exhaustion from casting the memory spells, the haunting contents of Ursula''s remembrances, or the tantalising sensation of Nord''s half-dressed form beneath his fingertips that stirred his imagination.
It took him a moment to gather his thoughts and recite the incantation, his voice barely above a murmur, echoed by Nord. It created around them an intimate atmosphere that felt like sharing a secret, a prayer.
"Cast away the Spirits and Men which guard treasures and secrets but give the word for I and any token for your greed. So is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
As the incantation left their lips, their hands didn''t touch the ground as they normally would have. Instead, Baal seized Nord''s lips in a kiss, their connection deepening as they stood enveloped in their own cocoon of magic.
Time seemed to stand still as they kissed.
Maybe it was just Ursula''s memories. The bittersweet taste that the Mesmer knew as happiness or something else, something elusive that he couldn''t quite pinpoint. As if they had found something they never lost.
It was Merlin clearing his throat that finally pulled Baal reluctantly away from Nord''s lips, leaving them both with an undeniable craving for more.
Merlin stepped toward the bed where Ursula had lain just a moment before. Her body had vanished, leaving behind a heavy sheet of tokens, a shimmering mist of dust and glitter suspended in the air. He inhaled deeply, as if savouring the fumes of herbs and incense, and let the remnants of her essence touch his face.
The corners of his lips stretched into a broad, unnerving smile, exposing the gaping hole where a tooth had been lost long ago.
But Baal wasn''t having it. His feet pounded on the wooden floor as he darted toward the bed, stopping only to seize Merlin''s collar with a vice-like grip. "Merlin, what have you done?" The orange flames in his eyes roared, fueled by grief, horror and fury. His voice quivered, straining to hold back a scream and a punch.
Nord moved between them, her arm extending to tug at Baal''s clenched hand. "Baal, let him go," she whispered, her eyes seeking his, beseeching him to halt before his wrath consumed them all.
Merlin''s chuckle bubbled forth, incongruous and childish, shattering the moment''s gravity. "I haven''t done anything, you see. I am but a humble observer of the unfathomable. Of the extraordinary!"
"Nord, how can you ask me to be calm?" Baal''s voice broke, the restraint slipping. "He''s taken her!"
Merlin''s eyebrows knitted together, a line of irritation brewing on his forehead. "Don''t be foolish, young demon! Now, listen. I''ve never killed anyone in my very long life. And she''s not dead; she''s transcended."
"Transcended?" Baal''s scoff echoed in the chamber. "Since you''ve appeared, all that''s ''transcended'' is the body count. You... you... maniac!"
"And have you noticed," Merlin''s voice dropped to a murmur, "they always find a way to come back?"
Baal''s jaw clenched, a growl forming in his throat. "You can''t guarantee that it will happen again!"
Merlin''s gaze met Baal''s incendiary eyes. "Ah, my boy, you''re a feast for the eyes but starved in wisdom. So hungry... What happens once might not happen ever again, but what happens twice... always comes back."
For an instant, the palpable tension loosened, caught off guard by Merlin''s audacity.
"You''re crazy... you completely, utterly crazy," Baal accused.
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"I might be a fool to believe, but this arcane art is not my doing," he chuckled one or twice and turned his back to the couple, "I''m going to take a nap. I''m exhausted with so much extraordinary."
The manor was a whirlpool of ceaseless activity. Adamastor and Perdita dashed in and out of rooms, carrying platters, stoking fires, and attending to the incessant demands of the guests.
Finnea navigated this chaos with the grace of a seasoned warrior. Her eyes scanned the corridors as she deftly wove her way through the crowd of bustling bodies. She fulfilled her duties, lending assistance where it was needed most. Yet Finnea was nobody''s doll, nobody''s clay to mould.
She had her own yearnings, her own hidden dimensions. And she was bound to something else, someone else¡ªa secret existence that sooner or later would lay its claim upon her. Yet her Master had shown true compassion and let her live.
Today, however, she was still her own person. And she seized this moment of freedom like a thief in the night.
"What''s all the rush about?" Perdita eyed her as she slipped into the kitchen, barely noticeable amidst the clash of pots and the sizzle of roasting meat.
"I''ve some errands to attend to," Finnea said, gathering a loaf of bread, a bowl of hearty soup, and a small pastry into a basket.
"You? Errands? Must be important to pull you away from all this chaos." Perdita wiped her hands on her apron, her eyes narrowing, but her tone more curious than accusatory. "Are you okay?"
"Just hungry," Finnea answered, not entirely lying. "I''ll return as swiftly as I can."
"You can eat here."
"I''d rather eat outside, alone."
Perdita shrugged. "Very well. Off you go. Enjoy."
Finnea lifted the basket and made her way out, her heart lightening with each step that took her away from the manor. She meandered through the threshold before finally emerging into the biting chill of the outside world.
The air felt purer here, less stifled by human endeavours. With purposeful strides, she moved away from the grandiosity of the manor, heading straight for an isolated tower that loomed not so far but like a forgotten sentinel.
Finnea''s knuckles rapped against the aged wood of the tower door. The sound echoed through the hollow interior but elicited no response. Taking a deep breath to fortify herself, she twisted the knob and stepped inside. The act felt almost sacrilegious, as though she''d violated some primordial law set down by Atua and men alike.
She closed the door gently behind her, plunging the Tower into an even deeper darkness. The luminescent jars that usually dappled the space with flickering light were unlit, their usual glow extinguished. She asked herself, where did the memories go?
She felt the weight of the Tower''s silence; it pressed against her like a tangible thing. No memories of happy moments, no laughter from the jars, just emptiness.
Finnea mounted the rickety staircase, each step creaking beneath her weight. When she reached the top floor, her ears finally caught the first audible sign of life¡ªthe harsh, grating sound of a brush scraping against stone.
"Tower?" she whispered.
A startled scuffling sound came from beneath the bed. She knew it was Tower, the diminutive demon who''d been a companion of sorts, though one tethered to her through complex, arcane bonds. Tower and Finnea were made from the same being, Baal Berith.
"It''s me, Finnea."
"Does Master know you''re here?" Tower''s voice trembled, tinged with caution.
"I brought you food."
"I have pasta."
"You can''t eat only pasta, don''t be silly. Come out!"
A rustling came from beneath the bed before Tower''s crimson eyes peeked out. Slowly, he crawled from his hiding spot. Finnea could see his thin, grey-skinned body quiver, whether from fear or malnutrition. She wasn''t sure.
"I suppose Master won''t mind," Tower said, finally revealing himself in full, his tail flicking nervously behind him. "Not if it''s you."
Setting the basket on a nearby table, Finnea began unpacking its contents. "I''ve brought some soup, bread, and a sweet pastry. A more balanced meal."
Tower climbed onto a chair, his eyes widening at the food spread before him.
"Thank you, Finnea," he mumbled, almost in disbelief, as he picked up a piece of bread, his clawed hands delicately pinching the crust.
Finnea pulled up a chair and sat beside Tower, her eyes focused on his ravenous food consumption. It was as if he were a feral creature, starved for sustenance, and her heart clenched at the sight.
"I have a plan," she finally broke the silence, "We can gain time to hide from Master that the memories are gone."
Tower gulped down his mouthful of food and looked up, his eyes alight with mischief. "I think running away with the tower is better. I''ve thought about that. I could just hijack this place, flee it to the polar lands, and never look back!"
Finnea shook her head, a faint smile curling her lips. "No, a real plan. But it means I''ll have to ask for someone''s help."
"Who?"
"The old man, Merlin."
"No way!" Tower practically hissed, his tail twitching with agitation. "Him and Master are like flesh and bone, inseparable like peanut butter and jelly. If Master finds out, I''ve lost the memories... I don''t even want to think about what he''ll do to me. Maybe cut my horns off, like they did to him! Or my tail! My sweet tail!"
"I saw them fighting today," Finnea said, her voice measured as if each word were a stone placed carefully along a path.
"About what?" Tower was clearly intrigued despite his initial protests.
"Master accused Merlin of killing the bat-lady," she explained.
Tower''s eyes widened. "But why would he be mad about that? She tried to kill his wife."
"I''m as confused as you are," Finnea admitted.
"Isn''t it the job of the good guy to kill the bad ones?" Tower mused as though pondering some arcane moral quandary.
"In most stories, perhaps. But our Master sees the world through different lenses."
"So why ask the old man for help if Master disagrees with him?" Tower finally asked, circling back to the heart of the matter.
"Because for my plan to work, we need magic," Finnea declared, her eyes locking onto Tower. She said with conviction, "And Merlin, like him or not, has the sort of magic we''ll need."
Tower looked at her for a moment, his red eyes searching hers as if sifting for truth or deception. Then, finally, he nodded.
"Alright, let''s hear this plan of yours."
[CH. 0080] - Fireflies
"Get your shit together, Morningstar" - Nord Morningstar
Whispers from lingering guests seeped through the walls, the restless tread of footsteps echoed down hallways, and doors creaked open and closed with almost predictable irregularity.
Nord was in what used to be Rosemary''s room, now a storage of forgotten elegance. She fingered through the dresses, blouses, and more intimate apparel that still carried the ghostly imprint of their previous owner.
Satin nightgowns and lace neglig¨¦es whispered secrets of a life once lived. Just as she began to slip out of her own clothing, preparing to try on one of Rosemary''s silken nightgowns, the door burst open.
Adamastor stood in the doorway, his eyes widening in surprise. Nord instinctively scrambled behind a wooden dressing screen, her heart pounding like a trapped bird. She was clad only in her undergarments, and the situation was as delicate as it was awkward.
Adamastor flushed, shielding his eyes with a raised hand, though a furtive glance still escaped. "I didn''t know someone was in here."
"Why would you come in here?" Nord''s voice pitched high, almost a shout but not quite, teetering on the edge of decorum.
"Doing laundry," Adamastor mumbled, his gaze now fixed on the floor, yet he made no move to exit the room.
"You pick the oddest times for chores," Nord snapped, clutching a satin robe from behind the screen and wrapping it hastily around herself. "Couldn''t this wait?"
"Apologies," Adamastor said, finally mustering the will to step back, though he lingered in the doorway as if glued there by some inexplicable force. "I didn''t think anyone would be in here. This room''s hardly ever used."
Nord emerged from behind the screen, now adequately covered but her eyes ablaze. "Maybe you should knock next time. Ever consider that?"
Adamastor looked at her, and for a moment, his eyes softened, a layer of his usual stoic veneer peeling away. "I will. I promise. Again, my apologies."
He retreated, closing the door behind him, but the tension lingered in the room, an unseen but palpable thing. Nord stood there, clutching the robe around her and looking around at the mess around her. Why was it so hard? It was just a new gown to sleep in. She was tired of hers, which made her feel like she was dressed in a potato sack.
She murmured a bitter "Get your shit together, Morningstar" under her breath, chastising herself as she tiptoed back to her own room. When she entered, she found Baal sitting on the bed, legs crossed, his hands cradling his forehead as if weighed down by thoughts far heavier than any she might have.
For a fleeting second, she felt absurd. Here was Baal, absorbed in matters that possibly touched on life and death¡ªa mission that actually involved her¡ªand what occupied her mind? The desire to feel pretty, the need to feel wanted, to simply get laid.
The self-reproach washed over her like a cold wave, leaving her shivering on the shore of her own vanity.
As if sensing her internal struggle, Baal looked up, his eyebrows drawing together in a puzzled frown. "What''s wrong with you?"
"With me?" She crossed her arms tighter against her chest defensively to hide her unmodest nightgown. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"
"You''re standing there instead of coming to bed."
"I''m not... standing. I was just..." Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson, her voice faltering under the weight of her embarrassment.
"Are you okay?" In a swift motion, he rose from the bed and approached her, placing his hand first on her forehead and then against his own cheek as if checking for fever. "Weird, you''re not warm."
Annoyed, she brushed him away, "What are you talking about? I''m fine!"
She quickly retreated to the bed and pulled the covers up, hiding herself as if the blanket could shield her from her own conflicting emotions.
He joined her under the sheets, dimming the oil lamp that sat on the bedside table. "Are you cold?"
"No, I''m fine," she insisted, her voice edged with irritation.
"Then why are you sleeping in your robe?" He looked genuinely confused, as if she were a riddle he couldn''t quite solve.
"Because...I felt like it!" She could almost taste her own shame; it was acrid, like spoiled fruit.
"Are you mad at me for kissing you?" The words hung in the air, and for the first time, she heard a tremor in his voice, a vulnerability he rarely displayed. "Do you want to slap me? I can apologize, but I wouldn''t really mean it."
"I''m not mad at you," she sighed, her defensive posture finally breaking, shoulders slumping as if admitting defeat.
"Then why are you being so weird? Is it because of Ursula? Are you sad?"
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"I''m not sad!" Her voice lifted, tinged with frustration. "Just...never mind."
"Nord?"
"What...Baal?"
His arm curled around her waist, his head finding its way to the nape of her neck. "Talk to me, please. What have I done?"
"Nothing. Sleep."
"I swear I''ll never kiss you again, I just¡ª"
Those words detonated within her like a misplaced spark in a room full of gunpowder. Now she was mad. Truly mad. Throwing the covers aside, she stormed out of the room, the door slamming behind her with a resounding, final echo that seemed to punctuate her mounting exasperation.
The kitchen, for some reason, seemed the most logical sanctuary at that moment. The cool tiles beneath her feet felt grounding, the lingering scents of spices and cooked food strangely comforting. Adamastor was there, rummaging through a cabinet. As she approached, she caught sight of the black box he was holding¡ªthe one that contained his venom.
"What are you doing?" she snapped, her eyes locking onto the box as he quickly returned it to its hiding place.
Adamastor turned, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of surprise and¡ªwas it guilt? "Nothing. I thought you were asleep."
"I can''t sleep," she said, her voice shedding its earlier sharpness, now replaced by a more plaintive note.
"Seems we''re both restless then," Adamastor conceded, closing the cabinet and leaning back against it. "Is everything okay?"
Nord sighed, finally allowing herself to feel the exhaustion that had been creeping around the edges of her emotional turmoil. "No, but I don''t want to talk about it."
"Fair enough," he responded, pushing away from the cabinet and making his way to the kettle. "Tea? Might help you sleep."
"Sure," she said, realizing that if sleep was an elusive target tonight, a little comfort, even in the form of hot tea, wouldn''t hurt.
As Baal stepped into the room, his bare chest starkly contrasted with the buttoned-up demeanour Adamastor maintained. His eyes scanned the kitchen, finally landing on Nord, who sat rigidly at the table, her arms crossed over her chest as if to shield herself.
Adamastor, seemingly unflustered, continued pouring tea into fine china mugs, filling the room with the scent of chamomile and mint.
"Would you like to join Miss Morningstar for tea?" Adamastor asked, sliding a mug of the freshly brewed drink in front of Baal. Without waiting for a response, he stepped back, giving the two of them space.
Caught off guard, Baal stared at the steaming mug and then shifted his gaze to meet Nord''s defiant eyes. "I think you have booze in your office," he finally said, as if suggesting a truce.
"I do have a bottle of whiskey," she confirmed, her eyes not leaving his.
"It would be rude not to drink the tea..." Baal reluctantly admitted, looking back at the untouched mugs on the table.
Nord locked eyes with him, a sly grin forming on her lips. "I won''t tell if you don''t tell."
Matching her grin with one of his own, Baal picked up his mug and quickly poured the contents down the sink. "What tea?" he feigned ignorance, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
A silent accord settled between them. In a sudden burst of spontaneity, Baal made a dash for her office, Nord hot on his heels. They ran like two schoolchildren, giggling as they went as if Adamastor might chase them down the hallway to scold them for the high crime of rejecting his tea.
By the time they reached her office, they were both slightly breathless but grinning from ear to ear. Baal closed the door behind them, sealing them off from the world outside, if only for a few stolen moments.
She moved to her cabinet and pulled out the bottle of whiskey along with two glasses. The amber liquid glinted in the dim light as she poured, almost in rhythm with her still-rapid heartbeat. They clinked their glasses together, a silent toast to whatever strange truce or understanding had formed between them.
Baal sat at the edge of her desk, his fingers tracing the cool glass of the whiskey tumbler. The amber liquid glistened under the soft glow of the room''s dim lights. With a smooth, practised motion, he poured the liquor down his throat, savouring its warmth, and then looked back at Nord.
"Speak to me," he urged, his voice low and inviting.
She took a sip of her own drink, her face contorting in a delicate grimace before she found the courage to speak. "I don''t wanna play the Lake House anymore."
A faint smile curved Baal''s lips as he teased, "You don''t want me to be Keanu Reeves? I thought I was doing a fine role. I was working really hard for that Oscar."
She chuckled softly, but her eyes remained serious. "I don''t want to roleplay anymore, either."
Baal''s fingers toyed with the corner of the whiskey bottle''s label as he tried to understand her words. "What does that mean exactly?"
Nord''s gaze locked with his, and she replied cryptically, "What do you think it means?"
"Honestly, I don''t know," Baal admitted. "I feel like I can''t be truly close to you. There''s this fragile bridge of eggshells between us, and I''m afraid that one wrong step could shatter everything. And in moments like these, I find myself questioning my priorities. What do I want? What do I really, really want?"
Nord leaned in, her voice soft and curious. "And what do you want? What do you really want?"
Baal sighed, his grip on the bottle tightening. "I want things to be like they were before. I miss that, I miss us, but I also know it can never be exactly the same. So, what I do know is that I don''t want to lose you, not even as a friend. I have to come to terms with the idea that we might always be trapped within this label. And I won''t lie; there are things I fucking miss."
He paused and then confessed, his voice tinged with nostalgia, "I miss that first kiss in the morning. I miss the words you said when coming back home, the way you used to lean your body on me for anything. I miss the cuddles. I miss you telling me you love me, your hand finding mine. I miss spooning. I miss feeling secure, knowing that I could do those things and you would love them. Even ask for more."
"Baal?" Nord''s voice cut through his reminiscing.
Baal swallowed another sip of whiskey and looked at her, his expression questioning. "What?"
"I''m ready," she said, her words simple but laden with meaning.
Baal chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing. "The last time you told me you were ready, it was because you wanted to..." His eyebrow raised suggestively. "You know, like... do stuff."
Nord''s eyes twinkled with mischief as she interrupted him. "I''m ready. I know it might be different for you, that it has to be special and unique. Love for you is something sacred and a one time lifetime experience, and I know you don''t trust that I feel the same because I''m human. But when you are ready, you won''t need to ask because I''m telling you now."
Baal lowered the bottle, his gaze fixed on Nord, "I don''t know what to say."
Nord gave a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, her demeanour strangely composed. "Don''t say anything. We''ve just hit a little bump in the road. Things might not be exactly as they were, but it doesn''t mean our feelings have changed, does it?"
"No, nothing has changed... at least not for me," Baal replied, his voice still tinged with confusion. Nord''s eloquence, her ability to speak as if nothing had happened, momentarily baffled him. He quickly pushed the thought aside, unwilling to delve too deeply into the mystery. "So, shall we go to bed?"
Nord''s gaze met his, and she posed a question that caught him off guard. "Do you feel comfortable sleeping with me?"
Baal''s eyebrows raised in surprise at her unexpected question. After a brief pause, he replied with a hint of playfulness, "Can we spoon?"
[CH. 0081] - Fireflies
"It''s just a bug, darling," Merlin
Merlin could feel the tug of wind sneaking over his wrinkled face like a breeze through the cracks in a well-sealed door. Age had earned him the privilege to take advantage and slack in his bed, and he intended to do so.
Opening one eye cautiously, his vision blurred, and he noticed a shadowy figure looming over him. But he didn''t care. He closed his eyes again, hoping the apparition was nothing but a fleeting figment of his dreams.
But Atua had other plans for him. When he dared open both eyes, they met the unsettling gaze of the elf standing above him. Her eyes, sharp as icicles, penetrated his own. She wore her elven armour, emotionless as a porcelain doll.
Merlin grumbled, rolling his eyes before shutting them tightly. "Ah, by Atua," he muttered, turning his back to her, hoping to sink back into sleep''s embrace. But she wasn''t about to let him go that easily.
With a swift and unyielding motion, her fingers pinched his eyelid open. "I need you," she said, her voice flat.
"Need me? Can''t you see I''m in the middle of a very intimate relationship with my bed? I''m old, dammit. Let me sleep!"
Unmoved, she pressed on. "The memories of the tower are gone," she said, her voice still stoic but edged with a tension that even she couldn''t completely mask.
Merlin jolted upright, his sleepiness evaporating. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?"
"Gone. Vanished, not there," Finnea reiterated, her face as impassive as ever.
"Are you saying that Nord''s Me¡ª"
Before he could finish, her hand shot up, covering his mouth as if to trap the words inside him.
"Gone," Finnea repeated, locking eyes with him.
His heart pounding, Merlin knew this was no ordinary morning, and sleep would have to wait. Something had unravelled in the very fabric of their world, and whether he liked it or not, he was entangled in its threads.
Dawn''s hesitant light began filtering through the windows of the memory tower, casting a soft glow over the faces of the assembled children. Bram, Kirara, Tower, and even Dumdum¡ªeach seemed to sense the weight of the situation. Merlin couldn''t shake the disbelief that every jar¡ªcontainers of memories, ten years of a happy life¡ªwere vacant, bereft of their swirling darkness.
"Has the demon caught wind of this?" Merlin questioned, concern, etching lines deeper into his already weathered face.
It was Tower who answered, his voice carrying the respectful cadence he reserved for more solemn occasions. "Master hasn''t yet visited me."
Kirara, her fingers twirling a lock of her hair, added, "Bram and I have been distracting him whenever he mentions it."
"So, he''s in the dark... for now," Merlin mused, his eyes scanning the rows of empty jars. "I never thought I''d say this, but there is nothing more sadder than an empty jar."
"We need to refill the jars with something glowy, even if it''s only a temporary measure. We have to buy time to figure out whether¡" Finnea''s words trailed off, her gaze serious.
"Whether what?" Merlin pressed, unable to ignore the tension thickening the air.
Tower hesitated, stumbling over his words. "It''s possible the pretty lady... she remembers¡"
"Everything," Finnea finished, her voice as inscrutable as ever.
"But that should be good news, right? Why the secrecy? Why¡"
Finnea fixed her piercing gaze on Merlin as if she were deciphering the very contours of his soul. "You know why."
A dry swallow tightened Merlin''s throat. "So, she knows¡"
¡°Everything!¡±
¡°Everything¡ oh by Atua¡¡±
"She knows everything," the elf reaffirmed, her tone betraying not a sliver of emotion.
Merlin sighed, half in exasperation, half in resignation. "Am I expected to just wave a wand and refill all these jars? Is that it?"
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"Yes," Kirara piped up, her voice filled with the kind of innocent conviction only a child could muster. It was as if she thought reigniting the soul of the world was as simple as reigniting a candlewick.
Merlin threw his hands up in exasperation. "Look, magic doesn''t just appear out of thin air; it needs a source. I can''t conjure the kind of light we need for these jars from nothing!"
"A candle, perhaps?" Bram ventured, his eyes widening with youthful optimism.
Tower shook his head. "A candle''s flame flickers too much; it''s not consistent."
"How about Christmas lights?" chirped Kirara, her eyes sparkling at her own suggestion. Everyone turned to her with quizzical expressions. "Oh, yeah. Never mind," she mumbled, her excitement deflating.
Finally, Finnea spoke, her tone almost reverential. "A firefly."
"A firefly only glows in spring," Tower corrected yet again, his brows furrowed.
"I know of a place where we might find them, even now. Tower and I can go." Finnea¡¯s voice was decisive, as if she were preparing to march into a battlefield rather than on a quest for insects.
"It''s just a bug, darling," Merlin chided, his tone almost dismissive.
Finnea locked eyes with him. "Not in these woods."
The statement hung in the air, as dense and opaque as the missing memories themselves. Merlin met her gaze and understood¡ªsometimes the most mundane elements could carry extraordinary significance for a Dryad.
"Very well," Merlin sighed, acknowledging the gravity of her words. "Go fetch us that firefly, and let''s hope it holds the light we need to fill these jars again."
The forest canopy closed in, the shadows so deep they seemed to devour the sunlight. Finnea and Tower moved through the half-light like wraiths, her blade shimmering as it cleaved through the twigs and foliage that blocked their path.
Every step released the scent of damp soil and decaying leaves, a perfume of the earth''s darker secrets. Somewhere distant, a creature howled, its voice echoing in the narrow spaces between trees.
Finnea had known the dual nature of the Dryads. These fey guardians could offer sage guidance or treacherous detours, a lesson she had learned with a sting the last time she was here.
Tower''s eyes met hers, and he couldn''t help but admire how she commanded her way as a warrior through the forest. Her mastery reassured him, but the unspoken questions hanging between them layered the air with tension.
Their mission seemed simple¡ªsecuring the Dryads'' help obtaining a firefly. But nothing was simple when dealing with these unpredictable forest spirits. What would the price of such aid be?
Then, suddenly, they stood before it¡ªa void in the forest, an entrance of utter darkness ringed by a barrier of foliage, as if the earth itself warned them to tread carefully.
"It''s here," Finnea''s voice broke the silence.
"So what now?" Tower couldn''t keep the quiver out of his words.
"It''s time," Finnea replied, her expression unreadable.
Tower hesitated. "I like being me. I don''t want to become something I''m not. I¡"
Finnea stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. "You and I are fragments of the same whole, bound to him. You embody his inner child; I am the vessel for his pain. We weren''t meant to exist separately and not this long. You have done your part, and I have done mine. Now, there is a new quest, and neither you nor I are enough."
"I don''t know if I''m ready," Tower''s voice was tinged with tears, "I''m scared. I''m really, really scared."
She enveloped him in her arms, "I''m scared too, really, really scared too. But we can''t complete this task separately. I''m not strong enough"
"It''s just a bug!"
"I''m not talking about the bug."
"And will it be worth it?" he asked, his voice small. "Will it be a happy ending?"
Her eyes misted over, and a tear slipped free, tracing a warm path down her cheek. "Not the kind of happy ending you or I would choose. But it will be the kind that brings peace to many."
"Master will be sad!"
"No, it will destroy him, but he will live. He¡¯ll be safe."
He looked into her eyes, finding a mirror of his own fears and hopes.
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking, "don''t make this harder than it already is."
Every rustling leaf and distant cry silenced as if the forest itself held its breath. Finnea and Tower, standing so close that their outlines blurred in the faint light, looked at each other with a profound understanding that transcended words. Their eyes locked, and their spirits laid bare before they closed the distance entirely.
Their fusion began. It was as if a gravitational pull had seized them, an invisible force willing them to become a singular entity. Finnea felt her essence swirl, blending with Towers like two colours of paint meeting on a palette.
The sensation was jarring and euphoric, like a mixture of free-falling and the rush of battle. Tower felt it too¡ªthe deep-rooted pain of Finnea''s experiences merging with his untouched innocence. Both were consumed by a love and a sorrow so great it felt cosmic.
Their physical forms wavered outlines quivering as they were drawn inward. It was a collapse and an expansion all at once as if they were stars undergoing both implosion and explosion in a cosmic dance.
Their features smeared into one another, distinct and yet melding, and for a fleeting moment, they ceased to be separate. They ceased to be entirely.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Where Finnea and Tower had once stood now was a new entity¡ªa young demon, or what it looked like a demon, a teenager. Short stag horns jutted from his scalp, elegant yet intimidating.
Its hair was a wild mane of red, short and dishevelled as if touched by fire. A firm tail extended from its lower back, strong and animated as though it had a life of its own. Most striking, though, were its eyes¡ªblack pits devoid of flames, like two dark wells that had swallowed stars.
He wore a pink shirt with a rainbow emblazoned across the front, which contrasted sharply with his foreboding mission. The words "Make Your Dreams Come True" stretched across his chest, an absurd yet oddly fitting sentiment given the circumstances.
He held in his hand Finnea''s sword and picked up from the ground the chest plate, which covered the comical nuance of his attire.
He stood there, disoriented yet oddly comfortable in this new form. The air felt different, heavy with both possibilities and unspoken fears. This new entity was a tapestry of contradictions, woven from sacrifice and love, anguish and innocence. Yet, it felt undefined, a narrative yet to be written, a spirit yet to be named.
As he took its first step toward the dark groove, a thought brushed its newly formed mind, delicate as a moth''s wing against the night.
Who am I?
The question hovered, but one thing it knew for certain: he needed to bring back a bug.
[CH. 0082] - Unnamed
When all else fails there''s always delusion. - Conan O''Brien
The first sensation he felt as he descended into the groove was palpable darkness, thick enough to be cut by a knife. But the young demon barely took another step before the walls and floor erupted in a neon-green glow as if stirred awake by his presence. Mushrooms¡ªsprouting from crevices and corners¡ªilluminated the path before him.
"Hmm, a welcome party, it seems I''m expected," he mused, his feet quickening on the damp earth. He unsheathed his sword, holding it aloft. Even in the strange, ethereal light, the steel glinted like a shard of moonlight.
Rounding a bend, he stepped into what appeared to be a chamber. It had the atmosphere of an enchanted theatre, a surreal auditorium carpeted in luminescent flora and occupied by ethereal beings. A cloud of Sylphids hovered, their gossamer wings beating in a symphony of light and shade. But his gaze drifted from them to the far side of the chamber.
There, like timeless sentinels, stood three Dryads.
They were an embodiment of woodland power¡ªtall, muscular, their flesh-like bark yet alive and pulsating. One could almost hear the ancient hymns of nature written in the sinews of their arms and legs. Their eyes, sharp as newly-forged arrowheads, scanned everything¡ªyet revealed nothing.
Dressed in skins and leaves, they seemed as though they''d sprouted from the earth, a corporeal echo of the woods they belonged to. The fungi around them danced in and out of focus as if reluctant to shed light on these beings.
Their dreadlocked hair crowned them, woven not just with strands but also the shadows of countless dawns and dusks. Stern didn''t begin to describe their expressions¡ªit was as if they''d harvested and refined grimness itself.
"So, a fledgling in the flesh. How quaint," said one, her voice a sibilant refrain in a song filled with hidden barbs, "a new spirit born."
He clenched the hilt of his sword tighter, acknowledging her with a nod as muted as the glow that surrounded him.
"My time is short," he retorted, each syllable strung with a rush of urgency. "I seek your aid."
"Why would we lend aid to a spirit we''ve yet to know?" Her question dripped like honey laced with venom.
"A firefly," he said, almost embarrassed by the simplicity of his request amid the weight of the atmosphere, "That''s all I need."
"You bear a weapon in your search for a bug," another Dryad observed, nodding at his unsheathed sword.
"Yet, you see, the blade is unused," he shot back. "I''d say we''re all winning, wouldn''t you?"
Time hung in the chamber, a pause that felt heavy enough to tip the scales of eternity. The Sylphids continued their mute vigil. The mushrooms glowed brighter, yet dimmer, as though oscillating to some cosmic rhythm. Finally, the middle Dryad broke the deadlock.
"Your request is granted," she conceded, "but tread carefully. Simplicity can be a deceiving mask."
"What''s the cost? I don''t even have a name to offer."
"But you have a mission," she countered. "And what weighs more¡ªa name or a fate?"
"To purge the world of the forbidden ¡ªthat''s my raison d''¨ºtre," he clarified.
"And yet, if that were entirely true, you''d not be standing here¡ªyou''d be destroyed," another Dryad quipped.
"Choice isn''t my privilege. I was designed with a purpose¡ªpeace for Nyu," he said, growing agitated. "The destruction of the Hollow."
"I see who your Master is, Baal Berith. He made last time the same promise."
"And here I am to fulfil it."
"And why, young demon, do you require this firefly?" The first Dryad circled back to the initial question.
His feet dug into the mossy floor, frustration flaring. "I don''t know, okay? I was not created to question. I was made to fulfil. I only know it will cause pain, and for some absurd reason, I fear that. Isn''t that enough for you?"
His eyes swept over the assembly, resting again on the Dryads. "I have nothing to trade. It''s winter. You harbour the fireflies. Finnea saw them. I need just one. Is that so hard to grant?"
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The chamber was silent for a heartbeat, and then, "Not hard, but not without consequence either," the middle Dryad finally said. "You shall have your firefly, fledgling. May it light your path, whether to doom or deliverance."
As she spoke, a firefly appeared¡ªa glowing ember adrift in the shadowy chamber, floating toward him like a tiny star ripped from the night sky. It landed gently on his outstretched palm.
Cupping the fragile firefly gently between his hands, he felt its warmth seep through his fingers as if even this tiny creature carried a fragment of the universe''s enduring fire. His eyes lifted one final time to the Dryads. They nodded, an unspoken pact sealed in that fleeting moment.
Then, they began to fade, their forms unravelling into tendrils of mist and shadow that twined with the surrounding foliage. It was as though the forest itself reached out and drew them back into its eternal embrace. They dissolved into the trunks and roots, the leaves and vines until only the resonant echo of their presence remained. They were one with the forest, an extension of its ageless soul.
Just as they belonged to something greater, he was a spoke in a larger wheel. He belonged to the Master of the Memory Tower.
At the Memory Tower, Merlin, unfazed by the situation, snored lightly in a makeshift sitting position, his old bones creaking like the branches of an old wrinkled oak.
Beside him were Bram, with worry lines already etching his face, and Kirara, her tail flicking anxiously in the dim air.
"If we don''t make a move for breakfast soon, my mum''s going to turn this place upside down looking for me," Bram whispered, stealing a glance at the stairwell as if expecting his mother to appear at any moment.
Kirara''s ears twitched, and her tail coiled tighter around her legs. "I can''t linger here much longer either. They''ll notice I''m gone."
The two turned their eyes toward Merlin, who chose that moment to awaken with a drawn-out yawn. He blinked, scanning his surroundings before settling his gaze on the two restless figures beside him.
"What''s the plan?" Kirara asked, hope glinting in her eyes as if the old man would unfurl a scroll with all the answers written in gold and chicken.
"Why don''t you both head back, grab a bite, and assure everyone that all is well? Tell them, if they ask, I''ve fallen into one of my deep slumbers. It''s not far from the truth, anyway," Merlin suggested, his voice laced with sleepy humour.
Kirara pondered this. "Why don''t I go first, eat quickly, and then return? Then Bram could go?"
Bram shook his head. "No, it would look suspicious if we''re not seen together. We''ve been practically inseparable since ever. We are best friends!"
"We are?"
"Yeah! Why? I''m not?" the little Nixbob pointed to himself.
"Yes, of course, you are, after Mama and Papa... and chicken," Kirara sighed. "But you''re right. We must be together; otherwise, too many questions."
Merlin leveraged himself to a more upright position, bones popping audibly. "Go on, both of you. Eat, reassure everyone, and return. I''ll be right here, guarding our... little secret," he said, his eyes tired as they darted toward the empty jars around them.
The younger pair exchanged glances, then nodded. They quickly descended the stairs, leaving the old man alone in the half-light. Merlin chuckled softly, leaning back against the cool stone wall.
"Ah, to be young and burdened by something as simple as breakfast," he mused.
As Merlin''s eyes closed, he felt the Memory Tower settle into a comforting silence, the kind of quiet that seemed to hold its breath. However, it was a short-lived tranquillity; the door creaked open again.
On the threshold stood a young demon, its eyes vacant pools of darkness. Yet there, cupped gently in its hands, was a softly glowing firefly.
Merlin was quick to lock the door behind the newcomer. "Where are Finnea and Tower?" His voice betrayed a hint of concern.
"They are here, and they are not. It is me now," the demon tried to articulate, its voice tinged with an inexplicable melancholy.
Merlin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Do you have a name?"
"I have a firefly."
The old man chuckled. "I see you''ve brought what I need, but who are you? Who has come to my aid?"
"I don''t see anyone else here. It''s just me," the demon responded, almost defensively.
"Your name?" Merlin pressed.
"I don''t have one. Do you?"
"Ah, I go by many names, but Myrddin is the earliest. Most people butcher it, so they call me Merlin."
The demon looked puzzled. "So my name is Merlin now?"
Merlin laughed, shaking his head. "No, no! Merlin is my name!"
"Oh... then I''m still unnamed."
"You''re an odd one, aren''t you?" Merlin let out another chuckle, his eyes twinkling like stars in the dim chamber. "Let the firefly go. Let it fly."
The Unnamed open his hands and watching the firefly spiralled away, Merlin''s voice unfurled like an ancient scroll, uttering incantations that resonated like a harmonic tune.
Simultaneously, his staff glowed, taking on a pulsating light that mirrored the lone firefly''s ethereal glow. Then, as if heeding some unspoken command, the glow fractured and multiplied¡ªtwo fireflies, then four, eight, ten, twenty and more¡ªeach glowing orb a doppelganger of the original, yet unique in its own right.
As Merlin''s incantation reached its zenith, each replicated firefly fluttered downwards, gently guided by some unseen hand into waiting jars. One by one, they settled, their lights continuing to blink in unison as though bound by some cryptic language.
Merlin exhaled, a wistful smile curving his lips. "Ahh, the wonders of old magic," he sighed, looking pleased.
Merlin''s smile was big but short. As his gaze shifted from the jars, their luminescent occupants suddenly dimmed, each flickering glow succumbing to cryptic darkness until nothing remained but the opaque emptiness of the jars.
"Oh, this can''t be good," he muttered, a tinge of foreboding darkening his voice. His fingers ticked off imaginary points in the air as he mentally retraced the intricate steps of the incantation. "I''m certain I executed the proper spell."
The nameless demon, already a complex puzzle of emotions and new sensations, looked even more bewildered. "What now?"
Merlin sighed, his eyes narrowing in thought. "We need stronger magic than mine, it appears."
"How so?"
The old wizard paused, weighing his words as if each held a secret weight. "We need a miracle from Atua."
"Who?"
"A Morningstar."
[CH. 0083] - Unnamed
The kitchen was bustling with activity and a warmth that extended beyond the room''s hearth. Eager conversations intermingled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the buttery scent of warm bread. Yet, despite the almost familial atmosphere, three seats remained conspicuously empty: those belonging to Tower, Finnea, and Merlin.
As if summoned by the thought, Merlin shuffled into the room. His eyes, tired but cunning, darted around the room before he took a seat.
Adamastor poured him a steaming mug of coffee without a word.
"Anyone seen Finnea and Tower?" Baal asked, his eyes flicking toward the kitchen door as if expecting them to appear.
Merlin took a languid sip of his coffee. "Oh, I sent them on an old man''s errand," he said, attempting to lock eyes with Nord, who was preoccupied with a slice of bread slathered in jam.
"They''ll turn up when hunger does," Perdita interjected, rising from her chair to collect empty plates and idle silverware. "No need to worry."
Merlin, sensing his initial attempt to gain Nord''s attention had failed, cleared his throat. "Nord, I could use your help with a little project of mine. A particular undertaking, if you will."
Nord sighed. "With what exactly? My day is pretty jam-packed."
Before Nord could elaborate, Baal swivelled his chair toward Merlin. "I''ve got time, old man. What do you need?"
Merlin looked at Baal, then back at Nord. "Ah, you see, it requires a woman''s touch. Some delicate shelving needs a good... dusting."
Perdita, now standing by the sink, piped up, "Oh, I don''t mind helping."
Nord interjected, "Perdita''s already got her hands full."
"I could help¡ª"
"No," Merlin''s voice grew sharp, his eyes narrowing. He slammed his palm on the table, silencing the room. A moment passed, and his features softened. "I need you, Morningstar. Please."
Nord arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Alright, I''ll help."
The old wizard¡¯s lips creased into a subtle smile. "Thank you."
Baal glanced at Merlin. Despite the old man''s apparent victory, he''d barely touched his food, and he couldn''t help but notice the tremor in Merlin''s wrinkled hands. What, he wondered, was Merlin not saying? What was so important that it had the old wizard so on edge?
The air was thick with stillness as Nord and Merlin found themselves alone in the shadowy recesses of the Tower. A gloom seemed to stretch in every corner, settling into the stone walls and weighing the atmosphere down.
"Why is it so dark here?" Nord asked as her eyes tried to pierce the darkness.
Merlin, hunched over, shuffled to the staircase and eased himself down onto a step. He sighed, "I think you''re more aware of the reason behind this darkness than I am, young lady."
Nord frowned, her gaze darting to the vacant jars scattered around. "I didn''t do anything," she protested, but her voice lacked conviction.
"Of course, you didn''t... at least, not anything wrong," Merlin replied, his eyes locking onto hers. "But I suspect you haven''t told your husband about it, have you?"
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Nord withdrew, her eyes tracing the outline of the empty jars. "So you know."
"The children informed me. They tried to protect Tower. Finnea even came up with a plan," Merlin shrugged, "though it seems even I am too old for some types of magic. It was a good idea on paper."
"Where are they? Tower and Finnea?" she asked, her voice tinged with urgency.
"You''ll see them soon, sort of," Merlin waved his hand vaguely around the room, "once we address the, ah, jar situation."
Nord''s face contorted, "What do you expect me to do? Pour my memories back into these jars?" Her voice was tinged with disbelief and a note of scandal.
"More like replace the light that was taken, as though it was never gone," Merlin suggested. "Look, it won''t be long before Baal finds his way here. If he sees these jars as they are now..."
"He''ll know," Nord interrupted, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And he can''t. He just can''t."
"Why not? That man would move mountains for you." Merlin looked puzzled, his eyes searching her face for clues.
"That''s precisely the issue," Nord said softly, her eyes clouded with fear. "He would do anything, but the same goes for me. I would do anything for him. He cannot know. He cannot know what I know. And I''ll make sure of it."
Merlin''s eyes softened, and he tilted his head, "Do you have a solution for this unending darkness, then?"
Nord looked around, her eyes lingering on the forlorn jars. She began to mumble under her breath, "The Key of Terror, The Key to Pride, The Key of Command, The Key of the Tower, The Key of the Sun, the Sun..."
She paused and turned to face Merlin. "Yes, I have a spell to fix it."
As she knelt on the cold, stone floor, Nord pressed her palms flat against the surface. Closing her eyes, she took a deep, steadying breath. A shiver ran up her spine as she began to chant, her voice low but unwavering.
"I summon you, who shall give them light and blazing sky in their land. You smote their vines also, and their fig trees. You''re spring as you are summer, you a star, and the day we''ll die. Join my domain come to my aid, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being¡ªBaal Berith!"
As her lips sealed shut, her eyes flew open. A radiant burst of light erupted from her gaze as if a comet had broken into fragments right in front of her. The light streamed toward the jars, filling each one with a glow that seemed to pulse and breathe. The emptiness that once occupied them was replaced by the bright, shimmering essence¡ªeach jar now a tiny sun of its own.
It was as though Nord had wept tears of pure starlight, filling the room with an ethereal glow that dissolved the shadowy darkness. The Tower came back to life, not just in light, but in spirit. Even the air seemed lighter as if the gloom that hung heavy before had been banished.
Merlin stood up from the stairs, his face etched with awe and a hint of relief. "You did it," he murmured, his eyes reflecting the newfound light.
Nord rose to her feet, her own eyes brimming with a myriad of emotions¡ªrelief, sorrow, and a hint of triumph. "Yes, but let''s hope Baal never finds out that once again I tricked him."
Merlin nodded, his eyes meeting hers in a mutual understanding that some secrets are too heavy, even for love to bear.
The Tower, now imbued with a radiant light, seemed almost serene until a figure materialized from the lingering shadows. As he stepped into the glow, Nord''s eyes met his, and she saw not the awkward teen in the pink shirt she once owned but a horned, tailed version of her first love.
"Baal..." The name escaped her lips as a whisper, and she felt tears stream down her cheeks.
Merlin, sensing the tension, gently draped an arm around her shoulders. "Come now, child. No tears. No one''s dead. The young man before you is¡ª"
"Tower and Finnea," she interrupted.
"Exactly," Merlin nodded, "Your deduction is far better than mine."
"I have so little time to prepare," Nord said, her gaze shifting to the young demon standing awkwardly before them. "What should I call you?"
"I don''t have a name," he replied, his eyes pointed at his feet, seemingly unable to meet her gaze.
"Then what name would you like?" she pressed.
"I don''t know. Any name is good," he mumbled, still avoiding eye contact.
"Daniel," she said, the name emerging almost spontaneously. Remembering Baal''s favourite movie, Karate Kid, and why.
"Daniel? What does it mean?" he asked, finally looking up.
"Does it matter?" Nord replied, a faint smile forming on her lips.
"No, not really," he conceded.
"Do you like it?"
"Yes."
"Then you are no longer unnamed, Daniel," she said, her smile deepening for a moment. She turned back to Merlin, "Is there anything else you need me to do?"
"No, I believe that''s it," Merlin said, the corners of his own mouth lifting in a subtle smile.
Without another word, Nord turned and walked out of the Tower, wiping away the remnants of her tears as she went back to the Morningstar.
[CH. 0083] - Preparation
Mayor Paxton''s eyes flickered open at the first hint of dawn, a well-rehearsed routine that required no alarm clock. Padding across the room in worn slippers, his short and portly frame seemed incongruous with the aura of authority he managed to exude - poorly. The bare wooden floors creaked in response to his weight, echoing years of health neglect and poor choices.
With a hat perched precariously on his head and a waistcoat straining against his belly, he emerged onto the cobblestone streets of Ravendrift. Morning mist hovered low, wrapping the facades of the houses in a vivid coat of glow. He strolled down the main street, his eyes keen for any signs of disorder¡ªbe it a stray dog or an unauthorized vendor. It was still too early for the townsfolk to populate the streets, a reality that gave the town an air of serenity he savoured. The early peace of the day.
"Ah, Mayor Paxton, up and about already!" Clarence, the bistro owner, greeted him as he stepped through the door, its chimes announcing his arrival.
"Morning, Clarence. How could I resist the aroma of your muffins?" Paxton replied, settling into his usual seat by the window.
Clarence set down a cup of steaming coffee in front of him, followed by a plate of buttered scones. "Enjoy, Mayor."
"Ah, simple pleasures," Paxton murmured, taking a sip of his coffee. It was strong and invigorating, like the town he had been serving for years.
His breakfast ritual complete, Paxton made his way to the municipal office¡ªa tiny space cluttered with a myriad of paperwork. He thumbed through a few reports, signed some documents, and scribbled notes for his clerk. Urgent matters were rarely more than settling disputes between farmers or signing off on building permits, but Paxton took his role seriously. Yet, as the clock struck nine and a half, he snapped the leather briefcase shut.
"Off to school," he told his clerk, a reedy man who rarely looked up from his work.
"Yes, Mayor Paxton. Have fun with the little ones," the clerk mumbled without lifting his eyes from the papers.
For Paxton, the short walk to Ravendrift Elementary School was like a sojourn into a different world¡ªone filled with chalk dust, wooden desks, and the scent of youthful exuberance. His heart lightened with each step, for teaching was the real bright solace of his day, even more than Clarence''s muffins.
Math problems and history tales flowed easily from his tongue, and the children''s eyes widened in fascination. Well, and sometimes boredom.
He could hold court on the wonders of the periodic table or the history of the foundation of Neddingstein Nation, but alas, when it came to painting or music, his skills were sorely lacking.
The children forgave him this. They truly liked his teaching, even if they called him The Bouncing Uncle. But the Mayor had no idea, and his students kept it secret from his ear.
It was another perfect morning until...
The arrival of Nord Morningstar was like a sudden storm on an otherwise tranquil day. Her very name conjured catastrophe and her presence disrupted the serene flow of his daily existence.
A woman of unparalleled beauty and artistic prowess, no doubt, she cast a shadow that tormented him, the pulsing notion that inside her, a terrible creature nestled - the Hollow. Yet, beneath the veneer of enchantment lay a darkness, a lurking horror that sent shivers down his spine.
"Children, we have an esteemed guest today," Mayor Paxton announced, his voice quivering with a peculiar mix of excitement and anxiety. "Let''s take a break for recess!"
With grace, Nord advanced, her gaze locking onto Mayor Paxton''s. "Good morning, Paxton. I sense a certain unease in you. Or is it just me?"
Paxton wiped a single bead of perspiration from his forehead. "Will it still be a good morning after our conversation, I wonder?"
"That, Mr Mayor, depends entirely on whether you intend to be a friend or¡" Her words hung in the air, incomplete yet pregnant with ominous implications.
Impatience gnawed at Paxton''s nerves. "Please, Miss Morningstar, let us dispense with the theatrics. What is it that brings you here?"
She circled a small, child-sized stool and seated herself gracefully. "I have a proposition for you. One that concerns a teaching position."
"A teaching position?" Paxton blinked, caught off guard. "But I am the teacher here. Are you suggesting that I should dismiss myself?"
She shook her head. "Not yourself, Paxton. I''m speaking of a different kind of teacher¡ªa music teacher."
Paxton''s bewilderment was evident. "A music teacher? In this town?"
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Nord leaned forward, her voice a mellifluous yet commanding whisper.
"Yes, Paxton. And the candidate I have in mind might surprise you."
"Who is this candidate?" Paxton inquired, his curiosity now piqued.
"Mr. Berith," she said, her lips beginning to tremble with a hint of nervous anticipation.
Paxton''s eyes widened. "Berith? Do you mean the demon? You wish for a demon to be our music teacher?"
Nord leaned in closer, her words laden with conviction. "Who better to teach music than a demon? You''ve heard him play, Paxton. The violin is an extension of his very being. He can master the piano, the cello, and even the electric guitar¡ª"
"Electric guitar?"
Nord''s lips curled into a smirk. "A mere slip of the tongue. Pay it no mind." Paxton huffed, swivelling his chair a few degrees to the left. "A demon, Nord? Do you want a demon to teach children? What kind of pitchfork-wielding madness is that? The parents will run for the hills, and the children will have nightmares."
Nord rose, abandoning her perch on a stool. She paced slowly around the room, her boots clicking authoritatively on the hardwood floor. "I have children at the Morningstar estate, you know. They find him delightful. If those little ones aren''t scared, why would anyone else''s be?"
Paxton''s eyes darted toward the window and back. He felt cornered, like a deer suddenly aware of the hunter. "Do I have any say in this? Any at all?"
She leaned in so close he could feel her breath. "No," she said, almost a whisper. "Deny me, and I swear, Ravendrift will suffer a fate worse than being in the most forsaken corner of the Nethersphere."
Paxton blinked, his mouth opening and closing. "Nethersphere?"
"Yes, Mayor Paxton, the Nethersphere."
"I see. And, um..."
"Make your decision. I''ve not the patience to wait."
Paxton''s face crumpled into his hands; he was wrestling with an impossible choice. "Why, Nord? Why are you so desperate to place him here?"
Her eyes softened for just a moment. "I need Baal to be busy, distracted, and most of all, happy."
He looked up, sighed, and reluctantly extended his hand. "Alright, fine. But if he''s even a minute late or a single parent complains, he''s gone."
Nord seized his hand and shook it firmly. "Agreed. You''ve no idea the service you''ve rendered today."
Paxton raised an eyebrow. "Have I really?"
"You have," she said, already moving toward the door, her footsteps parting punctuation. "Indeed, you most certainly have. Thank you."
The aroma of pancakes mingled with chocolate, a seductive dance in the air. Baal lay there in bed, unwilling to yield to consciousness until he felt the gentle stroke of fingers through his hair, followed by the soft press of lips on his cheek. He smiled.
"It''s early," he mumbled, the corners of his mouth curling into a wider smile.
"I brought breakfast in bed," she said, her voice tinged with a warmth that seemed to defy the morning chill.
His eyes fluttered open, and for the first time since their arrival in Nyu, he saw her in her full element. Makeup was perfectly applied, and her eyes were transformed into an alluring cat-like gaze. Dark red lipstick and butterfly-wing eyeliner completed the look as if her old self had resurfaced from the depths of their new life.
Sitting up, he took in the details: the tray she balanced with the care of a tightrope walker, the perfectly flipped pancakes, the rich hue of the chocolate sauce. She placed it carefully on his lap.
"Did you eat already?" he asked, picking up a fork and examining the breakfast spread before him.
"I woke up early," she replied, her eyes meeting his in a way that said more than words ever could, but he didn''t understand.
"Did something happen?" Baal asked, his fork suspended midway to his mouth, sensing a layer of meaning behind her actions.
"Yes," she replied, her smirk more mysterious than ever.
"What is it?"
Her hand darted out, snatching a piece of pancake awash in chocolate from his tray. She locked eyes with him as she slowly ate it, relishing each bite and the secret she was about to unveil. "I got you a job."
"You got me a job?" Baal''s voice carried a mix of disbelief and confusion.
She nodded, that smirk never leaving her face. "Yes, I did."
"But why? I''m swamped with work here on the estate as it is. Why get me another job?"
"Ah, well," she leaned closer, her eyes twinkling. "I had a chat with Mayor Paxton. Do you know they have a school in town?"
"Yeah, an elementary school, so?"
She paused, relishing the crescendo of his growing anxiety. "It''s adorable. Small but cosy. Gives off a sense of community."
"Okay..." Baal''s words trailed off, his brows furrowed, the pit of his stomach aflutter with a swarm of restless butterflies.
She let the suspense hang in the air a moment longer, thickening like syrup. "Mayor Paxton, it turns out, is quite the handyman. Teaches all sorts of things at the school. But there''s one thing they don''t have¡ª"
"And what would that be?" Baal finally asked, nearly desperate to unravel the riddle she was weaving.
She leaned in, her lips almost touching his ear. "A music teacher. And guess who that''s going to be?"
Baal''s eyes widened, the swarm of butterflies in his gut suddenly transforming into a full-fledged orchestra. "You''re saying¡ª"
"Yes," she interrupted, her voice tinged with triumph and something softer, something like love. "Mayor Paxton agreed. You''re going to teach music at the elementary school."
"Please take the tray off me! Please, please!" Baal''s eyes were wide with excitement, his body twitching as if electrified.
Nord complied, lifting the breakfast tray from his lap and setting it on a nearby dresser. As soon as he was unburdened, Baal sprang up on the bed, jumping with the glee of a child at Christmas. "I''m going to be a teacher!"
It was an enthusiasm Nord had never seen in him before. He reached for her, pulling her up onto the bed to join in his jubilant jumping. They laughed and jumped until Baal abruptly halted. "Wait. I don''t have a degree for this."
Nord landed next to him, her grin undeterred. "Who needs degrees when you''re as talented as you are? You know the music inside out!"
He looked reassured, but then she added, "However, you must promise me you won''t miss a single day, come what may. And you can''t be late. Ever."
"Yes, yes, absolutely!" Baal nodded, his face radiant with joy.
"Promise me," she pressed, locking eyes with him.
"I promise, Nord! I won''t miss a day for any reason, and I will never be late!"
She beamed at him. "Good, because you start in two hours."
Baal''s face suddenly lost its colour. As the words sank in, he glanced down at his pyjamas and shot out of the bed like a bullet. "I need to get ready!"
Nord chuckled as he sprinted out of the room, his joyous energy now channelled into hurried preparation.
One thing was out of her to-do list. Next would be the Sisterhood of Ravendrift.
[CH. 0084] - Preparation
The Sisterhood of Ravendrift resided in a spindly edifice that seemed to challenge the skies with its lone, piercing tower. Its circular windows stared out like an unblinking row of eyes, giving the impression that the building itself was sentient. Its courtyard was a stark anomaly¡ªa barren stretch of pebbles, void of any flora. For a coven of witches, the absence of nature struck Nord as odd.
The gate squealed its protest as she nudged it open and stepped onto the property. Her boots crunched over the pebbles, each step announcing her approach before she rapped sharply on the door.
It swung open, revealing a young woman whose eyes widened at the sight of Nord. The air thrummed with the weight of surprise, unspoken yet deeply felt.
"Your sisters around?" Nord cut to the chase, skipping any social niceties.
"Um, yes, please, come in," the youngest stammered, stepping aside to let her enter.
No sooner had Nord crossed the threshold than the rest of the sisters materialized from various nooks and crannies of the labyrinthine house. Each face registered varying degrees of surprise and deep concern.
She could almost hear the wheels turning in their heads, the assumptions clicking into place. They must''ve thought she was here to reclaim the painting and, in the process, reclaim their magic. They couldn''t be more wrong. And that realization seemed to dawn on them, one by one, as they looked at her¡ªnot with fear, but with a newfound curiosity.
"So, what brings you here, Nord?" asked the eldest, breaking the silence.
"I assume it''s the painting."
Nord smiled. "You''d be wrong, very wrong. I''ve got something else in mind. Something that might interest you all."
And just like that, the atmosphere shifted. The Sisterhood of Ravendrift suddenly seemed less like an impenetrable fortress and more like a place of potent possibilities.
"What else could you want from us?" asked another Ashley.
Nord let her gaze drift across each sister, letting the weight of her words settle in the room like a spell. "What would you say if I could teach you girls how to travel the stars?"
The eldest sister raised an eyebrow and motioned to one of her siblings. "Ashley, get the tea ready. Cupcakes too. Anything else you''d fancy, Nord, I mean, Miss Morningstar?"
"We''ll we go with her?" the youngest Ashley piped up.
"Of course not!" Another Ashley shot back, almost reflexively, as if the idea were preposterous.
"Why would you even consider going to an unknown world?" the eldest Ashley questioned, her tone bordering on accusatory.
The youngest Ashley met her sister''s gaze undeterred. "Well, if this person is sick and needs medical care, she might also need emotional support. Someone to vouch for her. If Miss Morningstar is sending her away because our world isn''t equipped to handle her situation, it''s likely that she won''t be in any condition to advocate for herself."
The room fell silent for a moment as everyone considered her words. Of all the sisters, the youngest Ashley, had consistently shown the most wisdom and empathy. And now, in her earnest expression, Nord could see that indomitable thirst for adventure, something that was conspicuously absent in her siblings.
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Nord leaned back in her chair, locking eyes with the youngest. "That''s a very thoughtful point, Ashley. However, it''s not just about medical facilities. There are things that are completely different, laws and cultural norms in my world that can be... difficult to navigate. And given the circumstances, I can''t guarantee your safety or even your happiness."
The eldest Ashley looked at her youngest sister, as if silently asking her to reconsider. But the look in the young Ashley''s eyes remained unchanged, yet touched by a sliver of youthful naivet¨¦.
"Then teach me," the youngest said resolutely. "Teach me how to navigate your world, how to deal with its rules and things I don''t know. Teach me so that I can be of help."
Nord felt a smile tugging at her lips. She was reminded of herself at that age¡ªthe same burning desire to step beyond the familiar, to face the unknown regardless of the risks involved. The same passion when she summoned a demon with the promise to destroy the Hollow no matter what.
"If you''re willing to learn, I''m willing to teach," she said softly, "but you should know that this won''t be a journey for the faint of heart."
The youngest Ashley looked at her sisters, who were wearing expressions that hovered between doubt and reluctant acceptance, before turning back to Nord. "I understand the risks. And I''m still willing to go."
Nord''s eyes narrowed, her mind racing as she weighed the unforeseen complication. "If time weren''t an issue, I''d be more than willing to guide you through this... but as it stands, time is precisely what we don''t have. I don''t have."
She could see the youngest Ashley''s spirit wane, the fervour in her eyes dimming like a star eclipsed by an unforeseen body.
"My world operates on different principles," Nord continued. "It runs on complicated laws and technology, not magic. You''d have to understand various religions'' beliefs and navigate and understand ongoing unreasonable wars. Earth is a colossal maze, ten times more complex and vast than Nyu. And the divisions between humans are... stupidly disturbing, to say the least."
The youngest Ashley looked at Nord, her eyes alight with a glimmer of hope. "I can learn," she insisted.
"Listen, Ashley," Nord said, her voice softer now. "You''re brave and eager, qualities I admire. But bravery and eagerness are sometimes not enough. What you''ll encounter on Earth will require more than just a quick primer. It would be reckless for me to put you in that position, especially when I can''t be there to guide you."
A heavy silence enveloped the room, each sister absorbing the gravity of Nord''s words.
"I won''t forget this, though," Nord finally added, "and who knows, maybe someday conditions will be right for you to venture beyond Nyu. But for now, our focus must remain on the task at hand."
The youngest Ashley nodded, "But you would know people who could guide me... wouldn''t you?"
The tension in the room rose to a palpable level as the eldest Ashley nearly shouted, her face flushed with anger. "Will you stop! And make this about you! Miss Morningstar is here to teach us the ritual, and all you''re thinking about is a new adventure: abandoning your sisters! How selfish can you be?"
Another sister chimed in, her voice tinged with betrayal. "You''d leave us behind?"
The youngest Ashley visibly shrank into herself, stung by her sisters'' accusations. Her shoulders slumped, and for a fleeting moment, she looked incredibly small and vulnerable on the couch.
Nord sensed the awkward heaviness in the room, the uncomfortable weight of boiling feelings that suddenly clouded the air. Quietly, almost as if trying to imprint the action with a sense of intimacy, she placed her hand over the youngest Ashley''s hand.
"We''ll talk about this later," she whispered, offering the young witch a look that mingled sympathy with an assurance of future possibilities.
The youngest Ashley looked up, meeting Nord''s gaze. Though her eyes still held a flicker of disappointment, they also revealed a newfound sense of understanding, perhaps even maturity. In that brief exchange, a silent pact was made, leaving the promise of future discussions¡ªand maybe even adventures¡ªhanging in the air like the faint aroma of the herbal tea that still lingered in the room.
For now, however, it was clear that the priority lay in the task at hand, the delicate, time-sensitive mission that had initially brought Nord to the Sisters of Ravendrift. There is a spell to be taught, plans to be set in motion, and a Hollow to destroy.
[CH. 0085] - Preparation
The sky had begun its descent into twilight as Nord approached Sirdona Clinic, where the sun''s warm hues were surrendering to the chill of approaching darkness. She could sense that the building was nearly vacant, a stillness that spoke of the day''s work nearing its end. Yet she knew Sirdona would be there; the doctor always lingered after hours, committed to her duties until the very last moment.
Nord rapped her knuckles lightly against the worn wood of Sirdona''s office door.
"Come in!" came the shout from inside, and Nord pushed the door open, stepping in with her hands buried deep in her pockets.
"It''s me, Nord," she announced, her voice edged with caution as she showed her hands still in her pockets. "So you know nothing bad can happen."
Sirdona rose from her desk and closed the door behind Nord. A smile broke out on her face as she enveloped Nord in a warm hug. "Oh, quit your drama. I''m well aware of how things work now. You can take your hands out," she said, her laughter imbued with the fondness of old friendship.
She returned to her seat behind the desk, her eyes meeting Nord''s. "So, what brings you here? How can I assist you?"
Nord pulled up a chair across from Sirdona, her eyes taking in the organized clutter of the healer''s workspace¡ªbottles of tinctures, stacks of parchment, and the faint smell of herbs lingering in the air.
Sirdona narrowed her eyes, her gaze tinged with concern as she studied Nord. "You look rather peaky. Is everything all right?"
Nord exhaled, her shoulders dropping a fraction as if shedding an unseen weight. "I''m fine, Sirdona. Actually, it''s not about me. I''ve arranged something for Baal¡ªa job."
"A job?" Sirdona''s brows arched in disbelief. "But he''s works already on the manor, doesn''t he?"
Nord shook her head impatiently. "No, not like that. I''ve secured him the job he''s been dreaming of for a decade. To be a teacher. I remembered, Sirdona."
Sirdona''s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly.
"All of it?"
"All of it."
"You remembered? Are you saying, Miss Morningstar, that your memories have returned?"
Nord looked directly into Sirdona''s eyes as though searching for something only she would understand. She nodded, "Yes, all of them."
"All of them," Sirdona repeated, the words hanging in the air like a lingering perfume. "By Atua, Baal must be delighted. But... how do you feel, Nord? This is monumental."
Nord''s eyes softened, and a myriad of emotions fluttered through them. "It''s overwhelming, but it''s as if a fog has lifted. And my mind is clearer now."
Sirdona''s eyes widened, her gaze piercing through Nord. "Baal must be so so happy. By Atua, how did he react?"
Nord''s lips tightened into a thin line. "He doesn''t know yet."
Sirdona chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. "Planning on surprising him, are you? That demon does love to be in the spotlight."
The room''s atmosphere shifted as Nord exhaled, her face suddenly solemn. "I''m leaving."
Sirdona''s eyes flicked to meet Nord''s. "Leaving? When will you be back?"
Nord''s gaze remained fixated on Sirdona''s cluttered desk. She shifted uncomfortably, her words barely more than a murmur. "I''m not sure. I don''t think I will be back. That''s why I arranged the job for Baal. He needs something stable, something to keep him anchored while I''m gone."
Silence enveloped the room, dense as fog. Sirdona scrutinized Nord, her eyes narrowing as if attempting to decode the enigmatic blend of emotions dancing behind her friend''s eyes. "You''ve just gotten all your memories back, and now you''re leaving? Leaving Baal, leaving all of this? Why the fuck would you do that?"
Nord looked up, her eyes like stormy seas. "I remember how to destroy the Hollow, Sirdona. What I have to do."
Sirdona stared, her mouth opening and closing as if struggling to find words equal to the weight of Nord''s revelation. "The Hollow? You know how..."
"Yes," Nord confirmed, her voice tinged with a gravity that made the walls of the room seem to close in. "I can end it, but I need to go alone. It will be easier that way..."
Sirdona leaned back, her face a complicated tapestry of conflicting emotions¡ªawe, fear, and a profound sadness. "You''ve always had a hero''s heart, Nord. But is this a path you have to walk alone?"
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"Well, Daniel is coming with me, but yes. And while I''m out there, doing what must be done, I need to know that Baal is taken care of. That he''s... happy."
"Honey, let''s talk this through because I have the feeling you''re going to do something stupid." Sirdona tried to talk calmly.
"This has been planned for years... is not a decision I took lightly. But still, I really need you." Nord, at this point, was almost crying.
"How can I possibly help?" Sirdona''s face softened as she listened, her eyes momentarily losing their sharpness. "You''ve always been one for the grand gestures, haven''t you? But Daniel? Who is he?"
Nord managed a weak smile. "Yes, Daniel knows what we''re up against. But that''s beside the point. Baal¡ª"
"Is going to need more than a new job to keep his spirits up," Sirdona interrupted, finishing the thought. "You need a full circus to distract that man."
Nord nodded, her eyes moistening. "Exactly. I need someone to be there for him. He can get into this... this abyss of depression, and when he does, he bleeds."
"Bleeds?"
Nord exhaled, rubbing her nose as if fighting back tears. "Not from new wounds. He bleeds from his old scars. It''s like they absorb his emotional pain. Or something like that, I don''t know... he is just... he gets really hurt."
Sirdona sat up, alarmed. "Do the scars reopen?"
Nord shook her head. "No, they just bleed. But a bath with lurk water can help soothe him. Good junk food helps him, like a cheeseburger with no tomatoes, he really gets annoyed if¡ª"
Sirdona chuckled, interrupting. "That demon has the palate of a finicky toddler."
Nord smiled faintly. "Yeah, he does sometimes... Songs and jokes can lift his mood, too. He just needs to feel loved, saved."
Sirdona looked Nord squarely in the eyes. "Why are you telling me this? Are you implying¡ª Nord, we''re just friends, okay?" Sirdona snapped, defensive.
Nord held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. "I know. I didn''t mean to imply anything. But you are his friend, a good one. A friend he loves and trusts. And whether you admit it or not, there''s a connection there. I need to know that someone will be there for him when he hits those low points. And I trust you, Sirdona. Would you take care of Baal? For me?"
Sirdona sighed, letting her defences drop. The reality of what was unfolding finally sank in. "As a friend, I''ll be there for him, Nord. You have my word."
Nord''s eyes welled up, but she blinked the tears back. "Thank you, Sirdona. That means the world to me."
Sirdona nodded, her own eyes misty. "Now go on, save the world or whatever it is you''re planning. Just make sure you come back, alright? Both you and Daniel, whoever that is. Because Baal won''t be the only one missing you."
Nord gave her a teary smile. "I''ll do my best," but Sirdona knew when she was listening to a lie. Nord Morningstar was not planning on coming back, and she couldn¡¯t understand why.
The manor was steeped in stillness as Nord made her way upstairs, her silhouette fainted shadow against the ornate wallpaper of the hallway. The salon, with a soft murmur of low voices and clinking glasses, seemed distant as she passed by. She offered a fleeting, warm smile to Perdita, who hummed softly while her mop swung over the wooden floor, coaxing it to shine.
Upon reaching her room, Nord found the door ajar, spilling a golden pool of light into the corridor. Inside, Baal was an island of peace amidst the sea of quilts and pillows, his legs folded beneath him. His pyjamas, a soft cotton ensemble that clung to his frame, moved with the rhythm of his contented squirming as he doodled on a sheet of paper. The smile that played upon his lips was something she had missed for a long time.
"You look happy," Nord observed. She sat down on the edge of the bed, the weight of her body causing a gentle dip in the mattress. Her hands worked at her boots, deftly slipping them off one by one.
Baal lost in his doodlings, acknowledged her presence with a nod, his eyes never leaving the sheets under his fingertips. "I''m preparing class for tomorrow," he said, the words floating up like bubbles of excitement.
Nord began to peel away the layers of her attire, the corset unlacing with a soft hiss, "Oh, how was--" her movements paused by Baal''s sudden outpouring of excitement.
Too thrilled to wait, cut her off mid-sentence. "Today was fantastic! We learned this new song, and I did a round with the kids¡ª you know, is when some started singing in point A, and the others joined in from the start at point B. It was a bit of a challenge to get everyone synchronized, but it was so much fun, so so much. I haven''t laughed this hard in a long time. Then I talked to the carpenter in town about making flutes for the class, and even Paxton was on board with the idea!"
Baal explained rapidly, stumbling over his words in excitement. "The plan is to have them perform in a little parade, playing one or two songs. But there''s a twist!" he exclaimed.
Intrigued, Nord paused from unlacing her corset and asked, "Which is...?"
With his excitement undiminished, Baal revealed, "They will be dressed up as mice, just like in the Pied Piper story! I will be the Pied Piper, and they will be the mice! Genius!"
"Oh, that does sound like a blast," Nord admitted. The room was filled with the richness of his vision, and as Nord slipped into her nightgown, the fabric cascading around her like a waterfall of silk, she was drawn into the dreamscape Baal wove.
The sheets, cool and inviting, caressed her skin as Baal turned to her, his eyes gleaming with the day''s joys. "How was your day?" he asked, his voice soothing like a tender caress.
Her response was a gentle brushstroke on the canvas of their evening, "Did some errands, nothing much." She watched as he placed his tools on the nightstand with deliberate care, his movements a prelude to the closeness they both sought.
The concern in his voice was subtle yet clear as he noticed the deviation from her routine. "I saw you didn''t open the store. Is everything okay?"
Her assurance was a soft lullaby, "Oh yeah, everything is fine, just taking some holidays, you know? That''s all." Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with the pull of slumber.
Yet Baal, buoyant with unspent energy, said, "We could plan something after school!"
"Like what?" she whispered.
"Anything you want," he said.
"I will think of something," she murmured.
In the quiet that followed, Baal''s arms enfolded her in a sanctuary of warmth, his lips pressing a kiss upon her crown. "I love you. You make me so happy, Morningstar," he breathed, his words almost pierced her in tears.
"I love you too," she returned, a whisper barely audible yet laden with the depth of oceans, "I love you too."
[CH. 0086] - The Right Book
Morning light spilt into the bedroom, the kind that suggested the world had been awake for hours, a stark contrast to the usual routine. Baal''s eyes flickered open to an unusual emptiness beside him. Nord''s absence from their bed was like a missing verse in their daily duet. With a slight furrow creasing his brow, he rose and dressed with haste, his movements brisk, fueled by the oddity of the morning.
Descending to the kitchen, Baal was met with the bustle of breakfast and the chatter of a day already in motion. Yet the symphony of silverware and sizzle lacked a keynote: Nord was conspicuously absent. The air was casual, domestic, but her empty chair was a silent alarm.
"Did anyone see her?" he inquired, his voice cutting through the morning hum.
"Mama is not sleeping?" Kirara''s question was tinged with the innocence of youth, her eyes wide and curious.
"No, she''s already up," Baal assured her, though his assurance was for himself as much as for the little one.
Perdita, with a furrowed brow mirroring Baal''s own, added her piece to the puzzle. "Strange, she didn''t come for breakfast either." Her glance toward Adamastor was a silent bid for answers. "I know as much as you both," he responded, his hands busy with the morning''s culinary tasks, yet his tone carried a note of concern.
"Is the store open?" Baal''s question held a thread of hope. Perhaps an easy explanation would present itself.
"No, I just passed through it, and it''s still closed. She didn''t open it yesterday either," Adamastor supplied, his words punctuated by the act of passing scrambled eggs to Baal.
Baal grasped at the straws of normalcy. "Well, she did say she wanted some holidays... maybe she went for a walk." His suggestion hung in the air, a frail attempt to drape normalcy over the unusual. Perdita''s scepticism was palpable, "With no breakfast? That''s not like her," she commented, her intuition attuned to the subtle dissonance of the day''s melody.
The kitchen was awash with the aromas of the morning and the warmth of family, yet Nord''s absence cast a cool shadow, her uncharacteristic behaviour a riddle whispered between the lines of their morning routine.
Baal''s return from the day''s teaching was brisk, the usual post-class serenity replaced by a hasty stride fueled by an inner disquiet. His mind was busy weaving plans of a simple, romantic interlude with Nord, something to break the monotony of their routine. But it was more than anticipation that quickened his step; it was the nagging sensation that something was out of place, an elusive anomaly that he couldn''t quite identify.
The manor loomed ahead, its stoic fa?ade offering no clues. As he approached, the sight of Merlin on the porch, wreathed in pipe smoke, was unusual enough to give Baal pause.
"You smoke?" he asked, forgoing a traditional greeting.
"Sometimes," Merlin responded, the smoke framing his face in a transient wreath.
"I never saw you smoke!" Baal remarked, a frown creasing his forehead, the dissonance of the day growing louder.
"I never saw you in a dress, and here we are!" Merlin retorted with a wry chuckle, a counterpoint to Baal''s unease.
"What''s up with you? You sound grumpy," Baal pressed, his concern sharpening into frustration. "Meh, never mind, soon you''ll know," Merlin''s words hung heavy with insinuation, his eyes locked onto the tower with a cryptic intensity.
Baal''s gaze followed Merlin''s to Nord''s parlour, its doors still sealed shut. The salon buzzed with the subdued activity of half-hearted hospitality, Perdita and Adamastor attending to guests with mechanical grace.
With a heart growing heavier by the moment, Baal ascended to his room, the space where he and Nord had woven countless memories. But the scene that greeted him was one he hadn''t anticipated. Nord''s phone was demolished, its components strewn across the nightstand like the aftermath of a tempest. The closet stood ajar, her clothing mostly accounted for, yet here and there, gaps gaped where particular items had been¡ªher two daggers notably absent.
The unsettling feeling inside Baal surged into a tempest as he swept out of the room, his mind a whirlwind of questions with no answers. The salon offered no solace, no trace of Nord among the guests or the furnishings. He stormed into the kitchen, where the mundane dishes clinking under Adamastor''s hands seemed jarringly out of sync with the urgency pounding in Baal''s chest.
"Can I help?" he offered, almost mechanically, his thoughts elsewhere.
"Did you see Nord?" Baal''s voice was terse, the words sharpened by worry.
"Again? No, I haven''t seen her," Adamastor replied, his own concern growing beneath the surface of his calm demeanour.
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Baal, propelled by a mix of hope and dread, continued his search, exiting the house with swift strides that carried him to the barn. Inside, the quiet was profound, punctuated only by the motes of dust dancing in the slanting beams of light. Trinkets and tools lay undisturbed, a testament to normalcy that felt like a mockery of his growing fear.
With a heavy heart, he turned away from the silent barn, and his gaze inevitably climbed to his tower-The Tower of Memories. It struck him then ¡ª Tower and Finnea were also unseen for days now. The pieces of the day''s puzzle began to form an image he desperately wanted to misread. His steps towards the tower were laden with a dreadful anticipation. Each footfall seemed to echo with the beat of his heart, sinking deeper into the pit of his stomach. Baal''s silent prayer to Atua was fervent, begging for his instincts to be wrong. Surely, Nord would have confided in him and shared her plans. The thought of anything else was a stone in his throat, heavy and immobilizing.
The tower loomed as a silent guardian over the unsettling stillness that had enveloped the day. Baal tried to contain the storm of emotions. But barely held it beneath his skin while approaching the entrance.
Finally, as he got closer, he found Kirara, his little ''Kitten,'' standing firm, a small but immovable presence.
"Hi Papa," she greeted her voice a soft contrast to the turmoil within him.
"Kitten, I have no time for this. Let me pass." Baal''s words were edged with an urgency that brooked no delay, his patience at the edge of his limit.
"I can''t. I''m sorry you can''t come in," Kirara replied, the calmness in her voice belying the gravity of her stance.
Baal''s plea was a growl of frustration barely kept in check. "Kirara, let me pass. I don''t want to be mad at you."
"I know, but I can''t," she admitted, her resolve clear. "Is okay to be mad... but outside."
He advanced a step, and she responded by opening her arms wide as if her small frame could barricade the door. "Please, Papa, go away."
The question was out before he could hold it back. "Is Mama inside?" But he knew he knew the answer even as he spoke.
"No."
His voice rose, a crescendo of desperation. "Let me in! It''s my tower!"
"I can''t," she repeated, a litany of refusal.
"Is Tower inside?"
"No."
"Is Finnea inside?"
"No."
"Is anyone inside... anything?" His voice broke, the plea almost a whisper.
Kirara, her own distress creeping in, tried to lead him away. "Let''s go elsewhere. We can play a game."
The suggestion was a dagger to his already frayed control. "I don''t want to play games. I want to go inside!"
"I can''t let you go!"
"Why, Kirara? Why can''t I go inside my own tower?" Baal shouted.
Then came the tears, rivulets of sorrow carving paths down her cheeks. "Because I love you more than chicken," she confessed, the words heavy with meaning only they understood, "More than all chickens."
With a heart heavy as lead, Baal gently but firmly moved her aside and pushed open the tower door.
Darkness greeted him, an abyss as profound as his fear. The absence of light was a tangible force, a void where he half-expected, half-feared to find... something. But there was nothing, only the enveloping dark. Every single jar was empty.
And there was nothing more sadder than an empty jar.
The salon''s atmosphere was dense with tension, a heavy shroud that seemed to dampen the air. Baal sat, his presence contained like a tempest, his eyes¡ªblack with flickers of orange flame¡ªburning into each person around the table. Their silence was a wall, impenetrable and cold.
As night draped itself across the sky, the inhabitants of the manor gathered around the largest round table, an assembly pulled together by the day''s enigmatic events. Even the children, Kirara and Bram, were there, the lateness of the hour disregarding the call for children''s sleep.
In the centre of the table lay the shattered remains of the mobile device, accompanied by the solar panel Nord had brought from Earth¡ªa tableau of destruction and unanswered questions. "Is anyone going to talk? Who broke this!" Baal''s voice was a controlled explosion.
Bram was quick to deflect, "Not me," his voice barely rising above a whisper. Kirara echoed her friend''s denial just as swiftly: "Not me."
Perdita, confusion etched across her features, inquired, "What is that?" Her knowledge of Earth''s technologies was limited at best.
Merlin, with a touch of pride at his own understanding, ventured, "I think it''s a device they keep like dancing pictures. Now, why does it look like a jigsaw puzzle? I have no clue."
Adamastor added, "I never saw that," his memory failing to grasp the origins of his first encounter with Nord.
Baal''s gaze swung to Merlin, who quickly absolved himself, "Don''t look at me, young demon. Why would I break such a thing? I never knew it existed until now!"
Fingers tapping in a staccato of nervous energy, Baal posed another question to the silent gathering, "Fine, so can anyone tell me where Finnea and Tower went?"
Bram''s hand shot up, eager to contribute. "They fused! Like... like water and mud and made a new friend. His name is Daniel." His pride was quickly dampened by Kirara''s reprimanding slap.
"Daniel?" Baal prodded further.
Kirara, choosing her words with care, described, "He looks like you... but with horns... and a tail."
Baal''s response was a mix of resignation and relief, "Shit. Well, at least she is not alone." He fidgeted with the fragments of the mobile device, the realization sinking in that if Nord had indeed broken it, it was with deliberate finality. There was no information to recover, no digital trail to follow.
He dismissed the group, a weary commander conceding the day''s defeat. "Well, guys, go sleep; tomorrow, I leave and will find her."
"How?" Kirara''s question was a simple one, "After class?"
"No, I won''t..." Baal''s voice faltered the words refusing to form. He tried again, only to be met with the same inexplicable resistance. It was a physical sensation, his tongue swelling, his throat constricting. He never felt this unless...
The promise he made to Nord came crashing back¡ªa vow cast in the steel of his will. "You must promise me you won''t miss a single day, come what may. And you can''t be late. Ever."
"I promise, Nord! I won''t miss a day for any reason, and I will never be late!"
The realization dawned on him with the weight of chains. He was ensnared by his own words, a pledge that now held him bound. Nord had outplayed him at his own game, the demon bested by the very oath he had given. He was trapped, and the night grew heavier with the burden of this truth.
[CH. 0087] - The Right Book
The door swung open, "Baby, I''m home!" Nord shrugged off the coat that had braved the day''s onslaught, draping it with a flick of relief. "Baby, I said I was home!" Her voice rose, playfully demanding acknowledgement as she wrestled with her boots. "Baal!"
From the kitchen, his head appeared, haloed by the warm glow of domestic bliss, his smile a beacon. "I''m making pizza!" The words were an invitation, the scent of baking dough a subtle undertone in the air.
"Seriously?" Her feet found a new purpose, propelling her towards the kitchen, towards him. Their lips met in a kiss that spoke of how much they missed each other, even though they saw each other each morning. "What sort of pizza are we talking about?" she inquired, curiosity in her eyes.
"Four seasons! I bought all the cheeses, but none with weird mould on it; I know you hate those, and I even bought a new wine for us to try!" His enthusiasm was infectious, and he scurried back to the oven, his vigilance a testament to culinary dedication.
The table was set as Nord was looking around while Kirara wove her affection around her legs with soft purrs. "Well, do you need any help?" Nord offered, surveying the preparations.
"Nah, go take a shower¡ªyou look like you need one," he dismissed gently, his hands waving her away.
The day had etched itself onto her, "Had a super busy day," she confessed, "I''m starving. Forgot to have lunch."
"Go, go, everything is under control," he assured her, his kingdom of flavours well in hand.
Her gaze caught the siren call of the cheese, vibrant slices of temptation housed within the cupboard. "Is that the cheese?" she queried, each slice finding its way to her, an appetizer to the main event.
"Yes," he responded, a touch of panic lacing his voice as he watched the cheese disappear. "Leave some for the pizza!"
"I thought it was leftovers!" she protested in mock innocence.
"No, go take a shower!" His tone was firm, but the corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth. "Let the cheese live!"
"Okay, okay, I''m dining with a tyrant tonight," her voice carried through the air as she retreated to the sanctuary of the bathroom. "Kinda sexy!"
"A sexy Italian tyrant!" His retort followed her, a playful barb in their evening routine.
The leftovers of the evening were scars on the plates, draped like a gossamer veil over the room where the last drops of wine languished in the bottle, akin to the day''s final light waning. His fingers reached out, finding hers in a gesture laden with silent pleas. "Talk with me," Baal urged, his voice a soft caress against the silence that crawled into their apartment.
"Just thinking," she murmured, her words floating atop the remnants of her wine, delicate and elusive. "About what?" he prodded gently, his voice a soft echo resonating in the tranquil room.
"A loophole," she admitted, her confession hanging in the air, fragile and hopeful. Maybe even foolish.
"There is no loophole, Nord. When I fulfill your wish... it''s as if I never was. Your memories of me, our shared moments, everything... will vanish," he explained again, his voice a trail through a well-trodden path of resignation. "Just like that," he added, the snap of his fingers punctuating the finality.
"But if I keep photos, videos... they might trigger something, right?" she reasoned, a thread of hope weaving through her logic.
"Baby, to you, I''ll be just a stranger, a dude you never met. It might even jumble your brain... I don''t know. No one tries to remember me, Nord. What if it... I don''t drive you crazy, or you fall sick or something," he countered.
"But you''d still see me?" In her eyes flickered a glimmer of something ¨C fear, perhaps, or the dawning of acceptance.
"Yes, like a ghost, haunting you if I''m bored," he said, bitterness lacing his words, "A ghost, albeit a rather charming one. We have to agree on that."
"So, I''d lose all our happy memories? Even the ones with South? My times with South and Kirara... they are happy memories for me."
"Our deal only erases the memories we''ve made together," he clarified, his voice steady but his heart heavy with unspoken sorrow. He understood her desperation, the human yearning to cling to the narrative threads of their story as if by doing so, they could defy its end.
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"So, if I write about you on paper, since it''s not a ''happy'' memory per se..." She trailed off, her voice a wisp of hope against the looming reality.
"It would still have my name," he interjected softly yet firmly.
"Dammit." The word fell from her lips like a white flag, signalling her capitulation in their silent battle against the inevitable.
"Nord, please, can''t we just savour what''s left? We''ve been over this," he pleaded, the pressure of his hand on hers a silent testament to his words.
"What would you do in my place?" she challenged, her gaze piercing, seeking his truth.
"Me?"
"Yes, if you were me, what would you choose?"
His response came unhesitatingly. "I''d break the deal. I wouldn''t leave. I''d stay."
"And South? What about her?" The mention of her sister served as an anchor to the world beyond their cocoon.
"She''s not my sister. I don''t have that bond with her," he replied, the stark truth in his words unadorned. "We never even met!"
"But she''s my sister... imagine yourself in my shoes. What then?"
"Nord..."
"If she were me, what would you do?" Nord pressed, changing tactics, refilling her glass with the last drop of the red wine.
"Nothing," he answered, surprising even himself.
"Nothing?" she echoed, disbelief and curiosity mingling in her voice.
Baal shrugged, releasing her hand as he leaned back, his posture one of resignation. "I''d stick to the plan. It doesn''t matter," he muttered, his words trailing off.
"It does matter. Tell me," Nord insisted, the wine bottle hovering emptily over her glass. He was hiding something; she had known him for too long and too well.
He stood, beginning to clear the table, his movements a diversion from the conversation. "It''s not important," he demurred.
"Talk to me," Nord urged, rising to follow him.
"I said it doesn''t matter," his voice held a finality as he moved towards the kitchen.
"But soon, I''ll forget everything anyway. You''ve said so. So why does it matter now? Tell me."
He paused and turned off the faucet, the sound of water ceasing as he methodically dried his hands. He leaned against the kitchen counter, his posture reflecting the weight of his thoughts as if he were about to reveal a truth Nord had never considered in all their years together. She had a point.
"I wouldn''t focus on destroying the Hollow right away. That would be my main focus."
"What?" Her response was a mix of confusion and surprise, "Why?"
"I''d use it as bait instead. Create as much commotion as possible. Draw out anyone who might have even a sliver of knowledge about what the Hollow truly is. And taking my sweet time to gather them all in the same point."
"Why would I do that? It''s risky. It puts me in danger," she countered, her brows knitting perplexity.
"Or," Baal said, tilting his head contemplatively, "it might put them in danger instead."
"I don''t follow," she admitted, her confusion evident.
"The Hollow, as you''ve described it, is a construct, a spell with a specific purpose. Now, what that purpose is, I can''t say. I have no idea. It could be a weapon, a conduit, or perhaps a key to something far more powerful. If it was created, there''s a creator," he explained, his voice measured, passing the kitchen cloth over the counter with a practised motion.
"So, you''re suggesting I should go after whoever created it?" Nord asked, taken aback by the depth of his reasoning.
"Or anyone who knows about it. Knowledge is power. Then, and only then, destroy it. What''s the point of destroying something if someone else can just recreate it?" he posed the question with a hint of rhetorical emphasis.
"I hadn''t thought of that," she admitted, a sense of defeat tinting her voice.
"You''re embarking on a wild goose chase into a world where I can''t assist you. I don''t know how to help from where I''ll be. But I''ll find a way... or not."
"But we''ve trained. I know how to use the keys, how to fight... and I know how to wield my own magic. I''m not going into this unprepared," she asserted, "You taught me."
"Yeah, that doesn''t exactly ease my concerns," Baal responded, his gaze lingered on her, a silence coated in fears and unyielding support. "I don''t know if I did enough. We started this when we were kids."
"Baal?"
"Hum?"
"Are you sleeping?"
Baal''s voice was a soft hum in the darkness, a gentle resonance amidst the whisper of sheets. "I''m trying," he murmured, shifting to pull her closer, their bodies intertwining beneath the covers. "Talk to me, Morningstar."
"I don''t want you to haunt me. I want you to have a normal life," she vented, her words spilling out like a stream of unspoken wishes. "I want you to go to college, get your degree, teach music to kids. Follow your dreams, Baal."
He paused, considering her words. "Hmm, would you do that?" he challenged gently.
"Do what?"
"Reverse the roles. Imagine I''m thrust into a world I hardly know, with half my memories erased. Then, one drunken night, I''d call you, asking you to lead a normal life, to act as if I never existed."
"Yeah..."
"That''s not how it works, Nord. First off, I''m a demon; we fell in love just once, and that box is already checked. I could never knowingly let you go without ensuring your well-being... it would be agonizing, but I''d need to know. So, I''d probably shadow you for a while. And then..."
"And then?" she prompted curiously.
"I don''t know," he admitted, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Thinking about it is sad. We should be discussing marriage, how many kids to have, finding a bigger place, planning our next vacation... not vanquishing some eldritch entity."
"I sometimes regret having summoned you," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
His embrace tightened around her, a protective cocoon against her regret. "Don''t say that. If it weren''t for you, I''d be gone by now. You saved me, Nord. Never, ever regret that."
"I''m drunk."
Baal chuckled, "I know; you drank that bottle almost solo."
"I wish there was a way to make impossible wishes."
"That would probably be forbidden."
"Why?"
"Imagine if the wrong person made the wrong wish. What could happen?"
[CH. 0088] - The Right Book
Tucked away in a less reputable corner of the city, a district buzzing with street vendors and the dispossessed, there lay a shop that was a beacon for those in search of obscure or obsolete technology. This place was a veritable Aladdin''s cave for the discerning tech collector and the frantic seeker of cheap deals. Nord, whose financial resources were modest, understood that securing the right device would necessitate cleverness over cash because she was looking for the impossible.
Jimmy, from her tattoo parlour, had pointed her to this peculiar store renowned for its motley assortment of affordable gadgets, predominantly of Asian origin. Nord''s mission was clear: to find a device versatile enough to function across various worlds.
Stepping into the shop, Nord was enveloped by the robust scent of curry. This olfactory surprise lent the place an air of... misleading.
"Hi, how can I help you?" The clerk''s voice snapped her back to her quest.
"Hi there, I''m in search of a phone... but not one that depends on... regular phone signals," Nord clarified, resting against the counter. Her request seemed to befuddle the young clerk.
"A walkie-talkie?" he suggested tentatively.
"No, I need everything a phone can do ¨C substantial storage, possibly a camera ¨C but without the calling or texting functions. I need an anti-social phone..."
"Wifi?" he probed, trying to untangle her unconventional needs.
"No, I said anti-social phone... Think of it as a memory brick," she said, a hint of frustration in her voice. "That''s what I''m after."
The clerk pondered for a moment. "Are you looking for a phone or a laptop?"
"A PC would be too bulky!" she responded, her tone laced with irritation.
With that, the clerk vanished, without a word, into the depths of the store, leaving Nord amidst an ocean of out-of-date technology. Surrounded by these whiffs, she felt somewhat adrift, her goals challenging the very essence of the shop''s old-fashioned inventory.
As she browsed the shelves laden with gadgets from a bygone era when David Hasselhoff and his beach shorts were still a thing, the clerk reappeared, bearing a stout, durable-looking device. "Perhaps this will meet your needs," he offered, presenting the device. "It''s a high-capacity storage unit with a camera and file management interface, designed for fieldwork in isolated areas, thus independent of normal network requirements."
Nord scrutinised the device, recognising its potential. "Can it endure extreme environments?" she inquired, her mind racing through possible scenarios. After all, she was about to jump into a portal. Or maybe fall, she had a hard time visualising how it would be.
"Certainly. It''s shockproof and waterproof, but the battery life is somewhat limited. It supports USB transfers and wireless connectivity and can be recharged via USB," the clerk replied, a note of pride in his salesmanship talent.
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"I doubt a USB charger will be doable," she added. "What about alternative energy sources? Solar, wind, water?" she mused, half-jokingly adding, "or even hoccus-poccus magic?"
The clerk raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her specifications. "You''ll be without electricity?"
"It seems likely," Nord replied matter-of-factly, underscoring her unique predicament.
"One moment, please," the clerk said, disappearing once more into the trove of technological wonders. Nord paced the small space, her anticipation growing. Maybe it was impossible to contain all her memories in one place, much less a device that might be broken when she landed. Maybe paper would be the best solution, but Baal''s words didn''t reassure her that it would work. And it is not like she could call him and ask for a second opinion. He would be against it.
In a few moments, the clerk reappeared, interrupting her mental turmoil, cradling a device that exuded a sense of ruggedness surpassing its predecessor. "Here," he announced, setting it down with a measure of ceremony, "is a device akin to the earlier one, yet it boasts a unique feature ¨C it accommodates alternative charging methods."
He then unveiled a small, foldable solar panel adjoined to the device. "It harnesses solar energy for charging. Additionally, look here," he said, indicating a discreet, foldable crank on its side. "Cranking this for two days can accumulate enough power for a few basic operations, say about five minutes'' worth."
Nord inspected the device, her expression stoic.
"It''s a model frequently used by journalists in conflict zones or harsh terrains. Durability is one of its hallmarks," the clerk added, sensing her hesitation.
Nord fiddled with the device, powering it on. "It operates on Windows?" she inquired.
The clerk replied with a knowing smile, "We adhere to the adage, ''If it isn''t broken, don''t fix it''."
As Nord contemplated the device, her phone vibrated in her purse, an unexpected interruption. She retrieved her phone, noting South''s name on the screen. "Hey, Sweetie, is everything alright?" she asked, signalling to the clerk that she would be taking both the phone call and the solar-powered device.
"Yeah, just calling you back about that favour you asked," South replied.
"Did you manage to get it?" Nord inquired, her curiosity piqued.
"Yeah, but I had to spin a tale to Mom about needing it for a family tree project for school. I''m sixteen, but she bought it; convincing her was tougher than I thought. Now, I guess I actually have to make one, thanks to you," South said, her tone a mix of amusement and mild annoyance.
"You know I love you too," Nord responded with a grin.
"Yeah, yeah," South continued, "Anyway, I don''t get why you couldn''t just call him yourself, but you''ve got a meeting set up for tomorrow. I''ll send the details by text."
"Did you remember to ask for..." Nord trailed off, hinting at an additional request.
"You''re so weird, Nord. Why do you need a translator? And the strangest part is he seemed to expect it; he speaks English perfectly! I don''t know what kind of relationship you had with your dad. Still, no wonder mom chose to re-marry," South commented, a hint of bewilderment in her voice, "At least I know where your weirdness comes from."
"I''ll see for myself soon enough," Nord replied.
"Are you sure you don''t want me to come with you?" South offered, "I don''t like the idea of you alone with this stranger even if..."
"No, you''ve got your hands full with that family tree project now," Nord quipped, her voice laced with humour.
"Ha-ha, very funny. It''s going to take me hours," South retorted, her voice tinged with mock resentment. "I''m going to choose your worst picture!"
Ending the call, Nord shifted her focus back to the clerk, an apologetic smile on her face. "Sorry about that," she said, ready to finalize her purchase.
The clerk regarded her with a quizzical expression, his eyes narrowing playfully. "Are you a spy?" he asked, half-jokingly, "You can tell the truth; I am really good at keeping secrets."
Caught off guard by the question, Nord responded with a severe stoic tone, "No, I''m a warlock that kills unicorns," she retorted.
"Nice."
[CH. 0089] - The Right Book
[CH. 0089] - The Right Book
The chosen venue for the meeting was a gem that had lingered on Nord and Baal''s list of must-visits. The knowledge that she treaded this hallowed ground without Baal twisted in her like a bittersweet warning. If he ever learned of her solo venture into their shared fantasy, she was certain a playful yet endless torrent of mock indignation would be her fate.
The charm of the diner was to be a time capsule, a slice of history frozen in amber. Its luxuriously upholstered booths were akin to the backseats of vintage cars. Every corner of the space was infused with the raw, pulsating energy of the 80s rock ''n'' roll era, a play of retro nostalgia that sang to the soul of some. It was an enchantment, cocooned within the mundane with a cheap menu card.
Nord''s gaze flitted across the diner, a lighthouse seeking the familiar in a sea of strangers. The task at hand was akin to finding a needle in a haystack¡ªshe was to meet individuals whose faces were veiled in mystery, their identities a puzzle yet to be pieced together. This anonymity cloaked her in a shroud of unease, an interloper amidst a familiar yet distant scene.
Suddenly, her gaze landed upon a distinguished figure¡ªa man whose years had woven strands of silver into his hair, wearing a jacket the colour of deep forest green. He caught Nord''s eye and, with a casual wave, beckoned her over. His gesture was seasoned with a warmth that spoke of a shared, unspoken understanding, a camaraderie that transcended mere familiarity. He knew who she was. With a sense of purpose, Nord navigated her way through the maze of tables towards the booth where the man sat. Each step brought into sharper focus the thoughtful expression etched upon his face, where curiosity danced with a hint of caution in his grey eyes. This meeting, orchestrated by South, was a vital thread for Nord''s ultimate mission. And it was not to destroy the Hollow. At least not yet. As she settled into the seat opposite him, Nord mirrored his demeanour with a cautious yet hopeful smile.
"Is he really here?" Nord''s voice was a delicate thread woven with hope.
"Right beside me," the man gestured subtly to his right, his voice carrying a warmth that felt like a gentle embrace. "And by the way, I''m Antonio," he added, his chuckle light and airy, like leaves dancing in a gentle breeze.
Nord''s eyes drifted to the space beside Antonio, finding it void of presence. "I don''t see anyone," she murmured, her voice tinged with a cocktail of anxious disappointment.
"That''s to be expected," Antonio''s replied.
Nord''s gaze lingered on the empty space, her heart swelling with too many emotions. "Dad?" she whispered ¨C the hum of conversations, the background music melody, and the cutlery''s percussive clinks. Yet, a profound hush seemed to drape over them in their small sphere.
"Just give it a moment, Nord. He''s trying... remember dear, it''s been years since he last saw you," Antonio said, "You were just a child."
Compelled by an inner turmoil, Nord''s words tumbled out in a nervous cascade, "I''m a warlock... and I''ve summoned a demon, who happens to be my boyfriend, now. Merlinda told me everything I need to know. Not sure if she is a friend or not," Her eyes dropped, fingers playing a nervous dance on the fabric of her sleeve. "I''m seeking a way to protect someone dear. Someone really important to me, but I don''t know how to not hurt him. I can''t destroy the Hollow without... killing him."
Nord''s eyes, heavy with frustration, returned to the vacant seat. "Why can''t I see him?" she asked. Antonio met her gaze, his eyes holding a depth of understanding. "You know why, Nord," he said softly.
She sighed, a haunted look crossing her features. "I don''t, I really don''t. My last memory of my father... it''s just a blur, from the time I... when I encountered a unicorn, and I..." Her voice trailed off, tinged with a shadow of regret.
Their conversation was momentarily paused by the arrival of a waitress, her presence as sudden as a scene change in a play, "Are we ready to order here?"
"I''ll have the waffles and a coffee, please," Antonio announced with ease. Turning to Nord, he asked, "And you, Nord?"
"I''m not really hungry," she replied, her mind clearly elsewhere.
"Your father here suggests you try the crepes with Nutella," Antonio said, a gentle smile touching his lips.
Nord''s confusion deepened. "How does he... how can he know that?"
"You may not see him, but he sees you," Antonio explained, his attention shifting back to the waitress, who seemed like she''d stepped out of a quirky, low-budget film. "We''ll have waffles, crepes, and three mugs of coffee, please."
"Three mugs?" the waitress echoed, slightly perplexed seeing only two.
"Yes, three mugs of hot, dark coffee," Antonio affirmed. He reached into his wallet, pulling out a twenty bill, which he handed to her with a kind gesture. "And this is for any inconvenience, dear, alright?"
The waitress departed, slightly bemused yet subtly richer, as she tucked the generous tip into her apron. Antonio redirected his attention to Nord, his expression one of admiration and seriousness.
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"You''ve always had a remarkable gift, Nord. Even as a child, you were unique. Not many can claim to have summoned an Allatori."
"The unicorn?" Nord interjected, her brow furrowed in curiosity.
"Yes, a pure Allatori. They''re rare, usually manifesting only when cataclysmic events loom. And it seems you, Nord, are like a magnet for Allatori. They''re drawn to you, some as allies, others not so much. After the unicorn incident, you made a desperate wish to your father, and he had little choice but to grant it."
"What did I wish for?" Nord asked a sense of urgency in her voice.
"You wished that all whom you loved would be immune to harm by an Allatori. You specifically mentioned ''unicorn'', but it''s the same thing," Antonio explained, his voice lightening with a chuckle.
"So, the people I care about are safe from them?" Nord sought clarification.
"Essentially, yes," Antonio replied with a nonchalant shrug. "Imagine if you love a demon, he would be almost invincible."
"But how does that help me?" Nord began, but her query was cut short as the waitress returned, balancing a plate of waffles, a serving of crepes, and three steaming mugs of coffee.
"Can I get you folks anything else?" the waitress asked with a professional smile.
"That''s everything, dear, thank you," Antonio replied courteously, and the waitress made her exit again.
Refocusing on Nord, Antonio continued, "Your father wants to know if it''s the book you''re trying to protect. Not just any book, but the correct book."
Nord''s eyes widened slightly. "He knows about the book?"
Antonio raised a hand in a cautioning gesture. "Don''t say too much. The less we all know, the better."
"Yes, it''s the book," Nord confirmed softly, her mind racing with the implications of her father''s knowledge. "I taught... when Merlinda told me the first time, we were speaking about a book literally... but..."
She stopped and took a breath, "But no, it''s the book."
Antonio interjected, "But Merlinda, being an Allatori, can''t interact with the book, right? So she needed you..."
"I suppose she can''t... and she''s been manipulating me all this time. She''s the one who coerced me into summoning him, the book, I mean, into forging that pact, probably thinking it would be a simple transaction." Nord¡¯s voice was tinged with a blend of realization and regret. "So, to eradicate the Hollow, the key... it would mean destroying the book. But I don''t want to destroy it."
"Your father indicates that as long as the Hollow exists, the book will never be safe from those seeking it." Antonio leaned in, hands clasped together in a gesture of earnestness. "Nord, this is a grave decision. It would mean..."
"I¡¯ll eliminate anyone who knows who or what the book is. After that, I will destroy the Hollow... at least then my family will be free." Nord''s fingers idly toyed with her fork, her gaze distant.
"I was so furious when they chose South. I failed to see that as long as the key stayed within a vessel, the book was unreachable. I''ve been duped, like a foolish child..." Nord''s voice faded, laden with anger and sudden understanding. "I accept full responsibility for my actions and..."
Antonio interrupted gently, "Your father suggests why not let South handle the key, as it was meant to be, while you safeguard the book here." He cast a glance towards the empty chair.
"She may not be your daughter, but she is my sister. I''ll do what''s right. I''ll go to Nyu, find a way to regain my lost memories ¨C I''m likely to forget this conversation as well ¨C and then, I''ll eliminate anyone who covets the book. Finally, I''ll find a method to imprison the Hollow within myself forever, letting it perish with me. Simple, isn''t it? If it''s trapped, it can''t return to Earth."
Antonio sighed deeply, the weight of the situation evident in his expression. He then retrieved a small, rectangular velvet box from his jacket and placed it on the table. "Open it."
Intrigued, Nord opened the box, which was roughly the size of a bracelet box. Inside, two gleaming silver ingots lay. "What are these?"
"Allatori metal," Antonio explained. "You have enough here to forge a sword or a dagger. Imagine a warlock armed with Allatori weapons. That''s something Nyu is not prepared for."
Nord glanced towards the empty seat, her voice soft, "Thank you."
"Now you need a strategy, a well-thought-out plan. You''re familiar with interacting with an unseen demon. You also know that you and anyone you love are immune to the Allatori. But remember, an Allatori can be anything ¨C an object, a book, a weapon, even a friend. Their sole mission is to maintain world balance, a dubious concept since only they seem to understand what that entails."
"Is the book..." Nord began, tucking the box carefully into her bag.
"What do you think, child?"
"So, he''s not as young as I am, then."
"Perhaps a bit older than anyone currently here," Antonio replied with a wry smile. "Now, eat your crepes. I''d rather not know anything else that might put my neck at risk under your blade."
Nord looked at her plate, and it tasted like the last meal of a dying man.
Nord sat dishevelled in front of her phone, capturing what might be her final video. Her hair was unkempt, and makeup was smeared across her face. In one hand, a cigarette burned slowly; in the other, she clutched a bottle of red wine, drinking directly from it.
"My name is Nord Morningstar, and if you''re watching this, it means I remember. Good. That''s step one," she began, her voice a mix of resolve and weariness. "Any last wishes? It¡¯d be amusing if we had that luxury. So, let''s set the record straight.
You''ve found him... or knowing Baal, he probably found us. Typical magnet power, right? Now, make sure he has a comfortable space a proper home surrounded by genuine friends. He''s going to need that. He''ll be heartbroken, then infuriated, and eventually, he¡¯ll blame himself. I thought about leaving a note, but what would I even say? Is it better to leave things unsaid? Do I really need to reveal the entire truth? Would that change who he is, the essence of his being? Honestly, I don''t think it¡¯s necessary. But what is essential is his protection. If the wrong people knew about his abilities, he¡¯d be nothing more than a captive. So, we¡¯re going to handle that. And then... well, I''ve always known this was a one-way ticket, haven''t I?"
A brief, hollow laugh escaped her lips. "Tomorrow, I''ll be gone. Tomorrow, I won''t remember him. But I have a plan. I''m prepared. I have the keys, I have these incredible daggers ¨C a parting gift from dad... and I cling to this hope that if there''s a God, Atua, SpongeBob, or whatever cosmic entity out there, they might grant me the courage to see this through."
She fell silent, staring into the camera, her expression raw and vulnerable. "Tomorrow I will land in a new world to die. And I¡¯m fucking scared."
END OF BOOK II