> 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?

image [https://i.postimg.cc/k5S523sG/The-Key-of-Chaos.png]

> 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 — 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—tiny 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—essentially, 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—a 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—a 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—Baal Berith!"

As the words left her lips, something tore from her throat—though 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—especially 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—different, 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—no bars, no 'Emergency Calls Only'—just 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—her own face staring back at her from the device's screen. But something was off. Her hair was different—longer 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—a 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—two moons, one larger than the other, hung like celestial sentinels against a backdrop of unfamiliar constellations.

"Nyu has two moons. Earth has one."