> "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—creating 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."

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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—you 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—a nightgown Nord realized she hadn’t put on herself—she 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—or at least as ready as she could be—to 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—dark 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—a 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—the 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—" 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.