> “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—her favourite part—on 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—a 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— 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—magic."

"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—"

"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—with or without Finnea—or 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—"

"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—"

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—vanished 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—the 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—"

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—something 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—full 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.