> "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—guardians 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—one 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—a 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—Sylphids—hovered 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— fully dark, yet aflame with an orange hue—that 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—to 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—this 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!"