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 — 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 Salomé 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—"

"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—very politely—to 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 façade 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.

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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—" 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—I won't—let 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—Baal Berith!"