"I need you to remove your clothes!" Baal's voice had a peculiar urgency that gave Nord pause, but she caught a glint of seriousness in his eyes. No levity, no mischievous undertones—just raw necessity.

Nord began to comply, unbuckling her boots first and setting them aside. When she reached her corset, the laces seemed to have developed a life of their own, knotting and tangling in a way that stalled her progress.

Baal stepped closer, his fingers deftly manoeuvring through the labyrinthine snarl of laces, liberating them from their entanglements. "I've got it," he said softly, his voice carrying a subdued tension.

Once freed from the corset, Nord unbuttoned her blouse, her hands slightly trembling. "I got this," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

"Do you want me to turn?" Baal offered, clearly uncomfortable with the intimacy of the situation. But at the same time, he couldn't and didn't want to look away.

"If you turn, what's the point of me undressing?" Nord pointed out.

"Right..." Baal conceded.

Finally, Nord slid out of her pants, leaving her clothes in an unceremonious heap at her feet. "So what now, Baal?"

For a brief, awkward moment, Baal seemed to grapple with the reality of her standing there, devoid of any coverings besides her tattoos - his spells.

He swallowed hard as if physically trying to realign his focus. Then, like a switch had been flipped, his gaze became clinical, almost detached.

Almost.

"Okay, let me search for it," he said, reclaiming his demeanour.

He circled her, his fingers skimming her skin lightly, following the drawings and lines of ink, occasionally pausing to adjust her position—slightly to the left, a bit to the right. Then, squatting down, he scrutinized her legs, each movement delicate, each touch calculated but lingering. And there it was—etched into her inner left thigh—a tattoo of a hand, or more precisely, a magical key he'd been searching for.

"This is it," he said, more to himself than to her. His eyes met hers. "This is what I need - a key! The Key of Echo." Baal confirmed, a smile touching the corners of his lips as he assisted Nord in putting her blouse back on. "Think of it as a hotline to the natural world, except without the hold music and the customer service script."

Nord chuckled, sliding into her pants. "So it's like an eco-friendly version of Siri or Google Assistant?"

"Something like that," Baal smirked. "But instead of connecting you to a database, it taps into the collective wisdom of nature. Spirit of Trees, stones, even the air—everything has knowledge, secrets it's willing to share if you know how to ask."

"Pretty please?"

"Pretty much."

Nord raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So what are we asking?"

"We're asking how to fix what happened to Ursula without causing further damage and how to prevent such things from happening in the future... maybe," Baal's expression sobered. "We're walking a fine line here, Nord. The magical realm isn't always forgiving of mistakes. I'm a bit scared," he confessed.

She nodded, fully grasping the weight of the situation. "Everything will be okay, you'll see, but what do we need to do?"

Baal turned to face her, his eyes searching hers. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Nord replied.

Baal and Nord squatted down, their fingertips almost touching the wooden floor between them. In unison, their voices melded into an incantation, flowing through the air like a river of sacred syllables.

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"It is good for use at night when you summon the Spirits of Nature and mine. Join my domain, come to my aid, so it is decreed, for my words are carved into my being—Baal Berith!"

The atmosphere thickened, turning heavy and tangible. They felt a gust of wind—moist, warm, yet sourceless—engulf the room. Their eyes darted around as if expecting the shadows to leap into form, but nothing materialized.

That was until a voice, earthly yet ethereal, murmured a single word.

"Ask."

The room returned to its former stillness. Baal and Nord straightened up, finding themselves staring at one another in the middle of the chamber.

"So what do we ask?" Nord's whisper barely made it past her lips.

Baal looked down at his boots, hesitating for a split second before speaking. "Could you tell me how to fix my memory spell?"

The voice reverberated through the room like a riddle encrypted into an echo. "There is nothing to mend, there is nothing to change, there is... nothing."

"But she wasn't like that. She aged in two seconds. I must have done something wrong," Baal argued, his gaze directed at the walls as if expecting them to reveal the voice's source.

The voice resounded again, cryptic and elusive. "Ah, such is the power of a Mesmer, of illusion, that even time gets blind. But time is just like the roots. You may not see them, but they grow, and they grow old."

Nord seized the opening. "So what happened to her magic? Why are we seeing her true form?"

"You happen, child of the dawn, or better, the roots inside of you fed too much and yet too little," the voice responded, leaving Baal and Nord to decipher its meaning.

"She lost her magic," Baal concluded gravely, his eyes meeting Nord's.

“The Hollow fed on her… I didn’t even realise.”

"Nord, I don't think she'll survive for long."

"Can we change the contract mid-term?" Nord was grasping for straws, but a straw was better than drowning.

The voice answered, its tone as final as a coffin's lid. "If you have her consent... but her lips are sealed like a casket under brick and stone."

The room felt oppressive, and Baal and Nord could feel it. They stood facing each other.

"So, I'm the culprit. The Hollow fed on her. If it wasn't for Tower, she would already be dead," Nord said, her eyes clouded with guilt.

Baal shook his head, glancing over at Ursula's frail form lying on the bed. "It's not your fault. Her magic must have run out while I was sealing the contract. I'm scrambling to find a loophole to give her a chance, but she might not make it that long."

Nord's brows furrowed. "Isn't there some kind of hocus-pocus to read her mind or something?"

Baal sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "No, the contract has to be either verbal or written. Guessing mind games don't work in matters like these. You changed the contract with me through both verbal and written consent. If it could be done through reading minds, believe me, I would have altered it ages ago. Dammit... I can't think of a way out."

The reality of their situation began to settle in like the dust of a collapsed building. Both of them scanned the room as if the walls might suddenly reveal some hidden exit or secret door.

"Just do it." Merlin's enigmatic assurance almost cleared the impending tragedy that loomed over Ursula. The old wizard stood at the doorway, his eyes still twinkling as if in on some cosmic joke. It was a look that usually endeared people to him, but today, it only irritated Baal and Nord.

"She's going to die, Merlin!" Baal shot back.

"Finish the deal; she'll be okay. I promise. And we do need to know what the vampires are plotting. That woman knows, and this is it," Merlin said, his voice tinged with a peculiar kind of certainty.

Merlin was not one to make light of magical matters. He seldom employed magic, and when he did, he was discrete about it. Even more puzzling, he had never offered advice or criticism on how Baal practised his craft. Yet here he was, speaking with an uncharacteristic assurance that left Baal bewildered and intrigued.

"She'll die," Baal repeated softly, the finality of the words echoing in his own ears.

"Will she?" Merlin responded. But his tone wasn't smug or all-knowing; rather, it was a question that seemed to seek validation.

Baal looked at Merlin, then at Nord, and finally at Ursula's fragile form on the bed. He felt cornered, caught in a nexus of necessity, ethics, and the unknown. Yet Merlin's words rang in his head like a spell of their own, sowing the seeds of hope—or was it desperation?

Finally, Baal drew in a deep breath, his decision made. "All right, I'll finish the deal. But if anything goes wrong, Merlin, if she dies—" His words trailed off, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

"Don't worry," Merlin cut in, "if anything goes wrong, you'll have more to worry about than my conscience."

Baal could only hope that Merlin's peculiar confidence was rooted in something real. Taking another steadying breath, he turned his attention back to Ursula, ready to complete the spell. Nord stood beside him.

The words of the spell rolled off Baal's tongue like a river in the moonlight, fluid and full of ancient power. The jars around Ursula's bed began to resonate, glowing brighter with each syllable he uttered.

Nord reached out, her fingers intertwining with Baal's as he pronounced the last word of the spell.

"It will work," said Merlin once more.