Morning light spilt into the bedroom, the kind that suggested the world had been awake for hours, a stark contrast to the usual routine. Baal's eyes flickered open to an unusual emptiness beside him. Nord's absence from their bed was like a missing verse in their daily duet. With a slight furrow creasing his brow, he rose and dressed with haste, his movements brisk, fueled by the oddity of the morning.

Descending to the kitchen, Baal was met with the bustle of breakfast and the chatter of a day already in motion. Yet the symphony of silverware and sizzle lacked a keynote: Nord was conspicuously absent. The air was casual, domestic, but her empty chair was a silent alarm.

"Did anyone see her?" he inquired, his voice cutting through the morning hum.

"Mama is not sleeping?" Kirara's question was tinged with the innocence of youth, her eyes wide and curious.

"No, she's already up," Baal assured her, though his assurance was for himself as much as for the little one.

Perdita, with a furrowed brow mirroring Baal's own, added her piece to the puzzle. "Strange, she didn't come for breakfast either." Her glance toward Adamastor was a silent bid for answers. "I know as much as you both," he responded, his hands busy with the morning's culinary tasks, yet his tone carried a note of concern.

"Is the store open?" Baal's question held a thread of hope. Perhaps an easy explanation would present itself.

"No, I just passed through it, and it's still closed. She didn't open it yesterday either," Adamastor supplied, his words punctuated by the act of passing scrambled eggs to Baal.

Baal grasped at the straws of normalcy. "Well, she did say she wanted some holidays... maybe she went for a walk." His suggestion hung in the air, a frail attempt to drape normalcy over the unusual. Perdita's scepticism was palpable, "With no breakfast? That's not like her," she commented, her intuition attuned to the subtle dissonance of the day's melody.

The kitchen was awash with the aromas of the morning and the warmth of family, yet Nord's absence cast a cool shadow, her uncharacteristic behaviour a riddle whispered between the lines of their morning routine.

Baal's return from the day's teaching was brisk, the usual post-class serenity replaced by a hasty stride fueled by an inner disquiet. His mind was busy weaving plans of a simple, romantic interlude with Nord, something to break the monotony of their routine. But it was more than anticipation that quickened his step; it was the nagging sensation that something was out of place, an elusive anomaly that he couldn't quite identify.

The manor loomed ahead, its stoic façade offering no clues. As he approached, the sight of Merlin on the porch, wreathed in pipe smoke, was unusual enough to give Baal pause.

"You smoke?" he asked, forgoing a traditional greeting.

"Sometimes," Merlin responded, the smoke framing his face in a transient wreath.

"I never saw you smoke!" Baal remarked, a frown creasing his forehead, the dissonance of the day growing louder.

"I never saw you in a dress, and here we are!" Merlin retorted with a wry chuckle, a counterpoint to Baal's unease.

"What's up with you? You sound grumpy," Baal pressed, his concern sharpening into frustration. "Meh, never mind, soon you'll know," Merlin's words hung heavy with insinuation, his eyes locked onto the tower with a cryptic intensity.

Baal's gaze followed Merlin's to Nord's parlour, its doors still sealed shut. The salon buzzed with the subdued activity of half-hearted hospitality, Perdita and Adamastor attending to guests with mechanical grace.

With a heart growing heavier by the moment, Baal ascended to his room, the space where he and Nord had woven countless memories. But the scene that greeted him was one he hadn't anticipated. Nord's phone was demolished, its components strewn across the nightstand like the aftermath of a tempest. The closet stood ajar, her clothing mostly accounted for, yet here and there, gaps gaped where particular items had been—her two daggers notably absent.

The unsettling feeling inside Baal surged into a tempest as he swept out of the room, his mind a whirlwind of questions with no answers. The salon offered no solace, no trace of Nord among the guests or the furnishings. He stormed into the kitchen, where the mundane dishes clinking under Adamastor's hands seemed jarringly out of sync with the urgency pounding in Baal's chest.

"Can I help?" he offered, almost mechanically, his thoughts elsewhere.

"Did you see Nord?" Baal's voice was terse, the words sharpened by worry.

"Again? No, I haven't seen her," Adamastor replied, his own concern growing beneath the surface of his calm demeanour.

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Baal, propelled by a mix of hope and dread, continued his search, exiting the house with swift strides that carried him to the barn. Inside, the quiet was profound, punctuated only by the motes of dust dancing in the slanting beams of light. Trinkets and tools lay undisturbed, a testament to normalcy that felt like a mockery of his growing fear.

With a heavy heart, he turned away from the silent barn, and his gaze inevitably climbed to his tower-The Tower of Memories. It struck him then — Tower and Finnea were also unseen for days now. The pieces of the day's puzzle began to form an image he desperately wanted to misread. His steps towards the tower were laden with a dreadful anticipation. Each footfall seemed to echo with the beat of his heart, sinking deeper into the pit of his stomach. Baal's silent prayer to Atua was fervent, begging for his instincts to be wrong. Surely, Nord would have confided in him and shared her plans. The thought of anything else was a stone in his throat, heavy and immobilizing.

The tower loomed as a silent guardian over the unsettling stillness that had enveloped the day. Baal tried to contain the storm of emotions. But barely held it beneath his skin while approaching the entrance.

Finally, as he got closer, he found Kirara, his little 'Kitten,' standing firm, a small but immovable presence.

"Hi Papa," she greeted her voice a soft contrast to the turmoil within him.

"Kitten, I have no time for this. Let me pass." Baal's words were edged with an urgency that brooked no delay, his patience at the edge of his limit.

"I can't. I'm sorry you can't come in," Kirara replied, the calmness in her voice belying the gravity of her stance.

Baal's plea was a growl of frustration barely kept in check. "Kirara, let me pass. I don't want to be mad at you."

"I know, but I can't," she admitted, her resolve clear. "Is okay to be mad... but outside."

He advanced a step, and she responded by opening her arms wide as if her small frame could barricade the door. "Please, Papa, go away."

The question was out before he could hold it back. "Is Mama inside?" But he knew he knew the answer even as he spoke.

"No."

His voice rose, a crescendo of desperation. "Let me in! It's my tower!"

"I can't," she repeated, a litany of refusal.

"Is Tower inside?"

"No."

"Is Finnea inside?"

"No."

"Is anyone inside... anything?" His voice broke, the plea almost a whisper.

Kirara, her own distress creeping in, tried to lead him away. "Let's go elsewhere. We can play a game."

The suggestion was a dagger to his already frayed control. "I don't want to play games. I want to go inside!"

"I can't let you go!"

"Why, Kirara? Why can't I go inside my own tower?" Baal shouted.

Then came the tears, rivulets of sorrow carving paths down her cheeks. "Because I love you more than chicken," she confessed, the words heavy with meaning only they understood, "More than all chickens."

With a heart heavy as lead, Baal gently but firmly moved her aside and pushed open the tower door.

Darkness greeted him, an abyss as profound as his fear. The absence of light was a tangible force, a void where he half-expected, half-feared to find... something. But there was nothing, only the enveloping dark. Every single jar was empty.

And there was nothing more sadder than an empty jar.

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The salon's atmosphere was dense with tension, a heavy shroud that seemed to dampen the air. Baal sat, his presence contained like a tempest, his eyes—black with flickers of orange flame—burning into each person around the table. Their silence was a wall, impenetrable and cold.

As night draped itself across the sky, the inhabitants of the manor gathered around the largest round table, an assembly pulled together by the day's enigmatic events. Even the children, Kirara and Bram, were there, the lateness of the hour disregarding the call for children's sleep.

In the centre of the table lay the shattered remains of the mobile device, accompanied by the solar panel Nord had brought from Earth—a tableau of destruction and unanswered questions. "Is anyone going to talk? Who broke this!" Baal's voice was a controlled explosion.

Bram was quick to deflect, "Not me," his voice barely rising above a whisper. Kirara echoed her friend's denial just as swiftly: "Not me."

Perdita, confusion etched across her features, inquired, "What is that?" Her knowledge of Earth's technologies was limited at best.

Merlin, with a touch of pride at his own understanding, ventured, "I think it's a device they keep like dancing pictures. Now, why does it look like a jigsaw puzzle? I have no clue."

Adamastor added, "I never saw that," his memory failing to grasp the origins of his first encounter with Nord.

Baal's gaze swung to Merlin, who quickly absolved himself, "Don't look at me, young demon. Why would I break such a thing? I never knew it existed until now!"

Fingers tapping in a staccato of nervous energy, Baal posed another question to the silent gathering, "Fine, so can anyone tell me where Finnea and Tower went?"

Bram's hand shot up, eager to contribute. "They fused! Like... like water and mud and made a new friend. His name is Daniel." His pride was quickly dampened by Kirara's reprimanding slap.

"Daniel?" Baal prodded further.

Kirara, choosing her words with care, described, "He looks like you... but with horns... and a tail."

Baal's response was a mix of resignation and relief, "Shit. Well, at least she is not alone." He fidgeted with the fragments of the mobile device, the realization sinking in that if Nord had indeed broken it, it was with deliberate finality. There was no information to recover, no digital trail to follow.

He dismissed the group, a weary commander conceding the day's defeat. "Well, guys, go sleep; tomorrow, I leave and will find her."

"How?" Kirara's question was a simple one, "After class?"

"No, I won't..." Baal's voice faltered the words refusing to form. He tried again, only to be met with the same inexplicable resistance. It was a physical sensation, his tongue swelling, his throat constricting. He never felt this unless...

The promise he made to Nord came crashing back—a vow cast in the steel of his will. "You must promise me you won't miss a single day, come what may. And you can't be late. Ever."

"I promise, Nord! I won't miss a day for any reason, and I will never be late!"

The realization dawned on him with the weight of chains. He was ensnared by his own words, a pledge that now held him bound. Nord had outplayed him at his own game, the demon bested by the very oath he had given. He was trapped, and the night grew heavier with the burden of this truth.