Morningstar

[CH. 0023] - The Spellmaker

"You need one book—the correct book." - Merlina Maria Allatori.

"You're not the right wizard? If you're not, who is?" Nord was taken aback. She'd always assumed the process would be straightforward, like someone sketching out a pentagram or a cross. She wasn't looking for anything intricate, just a light-hearted spell to brighten people's moods.

"Miss Morningstar, you don't need a wizard. You need a Spellmaker," Merlin clarified, straightening his back as he sat on his bed.

"And where am I supposed to find a Spellmaker?"

"Well, demons are known to be quite talented at spellmaking. I'm sure you know one," Merlin suggested, stroking his beard playfully.

"I know one? No, I don't know anyone!" Frustration tinged her voice, rendering it almost shrill.

"You're covered in spells. Surely you must know who crafted those?" Merlin observed a note of amusement in his voice he couldn't quite suppress.

"I... I..." Nord looked down at her inked arms. The jarring realization struck her: she had no idea who had designed the magical aspects of her tattoos. Sure, she'd drawn them—the style, the lines, they were all hers. But the essence of the designs, the spells imbued within them? She was clueless. It was as if her memories were a jigsaw puzzle, missing crucial pieces.

Finally, she managed to compose herself. "I'm sorry to have bothered you for nothing. Thank you for your time."

Merlin glanced from her to Baal, then back at her. He sighed. "Baal, please take Miss Morningstar home."

"No, it's alright. I can walk," Nord protested.

"Nonsense. Mulan needs to stretch her legs," Baal interjected, his face ripped with the biggest smile.

The cartwheels squeaked and groaned, yet Mulan moved it in slow motion, with the landscape barely changing. Baal sensed Nord's silence wasn't empty; it was charged, filled with thoughts she was too overwhelmed to put into words. He could almost feel the gears turning in her mind as she contemplated her options for finding a Spellmaker.

Finally, she broke the silence. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

"It's not," Baal responded, not taking his eyes off the road.

"I feel so lost, like everything's piling up on me. I'm supposed to run a store, manage an inn, organize events, provide entertainment, and, on top of all that, feed whatever Hallow is inside me." She turned to him, her eyes almost pleading. "How?"

"You'll manage, I'm sure of it," he assured her, his eyes shifting towards the night sky, where stars were beginning to make their appearance.

"That's easy for you to say. You're not tied down by anything," Nord shot back.

"I am, actually," he said softly.

"You are? Like what?"

A rich silence filled the space between them—a silence that somehow managed to say more than words could. "I am," Baal finally repeated.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," she observed.

"Would you prefer it if I talked nonsense?"

"No, but you always seem like you're walking on eggshells around me, but at least you talk," she said, mimicking his upward gaze at the sky.

"I am," he admitted after another drawn-out silence.

"What are you doing?" she chuckled, finally breaking the tension.