Morningstar

[CH. 0025] - The Promise

"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!"