Darlac wandered into a patch of blue mist again. She cursed like a sailor, expecting to be thrown back to where she'd started from about an hour ago, or to a whole different place, like before.

  However, this time she ended up somewhere unexpected.

  She emerged in front of a sprawling giant of a flower, unlike any other flower she had ever seen, including the mysterious wallflower system that had held Lostlarn Keep together until Cephal had destroyed it all in one fell swoop. This flower had a strangely predatory look to it, and Darlac wondered if the smell of blood she sensed around it was real. Considering that a hungry manticore was prowling around the petals, perhaps it was not just in Darlac's head but an all too real procreation trick.

  Darlac hunkered down in the tall grass, waiting for the flower to reveal its secret to her. She drew her sword as quietly as she could, ready to defend herself if it came to that. A single manticore was something she could manage even on a bad day. The monster ignored her for the time being, all too busy sniffing at the flower, especially the thin stalks ending in something like seed husks.

  As the beast inadvertently rubbed against one of those, the husk broke off and stuck to its mane. It didn't seem to notice anything – perhaps because it spotted a shiny-eyed piece of delicacy crouching in the grass. Prepared for this turn of events, Darlac hastily took position close to another patch of blue mist, intending to lure the monster into it and teleport it away, so that she could study the flower undisturbed and obtain a seed husk or two for herself. Or, if bad turned worse, she could step into the mist herself to get away from her foe, and try again later.

  The attack never happened, and this time not because her foe was distracted by an itch.

  A small figure walked through the mist and stepped out onto the clearing right next to her, carrying a lantern that enveloped him in tremulous blue light. He looked like a gnome, old as time itself but still in possession of his hair and skin colours, unaffected by the Bleaching, the dreaded, ultimate fate of his kind. As the manticore saw him, it gave a frightened little squeak and scurried away with its tail between its hind legs.

  "Stuck in the First World, child?" hummed the gnome. "Eager to get away, no matter the cost? What would you give for a chance to return to your home plane? Anything? Even an innocent's life?"

  Frowning in bemusement, Darlac wondered how he could read her thoughts so effortlessly. In fact, as a denizen of the chaotic First World, he shouldn't be able to see her at all. Was Kyle's amulet not working? Or was this fellow powerful enough to override its effect? Were gnomes ultimately fey? Darlac had to admit that she knew next to nothing about the origins of those pint-sized thrillseekers, except that they were somehow related to spriggan. Still, she took no chances. Do not bargain with the fey. Least of all about lives.

  "What are you talking about?" she asked. "And who are you, anyway?"

  Her voice came out rusty after days upon days of disuse. She realised this was her first and only conversation ever since she'd cried her challenge at the Horned Hunter.

  "Just an old gnome," he said, chuckling to himself. "If I were you, I would snoop around a little more. The blue mist will show the way. You might even find some company."

  Confused, Darlac took a step backwards, right into the mist.

  Damn.

  As she recovered from the dizziness and disorientation, she tried to memorise the spot she landed in, hoping she could return to the flower later on to harvest a seed husk. She could keep it hidden in her hair or under her clothes, warming it against her skin, until it was ready to sprout a portal for her. There was no way that her plan would claim another person's life, or was there?

  And what kind of "company" had the old gnome been talking about? Other travellers from Golarion, luckier than the lost hellknight, who might or might not know about a portal? Or was he luring her into a trap, exploiting her loneliness?

  Once again, the First World was playing funny tricks with her senses. While she'd been around the flower, she'd smelled every single scent with extreme sharpness, almost like a dog. Now her sense of smell was dulled, but on the flip side, her hearing became keener than ever.

  And the wind carried voices speaking in Common.

  Somewhere nearby there were people from her home continent, immersed in a heated conversation. In Lostlarn Keep, such groups of people had usually turned out to be fey in disguise and responded aggressively to being spied on. Still, Darlac was curious. The amulet would help her stay hidden while she established if those people were real and assessed her chances for contacting them.

  Stupid, irrational hope surged in her heart. Had Cephal made good on his word and brought reinforcements? Had the Varnlings managed to force their way through the deadfall and the unstable portals and come to rescue her? Was Maegar with them? She imagined herself in his arms, melting into his embrace, drinking his presence like dry soil absorbing the rain, never satisfied...

  Gah! Who am I kidding?

  However it hurt, Darlac chased the thought away. There was no way Maegar would come for her. She was not a damsel in distress but a knight in shining armour, considered too competent to ever need a rescue. If she wanted to find her way home, she had to carve one for herself.

  Still, maybe these people could help her do just that.

  Darlac sneaked closer to the source of the sounds, trying to eavesdrop from behind a huge tuft of red-yellow grass. From her hiding place, she saw something like a camouflaged campsite and a meagre fire, but it was hard to tell due to the distance and the thick undergrowth.

  "You don’t think she caught the Bloom, do you?" piped a girl's apprehensive voice.

  "No way," said another voice, so familiar that it raised an entire swarm of insects in Darlac's stomach. Definitely not butterflies, though. More like hornets. The voice laughed nervously. "I made sure she did not drink river or lake water."

  Life was not so generous as to lead Maegar to her. However, it did have a curious sense of humour, since it brought her Hazel instead. Hazel, who was now preoccupied with another woman. It was not hard to guess who that could be. Apparently, the beast woman had grown complacent in her survival skills, drunk some algae-infested water, and was now sick. Darlac tried in vain to banish the image of the resulting symptoms from her mind.

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  An annoying, raspy voice spoke up.

  "Praise to Lamashtu! We get big beastie! Like in capital!"

  "Stop that talk!" exclaimed a nervous male voice. "She... she only needs a good rest and a little healing. You'll see."

  "And if not," said the girl, "then we are screwed."

  Silence followed. Then another female voice spoke, in a no-nonsense tone, keeping her volume low.

  "If this is what it seems, we have three options."

  Darlac couldn't really make out what these options were. She crept closer, keeping her head down, using the coverage of the undergrowth, until she reached a pink-blue striped bracken and peeked out from under its leaves. Tents disguised with branches and leaves rose above ground in a half-circle, but the air was too hazy to discern anything more clearly.

  "Or we… prevent it all from happening," said the woman. "Five of us remain, and if we're lucky, we get no monster. The leopard might be a problem, though."

  Darlac was increasingly sure that the group she was eavesdropping on was real. Why would the fey put up such an elaborate performance for her sake? Or was it an echo of the past, a Golarian expedition into the First World from long ago, about to reach a miserable end as its members turned on each other? Was it just her imagination, running amok in her solitude, that filled the scene with people she used to know?

  However, the leopard was too much of a coincidence.

  "You stay away from her!" growled Hazel's voice.

  "Guelder would be happy to lay down her life to save us," chirped the girl. "That is what true heroes do."

  "How generous you are with the life of your ruler!" lashed out Hazel. "You should be protecting her with the last drop of your blood, instead of contemplating to sacrifice her to save your sorry little arse!"

  Darlac flinched as certainty sank in with her. Unless this was all a very disturbing illusion, she was eavesdropping on Baroness Guelder's squad adventuring in the First World. What were they doing here? Was this expedition related to the monster invasion? Or...

  Oh, no.

  A gang of unsettling little thoughts came home from the outskirts of Darlac's mind they had been banished to, and attacked in full force. What if the horrific vision of Varnhold had been real, and Maegar had actually needed to use the ring? Where had it taken him? To Restov... or to Tuskdale? Was he now living in Guelder's court as a refugee? Were the two rulers developing feelings towards each other, bonding over Maegar's grief for his country and his beloved? Had he requested Guelder's help in tackling Lostlarn Keep? Was this how the Nightvale squad ended up in the First World, trapped like Darlac herself? And once again, was Maegar with the squad? Probably not. He never tolerated this degree of squabbling among his followers. But where was he then? Left behind in Tuskdale to sit it out until the baroness returned? Or... had something happened to him underway? Was the beast woman about to take over Varnhold?

  Unless she succumbed to that algae infection. Perhaps Darlac had better leave these people to their fates, go for the seed husk instead, and return to Golarion as fast as possible to salvage whatever remained of her homeland and her old life.

  "This is insane," said the tremulous male voice that Darlac's mind now associated with Tristian, Guelder's angel-faced cleric. "How about everyone calms down and reflects on their own state of mind? We are over the edge, exhausted, poisoned, distressed. Let’s have some rest and reconsider the situation afterwards, shall we?"

  "I, for one," protested the girl (probably Linzi, the Willas Gunderson of Nightvale), "find it hard to rest knowing that a monster might be hatching next to me."

  "Oh. Would you find it easier to rest after dissecting your friend's body in her sleep?" snarled Hazel.

  Excuse me... what now?

  "Tristian is right," said the no-nonsense woman, who had to be Valerie. "Stand down, Hazel. No matter what you think, I’m not going to lift a finger against my superior without a well-founded reason. Let Tristian examine her and form an opinion."

  "I am watching you, priest," growled Hazel. "One bad move, and you can go meet Sarenrae at once."

  "No need for that, Hazel. You know that I would never hurt her."

  Darlac pondered her options. If there was anyone she was not keen on meeting here in the First World, that was Hazel, especially in this furious and paranoid version. However she admired the ranger's fierce loyalty to Baroness Guelder and empathised with their unrequited love fueling it, and however she could imagine herself acting the same if it were about protecting Maegar, this was not a situation she felt safe to intrude upon. Not even if the horrors conjured up by her imagination were all false. Still, Darlac needed help, and she could offer her sword in return. After all, she was duty-bound to help out an ally in need, and also not half bad at fighting monsters. Despite her misgivings about Hazel, Valerie, the raspy-voiced Lamashtu cultist and, of course, Guelder herself (which, on second thought, meant the majority of the Nightvale squad), Darlac felt the determination forming in her mind: she had to step up and speak with them to find out the truth. And in the light of said truth, she would be able to decide whether or not to share her canteen of healing water with the baroness.

  "Would you say the same without a handaxe hovering above your spine?" piped Linzi, likely reacting to Tristian's opinion.

  "Erm... yes. Definitely."

  Darlac rose from her cover and took a few steps towards the camp, wondering how exactly to address the Nightvale squad. However, the sight of a steaming little pile of excrement, uncomfortably close to her right foot, made her forget her premade greeting lines.

  "Eww!" she blurted out. "Is this how you do it in Nightvale? Shitting around camp without even using a spade to bury it? Shame on you!"

  There was no more reason to be stealthy, anyway. Or so she thought.

  "Who goes there? Show yourself!" shouted Hazel's voice.

  "Nok-Nok, you were supposed to set traps, not poo all around the camp!" exclaimed Linzi, giggling incredulously.

  "Goblin way of setting traps," said the annoying little voice. "Works everytime!"

  They brought a goblin with them. Excellent. So they are going insane.

  Darlac took a few cautious steps forward, gently bending the leaves out of her way and looking out for further "traps," until she found herself staring down Hazel's nocked arrow trained at her throat.