Valerie, Darlac and Nok-Nok lined up into a protective circle around the Everblooming Flower, ready to deal with any monster lured there by the smell of blood (apart from the three wyverns the team had already disposed of). Keeping an arrow nocked, just in case, Hazel watched as Guelder walked up to the giant plant, with an everburning torch in her hand.

  "I am sorry," she whispered as she held the torch to the flower. A little flame crawled up along one of the dry tendrils, spreading all over the petals and seed husks. In a matter of minutes, the entire flower went up in a blaze. As the fire died down, only a few scorched vines remained, curled up in death.

  It did seem a bit too easy, though.

  "It is done," said Guelder. She knelt down beside the ruins of the once majestic blossom, and touched one of the blackened vines. It crumbled to soot and ash between her fingers.

  A squishing, popping sound was heard, similar to the sound of the soil drinking up rainwater and sending it up the blades of grass to help them grow, but a hundred times stronger. It was the flower, sprouting again from the dead in its pristine glory.

  "What are you, a bloody phoenix?" exclaimed the baroness in indignation mixed with awe.

  "This will not do," said Hazel, detaching one of the two vials from their belt. "We must add a little extra. A reminder that the tears of wounded pride may often bring death."

  "Erm... what?" muttered Guelder.

  Hazel unstoppered the vial. The liquid inside was churning like the waters of the stormy sea, even though they held it motionless. They shook out the vial's content onto the petals. The original vibrant colours immediately turned into an angry red, as if the flower yelled at them in rage.

  "Now you can burn it," said Hazel smugly.

  "Wait a minute," snapped Guelder. "How did you know? And where did you get that liquid from?"

  "Weedkiller from Bokken." Hazel grinned sheepishly. "Once it was discovered that we were up against a plant, I asked him to whip up a few batches to make things easier. Just this once. I made him promise he would not make it a habit."

  "I should hope so," said the baroness in a menacing voice. "Bokken is such a nice and useful old gentleman. I would hate to rip out his throat."

  "Hey," said Tristian, his ears turning bright red. "Remember, if we only destroy one of the two flowers, it will regrow from the intact counterpart, poisoned or not. We must kill off both at the same time. How do we do that?"

  The baroness's shoulders sagged.

  "That is a good question. One I have not considered in depth, apparently."

  Hazel squeezed the empty vial in the palm of their hand, so strongly that it could break any moment. If the old gnome was true to his word, and had not just randomly taken away the meaning of Hazel's life (and one of their socks) for the laughs, without giving anything in return, now was the time for him to prove it. Their eyes darted here and there, seeking for any sign of support. Would it turn out that Darlac had been right, and Hazel had been tricked by that entity, be it the Lantern King or one of his peers?

  Then, when they were about to give up hope and curse themself for being so gullible, they finally spotted it.

  "Um... Guel?" they said, pointing at the far side of the angry flower. An oval hole appeared in the air, sparkling in yellow and blue. "That is how we get home."

  As they saw Guelder's face brighten up with joy and hope, for a fleeting moment they felt it had been worth it. They promised themself to treasure that sight for the dark times that would inevitably come and claim all they held dear.

  "Attention, everyone!" exclaimed Guelder. Her companions tore their gazes away from the portal and turned towards her. Darlac instinctively snapped to attention, then realised her mistake and stood at ease instead, letting out a hardly audible sigh of disapproval.

  The baroness started her briefing.

  "Since we have to destroy both flowers simultaneously, we must split up into two teams. Team Golarion includes Nok-Nok for melee damage, Linzi for ranged damage, Tristian for healing, led by Darlac as tank. Team First World includes Valerie as tank, Hazel for ranged damage, Pangur for melee damage, and myself for healing. I can keep your health up until we reunite, but try not to get injured too badly. As soon as Team Golarion crosses the portal, Team First World sets the flower on fire, and slays anyone or anything that tries to intervene. Team Golarion does the same on their own plane, then waits for us to cross and join them."

  Then she called Darlac aside for a little more pep talk, ending in a handshake and a short but heartfelt hug. When they were finished, it was Hazel's turn. They stepped to Darlac and placed the full vial into her hand, gently closing her fingers around it.

  "Godspeed, General. Make your baron proud."

  Darlac took the vial and stepped back before they could touch her face.

  "May your arrows hit true, Hazel. And make sure to keep your focus where it belongs."

  Hazel held her gaze for a little longer, then let her go. Hell, was she keeping herself on a short leash. But on the flip side, perhaps it was better for everyone if she concentrated on the task ahead.

  Driven by a sudden idea, Hazel removed their gloves and tossed them at Linzi, who caught them mid-air.

  "What was that?" laughed the bard. "A challenge for a duel? Your voice against mine?"

  "Put them on," said Hazel. "Not exactly your size, but they will improve your archery skills. Keep that redhead alive."

  "But what about you?"

  "No need to worry. As long as I have blood in my veins, not spider venom, I will manage just fine."

  While Guelder and Tristian prepared both teams with all the buffs they had available, Darlac whispered a prayer to her unavailable goddess, then turned towards the group, taking charge.

  "Team Golarion, to me! Hold hands and prepare to cross the portal! May the Inheritor's blessing lead us all to victory, for Nightvale and Varnhold!"

  One by one, they disappeared in the portal. Valerie shook her head incredulously.

  "I do feel invigorated, to be frank," she remarked. "Did she just... what's the word for that? Unfall? Rise?"

  Hazel smirked. That was a welcome turn of events. Fallen paladins were a lot less fun to mess with than real ones who had much more to lose. Perhaps that was one reason why they had never been interested in Valerie, aside from the fact that a slab of granite was easier to seduce than she was.

  Guelder handed the torch over to Valerie.

  "Lady Regent, yours is the honour to put an end to this abomination."

  "Thanks, Your Grace. It's high time. I bet Darlac is already halfway through her part of the task."

  "Keep your eyes peeled," warned Hazel. "Something tells me this ugly piece of plantlife will not go down without a fight."

  Indeed, as the flower went up in flames again, the first monsters appeared.

  "Do you guys know this place?" asked Darlac a little uncertainly, as she activated her halo to make some light in the pitch-dark cave the portal spat them out in.

  "This must be where we came from," chirped Linzi. "At least I think so. Still, I don't understand how we didn't happen upon that monstrosity before. Her Grace should have found it easily based on the stench alone."

  She jerked her head towards a giant flower sprawling in the back of the cave, an exact copy of the First World one. Even the smell of blood was the same.

  The echo of the bard's words died off slowly in the silence. Apart from that, only grinding noise of their footsteps was heard, and the soft chattering of an underground watercourse, the innocent, well-hidden little brook that carried the murderous seeds to their destination.

  Darlac's stomach was squeezed into a knot. Did that mean this part of the cave had no natural exit? Would they suffocate themselves in the fumes of the burning flower? This was something she was not prepared for. Perhaps there was still time to send the others back through the portal and do this alone, without sacrificing more lives. Part of her urged her to carry out the order, no matter what. Another part demanded her to challenge it. The chain of command between Guelder and Darlac felt kind of tenuous, but it was even more flimsy between Darlac and Guelder's subjects. If she didn't obey, how could she expect to be obeyed?

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  She needed more information.

  It was time to test Guelder's advice regarding the goblin. He, specifically, was not great at following orders, even less if those orders came from anyone else than the baroness, so she had to appeal to his aspirations instead – and also avoid big words.

  "Nok-Nok, when our job is done, you'll have to get us out of here. A great task, worthy of a hero. Make sure you know the way by then."

  No answer came, which made Darlac wonder whether she'd put it simply enough. Although her halo provided some light, the darkness was thick enough for a rogue to disappear in, either in order to carry out her order or to evade it. She never found out which one it was. Anyway, the exploration mission ended in a scream.

  Linzi strummed her lute to set the mood for battle.

  Darlac struck out towards the source of the voice, with her two remaining companions in tow. They reached the opposite end of the cave just in time to see Nok-Nok hit the ground and roll away from a tendril slamming down on him. The tendril was connected to a huge and apparently hungry carnivorous plant. Nok-Nok scrambled to his feet and unceremoniously chomped on the tendril, while working hard with his kukris to cut it off the plant. Alas, the giant weed had other tricks up its leaves. A pair of toothy pads, similar to jaws, bore down on the goblin to snatch him up and devour him. Darlac reacted quickly, blocking the attack with her shield. As the plant's jaws stuck onto the sunburst pattern decorating the shield, she pivoted to the side and slashed at the stalk holding the jaws. Finished with the tendril, Nok-Nok scurried out between her legs to attack the plant from the back while it was occupied with a new, juicier prey. Three other pairs of jaws clamped on the edge of the shield, trying to rip it free, preferably along with Darlac's arm. She let go, grabbed the hilt of her sword with both hands, and began hacking away at the plant. Her weapon was sharp to a fault, but the plant was unusually tough, and although three blades were working at it simultaneously, it didn't go down until Tristian unleashed a wave of fire from his hands and made its juices evaporate through the cut surfaces.

  "I was saving this for the Everblooming Flower," muttered the cleric.

  Darlac silently thanked Kyle Virroll for his masterfully assembled backpack, ready for all eventualities, and pulled out an everburning torch.

  "Use this. Less spectacular than a spell, but just as effective. Nok-Nok, are you hurt?"

  "Exit here," rasped the goblin instead of giving an answer. Did goblins never ask after each other's wellbeing?

  Indeed, now Darlac felt it, too. While she was struggling to reclaim her shield, a faint breeze, or more like draft, touched her sweaty face like an immaterial, cool hand. It came from behind the jumble of vines that remained from the giant flytrap. There was a way out. Perhaps they wouldn't die here today. Perhaps Darlac would make it out of this cave in one piece and hike back to Varnhold.

  But first, the flower.

  Darlac took position close to the portal, just in case, leaving enough space for Team First World to make landfall after finishing off their instance of the flower. She emptied Hazel's vial onto the petals, and once they turned the same shade of red as their First World counterpart, she touched Tristian's shoulder.

  "Go ahead, Tristian. End this horror."

  Tristian looked at her, then at the flower, then at the burning torch in his hand, then started all over again, as if wondering why she'd singled him out for the task. The silence was getting awkward.

  "Tristian? You okay?"

  He flinched at Darlac's voice, returning from whatever reverie he had been absorbed in.

  "Yes. Yes, definitely. Let's end this."

  He whispered a short prayer to the Dawnflower, asking for her protection, then pressed the torch into the huge petal at his feet.

  The fire spread relentlessly across the flower, its heat and smoke filling the cave. Across the blaze, something flashed in yellow and blue. And again. And again.

  "The ebbing life of the flower alerts its guardians," announced Tristian, as if reciting a poem or a holy text.

  "Huh?" wondered Linzi.

  "He says we're getting company," snapped Darlac. "Nok-Nok, with me! You lead the defence, I'll take the hit. Linzi, ready that crossbow. Forget the lute. Just sing. Tristian, keep us alive. For Varnhold and Nightvale! Hold the portal, whatever it takes!"

  By the time Darlac finished her battlecry, a full-grown dweomercat flashed into existence behind her back, drawn to Tristian and Linzi's magic.

  "Linzi, Nok-Nok, cover me!" she exclaimed, turning her back to the incoming wave to deal with the intruder. There was too little space to use her longsword, so she slammed her shield into the cat's side, trying to push it into the fire. Alas, it was too agile. It twirled on the ground and found its footing again. Ten razor-sharp claws sank into Darlac's right leg, raking it bloody all the way down to her ankle. Her boot immediately filled up with blood. She ignored it. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, dampening the pain for the moment, and the rest was up to the cleric. She had to give it her all for as long as she could stay on her feet. The edge of the shield smashed the cat square in the muzzle, again and again, until it collapsed in a writhing heap of fur. Splashes of healing energy from Tristian closed up the wounds, and Darlac tried not to think of the state her trouser leg was in.

  As she turned back towards the portals, she found Nok-Nok astride a manticore, in the process of slicing its throat, and established that he had no need for her help. Then the world was covered in a purple cloud, stinging all her orifices and making her retch. Her shield, otherwise unusually light for its size, suddenly felt much heavier. Not to mention her sword. It felt as hard to lift as the thick rolling pin she'd started to practise with at the age of seven. She'd dreamt of entering the Stolen Lands and retrieving her father's body, so that Lady Jamandi could have him resurrected. (Her mother had spanked her quite badly, but that couldn't kill the dream for another year or so.)

  She snapped herself out of the flashback, fumbling for something to hold onto and draw strength from. Her code. If that didn't help, nothing would.

  I will relearn the weight of my sword. My heart is still there to guide it. My strength is not in my sword, but in my heart. If I lose my sword, I'm fucked. If I betray my heart, I'm even more fucked. I will cling to both for dear life.

  Hell, she was so exhausted she couldn't even get her code right, and the fight had just begun. Why did those godsdamned cats always take Delay Poison first? The purple gas was sapping her strength like crazy, and she had no way to get out of it. She was wedged in between the rock wall and the burning flower, protecting two companions with her body, while the goblin was out there somewhere, having fun with the manticore. The only way forward was through the purple stuff to its source, which, based on what Darlac glimpsed through the smoke and gas and tears, was a hydra.

  "Tristian! Fire!"

  Darlac tossed the shield aside. It was too heavy. Go ahead, Kyle, have a good laugh in the Boneyard at your feeble successor. Tristian touched her shoulder from behind to claim her attention, and handed the torch back to her. She'd have preferred him to fight by her side and cauterise the wounds she would inflict, but maybe it was time to lower her expectations. At least he responded when called for and reliably kept her alive.

  Struggling to direct her sword as intended, Darlac had to settle for a random horizontal slash, hoping to hit flesh. And so she did. The hydra screeched with all its heads and bore down on her. She ducked forward, into the purple mist, and while she did, she noticed that her blade was glistening, breaking the light into the colours of the rainbow.

  Was that... oil?

  Darlac tossed the torch after the shield, and grabbed the hilt of the sword with both hands. Dodging the next attack and Linzi's crossbow bolts whistling past her from behind, she moved to the side, towards the burning flower, and swiped the blade across the flames. As she expected, the oily blubber of the hydra covering her sword caught alight, almost as nicely as if Iomedae's holy fire had flown through it. For a moment, Darlac held it high, as she used to do when imbuing it with holy power, then pointed it forward, and putting all her weight behind it, charged into the purple mist. Luck was on her side. She hit a wall of flesh that swallowed her blade up to the hilt. Pointy teeth tore into her shoulder, without causing noticeable pain. She twisted the blade, then yanked it downwards, opening a gash in the hydra's body. By the time she reclaimed the sword, Tristian arrived with the torch and made sure the monster got enough fire to not rise anymore. The purple cloud began to disperse, just enough for Darlac to make out the heads and chop them off for good measure.

  Strangely, her sword was still ablaze. Just like before.

  She touched her shoulder to see how bad the wound was. Her hand came back bloody, but the touch itself felt good. Reassuring. She could do this. But where was Team First World? Had they still not finished their own part? Or had they fallen to a similar wave of monsters? Should Darlac check on them after she was done with her task, or should she stick to her orders and wait here?

  More importantly, why was Linzi's voice trembling so badly? And what were those nonsensical lyrics about rain and waterspouts, when she was supposed to exhort her companions to battle?

  The explanation came to Darlac on two dozen legs in total. Two giant spiders with blurry contours, and an even bigger one, probably their queen or grandma or something. Darlac halted for a moment to catch her breath. She could handle this, unless she was surrounded. Which would not happen. They could only approach her one at a time, since the flower –

  The last smouldering embers remaining from the flower died down into ashes. Nothing kept Darlac from being surrounded anymore.

  Well, if it had to be so, why not go down in a blaze of glory?

  Darlac reached out towards her goddess, just to confirm that she would die with her name on her lips, standing her ground, protecting her allies, as she was supposed to do, and strode forward. Instead of the usual emptiness, the connection came alive. Holy power flooded her from top to toe, an intoxicating feeling after weeks of abandonment. Her strength was not replenished, but now she could make up for some of the loss out of sheer willpower. She could ignore the burn in her muscles indicating that she was using up her last reserves of strength. It was not about survival anymore. It was about putting up a show, keeping the spiders busy until Nok-Nok or Linzi could land enough hits.

  It was time to dance.

  Long-forgotten moves came up from the depths of her memories, sword forms never used in live combat. Now, however, she was penned up between fat, hairy arthropod bodies, and her sword was sharp and blessed. Every move that could land a scratch or sever a limb was pure gain, and since she couldn't aim properly anyway, why not just swim with the flow?

  She had their attention, even a bit too much of it. Her flaming sword burnt through the webs, but the hairs on the plump bodies sometimes rubbed against her skin, and pincers tore into her flesh. Healing from Tristian and herself kept her going, but new types of poison were chipping away at her stamina and mobility. The number of the spiders decreased as Nok-Nok did his job from behind, but so did Darlac's momentum. Sweat trickled down her face, and her muscles started twitching. The portal was still up, untouched. Her companions were still alive. A last lunge at the spider matriarch, a last slash slicing off its head and a leg... and Darlac's game was over. Her world turned into a mess of vibrant colours, and she fell on her knees, dropping her sword, her limbs shaking uncontrollably.

  "Hold... the portal..."

  "Hey!" exclaimed a raspy little voice. "That was last! Dumb longshank."

  "Huh?"

  "We did it! We actually did it!" cried Linzi, bouncing in place.

  The last drops of holy power left Darlac through the bleeding bites, followed by her confidence. A horrible certainty took its place. Over the next seconds, at least five new portals would open up, spitting out the next wave of enemies that would kill her first, then the others as well. Then Guelder would arrive and see their mangled corpses, and the monsters would kill her, too, before she even had time to grieve. If not, Lady Bloom or the Horned Hunter would show up, deliver a lengthy speech over their twitching remains, and finish the job. There was no way out. The First World would never let go.

  Footsteps approached. Was it the fey hunters who'd killed Dusty? Did Darlac's brain helpfully filter out the sound of the horns to spare her from panic and let her die with dignity?

  "Look!" exclaimed a familiar female voice. Tehara? That could not be. Just another illusion to torment her.

  "Do it," whispered Darlac. "Just kill me. Make it quick."

  "Felicia?"

  The world fell apart around her. Memories burst to the surface, all at once. The voices of Cephal and Valerie, formally greeting each other. But why did they sound so surprised? The Varnhold–Nightvale summit had been organised weeks in advance, had it not? Talk of flowers and letters and monsters and fey she couldn't process at the moment. The unmistakable touch of a pair of rough hands on her face. His scent. If only her eyes worked. Death was certain, but these last moments were so sweet she couldn't help but tremble and tear up. She pulled him into an embrace, clinging to him, sobbing with exhaustion.

  Just one moment, Pharasma. Let me hold him a little longer, one last time. Please.

  "Come, Felicia. We are going home."

  This couldn't be real. And yet, it was. Pharasma would have to wait.