The day started like any other day in the First World. Darlac woke to strange-coloured sunlight peeking into Fort Kyle, as she liked to call the grotto that served as her headquarters. The early sun illuminated the little brook flowing through the cave and made it cast so many vibrant sparks of colour with every ripple of its surface. Darlac drank deep, then submerged her canteen into the water and watched the escaping bubbles as it filled up. This time the water tasted like honey and boosted her energy level.

  Just what she needed for her morning routine.

  As the light of the morning sun reached the rough symbol of Iomedae painted on the wall with monkey blood (for lack of a better idea), Darlac knelt down before it and recited her code. The makeshift shrine looked like the handiwork of a mentally deranged cultist rather than a respectable place of worship set up by a wayward paladin, but it gave her a sense of belonging, even though her goddess was still out of reach.

  Not far from the holy symbol, another monkey blood painting decorated the rock wall, depicting the coat of arms of Varnhold: a pair of daggers above three hills. Regrettably, since the ankou incident, she couldn't help but refer to the entire emblem in her mind as 'Drippy and Stinky.' She would have to be extra careful not to mention this to anyone.

  If she ever made it home.

  Darlac shoved the unsettling little thought to the back of her mind. Instead, she imagined waking Maegar with gentle kisses and sending him off into another exhausting day of rulership. She hoped with all her heart that he was safe, waiting for her return. But did that hope make sense at all? There was no way to tell how fast or how slowly time passed here in the First World. For all she knew, years or even decades might have flown by on the mortal plane. Had the baron already given up on her and moved on with his life? Was he still alive to begin with? What would Darlac find if she ever returned? A whole different Varnhold, ruled by an heir he'd sired on another woman? Smouldering ruins left behind by the ancient evil that, by all appearances, was neither Marquise Insomnia nor the Horned Hunter? A feral county of encroaching Nightvale, overgrown with thorns and brambles, teeming with worgs, bulettes, manticores and other monstrosities so very important for the ecosystem? A continent fallen to the demons who'd finally decided to stop dawdling and made a serious war effort to push through the Worldwound?

  Darlac clenched her fists and pushed these scenarios out of her mind. It would not do to spend another day sobbing like a toddler, curled up in a fetal position in the darkest corner of the grotto, like the last time she'd given free rein to her depressing fantasies. She had to stay sharp, focused, ready for anything and everything. If the veil between the two worlds was as thin as Shakoth had said, there must be more gateways, permanent or temporary, that could lead her home. She would find one. All she had to do was persevere... right?

  Until then, she did what she could to stay in shape. Her morning workout routine included all-round callisthenics, rope skipping using a piece of rope from Kyle's backpack, shield and sword forms, and whatever else she came up with on the spur of the moment. A quick wash in the sweet brook water, and she was ready to face another day's challenges: forage and hunt for food, explore without getting seen, and maybe, Iomedae willing, find her way home.

  The hellknight's amulet was around her neck all the time, safely hidden under her shirt, and indeed, she was never spotted by fey. Even her cave remained free of them. She liked to believe that Kyle's grave served as a ward to keep them away, radiating law and order – or maybe it was this belief of hers that did the trick. The price she paid was loneliness, but as yet, she preferred that to the company of enemies.

  Today she ventured further from her headquarters than usual, into an open area peppered with small stands of brightly coloured trees. In fact, "stands" was a bit of a stretch, as the trees didn't spend all their time standing in place. They sometimes walked around, stretched their limbs, or even yawned, opening holes in their trunks and closing them again. A stone circle stood in the middle of the copse, wide enough to dance in, surrounded by table-shaped megalithic structures. And for the first time since her arrival, Darlac spotted people.

  Unwilling to push Kyle's amulet to its limits, she was quick to take refuge behind one of the trees, held her breath, and watched in complete silence.

  Just outside the circle, two figures were standing idly, immersed in conversation. The innocent-looking scene sent a shiver down Darlac's spine and left her staring with her mouth agape. One of the couple was a huntress with a scimitar strapped on her back, similar to the ones who had massacred Dusty. And the other was Dusty himself. The same bear-like body shape, blond facial hair, bald head, the same standard undergarment he used to wear underneath his armour, even the same hearty laughter.

  This can't be happening. I watched him die. What kind of First World fuckery is this? Darlac shook her head, rubbed her eyes, even pinched herself, but the vision remained. Was it an illusion, a memory, an undead, or something even more sinister? For a moment, she considered approaching him and finding out, but her instincts screamed in protest at the mere thought. She crouched down, resting one hand on the tree trunk so as to notice in time if it started to walk away, and watched on.

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  A blue-haired female fey appeared in the centre of the circle, lying on her side. She raised her head and looked around, as if waking from a dream, then got to her feet, revealing the most beautiful figure Darlac had ever seen and arousing in her a memory of long-buried desires. Heat suffused Darlac's face as she realised what was going on in her. She was well past her teenage years and her phase of undefined sexual orientation. What was she doing here, ogling a woman?

  The magical moment was somewhat spoiled when the fey suddenly started choking and retching, her face turning the same colour as her hair. Darlac suppressed the urge to go and help her. It was probably a trap. First, one of Dusty's murderers, then Dusty himself, then a distressed lady in need of her aid – it was too tailor-made for comfort. She remained motionless, curious how this would play out.

  After some struggle, the blue-haired beauty relieved her own suffering by pulling a long strip of cloth out of her mouth. The huntress and "Dusty" responded to the scene with roaring laughter, shouting jests at the lady in a language Darlac didn't understand (probably Sylvan). Mortified, the newcomer shook out the cloth to wrap herself up in it, but finally made a funny little sound and crumpled it up again in disgust, eliciting further bouts of laughter from the other two.

  The tree trunk jerked under Darlac's hand. It was time to go, for her as well as for the tree. The trio came to the same decision and walked away, not giving a damn to her.

  It was time to return to foraging amidst a host of disturbing thoughts.

  In the shade of a bush that didn't show any willingness to shamble away, there was a nest on the ground, made of twigs and branches of varying size, cradling three large, yellow eggs. A promising source of food that would cover Darlac's needs for at least three days. Strangely enough, there seemed to be no mother bird (or mother anything) around to keep the eggs warm. As Darlac's eyes scanned the sky, she saw no sign of a parent returning, either. Quick and quiet, she sneaked up to the nest and stuffed two of the three eggs into her backpack, before they would turn into puffball mushrooms or evaporate into a cloud of fruitflies. Their shells felt softer than normal chicken egg shells, almost like leather.

  Before she could nick the third one as well, she heard a sharp screech from behind.

  Turning around and cursing her weak perception skills, Darlac found herself face to face with a full-grown yellow wyvern hissing at her from a formidable open maw.

  It was too late to flee. Darlac carefully put the last egg down, slipped her backpack down to the ground, drew her sword and raised her shield, fearless, ready for any outcome. Without armour, she could only count on her reflexes against the venomous tail stinger, but otherwise she was confident she could pull this off. Wyverns were not famous for their precise attacks, unlike herself.

  With a blood-curdling shriek, the beast coiled up and retracted its wings, preparing to strike. Darlac's body tensed, ready to dodge and strike back from the side. But the attack she expected never came.

  Forgetful of its foe, the monster paused to scratch its neck with one of its talons. Darlac slowly backed away, keeping her eyes on the enemy, reclaimed her backpack and slung it on her shoulder. This was her chance to escape with her loot. Step by step, she carefully retreated, until her bottom bumped into a tree trunk. She scurried behind it for cover, still watching the wyvern for its next move.

  The scratching continued for what seemed to be minutes.

  Darlac let her curiosity overcome her survival instinct. Instead of turning tail and running for her life, she observed the beast as it rolled over, rubbing its head against the ground with nervous, spastic motions, apparently trying to get rid of something uncomfortable stuck between its scales. It looked so miserable that Darlac was almost tempted to approach it and offer her help. Once again, she suppressed the urge. She was not here to make friends.

  The beast finally rose up and reared, hissing, increasingly angered by the mysterious parasite. Darlac fumbled for her bow, just in case it would decide to take it out on the egg thief. However, she didn't get to use her weapon. A flash of yellow-blue light appeared, blooming out of the itchy spot on the beast's body, taking the shape of a portal that sucked the wyvern in, then closed up again – but not before Darlac caught a glimpse of the other side. She couldn't really make sense of the sight, but it looked like a wall made of raw meat.

  This was more than weird, even by First World standards. Darlac got the curious feeling that what she'd just seen was part of some mysterious divine guidance that might lead her home at last. Maybe if she followed the trail of the wyvern backwards... Then she realised that it had come from above. That task would have surpassed even Gekkor's tracking skills.

  She returned to the nest and looted the last egg for good measure, but didn't yet return to her hideout. Her curiosity urged her to continue exploring and searching. She might find other monsters suffering from the same phenomenon, and sooner or later she would figure out how to get access to such an itchy portal-parasite. Even if it drove her crazy, made her rip off her own skin, and finally landed her inside a cow's ass, all that was a small price to pay for a gateway back to Golarion.