With a snap, Garrick, Kilbourn, and Ember appeared in a large, empty cavern.

"Hm," Garrick mumbled, scanning the area.

From his estimation, they were roughly congruent with the sewers below the town, though not in the actual sewers proper. The cavern was vast, so vast that the ceiling had apparently decided it had better things to do than make an appearance. Instead, it disappeared into the shadows above.

You know, this seems to be a theme... Garrick mused. I swear, every time I've ever been in a cavernous...something or other, the ceiling's basically a myth.

The walls were lined with damp, glistening stone with all the charm of an overused sponge. The air was thick with the smell of mildew, which had clearly invited its friend—a sickly, sweet odor that suggested something had not only died but was now throwing a rather pungent party.

Garrick could hear the distant sound of dripping water, the kind of noise that seemed to smugly congratulate one on entering the world's most depressing water feature. But beneath that, there was an underlying hum, almost like a heartbeat, reverberating through the stone. It was as if the cavern itself was alive, slightly grumpy, and definitely not a morning person, muttering darkly about the unreasonable hour and the general inconvenience of unexpected guests.

Kilbourn peered around the cavern.

"Looks like we're the first to arrive. Bit of luck, that."

Garrick nodded, stooping to pick up Ember, who promptly dug her tiny claws into his shirt as she settled on his shoulder, radiating fiery excitement. Then he paused, a broad grin spreading across his face.

"Well, maybe not the first," he corrected, pointing to a distant figure.

Kilbourn squinted.

"Who's that?"

Garrick chuckled, examining the familiar specter dozens of feet from them.

Tad.

The otherworlder stood bewildered, staring into three portals, the smallest of which looked like it might dissolve any second.

"Mr. Tadanius!" Garrick's voice echoed.

Tad spun around, relief and confusion warring on his face.

"Kindly, old Garrick! What are you doing here?"

"We could ask you the same thing," Garrick replied, amused.

Tad shrugged at the portals.

"Followed a cat."

Kilbourn raised an eyebrow.

"Friend of yours?" he asked Garrick.

Garrick nodded, and then paused and turned it into an unsure shrug.

I'm not actually confident we could be considered friends, but we're comrades in arms, in any case.

The trio padded over to where the otherworlder stood.

"Kilbourn, meet Tadanius. Tadanius, this is Kilbourn. Now, Mr. Tadanius, you'll have to speak up when talking to him—his ears aren't what they used to be."

"You little…" Kilbourn started but was interrupted as Tad gave a sheepish grin and spoke up.

"Howdy, Kilbourn! You can call me Tad. So, what's going on with these portals?"

Garrick approached, examining the rifts. Each one pulsed with a distinct hue, casting odd shadows. The smallest one kept sputtering, clearly struggling to maintain its tenuous hold on this plane.

Yep, it's definitely them.

He turned to Tad with a wide smile.

"Well," Garrick began, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "Every year in the summer, at an unknown time, in an unknown area of the world, a very specific set of portals appears."

He turned his grin on Kilbourn for confirmation before directing it back to Tad. Kilbourn hadn't been looking.

"It's a semi-spontaneous occurrence," Garrick continued, "and quite exclusive."

"Ooh," Tad said. "Like a pop-up event?"

"A what?" Kilbourn asked, giving Tad a scrutinizing glare.

"Sure," Garrick said smoothly, moving over Tad's question.

He didn't know what the young man was talking about but assumed it was likely something that made sense only in the context of the world he left at the time Tad left it.

"Now, the thing about these portals is that there're very few rules," Garrick continued. "But there are some. For one, you can only stumble upon them or arrive with someone who has sensed them. Not everyone can. We're, obviously, the latter. I'm assuming you are the former?"

"The cat was pretty cute," Tad said.

That tracks.

"But, uh…what are these portals?" Tad continued. "You haven't said yet. Why're they so special?"

"Because they offer a great many things, boy," Kilbourn said. "You should count yourself lucky to be here right now—I was nearly…" he paused, looking at Garrick. "…well, I was older than you, for certain, the first time I became aware of their existence."

"They're rifts leading to the Plane of Treasures," Garrick said.

It's exactly as ridiculous as it sounds...

"Amazing…" Tad responded, his voice awed. Then raised an eyebrow. "… What's that mean?"

"Did this kid get dropped on his head?" Kilbourn muttered to Garrick.

"It means that when these things come online," Garrick said, "they'll toss out valuables. And we're in the fortunate position to be here first."

"Come online…? There's Wi-Fi in there?!" Tad exclaimed, dipping his head to peer at the swirling depths of the rift.

"In any case," Garrick said, ignoring Tad's strange behavior and references. "It shouldn't be long now before—"

"How long do they last?" Tad interrupted, reaching out to touch the smallest, sputtering rift.

"DON'T!" Garrick and Kilbourn shouted at the same time.

Tad yanked his hand back.

"Sorry," Tad said. "I like portals. Something about 'em, y'know?"

"Well, if you go around stuffing your digits into a veil, you're going to wind up degloved," Kilbourn hissed. "But, by all means, boy, be my guest."

Tad looked at his hand, shrugged, and then straightened up.

"So, when do the prizes start spilling out?" He asked.

"As he said, 'not long,'" Kilbourn explained with an exasperated sigh.

As soon as he finished his sentence, like a vending machine with a sense of irony, one of the portals suddenly lit up with a golden glow, and with a clank, a large metallic object shot out and hit the ground.

Ember recoiled, scuttling back behind Garrick's head. He chuckled and offered her a pacifying scritch.

The object lay gleaming in the dim light—a section of breastplate and pauldrons, looking as if they'd been forged by someone who had a keen eye for both aesthetics and mayhem. Intricate engravings ran along the surface, catching the light in a way that suggested it was particularly worth noting.

"Ooh, that's fancy," Tad said, eyes wide with curiosity. "Can…I scoop it up?"

Garrick shook his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Hold your horses, Mr. Tadanius. You can only take one thing. Before grabbing it, you need to be sure it's what you want."

Tad opened his mouth as if to protest, but before he could say anything, more objects began to tumble out of the portals. A cascade of miscellaneous treasures spilled onto the cavern floor—jewels, weapons, a strangely misshapen boot—clattering to the ground in a heap. The action alternated between the two larger portals each time, their shapes overtaken by the golden glow a moment before belching them out like coins in a Vegas slot machine.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Kilbourn let out a sound that was suspiciously close to a squeal of excitement when a massive book, bound in what looked like dragon hide, thudded to the ground. He rushed over to it, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.

"Oh! This has got to be..." Kilbourn began, then frowned deeply as he read the cover. "Of course. It's 'The Complete Guide to Wyvern Husbandry.' Bother. I already have two copies."

Meanwhile, the treasures kept coming, the cavern floor beginning to resemble a dragon's hoard.

"So, if we're only allowed to take one thing, what happens to the rest of this stuff?" Tad asked, scratching his head.

"Whatever isn't taken by the time the portals wear themselves out, it all gets sucked back in," Kilbourn explained, still clearly nursing his disappointment over the book. "The Plane of Treasures is very particular about its inventory."

"So, we need to be quick and picky?" Tad confirmed, watching as a jeweled chalice tumbled out, spilling something looking suspiciously like blood.

"Precisely," Garrick said, eyeing a particularly intriguing artifact that looked like a cross between a compass and a timepiece. "And we need to make sure we choose wisely. We won't get another chance at this for a long time."

"Didn't you say this was an annual occurrence?" Tad wondered loudly over the continued plinks and plonks of the items filling the area. "Hm. Well, I guess that's a long wait if you don't have much time left…"

Garrick rolled his eyes.

"It happens every year, yes," he began, raising his voice over the noise. "But, as I mentioned, you never know at what time or where in the world it will be happening. It is unlikely to be close enough to react quickly. Next year it could be in the Archmark Isles, for all we know."

"So, what's the point of all this?" Tad asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Why does it happen?"

Garrick chuckled, glancing at Kilbourn, who merely shrugged in response.

"No one really knows," Kilbourn said, waving a hand dismissively. "There are all sorts of rumors, of course. Some say it's the hoard of a long-dead trickster god who loved watching people squabble over his leftovers. Others believe it's a test set up by the ancients of the Plane of Treasures to find someone worthy of their secrets. And then there's my personal favorite: it's just the denizens of that realm dumping unwanted items into another existence, and we're the lucky trash collectors."

Tad blinked.

"So, like spring cleaning?"

Garrick nodded.

"A theory, in any case," he said. "People have tried to get to the other side and figure it out—but so far, no one has been able to do so. It appears to be controlled exclusively on the treasure side of the portal. We don't technically even know what the place is actually called. The Plane of Treasures is just a nickname."

"And… there's no catch?" Tad asked, his eyes drifting along the various bits and bobs collecting around him.

Ember was now on the ground as well, having slipped off her Garrick-perch to wind her way through the labyrinth of goods forming piles on the rock.

Kilbourn smirked.

"Oh, there's a catch, alright. The objects are rarely something you actually need. I once found an enchanted spoon that could only stir soup counterclockwise. Sometimes you get lucky, though, and find something you really want."

As if on cue, a silver circlet tinkled to the ground, catching the light in a way that made it look impossibly desirable. Tad gasped.

"I want that," he declared hungrily, his eyes wide with excitement.

Before Garrick and Kilbourn could protest, Tad reached down and picked up the circlet. Immediately, the small, sputtering portal (which had, so far, remained inactive) flashed with a blinding red light.

Out stepped a figure clad in black armor, a terrifying amalgamation of shadow, smoke, and pointy bits. The armor seemed to absorb light, giving it an unnaturally dark hue. The figure's eyes glowed a sinister red, and it drew a cruel-looking blade that seemed to drip with malice.

Tad looked at Garrick and Kilbourn, frozen in place.

"Um. What's the deal?" he asked. "Who's this guy?"

Tad immediately turned to the figure standing quite menacingly in front of the smallest portal.

"Hello!" he called, flashing a wide grin. "I'm Tad! Who are—ulp!"

Tad danced backward as the figure swiped at him with the blade.

Garrick sighed heavily.

"This is why we wanted you to choose carefully," he said, his tone resigned. "Whoever chooses first has to fight the Treasure Guardian."

"The...huh?" Tad asked, backing away.

The figure in black armor advanced, its movements fluid and menacing, as if it were a living nightmare. Its blade gleamed with a wicked edge, and it locked eyes with Tad, who gulped audibly.

Kilbourn, always one to understate a moment, muttered under his breath.

"At least it's not the infinity hydra this time."

--

In their companions' sudden and inexplicable absence, Dashiell Montrose and Surith the hobgoblin found themselves staring at each other with expressions that could only be described as a perfect blend of befuddlement and mild terror. It was as if a joke were being played on them, whisking away Garrick, Kilbourn, and the vulpid Ember in the blink of an eye, leaving behind nothing but an uncomfortable silence and a profound sense of being left out of the loop. They'd simply been there, and then, in a blink, they had vanished. Poof. Gone.

In a valiant attempt to make sense of the situation, Dashiell rubbed his temples with the fervor of a man trying to massage understanding into his brain.

"They just...left," he muttered, disbelief coloring his voice. "Without a word. On purpose."

Surith nodded solemnly, his ears twitching in that slightly disconcerting way hobgoblins' ears tend to do when they're agitated.

"Magic," he said simply, with a touch of resignation, as if this sort of thing happened to him all the time.

"Astara," Dashiell corrected absentmindedly, still staring at the spot where his companions had been standing mere moments ago. "But...why would they leave us here? Specifically, us?"

The two exchanged a glance that spoke volumes about their shared predicament. It wasn't so much that Dashiell felt exceptionally offended—it was more like he hadn't made the guest list for a very exclusive gala, the kind where the invitations were written in gold leaf and delivered by messenger pigeons wearing tiny tuxedos.

Which would be a first, he considered.

Dashiell was rarely the odd one out for an event—a fact that he did not realize until this precise moment he'd gotten very used to, like a man who had grown accustomed to always finding a spot for his carriage right in front of his destination.

The awkward silence that followed was punctuated only by the faint ticking of an old timekeeper on the wall and the distant hum of Kilbourn's astaran trinkets, which seemed to be mocking them with their cheerful, energized vibrations.

"So," Dashiell began hesitantly, "…what do we do now?"

Surith shrugged, a gesture that seemed to encompass the futility of their situation.

"Wait?" he offered.

Dashiell sighed and looked around the room, his eyes finally falling on the scroll left behind in the chaotic aftermath of their companions' departure. It lay on Kilbourn's armchair, looking deceptively mundane for something that had caused so much trouble, like a piece of toast that had somehow managed to bring about the downfall of a small nation.

"Interesting," he said, picking up the scroll. "They forgot this."

Surith seemed to pale at this prospect.

Dashiell frowned at the scroll as he held it aloft, a question forming in his mind like a particularly persistent thought bubble.

"Surith," he began. "How could your people read this when Kilbourn himself could not?"

Surith's eyes widened, then narrowed in a display of mock nonchalance that would have made a poker player proud. Then he shrugged.

"Maybe askeran have secret knowledge," he suggested. "Or special way to read."

Dashiell raised an eyebrow. It was easy to forget that, despite the relatively docile way that Surith had conducted himself, he was, for all intents and purposes, a captive. So, his playing coy at this moment was likely more about staying on the safe side of self-preservation than any genuine desire to keep secrets from his captors.

The young Montrose sighed in that profound, existential way one does when confronted with the annoying necessity of cutting through someone else's nonsense. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

Why must I be the person to break through his falsehoods? Any other member of our retinue would be much better suited to this task.

"I see," he said aloud, adopting a thoughtful expression. "Well, then, would you mind telling me about this secret knowledge?"

Surith's eyes narrowed further, an expression that Dashiell recognized as cunning, or at least a hobgoblin's approximation of it.

"Yes," Surith said, then sat back in a more relaxed pose on the loveseat. "Free Surith, and know secrets. Yes?"

Dashiell scowled, not particularly thrilled by this turn of events. While he didn't relish the idea of keeping a captive, it was a bit of a twofold situation. They needed the information Surith possessed but also to ensure its accuracy. Which meant he couldn't just catch and release. Additionally, while Surith was in their care (and not out in the wild), he was relatively safe from the rather unsporting intentions of the Surgemaster, who had minced no words about the grim fate awaiting the hobgoblin should he catch him within the roadbuilding project's boundaries.

Yet, that's not the only aspect of this, Dashiell mused. I am currently suspended from duty as the leader of Golden Lion. As such, I should refrain from carrying out any official duties in the remaining two days of my absence from the post.

The very notion of breaking protocol, especially in an environment meticulously designed by his father, gave him serious pause. He'd never been one for rule-breaking and had no reason to start now.

Still, a sneaky thought began to take shape in his mind. He adopted a more relaxed pose, mirroring Surith's casual demeanor.

"You know, Surith," he said thoughtfully, "I would wager that Kilbourn would be fantastically interested in hearing that you have secret knowledge. He may even reward you for it."

Surith's ears twitched.

"Reward?"

"Yes," Dashiell continued, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "As you may have gleaned, Master Kilbourn values, above all else, information. If you were to tell me what you know, and I relay that to him, I am most certain he would be very pleased. He may even release you himself or offer you his protection."

Surith looked intrigued but wary, like a man who had just been offered a free vacation to a destination he'd never heard of.

"You think old man do that?"

Dashiell nodded, trying to sound as convincing as possible, which was no easy feat, considering he was about as comfortable with deception as he was having a picnic at a lightning bolt convention.

"Absolutely. But of course," Dashiell despised himself for the words he was about to utter, "it requires you to stay with us a bit longer. Any confirmation would need to transpire among multiple parties. However…if you prefer to keep it to yourself, I can just mention that you had something important to share but refused. He might not take that too kindly. As I am sure you have gathered, he is a willful old astari with quite the reserve of power."

Surith's eyes darted back and forth as he considered this. Finally, he sighed, a sound that seemed to come from the very depths of his hobgoblin soul.

"Okay. Tell you. But you promise tell old man?"

Dashiell wanted to vomit for his part in this cloak-and-dagger engagement. Still, outwardly, he nodded solemnly, his expression as grave as a tombstone.

"You have my word."

I feel as though I'm making a Fiend's deal, he thought to himself.

Surith leaned in, lowering his voice.

"Scroll not for reading. Scroll for open."

"For…open?" Dashiell wondered, not fully following the hobgoblin's logic.

"Yes," Surith continued. "Powerful lady and hat man make askeran learn words. As long as scroll open, and words say, it work."

Dashiell's eyes widened in realization.

"You...memorized words? That is why Kilbourn couldn't decipher it."

Surith nodded.

"Yes. Without right words, just scribbles. With words, clear."

Dashiell pondered this new information.

"And do you remember these words?"

Surith grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Surith remember. But not for free. Want reward."

Dashiell sighed, feeling both relief and frustration.

"Alright, I suppose we would be best to figure something out, then, should we not?"

Even though it seemed somewhat heretical, Dashiell slumped into Kilbourn's chair, setting the scroll on his lap. He was exhausted by the myriad mystery and his own subterfuge, and the chair seemed to be calling to him like a comfortable siren. He lifted the scroll carefully, peering at it, before spotting something that made him pause. There, just a bit down on the outside of the scroll, was the broken seal. However, he recognized the symbol, didn't he? As he realized what it was, his heart skipped a beat.

It can't be… he thought, his body growing cold. Why in the realms is this marked with the Mistress's Icon?