This is what towers above this new spot I found, the complex city of temples and waterfalls and cascades that makes the bulk of the remnants of the omiscan civilization.

And on the other end, spilling into the river where I’m trying to fish, the royal baths, where I first swam with Mom what feels like forever ago.

I’m at a peaceful spot between those two marvels of architecture, with the sound of water flowing and the sound of the most exotic birds fighting for attention.

Yet when I fish, my thoughts invariably go to Dad. He’d be amazed, I think, at the improbable fish you can see swirling below the surface.

He’d probably be better at catching them than me, though, let’s be honest. Could never quite get the hang of this.

I walked through the forest all day and walked into more than one odd situation. There was a family of sloths, who led me through an opening in the trees, to a cliff with an incredible view, a place I’d never been before.

There was also the pink egg I watched an adorable — albeit really weird — creature hatch out of. And then, of course, the electric fireflies attacked me. Thanks to tips I got at the market, I avoided them skillfully, if I do say so myself.

The night falling and the mosquitoes buzzing doesn’t stop me from working my way through the forest. I’m motivated, and I barely ever sleep.

If anything, this is my favorite time to go through the gates. The atmosphere, under the gas lights, is out of this world.

That being said, sometimes even I do need sleep.

Can never catch a break with those electric fireflies, can you? Ah well, witness my skill at dancing them away.

The sun rises over the Belomisian forest, and I carefully store my archaeology tools back in their box. Waiting for the morning, unable to sleep, I was working on cleaning and authenticating an old vase, and I was delighted to uncover the incredible shine of the rarest omiscan treasures below the layer of dirt. I take this as a great omen of the day to go, and I have a spring in my step as I walk to the first Gate of the jungle.

The weather is still a little cold, but hacking at the lianas never fails to warm an archaeologist up. They fall apart fast, and I start my trek in the jungle.

And then I hear a scream. It’s a fellow explorer, one I’ve never seen in the forest before. She looks quite young, and distraught, at the bag that’s slowly sinking in the pit of quicksand at her feet. It could be worse, it could be her in there.

Hit by some inspiration, I produce a Guzmania Pollenis flower out of my own bag, slip it through the handle, and pull. The stalk holds and I salvage the bag — success! My fellow archaeologist pulls an ivory and emerald omiscan knife out of it and, thanking me profusely, sticks it in my hand. I give her advice about spotting quicksand and go on my way.

It seems I was right about the day being lucky! Before noon I find a chest and out of it, I dig some rare treasures of my own.

A wooden relic, and a Cetlcitli calendar plate. I secure both into my bag and keep going, straight to the temple, a smile on my face and every one of the worries that haunted me at home, entirely forgotten.