The belt still appears within the crystal, endlessly floating and darting, so perhaps there is hope. My mood sours when Goth Miss, aka the fog-beings’ daughter, saunters through the door. “Ah, there you are, and there’s the belt.”
“Weren’t you grounded?”
“Yeah, for bad spelling, and the spell turned wrong and destroyed three worlds, but what do you expect, I’m only a kid. Anyway, there’s a world-tree outside my bedroom window, like, with roots in these dimensions. A squirrel pointed me this way.” Her arm reaches out, and from the elbow to the fingertips it vanishes. When she draws it back, returning it completely to view, she clutches the belt. “Victory! Awesome! Wearing this, my parents will not be able to…” I headbutt her senseless. The belt falls. I snatch it. I sprint from the room and down the stairs, putting it on as I run.