Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQS2J4DQHD1NACG051F5M4

Aurora Carter’s heart hammered as she stepped through the glimmering distortion, the Veil rippling like heat above a summer road. One moment she stood beneath London’s gray sky, the next a warm amber haze stretched overhead, tinting every leaf and stone in molten gold. She blinked, adjusting to the sudden glare, and tasted sweetness on the air—rich, heavy grapes and something darker, undercut by rot. Beside her, Nyx drifted forward in solid silhouette, their form a shifting obsidian silhouette crowned by faintly glowing violet eyes. The Shade’s voice brushed Aurora’s ear like wind in a tunnel. “Dymas,” they whispered. “Gluttony’s realm.” Aurora pressed a hand to the Heartstone pendant at her throat. Its deep crimson gem pulsed against her palm, a slow, measured heartbeat of warmth. In her other hand, the Fae-forged blade felt icily alive, moonsilver gleaming with a pale glow. She inhaled, tasting the sticky sweetness on her tongue, and took a tentative step. Isolde Varga drifted behind them, silver hair brushing the golden-hued vines. Her pale lavender eyes studied every curve of marble and leaf, while wind-lost wildflowers bloomed at her feet in defiance of logic. Aurora forced herself to focus on what lay ahead: a grove of colossal grapevines, their fruit the size of hams, clusters bending branches until they scraped the amber sky. A low murmur rose, like distant laughter or the rustle of wings. Aurora’s skin prickled. Around them, helbound souls—gaunt figures in stained chef’s tunics—labored beneath arching trellises, harvesting grapes with knives that flashed under lamplit lanterns. Their hollow eyes flicked toward the newcomers, hands frozen on pruning shears. Nyx’s shadow skirted between the laborers, voice hushed. “We do not linger.”
 Aurora’s pulse stuttered. The air shimmered with something unspoken—hunger? A craving this place would never satisfy. She swallowed and followed Nyx along a path of crushed vines that squished beneath her boots. Red juice seeped between her toes, staining the hem of her trousers. She clenched her jaw against a wave of nausea. The path curved toward a clearing ringed by marble columns carved into grotesque faces—lips parted in eternal moans, eyes bulging with ecstasy or agony. In the center, a fountain gushed thick red wine instead of water, arcs of crimson splashing into a basin carved from white marble. Golden goblets perched at the edge, rims dusted in sugar. Isolde stepped forward, silent and sure. She traced a slender finger along one column, where ancient script curled like ivy. Aurora crouched beside her, shifting closer to examine the runes. The pendant at her throat pulsed faster, warmth seeping down her breastbone. “What does it say?” Aurora asked, voice low.
 Isolde’s breath was a soft wind. “A banquet without end,” she murmured, “yet every bite brings closer the maw.”
 A tremor ran through Aurora’s hands. She rose and glanced again at the fountain’s wine, so dark it seemed alive, quivering with its own gravity. Beyond the columns, the ground sloped downward into a grove where trees bore fleshlike fruits—bulbous orbs that throbbed, veins pulsing beneath satin skin. Her stomach clenched. She shifted the blade in her grip, feeling its cold promise. The Fae dagger could cut through magical wards, could sever a demon’s tether. Here, in Dymas, wards thrummed like the heartbeat of this place. She sensed barriers closing behind them, seals woven into the air. Nyx’s whispered breath slipped over her ear. “Belphegor’s feast hall awaits. The prize lies within.”
 “A prize?” Aurora echoed. Her voice sounded hollow in the haze. “What prize?”
 Nyx’s silhouette flickered, as if through water. “What brought you here.”
 Aurora swallowed. She recalled Isolde’s prophecy in the grove back home: a key of crimson heart and silver leaf to close the rift. The pendant had led them here. Now the blade would guide them home. She squared her shoulders. “Lead on.” They plunged deeper, the vines crowding in until Aurora brushed against slick bark that left sticky smears on her arms. The amber mist thickened, dimming the distant lanterns until shadows clung to her like cobwebs. A soft clinking echoed—the lullaby of forks against plates, a distant chorus of satisfied sighs. Then the trees fell away. Ahead, a vaulted hall yawned open, its roof supported by pillars of ivory bone carved into looping serpents. Long tables draped in crimson cloth heaved under dishes that writhed: serpentine fruits that hissed, mushrooms with caps like open mouths, vats of bubbling stew so dense a spoon would stand upright in it. Candles drifted above the tables like lost fireflies, casting dancing reflections on the polished floor. Aurora’s breath caught. She lifted the blade in front of her like a shield. Nyx faded back into shadow, melding with the darkness at the edges of the hall. Isolde hovered at her back, eyes distant, lips moving in half-formed riddles. From the far end, a deep voice rumbled. “Guests.” Belphegor’s tone was velvet and steel. Aurora tightened her grip. She could not see him yet, but she felt his presence—an opulent weight that draped itself over her chest. The doors behind them slammed shut. The taste of iron filled Aurora’s mouth. She glanced at the Fae dagger, trusting its cold bite. She edged forward, each step ringing on bone-white marble. The scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries pressed in from every side, overwhelming her until she tasted dough in her mouth. Then she saw him: Prince Belphegor seated on a dais, a throne fashioned from carved ribs of giants long dead. His eyes gleamed like molten gold, and around him swirled an entourage of grotesque gourmands—demons in embroidered coats, helbound souls bowed so low they scraped the floor. Before him lay a single dish on a pedestal: a loaf of pale bread etched with runes, steam rising in amber tendrils. Nyx’s voice was a breeze. “The heartstone fits there.”
 Aurora’s grip on the pendant tightened. The gem pulsed fiercely now, warmth flaring through her veins. She drew closer, every nerve alight. Isolde drifted to her side, whispering a riddle that tangled in Aurora’s mind: “What feeds on the hungry yet starves the feast?”
 Aurora’s pulse pounded. She stared at the bread, at the runic grooves carved into its crust. The pendant’s glow seemed to sync with those runes. She held the heartstone aloft. “This,” she said, voice steady despite the tremor inside her. “This is what ends it.”
 Belphegor’s smile was slow and cruel. “Place it,” he purred. “Or taste oblivion.”
 The hall’s indulgent hush pressed against her eardrums. The candles flickered, the demons leaning forward, gnashing teeth. The helbound guttural moan rose like a wave. Aurora inhaled, the sweetness of the air now cloying, suffocating. She took a final step, her boots scraping the marble. Nyx melted into shadow at her feet. Isolde’s hand hovered over her shoulder—warm despite the emptiness in her gaze. Aurora rested the Heartstone in the rune-carved hollow on the loaf. The moment it touched the crust, the gem’s glow flared white-hot, searing warmth through her chest. A shockwave rattled the hall; candles guttered, wine fountains stilled, the monstrous dishes convulsed as if wrenched by unseen jaws. Belphegor’s roar shattered the hush. The demons shrieked. The loaf cracked, fissures spidering out, and from its heart poured liquid light—pure, brilliant. It swept along the floor in a tide of luminescence, burning away candle stands, dissolving carved bones, unbinding wards. Aurora staggered backward, blade raised, sweat beading on her forehead. The amber haze retreated, the vineyard’s scent fading as the hall fractured around her. Helbound souls blinked, confusion in their hollow eyes. Belphegor’s form flickered, his flight of indulgence unspooling, until only a wisp of smoke remained. Then the light touched Aurora, and she felt herself pulled like a leaf on a current. She stumbled forward, the world warping, Nyx’s whisper at her side—“Now.”
 Isolde’s voice, urgent and clear: “Follow.” Aurora closed her eyes against the white glare, felt the Fae-forged blade’s cold bite against her palm, and she let herself be carried through the tearing Veil. The amber sky tore away, the groaning marble pillar dissolved, and she collapsed onto grass damp with morning dew. She lay on her back, chest heaving, pendant warm and steady once more. Nyx’s silhouette dissolved on the edge of sight, and Isolde knelt beside her, silver hair fanned across the green. The grove’s oak stones stood silent around them, wildflowers swaying in a breeze that had borne no rot. Aurora dragged in a shaky breath and sat up. The Heartstone pendant still pulsed faintly, a promise kept. She found the Fae blade at her feet, its leaf-edged blade glinting in dawn’s first light. Across the clearing, a wind-chilled voice murmured, “You have broken the feast.” Aurora closed her eyes and let the world settle. In that hidden grove between realms, she realized their journey had only begun. But for now, the rift was closed, and the hall in Dymas lay empty of its prince’s gluttony. She rose, steadied by cold steel and a beating heart of crimson light, ready for whatever came next.