Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQYTHQ9CNWNGD36B1BZH7D

The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and something indefinable, like crushed moonlight. Rory ran a hand over the rough bark of an ancient oak, its branches gnarled like the bones of an old god. She glanced back at Nyx, their shadowy form a darker smudge against the gloom, then ahead at the faint shimmer of the Veil, visible now even to her human eyes. The barrier pulsed, a faint, iridescent ripple in the fabric of the air, directly between two enormous standing stones that dwarfed them all. Isolde stood before it, her silver hair catching the muted light, her pale lavender eyes fixed on a point beyond. She lifted a hand, palm outward. “The path is open,” Isolde said, her voice a low murmur, like wind chimes. “For a time.” She did not look at them, her gaze still fixed on the shimmering distortion. Rory felt the Heartstone pendant, a deep crimson pulse, warm against her skin. It throbbed with a gentle rhythm, amplifying the hum of the Veil. She stepped forward, the Fae-Forged Blade at her hip a familiar, cold weight. The air thickened around her, pushing in, then expanding. One moment she stood on the mossy ground of Richmond Park, the next, the world had shifted. The ground beneath her feet was no longer soil, but a carpet of wildflowers that bloomed in impossible colors—violets shot with gold, scarlet petals edged in silver, blossoms that seemed to glow with an inner luminescence. They yielded under her boots without crushing, springy and soft. Above, the sky was a canvas of deep twilight, yet the light that filtered down was impossibly bright, casting no discernible shadows. It was a place woven from dreams. "Well," Rory breathed, a small, involuntary gasp. "This is... unexpected." Nyx materialized beside her, their form more defined here, the faint violet glow of their eyes widening slightly. “The Fae Grove,” Nyx whispered, their voice a bare rustle of leaves. “It lies between.” Isolde turned, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. “A threshold. Where one world touches another.” She drifted forward, her silver hair trailing like a living cloud, leaving no imprints on the luminous petals. “Be mindful of the whispers. Not all here are friendly, even in their beauty.” Rory felt a prickle of unease, a cold sensation that had nothing to do with the Fae blade. The beauty here was almost too perfect, too serene. It felt like a trap, exquisitely laid. They walked deeper into the grove. The trees here were unlike anything Rory had ever seen on Earth. Their bark twisted into intricate, swirling patterns, not unlike the Celtic knots her Irish grandmother used to draw. Leaves shimmered in hues of emerald, sapphire, and amethyst, rustling with a collective, melancholic sigh that seemed to carry ancient stories. A stream wound through the grove, its water so clear it was invisible, only detectable by the smooth, polished stones at its bed and the delicate, iridescent fish that swam in lazy circles. They weren’t fish Rory recognized; they seemed to be made of spun light. “The water… it sings,” whispered Nyx, pausing by the bank. Rory leaned closer. A faint, bell-like chime resonated from the stream, a gentle melody that seemed to resonate deep in her bones. It wasn’t a sound her ears heard so much as a feeling in her chest. “Do not drink from it,” Isolde warned, her voice cutting through the ethereal music. “Or you will be bound here, enchanted by its deceit.” Rory nodded, pulling back. The warning added another layer to the grove’s unsettling charm. Everything here promised bliss, but threatened entrapment. They continued, the path winding deeper into the grove. The air grew warmer, carrying the scent of exotic spices she couldn’t name, mixed with the sweet, intoxicating perfume of the wildflowers. The ground sloped gently downward, leading them towards an unseen destination. Suddenly, Nyx stopped dead. Their form solidified to a truly imposing height, their shadowy mass rippling with tension. "Detection," Nyx hissed. "Something... vast." Rory’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She drew the Fae blade, its moonsilver gleam a stark contrast to the vibrant flora. The blade felt colder than usual, a clear sign of impending magic. Isolde extended a hand, palm outward. “Peace, Shade. The path we seek is not without its… hosts.” Through a veil of shimmering, glowing moss, Rory saw it. A clearing spread before them, unlike anything else in the grove. Here, the flora gave way to something else entirely. The air itself seemed to vibrate with a low thrum. Before them stood an immense, arched gateway, not crafted from stone, but from living, interwoven branches that pulsed with the same inner light as the flowers. Vines heavy with impossibly large, jewel-toned fruits hung low, brushing the ground. The scent of those fruits was overwhelming, a cloying sweetness that made her stomach clench. “Dymas,” Isolde announced, her gaze tracing the archway. “The realm of Gluttony. A subtle temptation, but a potent one.” Rory swallowed, her throat dry. The Heartstone pulsed with a furious warmth now, almost burning against her skin. This was it. The portal to Hel. The gateway itself seemed to breathe, slow and deep. The air shimmered through the archway, like heat rising from a summer road, but this was a shimmering of rich, warm amber light. Beyond, she saw glimpses of a landscape that defied earthly logic. Towering structures woven from what looked like spun sugar and candied fruits glimmered in the distance, bathed in the eternal amber sky. Sprawling vineyards stretched to the horizon, their grapes glowing like individual embers. “They feast, perpetually,” Isolde explained, her voice tinged with a faint disapproval. “Bound souls, lost in the pursuit of indulgence. The Prince of Gluttony, Belphegor, ensured his realm became a paradise of excess.” Rory felt a strange sense of longing mixed with revulsion. The smells, the sights, the promise of endless pleasure tugged at something deep inside her. This wasn't the fiery, sulfurous Hel she had imagined. This was far more insidious. From within the archway, a figure emerged. It was human-shaped, but far too large, its skin stretched taut over an enormous frame. Its eyes, small and pig-like, darted across them, lingering on Rory, then Isolde. It wore garments woven from what looked like shimmering silks, but stained with droplets of what could only be fruit juice or exotic wines. A wide, greasy smile spread across its face, revealing teeth that were too white, too pointed. “Well, well,” the creature rumbled, its voice deep and syrupy. “What have we here? Fresh meat? Or mere mortals straying from the path?” It sniffed the air, its nostrils flaring. “Distinctly… mortal. And a touch of Fae! Unusual for this particular entrance.” Nyx stepped forward, their form solidifying further, projecting an aura of cold, lethal stillness. “We seek passage, gatekeeper,” Nyx stated, their voice a low, threatening whisper. The creature’s smile faltered, its small eyes widening as it took in Nyx’s imposing presence. “A Shade… A powerful one at that. My apologies, traveler. The Prince does not see many of your kind here.” It bowed, a surprisingly graceful movement for something so immense. “I am Greel, curator of appetites. And you are…?” “Travelers,” Isolde interjected smoothly, her voice calm and authoritative. “On an errand for a certain… associate of the Prince.” She offered no name, no detail. Greel’s eyes narrowed slightly, a glimmer of suspicion in their depths, but he quickly recovered. “Ah, yes. The Prince has… many associates. And many tastes. Do you carry tokens? Permissions?” Rory’s hand instinctively went to the Heartstone pendant. It still glowed with that intense, focused heat. She pulled it from beneath her shirt, holding it up. The crimson gem pulsed, almost in time with her own heartbeat. Greel’s eyes fixed on the pendant. A gasp escaped his lips, a sound surprisingly high-pitched for his bulk. “The Heartstone! Unmistakably! But… how?” He took a step back, his earlier bravado completely gone, replaced by a deep unease. “My apologies, my deepest apologies! Forgive my insolence! By the Prince’s own decree, the bearer of the Heartstone is granted unfettered passage.” He swept a paw-like hand through the air, gesturing towards the shimmering amber arch. “The way is open. May your journey be… satisfying.” He watched them, his piggish eyes still fixed on the pendant, as they passed under the arch. The air changed again, becoming even thicker, warmer, imbued with a thousand rich, cloying aromas. The amber sky above Dymas pressed down, soft and luminous. The ground here was no longer flowers, but a spongy, resilient carpet of what looked like solidified, golden-brown sugar. Rory felt a sudden, intense craving, a hunger that had nothing to do with her stomach. It emanated from the very air, from the glowing grapes on the vines that lined their path, from the saccharine scent of the sugar-structures in the distance. This was the true nature of Dymas – not just external temptation, but an internal gnawing, a constant whisper of desire. “Do not succumb to the appetites, Rory Carter,” Nyx murmured, their voice a low rasp beside her. “This realm feeds on such things.” Rory gripped the Fae-Forged Blade, its cold hilt a grounding comfort. She would not succumb. She had come too far for that. But as they walked deeper into the realm of Gluttony, the sweet, pervasive air seemed to cling to her, wrapping around her with an unsettling promise of endless, blissful consumption. The grand feasts, the culinary competitions Isolde had mentioned, they were simply the outward manifestations of the soul-deep hunger that permeated this place. This was a hell of indulgence, where the greatest torment was the inability to ever be truly satisfied. And they had only just arrived.