Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR6P2S1CHC4VE6QHCAQT3D

The air before them shimmered like heat haze off summer tarmac, though the London chill bit deep into Aurora's bones. She stood at the edge of the rift, her hand resting instinctively on the hilt of the moonsilver dagger at her hip. The Fae-forged blade was cold enough to burn through her jacket, a constant reminder of the danger waiting on the other side. Around her neck, the Heartstone pendant pulsed with a rhythmic, feverish warmth, the crimson gem glowing like a dying ember. It is time, Isolde said. Her voice was melodic, yet carried the weight of centuries. The Seer stood barefoot on the frost-rimed grass, her silver hair cascading down to her waist like a waterfall of mercury. She did not shiver. She never seemed to feel the cold of the mortal plane. Aurora glanced at Nyx. The Shade hovered slightly off the ground, a humanoid silhouette of living shadow that drank the faint streetlight from the park beyond. Faintly glowing violet eyes fixed on the distortion in the air. The wind does not sing here, Nyx whispered, the sound like dry leaves skittering over pavement. It holds its breath. Aurora took a breath of her own, testing the air. It smelled of ozone and old dust, the scent of a room sealed for a hundred years. She adjusted the strap of her delivery bag, a habit from her life above Silas' bar, though tonight she carried no food, only survival gear. Her left wrist throbbed, the small crescent-shaped scar from her childhood itching as if sensitive to the shift in pressure. Stay close, Aurora said, her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart. She stepped toward the shimmer. The transition was not a step but a fall. Gravity lurched sideways. The grey gloom of Richmond Park vanished, swallowed by a sudden, overwhelming warmth. Aurora stumbled, her boots finding purchase on soil that was soft and loamy, far too rich for English earth. She straightened, her bright blue eyes widening as she took in the sky. It was amber. Not the golden hue of a sunset, but a permanent, warm glow that bathed the landscape in the light of eternal late afternoon. There was no sun, only the sky itself radiating illumination. Welcome to Dymas, Isolde said. She stood beside Aurora, though she had not walked the distance. One moment she was at the rift, the next she was beside the protagonist. Where Isolde's boots should have crushed the clover, the grass stood undisturbed. She left no footprints. The air was thick with scent. It was intoxicating, a cloying mixture of ripe grapes, roasting meat, spiced wine, and something darker, like musk and decay hidden beneath the sweetness. It was the smell of a feast that had been going on for too long. Gluttony, Aurora murmured, touching the pendant. The crimson stone was hot against her skin now, vibrating slightly. It reacts to the realm's energy. It reacts to excess, Isolde corrected, her pale lavender eyes scanning the horizon. Here, hunger is a god, and satisfaction is a sin. They began to move forward, descending a gentle slope into a sprawling valley. Vines heavy with fruit the size of melons draped over trellises made of bone-white wood. The fruits burst with color, violets and deep oranges that seemed to pulse in time with the amber sky. Aurora kept her hand on the Fae blade. The cold metal grounded her, cutting through the humid haze that threatened to make her lightheaded. Nyx flowed beside them, their shadowy form stretching and contracting. The shadows here are heavy, Nyx whispered. They cling. In the corner of Aurora's vision, the Shade's form flickered, momentarily solidifying into a tall man in period clothing before dissolving back into smoke. The memory of Aldric, the sorcerer they had once been, surfacing in this place of power. Do not touch the fruit, Isolde warned, her tone light but absolute. To eat here is to sign a contract in blood and sugar. Aurora nodded, though her stomach gave a treacherous growl. The smell was overwhelming, triggering a primal urge to consume. She forced her mind to focus on the details, the cool-headed analysis that had kept her alive through Evan's abuse and the chaotic flight to London. The vegetation was too dense. The colors were too saturated. It was a landscape designed to overwhelm the senses. They walked through a vineyard where the leaves whispered as they passed, though there was no wind. Aurora noticed the silence of their own movement. Her boots sank into the earth without a crunch. Nyx made no sound. Only Isolde seemed to generate a faint chime, like a bell tolling underwater, with every step she didn't quite take. How long do we have? Aurora asked. Time is a fluid here, Isolde said, stopping beside a tree laden with pods that wept a golden sap. An hour may be a minute. A minute may be a year. It depends on how much you indulge. Aurora looked at the pendant. The pulse was slowing, matching the rhythm of her own heartbeat. We need to find the rift back before the solstice ends. The Veil will strengthen. The Veil is a membrane, Isolde said, turning to face her. It breathes. To leave, you must not hold your breath. You must exhale. Aurora frowned, parsing the riddle. Don't fight the return. Accept the shift. Nyx drifted ahead, their violet eyes scanning the ridgeline. Something watches, the Shade whispered. From the orchards. Aurora followed Nyx's gaze. Between the trunks of the bone-white trees, shapes moved. They were not human, but they were not beasts either. They were large, bloated forms that shuffled with a purpose, carrying baskets of the oversized fruit. Helbound souls, contracted from Earth. Their eyes were hollow, fixed on the task, devoid of the hunger that permeated the air. They don't see us, Aurora observed, noting the way the workers walked past them without turning their heads. They see only the feast, Isolde said. To them, we are shadows. To be here is to be a guest. To be a guest is to be expected to eat. Aurora tightened her grip on the dagger. The cold seeped into her palm, sharpening her focus. Then we don't stay guests. We find what we came for and we leave. The amber sky seemed to deepen in color, shifting toward a richer, more dangerous hue. The warmth pressed against them, heavy as a blanket. Aurora felt the weariness of the journey trying to settle into her limbs, the诱惑 to sit beneath the vines and rest just for a moment. She shook her head, the movement sharp. Lead the way, Isolde, Aurora said. But keep us moving. Isolde smiled, a cryptic curving of lips that held no warmth. The path is always moving, Rory. We must simply be faster than the hunger. They pressed on into the heart of the realm, the amber light casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to reach for them, while the Heartstone pulsed steadily against Aurora's chest, a crimson heartbeat in a world of excess.