Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMRCE51JPEXZQCRCWKNBJ02

The air grew thick the moment they crossed the threshold. It wasn’t a physical weight, like smoke or fog, but a density that pressed against Aurora’s eardrums, muting the hum of London traffic that had been fading for the last mile. Beside her, Nyx dissolved. For a heartbeat, the shadow cast by the ancient oak of Richmond Park’s standing stones stretched unnaturally long, rippling like oil on water, before coalescing back into a humanoid silhouette. The Shade took a deep, gasping breath that seemed to suck the very light out of the gap between the world-tree roots. When Nyx solidified, their faintly glowing violet eyes were wide, tracking the chaotic shift in the ambient magic. “Strange,” Nyx whispered, their voice immediately swallowed by the stillness. “The wall is thin here. I taste the rotting meat and the wine. It’s pungent.” Isolde moved ahead, her silver hair catching a light that Aurora couldn’t see. She stepped over a patch of moss that looked suspiciously like a weeping face frozen in stone. The Half-Fae’s bare feet made no sound as she navigated the overgrown path that had formed overnight. “Don’t look back,” Isolde murmured, not turning around. Her voice was like wind chimes struck too softly. “What you left behind is already changing. London is wet and gray; this place is loud in its richness.” Aurora tightened her grip on the backpack strap across her chest. Inside, resting against the cold aluminum, was the Heartstone. She hadn’t felt it warm up since Cardiff, but as they stepped fully onto the other side of the standing stones, the pendant shifted against her ribs. It felt heavy, like a small stone dropped into a water pail. It was vibrating—a low, frantic thrum that seemed to sync with the frantic beating of her own heart. They had crossed the Veil, and they had arrived in Dymas. The first thing Aurora noticed wasn’t the sky, though that was a dizzying sight all on its own. Above them, the expanse of Hel wasn’t black or bruised purple, but a smoky, warm amber—the color of a setting sun trapped in a honey jar. It cast long, golden shadows that stretched toward the horizon where… vines? Trees? They were massive, twisting structures that defied the imagination of a Londoner used to parklands. Their bark was the color of parchment, and from the branches hung fruit the size of melons, glowing with an inner, ruby luminescence. The scent hit them next. It was the smell of a banquet hall on New Year’s Eve multiplied by a thousand. Roasted meats hung heavy in the air, mixed with the sweet, cloying aroma of figs and citrus, and beneath it all, the smell of old copper and dust. “Keep moving,” Aurora said. Her voice sounded tinny in her own ears. She wasn’t the leader; she was the delivery girl, the one who got things done, but in the face of this absurdity, her training kicked in. “The stone says we’re close.” “Directions are not my strength,” Nyx replied, flickering slightly as they stepped into the amber light. “I only see shadows. And all I see are… things to eat.” “It’s not real, Nyx. It’s magic,” Aurora said, though the doubt lingered at the back of her throat. The scenery here was too perfect. The grass beneath their boots was a vibrant, impossible shade of green, unmarred by worms or jagged rocks. Even the light seemed to cling to the leaves of the giant flora, magnifying every detail. Isolde stopped. She was standing at the edge of a clearing, a bowl of lush greenery surrounded by the towering, parchment-like trees. “The Grove was small,” Isolde observed, her pale lavender eyes scanning the horizon. “This is a table. A feast for one.” Aurora stepped up beside her. The Heartstone in her pocket suddenly flared hot, searing a line of fire across her hip. She stumbled forward, clutching her side, and peered into the center of the clearing. There was a lake, but it was made of honey or oil, reflecting the amber sky perfectly. And floating in the center was a structure that looked less like architecture and more like a cell from a nightmare made opulent. It was a stone pavilion, draped in heavy silks of crimson and gold, but the most arresting feature was the interior. Through the open door, Aurora could see a table spread with platters so large they looked built for giants. Silverware gleamed in the light, condensation dripping from goblets of rich red wine. “Showtime,” Aurora breathed, stepping into the light. The heat was immediate. It wasn’t an unpleasant heat, but a humidity that slicked the back of her neck with sweat. She took the Heartstone out, holding it in her palm. The crimson gem inside swirled, pulsing erratically. “It’s drawing us in,” Aurora said, looking down at the artifact. “To the center,” Nyx added, their voice lacking its usual edge of amusement. They drifted toward the pavilion, their form flickering in and out of solidity, as if the magic of the place was trying to absorb them. Isolde stepped onto the stone bridge that spanned the honey lake. Her feet hovered inches above the surface. “Belphegor does not share,” the Seer warned softly. “We are intruders. And to the Glutton, hunger is never a sin. It is a virtue.” Aurora quickened her pace, matching Isolde’s glide. As they drew closer to the pavilion, the details sharpened. The smell grew overwhelming—a heady mix of spices and roasted poultry. She saw a cake on a platter that resembled a mountain range, layers upon layers of icing dusting its peaks. There was movement inside the pavilion. A figure turned. It was enormous, bloated with a layer of pale fat that rippled over velvet robes. Its eyes were milky white, pits of vacuum that drank in the light. It was Prince Belphegor, or a creature wearing his visage. The Heartstone in Aurora’s hand burned, forcing her eyes shut against the sudden glare of crimson light erupting from the gem. She stumbled, almost falling, but Nyx caught her. The Shade didn’t touch her; they were a cold void of shadow that wrapped around her arm, anchoring her. “Close your eyes,” Nyx whispered. “It smells better when you can’t see it.” Aurora forced her eyes open. The pavilion was empty again. The feast remained, a static image of abundance. But the Heartstone was no longer warm; it was cold. It pulsed with a rhythmic, mechanical thud, like a clock wound too tight. “Did it leave?” Aurora asked, her voice shaking. “The feast is a mirage,” Isolde said, her hand resting on the hilt of the sword at her hip—the Fae-Forged Blade she had given Aurora earlier. “It is a distraction. It offers the soul the only thing it thinks it wants: satisfaction.” Aurora looked around. The light in Dymas was changing. The amber sky began to bruise purple, the stars blinking into existence in the gaps of the drifting clouds. The alien heat was turning chill, the air thickening with a sudden, unnatural frost. “We need to leave,” Aurora said, clutching the Heartstone. “The solstice weakens the Veil, yes? It’s weakening now.” “It is weakening fast,” Isolde confirmed, turning back toward the woods. “The portal opens soon. We must not be here when it slams shut.” They began to run. The pavilion, the lake of honey, the massive fruit trees—all of it began to dissolve, turning to mist as Aurora’s lungs burned and her legs felt heavy. Nyx ran beside her, their movement fluid, a single dark streak cutting through the golden fog. “Go, Rory!” Nyx shouted, their form flickering as they turned to face a looming shape—perhaps a beast of Gluttony, perhaps just a trick of the light. “Jump!” Aurora didn’t wait to ask why. The tree line loomed ahead, dark and looming. The Heartstone was blindingly bright in her hand, shattering the mist around them. She saw the gap in the trees, the space where the London sky—gray and wet and unremarkable—should have been. She took a leap of faith. The sensation of falling stretched out for an eternity, suspended in a void of violet and gold. Then, gravity reasserted itself with a jarring jolt. She landed hard on asphalt, breath knocked from her lungs. The smell of exhaust and rain hit her immediately. She scrambled up, wiping mud from her hands. She was on a London street corner, wet with drizzle, the Golden Empress restaurant sign buzzing overhead. “Rory?” Aurora spun around. Nyx was solid again, standing under the streetlamp, shaking off drops of water that had never fallen from the London sky. Isolde was adjusting her shawl, looking bored, though the amber light still lingered in her lavender eyes. “You missed the catch,” Nyx said, a smirk returning to their features. “I caught myself,” Aurora retorted, though her hand was still trembling as she looked down at the Heartstone. The crimson gem was dark again, cooling rapidly, no longer pulsing with the heartbeat of the realm they had just left. It felt heavy, a dead weight of stone in her pocket. She looked back toward the gap in the road, where there was nothing but a brick wall and a pigeon pecking at some crumbs. But for a second, just a second, she swore she could smell roasted figs and old copper. “Let’s go,” Aurora said, turning away from the world of the living. “I have a delivery to make.”