Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMRCW25CJNAZ6K2SNQD5F9M

The amber light of Dymas seeped through the grove's boundary like honey through muslin, wrong and viscous in a way that made Aurora's stomach clench. She'd crossed the threshold into Isolde's domain a dozen times before, but never with the Veil this thin, never with the solstice pulling at the edges of reality like fingers prying at a locked door. The Heartstone pendant burned against her collarbone. Not the gentle pulse that usually warned of nearby portals—this was an insistent heat that made her reach up and lift the chain away from her skin. The crimson gem's inner glow had intensified, casting ruddy shadows across her palm. "The boundary weakens." Isolde's voice drifted from somewhere ahead, though Aurora couldn't see her through the standing oaks that marked the grove's entrance. "What was separate bleeds together. Do you feel it, seeker? The taste of elsewhere on your tongue?" Aurora did. Something sweet and cloying, like overripe fruit left too long in the sun. She glanced back at Nyx, whose form rippled at the edges, more smoke than shadow in this strange confluence of realms. "I don't like this." The Shade's whisper seemed to come from all directions at once. "This place is already between. Adding another between to the between is—" They paused, their violet eyes flaring brighter. "Unwise." "Isolde said the answers we need are here." Aurora stepped forward, past the first ring of ancient oaks. Their bark felt warm under her fingertips, almost feverish. "Something about the portals opening in sequence, about the pattern." "The Seer speaks in spirals," Nyx murmured, but they followed. The grove opened before them, and Aurora's breath caught. She'd seen this clearing in every season—wildflowers blooming impossibly through winter snow, spring blossoms falling like rain in autumn. But now it existed in multiples, layered atop itself like poorly shuffled cards. Flowers bloomed and withered in the same instant. Ancient oaks stood simultaneously as saplings and as hollowed trunks wrapped in ivy. A stream cut through the center, its water flowing backward and forward at once, catching light that came from no visible sun. And beyond it all, visible through gaps in the overlapping realities, she could see Dymas. Sprawling vineyards stretched across impossible distances, their grapes luminous in the realm's perpetual amber twilight. Grand pavilions rose in the distance, and even from here she could smell it—roasted meat and exotic spices, wine and honey and things that had no earthly names. Her mouth watered despite her unease. That was Gluttony's pull, she reminded herself. The realm's nature seeping through the weakened Veil. "He walks between the rows." Isolde materialized beside a tree that was both oak and not-oak, something with silver bark that grew nowhere in the mortal world. Her silver hair moved in a wind Aurora couldn't feel. "The Prince of Plenty tests the vintage. Soon he will look this way, and when he does, what will he see? A door? A window? A mirror reflecting hunger back upon itself?" "We're not here for him," Aurora said, though she'd unconsciously rested her hand on the Fae blade at her hip. The moonsilver dagger felt colder than usual, almost burning with its chill. "You said you'd seen something in your visions. About the portals, about why they're opening in this order." "Order, disorder. The spiral dances both ways." Isolde turned those pale lavender eyes on her, ancient and utterly alien despite her human face. "Walk the boundary, little seeker. See what the bleeding shows." Nyx had already moved ahead, their form stretched thin between realities. They seemed more comfortable here than Aurora had ever seen them, as if existing in the spaces between places was a homecoming. "There are markers," the Shade called back. "Carved into the standing stones. They're visible in this state—when the Veil thins enough." Aurora hurried forward, her boots crushing flowers that might not exist in five minutes or might have died centuries ago. The standing stones that ringed the inner grove were older than Isolde, older perhaps than the Fae Courts themselves. Now, with Dymas bleeding through, she could see what had always been hidden. Sigils. Seven of them, carved in a spiral pattern around each stone. "The Sins," she breathed. She recognized the symbols from her research, from the old grimoires Silas kept locked in his office. Gluttony's mark—a chalice overflowing. Greed's—a hand clutching coins. Lust, Envy, Wrath, Pride, Sloth. All seven, spiraling inward toward a central point. "They're not random." Aurora moved from stone to stone, tracking the pattern. "The portals aren't opening randomly. Someone's following this sequence." "Following, leading, tracing what was always drawn." Isolde appeared at her shoulder, her footsteps silent as always. Or perhaps she'd been standing there all along and Aurora only now noticed. "The map was made before the journey began. The ritual was set before the first word was spoken." "What ritual?" Aurora spun to face her. "Isolde, please. I need you to be clear." The half-Fae's expression shifted, something almost like pain flickering across her ageless features. "I cannot lie," she said, and for once her voice held no riddle. "But the truth is this—the shape was cut long ago. Seven cuts to bleed the Veil dry. Seven doorways to let the hunger through. What you seek to prevent has already begun, and the pattern you follow was laid by the one you hunt." The Heartstone pendant flared with heat. Aurora yanked it away from her skin just as the grove's light shifted again. More of Dymas bled through, close enough now that she could hear music—lutes and pipes playing a melody that wound through her mind like smoke. Laughter echoed from those distant pavilions, rich and enticing. "We need to leave." Nyx's form had solidified, their humanoid shape sharp-edged and tense. "The Prince is looking this way." Aurora saw it too. A figure moving through the vineyards, too tall and too perfect to be human, crowned with something that caught the amber light and scattered it like broken glass. Prince Belphegor, stopping mid-step to turn his face toward the grove. Toward them. "He sees the door," Isolde whispered. "He sees the girl who carries Dymas's own heart around her neck. He sees the shadow who walks between. He sees—" "Now." Aurora grabbed Nyx's arm—solid enough to grip, barely—and ran. Behind her, Isolde's laughter followed like wind through leaves. "Seven cuts! Seven doors! The pattern spirals ever inward!" The grove's boundary hit Aurora like a wall of ice water. She stumbled through, Nyx flowing beside her, and suddenly they were in Richmond Park proper. Normal trees, normal light, the distant sound of traffic on the A307. The pendant against her chest had cooled to its usual gentle warmth. But Aurora's hand shook as she touched the Fae blade's hilt, and when she looked back at the grove, she could still see it—just for a moment—overlaid with amber light and endless vineyards and a tall figure moving closer, drawn by the scent of prey.