AI The ancient oak standing stones hummed, a low vibration that rattled Aurora's teeth and made the hair on her arms stand straight. She stepped past the boundary, her boots sinking into moss that felt too soft, too alive, as if the ground breathed beneath her soles. The air changed instantly. The damp chill of a London November vanished, replaced by a warmth that smelled of honeysuckle and ozone. Wildflowers bloomed in violent bursts of color around her ankles, petals unfurling in real-time as she watched, defying the season outside the grove.
Nyx dissolved into a pool of ink at her feet before reforming beside her, their violet eyes scanning the canopy. The shadows here did not behave. They stretched toward the light instead of away from it, clinging to the trunks of trees that twisted in impossible spirals.
"Time sits wrong here," Nyx whispered, their voice echoing as though spoken in a cavern despite the open sky. "An hour outside might be a century within. Or a blink."
Aurora tightened her grip on the Fae-forged blade. The moonsilver dagger bit into her palm, its eternal cold a grounding anchor against the surreal heat. "Isolde said to stay on the path. Did you see a path?"
"Paths are suggestions for those who fear getting lost." Nyx drifted forward, their form flickering between solid humanoid and wispy smoke. "Come. The Seer waits where the light breaks."
Rory followed, her bright blue eyes darting from the glowing fungi clustering on the bark to the sky above. It wasn't the grey slate of Cardiff or the smog-stained London horizon. The firmament shimmered with a pearlescent sheen, ribbons of aurora dancing even though no sun hung overhead. The light source seemed to emanate from the flowers themselves, casting long, dancing shadows that moved independently of their owners.
A bird trilled, a sound like glass breaking underwater. Rory flinched, her hand going to the Heartstone pendant beneath her jacket. The crimson gem pulsed against her sternum, warm and rhythmic , though no Hel portal lay near. The artifact reacted to magic, not just rifts. This entire grove screamed of power.
"Do you hear that?" Rory stopped, tilting her head.
"Hear what?" Nyx paused, their silhouette rippling .
"Whispering. Not you. The trees."
Nyx tilted their head, the faint glow of their eyes narrowing. "The Fae speak through everything. Roots, leaves, wind. Isolde says they remember every footstep taken here for three hundred years."
"That's comforting ." Rory resumed walking, pushing aside a curtain of ivy that retracted from her touch as if offended. "So it knows we're here."
"It knows you are Here," Nyx corrected. "Mortals rarely cross the Veil without tearing it. You walked through a door left ajar."
The terrain shifted underfoot. The moss gave way to grass that chimed when stepped on, tiny metallic notes ringing out with every stride. Rory lifted her boot to inspect the sole, finding no damage, only a faint dusting of silver pollen. Ahead, the trees parted to reveal a clearing bathed in liquid moonlight, though the sky remained bright. In the center stood a figure with silver hair cascading to her waist, pale lavender eyes fixed on the approaching pair.
Isolde Varga did not turn as they approached. She sat upon a stone that looked suspiciously like a petrified giant's hand, weaving strands of light into a complex knot. Her feet hovered an inch above the ground, leaving the grass beneath undisturbed. No footprints marked her passage, ever.
"You bring the cold iron with you," Isolde said, her voice melodic yet carrying the weight of stone . She did not look up from her weaving. "And the shadow that wears a man's shape."
"Isolde," Rory called out, stopping ten paces away. The air grew heavier here, pressing against her eardrums. "You told us to come. Said the winter solstice weakens the barrier too much."
"The Veil thins like old cloth," Isolde agreed, finally raising her gaze. Her lavender eyes seemed to look through Rory, focusing on something just behind her left shoulder. "Gluttony stirs in Dymas. The amber skies bleed through the cracks. Prince Belphegor grows hungry for more than just souls contracted from your Earth."
Rory felt the pendant grow hotter. "We saw the signs. Strange cravings in the city. People eating until they burst. Yu-Fei said the delivery orders make no sense. Entire banquets requested for single addresses."
"Appetites unbound," Isolde murmured. She stood, floating down to the grass. "The sin spreads like rot. It seeks the weakest point in the Boundary. And you, child of Cardiff, carry a stone from the very realm that pushes against us."
Rory's hand flew to the pendant again. "I didn't know where it came from. Someone left it on my bike."
"Nothing is left by accident in the spaces between." Isolde glided closer, her movement fluid, unnatural. She reached out, her fingers hovering over the fabric covering the Heartstone. "This gem beats with the rhythm of the vineyards of Dymas. It calls to its home."
Nyx stepped between them, their form expanding, shadows lengthening to swallow the immediate area. "Do not touch her without cause, Seer. The compulsion binds your tongue, not your hands."
"I cannot lie, Shadow-Walker," Isolde said, unperturbed. "But I may choose which truth to speak. I speak this: the pendant is a key. And the lock turns soon."
Rory pushed past Nyx's protective stance. "If it's a key, what does it open? And how do we stop Belphegor from using it?"
Isolde smiled, a sad expression that didn't reach her ancient eyes. "Stop? One does not stop the tide with a spoon. One builds a boat." She turned and gestured toward the back of the clearing, where the trees grew dense and dark. "Follow. The vision comes clearer when the feet move."
Rory exchanged a glance with Nyx. The Shade's violet eyes glowed brighter, a silent signal to proceed with caution. They fell in behind the Half-Fae seer, venturing deeper into the grove. The temperature dropped sharply as they entered the shadow of the older trees. The chirping insects fell silent. The only sound was the chime of the grass under Rory's boots and the soft rustle of Isolde's gown, which made no sound at all.
The path wound downward, spiraling into a depression in the earth where the air tasted of copper and old rain. Strange plants lined the way, their leaves translucent, revealing veins that pumped a luminescent blue sap. Rory brushed against one, and the plant recoiled, folding in on itself with a sharp click.
"Careful," Nyx warned, their voice barely audible . "This place feeds on attention."
"It feeds on many things," Isolde said over her shoulder. "Memory. Hope. Fear. Your fear tastes particularly sharp tonight, Aurora Carter."
"I'm not afraid," Rory lied, her voice tight .
"The Fae know lies before the tongue shapes them," Isolde replied gently . "You fear the ex who nearly broke you. You fear the law you fled. But most of all, you fear that you are exactly where you are meant to be, and you have no control over the map."
Rory gritted her teeth, the cold handle of the dagger digging into her palm. "I control my own life. I left Evan. I left Cardiff. I chose this."
"Did you?" Isolde stopped at the edge of a small, mirror-still pool. The water reflected not the trees above, but a sprawling landscape of golden vineyards under an amber sky . Figures moved in the reflection, grotesque and bloated, feasting at tables that groaned under the weight of excess. "Or did the currents pull you here because you are the only one who can hold the line?"
Rory stared into the pool. The image shifted. She saw herself standing before a gaping rift, the Heartstone blazing in her hand, while shadows poured out from the other side. She saw Nyx fracturing into a thousand pieces. She saw London burning, not with fire, but with a creeping, consuming hunger.
"What is this?" Rory demanded, stepping back. "A prophecy?"
"A possibility," Isolde corrected. "The future is a garden with many paths. Some lead to feast, some to famine."
Nyx leaned over the water, their reflection absent. "The connection to Dymas strengthens. The solstice approaches. The Veil will tear if we do not reinforce the ward stones."
"Reinforce them with what?" Rory asked, her mind racing , clicking into the problem-solving mode that had kept her alive through law school and worse. "I'm a delivery driver, not a sorcerer."
"You are a vessel," Isolde said, turning her pale eyes onto Rory. "And you carry the blood of those who held the line before, even if they did not know it. Your father's arguments, your mother's lessons. They were not just for the mortal courts. They prepared you for the judgment to come."
Rory shook her head, the black strands of her hair whipping across her face. "That's insane. My dad argued parking tickets. My mom taught primary school."
"They taught you to see the cracks in the argument," Isolde insisted, her voice rising with a rare urgency . "To find the flaw in the logic. Magic is simply logic written in a older tongue. The demons of Gluttony operate on a simple premise: take until nothing remains. You must show them the counter-argument."
"And how do I do that?"
Isolde pointed to the Fae blade in Rory's hand. "Cut the thread that binds the hunger to the earth. But beware. The blade cuts both ways. It severs magic, yes, but it also severs the ties that hold the user to the world."
Rory looked down at the slender, leaf-shaped dagger. The moonsilver seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat. "So if I use it, I might lose everything?"
"You might lose what binds you to the pain," Nyx whispered, their form coalescing closer . "But you might also lose the memory of why you fight."
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of rotting fruit from the direction of the pool. The reflection in the water rippled, and for a moment, a massive hand reached up from the golden vineyards, fingers grasping at the surface of the pool as if trying to break through .
Isolde stepped back, her ethereal face grave . "The solstice arrives tonight. TheVeil weakens. We have no more time for riddles."
"Then give me the straight truth," Rory snapped, sheathing the blade but keeping her hand on the hilt. "What exactly do I need to do?"
"Find the three rift points in London," Isolde commanded, her voice echoing with the power of the grove . "One in the market, one in the sewers, one in the place where you felt the most pain. Seal them before the amber sky swallows the grey."
Rory felt the crescent scar on her wrist itch, a phantom ache from a childhood fall that suddenly felt like a brand . "The place where I felt the most pain."
"Evan's flat," Nyx said, the words hanging heavy in the air . "The site of the first tear."
Rory nodded, her jaw set. "Then we go there first."
Isolde raised a hand, and the wildflowers around them bowed low. "Go quickly , children of shadow and steel. The feast begins, and you are the main course."