AI The uneven stone bit into Rory’s palm as she pushed herself back to her feet. The world had dissolved in a nauseating vortex of amber light and impossible heat, and for one sickening second, she’d been certain her insides were about to become her outsides. Now, the spinning was slowing to a disorienting thrum.
“Well,” she breathed, her voice sounding alien in the thick, perfumed air. “That was… dreadful.”
A shadow coalesced beside her, taking on the solid, humanoid form of Nyx. Their violet eyes glowed like twin amethysts in the gloom . “The transitions are always unpleasant. The mortal body was not designed for such journeys.”
Eva, the third of their unlikely trio, was still on her hands and knees, retching onto the strange, mossy ground. “Designed for it?” she gasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “My stomach feels like it’s trying to file for divorce from the rest of me.” She looked up, her eyes widening as she finally took in their surroundings. “Oh. Oh, wow.”
Rory followed her gaze. They stood at the edge of a colossal, sunken orchard. The sky above was a dome of warm, luminous amber, casting everything in a perpetual golden hour glow. There was no sun, no moon, no stars—just that constant, honeyed light.
The trees were the first true impossibility. Their trunks were the colour of aged port and gleamed with a waxy sheen. Instead of leaves, cascading vines heavy with swollen, ruby-coloured fruit dripped from gnarled branches. The air hummed with a low, melodic buzz, the sound of thousands of insects moving between enormous, trumpet-shaped flowers that dripped nectar onto the soft, dark soil.
“Where are we?” Eva whispered, her earlier nausea replaced by awe.
“Dymas,” Nyx answered, their whispery voice barely disturbing the heavy air. “The Gluttony ring. A realm of… excessive harvest.”
Rory’s pendant, the Heartstone, pulsed against her chest with a steady, reassuring warmth . It had been their compass, their dowsing rod, guiding them to the weak spot in the Veil that Nyx had then torn open. Now, it felt like a contented pet, purring against her skin.
“Right. No time for sightseeing,” Rory said, forcing a practicality she didn’t feel. “The Seer said the rift stabiliser would be near the heart of this place. Let’s move.”
They began to pick their way down a slight incline, the spongy moss silencing their footsteps . The sheer scale was disorienting . Mushrooms the size of armchairs clustered around the bases of the trees, their spotted caps emitting a faint, bioluminescent glow. A gentle, warm breeze carried a dizzying cocktail of scents: overripe fruit, rich earth, and something spiced and exotic, like cinnamon and cardamom baked in the sun.
“It’s like the world’s most dangerous farmers’ market,” Eva muttered, carefully stepping over a thick root that pulsed with a slow, rhythmic beat.
They found a path, or what passed for one—a slightly worn track through the dense, alien undergrowth. As they walked deeper, signs of… cultivation… became apparent. They passed neat rows of bushes bearing berries that shimmered with an internal, oily light. A little further on, they found a small, crystal -clear stream, its banks lined not with reeds, but with stalks of what looked like black rice, each grain the size of a pebble.
Rory’s unease, a cold knot in her stomach that the wonder had temporarily smothered, began to tighten again. This wasn’t a wild place. It was a farm. A larder. The perfection was unnerving.
Nyx, gliding soundlessly beside her, seemed to read her thoughts. “Every berry, every root, is cultivated for maximum flavour, maximum potency. Perfection is the only standard here. The only sin is… mediocrity.”
The path began to slope upwards, leading them out of the sunken orchard and onto a low ridge. The view that opened up before them stole the breath from Rory’s lungs.
Below them stretched a vast, manicured valley. Tiered vineyards marched down hillsides, heavy with grapes that glittered like amethysts and emeralds. Orchards of silver-barked trees held golden, geometric fruit. And at the centre of it all sat a sprawling, open-air pavilion, all marble and polished obsidian. Even from this distance, they could see figures moving—dozens of them—scurrying between immense cookfires and prep stations like a disturbed anthill. The air carried the distant clang of pots and the rich, savoury smell of roasting meats.
“The kitchens of Prince Belphegor,” Nyx murmured. “The heart of the indulgence.”
“It’s a… restaurant,” Eva said, her voice full of disbelief . “A hellish, all-you-can-eat buffet from a nightmare.”
Rory’s gaze was fixed on the workers. They moved with a frantic, jerky efficiency. Some were grotesque, bestial demons wielding cleavers. But many… many were human-shaped. Or had been. Their faces were gaunt, their movements automatic, their eyes hollow as they stirred cauldrons large enough to bathe in or turned spits laden with unrecognisable carcasses.
“The chefs,” Rory said, the words tasting like ash. “The helbound souls.”
The Heartstone at her chest gave a sudden, sharp throb of heat, so intense it was nearly a burn. She flinched, her hand flying to it. The warmth was no longer reassuring; it was a warning beacon .
“It’s here,” she said, her voice tight . “The stabiliser. It’s close.”
Nyx pointed a shadowy finger towards the western edge of the culinary complex , where the manicured gardens gave way to a wilder, darker patch of woodland. “There. The energy is strongest near that copse of thorn trees.”
The direct route would take them straight through the main kitchen yards. An impossible risk.
“We go around,” Rory decided. “Through the woods. Keep to the cover.”
They moved along the ridge, keeping low, the sounds and smells of the infernal kitchen drifting up to them. The woodland Nyx had indicated was a stark contrast to the cultivated beauty of the valley. The trees here were twisted , their bark a scorched black, and long, needle-sharp thorns dripped with a viscous, black sap. The air grew cooler, and the pleasant hum of insects was replaced by an unsettling silence .
Pushing through the spiny undergrowth was slow, painful work. Rory felt a thorn tear through her jacket sleeve, scoring a thin line of blood on her arm. The Fae-forged blade at her hip felt reassuringly cold, a sliver of winter in this overheated realm.
They hadn’t gone more than fifty yards into the gloomy copse when they found it.
It stood in a small clearing: a obsidian monolith, about the height of a man. Arcane symbols, similar to those that had surrounded the London rift, were carved deep into its surface. They pulsed with a soft, malevolent amber light, in time with the heavy, rhythmic beating they could now feel through the soles of their feet. A low, sub-audible hum vibrated in their teeth.
“The stabiliser,” Rory whispered.
Eva reached a hand out towards it, mesmerised by the pulsing light.
“Don’t!” Nyx’s warning was a whip-crack of sound.
Eva snatched her hand back. “Why? What is it?”
“It is not merely a machine,” Nyx said, their form seeming to absorb the clearing’s faint light . “It is a anchor. And anchors have chains.”
As if summoned by the words, the earth at the base of the monolith trembled . The dark soil bulged upwards, then split open. A shape began to pull itself from the ground, shedding clods of earth like a grisly birth.
It was a creature of grotesque consumption. Its form was vaguely humanoid but bloated, its skin a pallid, stretched grey, like undercooked dough. Its mouth was a wide, lipless gash that took up most of its face, lined with row upon row of needle-like teeth. It had no eyes, only smooth, blank skin where they should be. It moved with a slow, ponderous grace, its head tilting as it sniffed the air, orienting on them. It was the guardian of the feast, the embodiment of the realm’s terrible hunger.
It took one heavy, earth-shaking step towards them, its jaws unhinging with a wet, tearing sound.
The Fae blade was in Rory’s hand in an instant, its moonsilver glint a defiant spark in the gloom . The cold of the hilt was a shock, sharpening her mind, focusing her fear.
“Eva, get back,” she said, her voice low and steady .
The guardian’s head swivelled towards the sound, its tooth-filled maw gaping wide.