Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0JC5DXZVG1D3YQSE8W10Q

Aurora pressed a hand against the trembling veil of shimmering air and stepped forward. Roots above her arched like ribs, black-veined and pulsing with an inner light. She felt the world shift beneath her boots, a soft sigh of fermenting earth that seemed alive. The sky glowed amber, a molten hush that settled over everything. Nyx followed, shoulders loose, silhouette solid where the light caught them. They paused on the threshold and surveyed the grove of twisted vines. “Gluttony,” they whispered, voice like wind through broken glass. “Dymas.” She swallowed. The Heartstone pendant lay heavy at her throat, its crimson gem throbbing in time with her pulse. She touched it, felt heat gather beneath her fingers. It urged her deeper. A tunnel of living vines opened before them, branches curling like fingers. Grape clusters the size of fists hung low, skin bruised purple and oozing sweet juice that dripped onto the spongy floor. The air smelled of crushed fruit and rot, rich and sickening. Aurora’s stomach clenched, but she forced her legs to move. She followed Nyx under a canopy that shivered with light. They emerged into an orchard stretching beyond sight. Trees bore apple-like fruit, skin pale as bone. When Aurora plucked one, it left her hand sticky, flesh leaking a faint glow. She tossed it and it shattered against a moss-carved statue, shards scattering like fallen stars. The statue was a man in sumptuous robes, eyes closed, lips parted in silent laughter. Nyx drifted to its base. Their fingers trailed over the carving. Runes spiralled down the figure’s arms, twisting into shapes of spoons and goblets. The Shade tilted its head. “Belphegor’s handiwork.” Aurora crouched and wiped juice from her fingers on her trousers. Her scar itched, and for a heartbeat she felt a current of something old stir through her veins—fear mixed with exhilaration. She tucked the Fae-Forged Blade into her boot. The disk of moonsilver at her side was always cold. Now it felt almost frigid against her skin. A ripple of sound flitted through the air: distant laughter, the clinking of cutlery, the hushed slap of wine on stone. Aurora straightened and peered between the trees. She saw a hall up ahead, columns half-hidden in vines. Its arch rose into darkness, carved with images of banquets undone: plates piled high with exotic meats curling into bones, goblets brimming with thick, roiling liquid. She stepped forward. The pendant pulsed again, a heartbeat against her chest. Nyx shadowed her, eyes flicking to every movement of the leaves. They whispered, “The Veil thins here. We must stay sharp.” Inside the hall, long tables stretched end to end, carved from a single slab of marble that gleamed beneath the amber sky. Platters overflowed: fruits that glowed like embers, loaves stiff with metal flakes, cheese that oozed a silver mist. A headless roast rested on a platter at the far end, steam curling from its wounds. Aurora froze. Something shifted at the far table. A shape rose, draped in wine-dark fabric. It moved toward her. She swallowed and reached for her blade, but it stayed lodged in her boot. She jerked it free, the steel whispering as it left its sheath. Nyx dropped beside her. “Stay back.” The shape resolved into a figure wearing a mask of polished ivory. It carried a ladle that dripped golden syrup onto the floor. Each step left a smear of light. Aurora’s breath caught. She flicked her gaze around. Dozens of statues lined the walls, each one a contestant in an endless feast: bared chests ringed with garlands of mushrooms, gaunt fingers curled around half-eaten fruits. The masked stranger stopped four paces from Aurora. It dipped the ladle into a towering bowl of wine and raised it to its lips. The liquid glowed deep red. It tilted the mask’s head back. The noise was a hiss, not a sip. Laughter rolled through the hall. Aurora willed her limbs to move and almost lunged, but Nyx laid a finger on her arm. “No,” they breathed. “Watch.” The figure lowered the ladle and wiped its mouth with a sleeve patterned like twisting vines. It swung around and drifted past a statue that looked startlingly human—its features too familiar, too alive. Aurora’s pulse hammered. The figure blurred an instant and, when it came into focus, the statue’s eyes opened. They were empty, void of warmth. A door behind the tables creaked open. Aurora swallowed and pressed herself against a column. She reached for the pendant, tracing its edge. It felt like a drum in her palm. She closed her eyes. Let the glow guide her. She opened them and nodded at Nyx. They moved. Each step raised motes of light from the marble floor, like fireflies spilling from underfoot. The carved ceilings towered overhead, vines woven into arches that hummed with a low resonance. A distant chorus of muted voices haunted the corners of the hall. When their footsteps echoed, the chorus answered in kind. Nyx paused at a corridor of creeping vines. They brushed a fingertip over a petal carved into the corridor’s frame. It wilted at their touch, petals dropping in a soft hush. “This way,” they said, and ducked under the arch. The corridor twisted like a serpent’s gut. Walls pulsed, veins of glowing sap running through living wood. The air throbbed with heat. Aurora felt sweat gather along her hairline. Leaves overhead stirred, though no wind blew. Somewhere in the darkness a fruit dropped with a dull thud. Aurora tapped the pendant and followed its glow. It pulsed brighter. She imagined it calling out to her, seeking something buried deep in this realm. The corridor ended at a small chamber. Its ceiling pitched high, beams of amber light streaking through cracks above. In the centre, a pool of wine-black liquid lay still. The surface quivered in perfect rings, like breath on glass. She knelt and peered in. Faces drifted beneath the surface, pale and yearning. They reached with translucent hands, fingertips brushing the wine’s edge. Their eyes locked onto hers. She jerked back. The pool rippled and the faces vanished. Nyx circled the pool, fingers trailing in the rim of carved stone. “Souls ferment here,” they murmured. “Like fruit left to rot.” Aurora leaned against the wall, blade at the ready. Her breath was steady. She forced her eyes to the pool. “Why here?” she asked. Nyx drew a slow line in the air, and the ripple in the pool matched it. “Prince Belphegor sustains his realm on desire and decay. Souls feed the vineyards.” They turned and offered their hand. “Step back.” Aurora’s boots hit the corridor floor. She didn’t look away until the chamber shrank behind them. Then she exhaled. “Isolde warned that gluttony comes first,” she said. “I didn’t think we’d see it writ like this.” They emerged into an orchard lit by an enormous moon of glass. Its surface gleamed with lines that crisscrossed like cracks in a mirror. Fruit hung from twisted branches—pear-shaped lanterns of silvery light. The ground glowed pale and hard. Aurora reached out and pressed a finger against one fruit. It rang like a tinkling bell. Sound blossomed around them: hooves striking stone, strings plucked in the distance, distant murmur of voices. Nyx tilted their head. “Hear that?” Aurora listened. The echoes wove together, an orchestra of hunger. She tucked the pendant beneath her collar. “We push on,” she said. They followed a path of crushed petals that led toward a distant glow. The vines parted to reveal a ruin of white marble, columns broken in half, roots thrusting through the cracks like broken teeth. At its centre lay a dais. A single statue stood upon it: a woman holding a cornucopia that spilled out dozens of tiny masks. Aurora crouched and picked up one. It was lighter than bone. When she turned it over, she saw her own features carved into the ivory, eyes bright as the ones in the pool. She dropped it. It shattered, and a flicker of movement caught her eye. Shadows pooled behind the statue, coalescing into a shape she recognised. Nyx. But where their form should have been shades shifted, edges in blur. Aurora’s mouth went dry. She raised her blade. Nyx held up a hand. From between their fingers, a whisper drifted, though their lips did not move. Aurora leaned in. You belong here, the voice said. We have been waiting. She jumped back. “No.” Nyx’s shape solidified. They pressed a palm to the statue’s base. The ground shivered. Vines twined around the dais. The amber sky darkened, and a hush fell. Aurora’s legs locked. She felt the heat of the pendant pulse stronger than before. It throbbed against her chest, as if torn between two worlds. She forced herself to move. She lunged at Nyx, reached for their shoulder. Nyx turned, eyes glowing violet. “We leave,” they said, voice real this time, urgent. Aurora seized their arm. The ground slipped. Vines wrapped around her boot. She fell, hand skidding across the marble as roots curled around her wrist. Nyx dropped to one knee. They pressed the Blade’s tip into the marble. Light flared. The roots recoiled as if burned. Aurora snapped upright. Nyx yanked her to her feet. They shot past the statue. The world shuddered. The ruin receded into the orchard. The orchard melted into the hall of tables. Aurora ran, blade drawn, heart stilled by fear and wonder. The amber glow faded at the edge of her sight. She reached the veil, panting. She looked back once. The rippling light of the pool and the twisted grapevines lingered behind a curtain of living shadow. Then Nyx guided her through. The veil closed soft as a sigh. Silence and damp London air greeted her. She pressed a hand to her chest, felt the pendant calm. Nyx watched her, their eyes steady. No words passed between them. They had seen too much. The portal behind them, hidden now in a back alley, tempted them with its promise. Aurora’s fingers curled around the pendant’s chain. Dymas waited, and so did they.