Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0WVM7G6XADVGB2GZFKF68

Aurora stepped through the trembling ribbon of distortion and stumbled onto soil that felt more like living flesh than earth. Amber light pooled beneath a sky the colour of molten honey, stretching overhead in lazy ripples. She pressed a hand to the smooth scar on her wrist, her fingers brushing the Heartstone pendant pulsing warmly against her chest. Each beat of the gem echoed in her ribs. Isolde emerged behind her, silver hair drifting like a breeze that carried no wind. Her bare feet made no indentations on the ground. She tilted her head, pale lavender eyes tracing the horizon. “Where lustful vines cradle the fallen sun,” she murmured, voice weaving through the air like smoke, “the feast waits to claim every wandering hunger.” Nyx followed, a ripple of shadow that solidified as they passed the portal’s threshold. The faint glow of their violet eyes caught in the twisted trunks around them. They let a hand trail across bark that curled into spirals, leaves unfurling at their touch. A single leaf fell, black as night, landing at Aurora’s boot. Dark laughter drifted ahead. The scent of overripe fruit—sweet, metallic—clung to the air. Aurora drew in a breath that tasted of spilled wine and scorched sugar. She shivered. “Belphegor’s realm,” she whispered. “I never dreamed it would feel… hungry.” Isolde’s lips curved. “Every inch devours. Every breeze whets the appetite.” She stepped forward, silk gowns brushing the ground, petals unfurling wherever she walked. Time seemed pliant here; the distant echo of their footsteps stretched and folded. A low, resonant clang sounded to their left. They rounded a gnarled archway woven from living vines, half-veiled by hanging blossoms the colour of bruised plums. Beyond lay a courtyard edged by towering trellises heavy with fruit that gleamed like polished gems. Grapes bloomed to the size of fists, dripping juice that sizzled on the stones. Pomegranates cracked open before their eyes, arils spilling like blood onto the paved floor. Nyx’s voice floated between them. “See how the vines drip crimson. See how the stones soak it up.” They knelt and pressed a fingertip into a pool of fruit-blood. It shook, alive. “It’s hungry, too.” Aurora’s hand fell to the hilt at her hip. The slender, leaf-shaped blade of moonsilver whispered cold against her palm. The Fae-Forged Blade gave off a faint glow, its surface mapping the hunger in this place. A flicker of motion caught her eye. Helbound souls—pale figures chained at the ankles—hailed their own tormentors, offering baskets of fruit. One figure inched forward to slice open a grape, pronouncing its flavor sacred before sink­ing teeth into pulp and spitting seeds like curses. Isolde drifted closer to the souls. She cast no glance to their tormented eyes. “They taste devotion. Every piece binds them tighter.” She lifted her chin. “We must not taste.” The light shifted. Across the far wall, braziers flared to life, uncovering a banquet table that stretched nearly the length of the courtyard. Platters heaved with steaming roasts, fountains of honey, cauldrons bubbling with sauces that smoked in swirls of rose and saffron. The air thrummed with laughter, a chorus that rose and subsided like tides. Aurora’s stomach clenched. Every scent pressed in on her: roast boar dripping fat, loaves fresh from ovens that seemed to breathe heat. Her teeth ached. She glanced at Nyx, whose form rippled, as though the hunger here tried to claw at their shadow. “I thought gluttony was indulgence,” Aurora managed. “This…” Her voice snapped. “This feels like a trap.” Nyx rose. Shadow pooled at their feet, crawling toward the feast. “Traps are hungry, too.” They traced a path around a table leg. “They bait the senses, lure the traveller.” Their eyes glowed a shade tighter. “Don’t breathe too deep.” Isolde moved to stand before Aurora. She reached out, fingertips almost brushing Aurora’s shoulder. “Breathe,” she said, voice calm. “Breathe daylight.” Aurora willed herself to inhale, to taste only air. Her heart stuttered as she edged past the table. She skirted the diners—creatures with dozens of limbs, vanishing faces that reformed under each torch. One chef, six arms folded in reverence, beckoned her closer. Steam curled from a bubbling cauldron. A copper ladle rose, as if of its own volition. Aurora stepped back. The ground shifted. Vines writhed across stones, seeking her ankles. She shook them free, boots squeaking where fruit-blood met leather. Her pendant warmed to a steady glow, pulsing like a drumbeat in her chest. “Find the heart,” Nyx whispered. “Find where the Veil clings to the stone.” In the center of the courtyard a monolithic obelisk rose, carved with looping runes that bled faint light. It trembled as if feeding on the hunger around it. Aurora let the pendant guide her. It fluttered against her chest, then burned with purpose. She reached out. The air around the obelisk flickered, revealing a seam in reality—a vein of trembling light. She pressed her free hand to the carvings; sparks arced where moonlight metal met amber ruin. Isolde joined her. “These words bind the portal,” she said, lips brushing the rune for “Barrier.” She traced it with a nail. “Cut through desire, and they weaken.” Nyx shifted into an incorporeal wisp, sliding between banquets and braziers. They returned clutching a hunk of drifting shadow, pressed it into Aurora’s hand. “Use this,” they said, “to fuel the blade.” Aurora exchanged the weight of stone for the chill of shadow. She drew the dagger in one smooth motion. Moonsilver glowed bright. The air around the obelisk hissed. Vines recoiled, leaving scorch marks on the stone. She slit the runes with a single sweep. Each cut cracked the amber light, fracturing the shimmering seam. The laughter wavered, then faltered. The heavy scent of fruit turned sour, curdling around them. A distant howl rolled across the vineyards beyond the walls. The helbound souls curled inward, chains clanking as they backed away. The braziers guttered, sending sparks like moths into the sky. In the sudden hush, Aurora looked up. The seam in the stone pulsed—once, twice—then snapped. A ribbon of distortion curled inward, gulping the banquet table, the vines, the suffering souls. The courtyard lurched, as though the realm itself exhaled. Isolde took a step back; wildflowers bloomed where her foot had hovered. “Enough,” she said. Nyx’s shadow flickered. Their eyes were brighter than ever. “What remains will starve.” Aurora let the blade sink home, rune by rune, until the obelisk lay silent. The amber sky fractured, light pouring through cracks in the dome of Hel. She lowered the dagger, heart pounding. Sweat slicked her brow even though the air felt cold as dawn. All around them the vines slackened. Pomegranates wilted, grapes shriveled to husks. The banquet table crumbled to dust. Silence settled like a mantle. Aurora glanced at her friends. Isolde stood as still as a statue, silver hair drifting. Nyx shimmered, part shadow and part light. Then the world tilted. The distortion at their backs pulsed, ready to swallow them again. The glow of the pendant faded to a soft ember. Aurora’s fingers twitched on the chain. She swallowed. Her voice came steady. “We need to move.” Isolde inclined her head, footprints blooming tiny wildflowers behind her feet. Nyx whispered, half-formed mist, “And leave nothing behind.” Aurora shouldered the Fae blade. They turned toward the dying seam, toward the path home. Even as she stepped, she felt the faint pull of hunger in her bones, a reminder that this realm never truly let go of its prey.