Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT1125R2BJJ495XV9QB6Q4F

Aurora paused at the lip of the rift, fingers brushing the Heartstone pendant nestled at her throat. The silver chain caught moonlight slipping between oak branches. Through the wavering distortion, an amber sky beckoned. Isolde drifted beside her, silver hair brushing mossy stone. Pale lavender eyes traced the distortion’s edge, unblinking. Nyx hovered just behind, a pulse of violet light at the heart of their shadow. “This place waits for new mouths,” Isolde whispered. Her voice wove through the grove like wind through reeds. Aurora swallowed, slick sweat in her throat. She stepped forward, rippling air swallowing hood and cloak. Nyx slipped after, solid form coalescing—a tall figure draped in living shadow, edges trembling like flame. They stood atop a broad terrace carved from pale stone. Vines heavy with violet grapes curled around pillared colonnades. Dew-slick leaves glowed faintly, as if lit from within. The air tasted of fermented fruit and something darker—rotting honey. Cracked pottery spilled amber liquid across the floor. Each droplet quickened the beat at Aurora’s wrist, the Heartstone pulsing beneath her skin. She traced its crescent scar, half-remembering childhood pain. Nyx knelt, fingertips brushing spilled wine. Shadow flesh darkened, absorbing the stain without a trace. They rose, voice a breeze through chimes. “It hungers,” Nightwhisper breathed, gaze sweeping rows of gilded tables set for a thousand guests. Plates carved from ivory, each rim inked with looping runes. Some tables tilted askew, chairs overturned, as if diners had bolted for their lives. Isolde drifted toward a vine-choked arch. No footprints marked her path. Beneath curling leaves, a wall of reliefs: hulking figures with bloated cheeks, goblets raised to empty sky. Aurora pressed her palm against the stone. Tiny tremors shivered through her bones. “Demons feast here,” Isolde said. She traced one carved face. Lips parted in a silent roar. A distant clatter rattled through the colonnade. Aurora drew the Fae-forged blade from its sheath. Moonsilver gleamed cool as starlight. She angled it toward the sound. Vines stirred. Grape clusters fell, pattering on stone like raindrops. Nyx flickered, form melting into a tendril of shadow that spilled across the floor. Their voice skimmed Aurora’s ear. “Watch for unseen mouths.” Aurora lifted the pendant. It glowed deep crimson, warmth blooming beneath her fingers. A pulse of tension dog-legged her spine. She stepped between columns, blade raised. Concrete pillars loomed overhead, carved vines twisting into grinning faces. Each vine seemed alive, twitching as she passed. Isolde floated to a low dais at the terrace’s center. A circular hatch lay half-open beneath crumbling steps. Pale light flickered within. She crouched, her gown pooling over broken stone. “This hatch leads deeper,” she murmured. “To the Banqueting Hall of Belphegor.” Aurora nodded. The vault beyond promised revelations—and horrors. She crouched beside Isolde, peering over the rim. Below, a vast chamber spread like a spider’s web of tables. Candles flickered at every place setting, flames bending toward one another as if in whispered conspiracy. The floor groaned. Nyx slipped past, silhouette melting into darkness at Aurora’s back. A hiss cracked against stone. Isolde lay fingertips on the hatch’s rim. “The Veil thins here,” she said. “Earth resonances seep through.” Aurora lifted the blade. “Let’s feed it something it fears.” The dagger’s edge gleamed faintly. She gathered her courage, then dropped into the darkness. Bare stone walls closed in around them. A ribbon of amber light fell from the hatch above, painting their shadows long and thin across the floor. Their feet found sticky puddles—wine, honey, something thicker. Aurora tested the surface with her blade tip. The probe sank an inch before she yanked it free, blade slick with crimson syrup. Isolde followed, silent as a mist. Nyx hovered at the wall, shoulders shifting where stone met shadow. Everywhere the amber glow quivered, throwing pillars into stark relief. Piles of bones lay heaped at intervals, ribs cleaved open like overturned baskets. A low moan crawled through the columns. Aurora froze. Heart hammered against her ribs. She breathed out a single word: “Alive?” Isolde tipped her head. “Souls pressed into service,” the Seer said. “Bound to feed the endless hunger of this realm.” Sharp metal scraped stone. Aurora spun, blade raised. A shape lurched from behind a pillar—a figure hunched, racks of ribs visible beneath taut flesh. Eyes burned with amber fire. “No,” Aurora said, muscles clenched. She lunged, blade singing as it sliced through taut flesh. The figure dissolved into wisps of ember and ash, a roar echoing as fire spilled from its ruin. The columns rattled, stones shifting underfoot. A beam of light flared above. The hatch clanged shut. Darkness pooled around them, scraped by the amber glow from distant crevices. “No turning back,” Isolde said. Her voice echoed. A weight pressed at Aurora’s chest. She glanced at the pendant, its glow stronger now. She tucked the chain into her cloak and pushed forward, blade carving a path through stinking air. They reached a hall where tables stretched to a distant archway, each heaped with rotting fruit and spoiled meats. Thousands of plates brimmed with maggots squirming in citrus pools. The scent drove tears to Aurora’s eyes—sick sweetness laced with copper tang. Nyx solidified at her side, fingers brushing the ceiling. Shadows dripped from their arms like liquefied ink. They drew breath—no, they felt the absence of breath—then whispered against Aurora’s ear. “They frame the way forward,” Nyx said. “Follow the line of empty goblets.” Aurora knelt, tracing a path of overturned chalices shimmering with dried blood. She rose, sandals slipping on congealed sauces. Each step echoed through the vaulted space. Isolde paused before a dais carved into a single monolith. An altar rose at its crown—an obsidian slab veined with crimson. Runes glowed faintly, pulsing in time with the stone at Aurora’s throat. “Here lies the seed of sin,” Isolde said. Her fingers hovered above the altar’s surface. Aurora approached. The pendant blazed, warm waves lapping across her palm. Beneath that warmth, a whisper: pull, sever, free. Her heart hammered. Nyx drifted around the dais, shadows pouring over runes as if crawling into their cracks. They whispered a curling phrase Aurora couldn’t quite catch. Isolde raised a hand. “Speak truth,” she said. “The blade must know its purpose.” Aurora touched the dagger’s guard. Steel was cold. She closed her eyes, thought of Evan—his fist cracking her wrist, the scar smoldering beneath her skin. She thought of every moment she’d run, every corridor she’d built in London to hide from fear. “I cut through bondage,” she said. Voice steady. “I free what’s bound.” The pendant flared. The runes on the altar ignited, blood-red filaments skittering across the stone. A low rumble shook plates loose from tables, sending them crashing. A fissure split the altar’s face. Crimson light poured like molten wine. Aurora stepped back, blade raised. Stone cracked around them. Vines ripped through floor slabs, skeletal hands bursting from the cracks before withering on the spot. A single vine snaked toward Aurora’s ankle. She kicked, sending it spiraling back into darkness. The altar split open, revealing a hollow chamber. Within, a single chalice floated, wrapped in shadow. Its rim dripped the same honeyed blood that slicked the floor above. Isolde bowed her head. “The heart of gluttony,” she said. “Destroy it, and the realm withers.” Aurora squared her shoulders. She lunged, blade slicing through the chalice’s stem. Steel met shadow-cold metal. A shriek shredded the air. The chalice pulsed, then fractured like stained glass. Shards collapsed inward, vanishing one by one. The light in the chamber faded. Runic veins on the altar shrank until they blinked out. The frost of the Fae blade steamed, then stilled. The amber glow overtook the hall, painting even the bones white. A hush settled, heavy as dust. Aurora sank to her knees, chest heaving. She lifted the pendant. Warmth pulsed steady and calm. Nyx exhaled into shadow. “It bleeds quiet now.” Isolde stepped forward, joining Aurora at the hatch. She reached out, touch softer than a breath. “The Veil mends,” she said. “Soon, the distortion will vanish.” Aurora rose. Damp hair clung to her cheeks. She wiped a smear of blood from the blade’s edge. At the hatch, a keening gust of wind pulled at their cloaks. Outside, the amber sky faded to the grove’s green canopy, leaves drifting in morning light. Aurora looked back once, toward the empty hall. Tables stood bare, plates stacked and spotless. Vines retracted into cracks. Bones lay bleached and clean. All sign of the feast had vanished, swallowed by time. She climbed the steps, blade in hand. Above, Isolde closed the hatch with a gentle push. Nyx slipped through first, ripple of shadow fading to silver-blue dawn. Aurora paused on the terrace. The Heartstone hung quiet against her chest. Morning light filtered across damp leaves. A single grape cluster fell at her feet, unharmed and glistening. She picked it up, cold and real. Bit it. Sweet juice bloomed on her tongue. She looked to Isolde and Nyx. No words passed between them. They stood under oak branches, distant echoes of clashing metal and hungry roars already fading to memory. Together, they turned back toward the standing stones—and the world waiting beyond the rift.