Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRPXTZZ39HSCGHG7CFTR5K

Aurora’s boot sank into loam that smelled of honey and rot. She froze, stared across a swath of vineyards whose vines curled skyward like reaching fingers. Warm amber light bathed everything—leaves, fruit, even the mist that slithered between the trunks. The Heartstone pendant pulsed at her throat, its crimson core throbbing in time with her heartbeat. Nyx drifted forward, a wavering silhouette against the glowing horizon. They tilted their head, a whisper threading through the air. “Each vine drinks a soul. Watch your step.” Isolde stood at Aurora’s elbow, silver hair spilling around her like moonlight. She traced a finger along a vine’s thorned stem. “Gold spoons taste of ash when angels eat,” she murmured. Nothing in her tone betrayed warning, yet her pale lavender eyes gleamed with something ancient. Aurora swallowed. She threaded a hand through the pendant’s chain, steadying herself. “Lead on,” she said. Her voice caught less than she liked. She forced it firm. The three moved deeper. Vines arched overhead, creating a tunnel of emerald leaves that shivered with every breath of wind. Tiny fruit hung in clusters, smooth as pearls. Aurora reached out to touch one. It yielded under her fingers, cool and oddly damp. A droplet burst, staining her glove with ink-dark juice. She jerked back. Nyx drifted close, their shadowed face just beyond sight. “That berry knows regret,” they whispered. “Do not taste.” Isolde knelt. She brushed the juice from Aurora’s glove with a strand of her hair. “Every kindness tastes of greed,” she said, pressing palm to the stained leather. “Every gift leaves a hunger.” She rose, brushing dust from her skirts. Aurora glanced at the pendant’s faint glow. It pulsed faster now. Something lay ahead, drawing them closer. They rounded a bend and stumbled into a clearing where tables of gnarled wood held platters piled with fruits that gleamed like jewels. Granite fountains spurted wine the color of dried blood. Steam rose in lazy spirals, scented with cinnamon and something darker—dazzling sweetness that left the back of Aurora’s throat raw. She swallowed again. “This place…” Words lodged in her chest. A figure stepped from behind a platter of pears as large as her fist. A man with skin like polished brass. He bowed, lips curving into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Welcome, guests,” he said. His voice rolled like warmed honey. “Feast with us.” Aurora kept her hand on the Fae-forged blade at her belt. Its moonsilver hilt was always cold against her skin. She found Nyx’s shape at her side. The Shade’s faint violet eyes glowed from within inhuman shadows. “Feeding time,” Nyx murmured. Their voice brushed Aurora’s ear. “They never stop.” Isolde cocked her head. “A banquet for every sin,” she said. “Even the smallest ones.” The brass-skinned host motioned toward a chair carved from bone. Aurora’s pulse kicked. She straightened her shoulders. “We’re not here to dine,” she said, stepping forward. “We seek passage.” The host’s smile tightened. “Passage is a banquet in itself,” he said. “But perhaps a gift will earn you the key.” Nyx drifted between Aurora and the host. They extended a shadowed hand. “We owe nothing to gluttons,” they whispered, so soft Aurora thought she imagined it. The host’s grin widened. He swept a bowl from the table. Grapes, black as spilled ink, tumbled across the rough wood. “Then a taste of my hospitality,” he said. He offered the bowl to Aurora. Isolde stepped in front of Aurora. “We came bearing no appetite,” she said. Silver hair flicked back over her shoulder. “Only words.” The host’s eyes flickered. His grin fell, revealing teeth like chipped ivory. “Words cost more than flesh here,” he said. He took a step forward, shoulders hunched in a mock bow. Aurora’s hand tightened on her blade. The innermost glow of the Heartstone pendant flared. A pulse of warmth flickered through her wrist. She staggered, then caught her balance. Red light bloomed on the stones at her feet, as if something beneath the earth awoke. The host froze. Nyx’s form rippled, shadow edges reaching for him. “Leave,” they hissed. “Or feed.” Aurora drew the blade, its thin leaf shape glimmering with faint luminescence. Moonlight would have brought it to life; here, under amber skies, it glowed as though remembering the silver of its birth. Isolde watched the host, expression unreadable. “Offer broken promises to the hungry,” she said, voice dropping into riddle. “Watch them feast on the words you never spoke.” The host’s brass sheen dulled. He took a step back and melted into the gathering fog as though he’d never stood there at all. The tables and fountains remained, empty now. A low hum drifted through the air, like the echo of distant laughter. Aurora lowered her blade, pulse hammering in her ears. “What was that?” she asked. Isolde’s pale lavender eyes caught the fading light. “A guardian of gluttony, bound by contract and hunger.” She turned to Nyx. “He knew your kind.” Nyx’s voice brushed against her back. “I once devoured a hunger like his.” They drifted to the edge of the clearing, where vines grew thick. “This realm warps desire. We cannot tarry.” Aurora let the blade fall to her side. She flexed her fingers around the hilt. “Then onward.” Her words sounded firmer now. They slipped past the tables into the next tunnel of vines. The air thickened, humid and heady, like breath on hot metal. Phosphorescent flowers glowed at their feet, petal-lips quivering. Aurora bent to touch one. It collapsed, petals falling away in a shower of sparks that fizzled out like dying stars. She jerked up. “It burned.” Nyx drifted past. “It gives everything to stay alive.” Their silhouette flickered. “The grove cannot lie. Every gift consumes the giver.” Isolde moved forward, stepping over the scattered petals. “Not every gift,” she whispered. “Some bloom without cost. Seek what pays no toll.” Aurora clenched her jaw. She let her gaze wander. Trees rose in colossal circles, their trunks banded with silver bark. Roots wriggled like sleeping serpents. Rivulets of water ran through the cracks in the earth, but the streams gleamed ruby-red, as though the ground itself bled. She reached down and touched the red water. It felt slick, like oil. She lifted a dripping fingertip to her lips. Nyx’s arm shot out, shadow hands curling around her wrist. “Not that,” they hissed. “Blood here tastes of memory.” Aurora jerked back. She wiped her finger on her pant leg. Her skin prickled. “It’s too easy to drink,” she said. Isolde crouched by the rivulet. She cupped her hands and let the water pool. “Sip only what grants passage,” she said. “Listen to what it tells you.” Aurora watched as Isolde raised the water to her lips. The seer’s expression flickered, as though seeing something Aurora could not. Her shoulders dipped. She set the cup on a mossy root. “The bridge lies beneath harvest,” she said. “Harvest yields only what gives freely.” Then she rose and led the way. Aurora and Nyx followed, each carrying what they alone would survive. Deeper in, the vines fell away. They found a terrace carved from pale stone, smoothed by centuries of wind. At its center, a circle of standing stones—ancient oaks wrought in living rock—formed a ring around a shallow pit. The pit pulsed with light that matched the Heartstone’s glow. Aurora knelt at the ring’s edge, heart pounding. She held the pendant out. It floated from her palm, drawn by some silent will. It hovered above the pit, its crimson gem spinning on an unseen axis. A low hum rose, harmonizing with the beating in Aurora’s chest. The stones around them rattled, as though remembering a song long unsung. Wind gusted through the terrace, carrying hushed voices. Echoes of laughter, snippets of plea. A garden’s worth of stolen moments. Nyx spread shadowed arms. “The heart of gluttony,” they said. “This pit devours longing.” Isolde stepped beside Aurora, gaze fixed on the pendant. “Offer what you fear to lose,” she said. “Then the way opens.” Aurora closed her eyes. A hush settled in her mind. She thought of Evan, of the night she ran. She remembered the fear that crept under her skin like ice. She pictured the small crescent scar on her wrist. A childhood accident, forgotten until now. Tears stung behind her lids. She let them fall. Each drop flickered as it landed on the pit’s rim, hissing and dissolving. She drew a shaky breath. At last she unclasped the pendant and dropped it into the glowing light. The gem sank. The light flared. The trees trembled. A cracking sound—sharp as a broken mirror—snapped through the air. The stones shook on quivering roots. The pit split open, revealing a staircase that spiraled downward into inky darkness. Aurora stepped back, heart racing. She saw Nyx’s form solidify at her side, shadows receding into a tall humanoid figure draped in living night. Their faintly glowing violet eyes reflected the abyss below. Isolde tucked a lock of silver hair behind her ear. “Go,” she said. “Beyond the feast lies the path.” Aurora sheathed her blade. She met Nyx’s gaze. “After you,” she said. They knelt at the stair’s edge. Darkness swirled around their fingertips. “Trust the shadow,” Nyx whispered. Aurora climbed after them, each step echoing on the ancient stone. Isolde brought up the rear, her footsteps soundless as she crossed the threshold into a new realm of hunger and wonder. Somewhere behind them, the terrace sighed, stones settling back into centuries of silence. The amber sky faded, swallowed by the stair’s yawning mouth. And the three of them ventured deeper, into the heart of Dymas, where every desire waited to be tempted—and every promise demanded a feast.