AI The transition wasn't a tear or a doorway. It felt like stepping off a curb and landing in deep water, the air suddenly thick enough to swim through. Aurora stumbled, her boots finding traction on ground that was too soft, spongy like soaked moss. She gasped, expecting the damp chill of London fog, but inhaled a lungful of scent so rich it made her gag.
Roasted meat. Spun sugar. Spilled wine.
She wiped a hand across her mouth and looked up. The sky was wrong. No clouds, no sun, just a bruised, expansive dome of warm amber light that cast everything in a sepia haze.
Aurora clutched her chest. Beneath her jacket, the Heartstone pendant hammered a frantic rhythm against her sternum, burning hot enough to sting.
Isolde stood a few feet away, her silver hair reflecting the amber sky like polished chrome. She smoothed the front of her dress, her pale lavender eyes scanning the horizon with a look that wasn't quite fear, but certainly wasn't comfort .
"The Veil is thin, but I did not expect the weave to unravel so completely ." Isolde’s voice carried a musical lilt that seemed to vibrate in the heavy air. "We are far from the Thames, Rory."
Aurora pulled the moonsilver dagger from her belt. The leaf-shaped blade hummed, the metal biting cold against her palm, a stark contrast to the oppressive humidity.
"Where are we?"
A silhouette elongated on the ground near Aurora’s feet, stretching impossibly long despite the diffuse lighting. The shadow pooled, rose, and solidified into a towering humanoid shape. Nyx. The edges of their form smoked, trailing wisps of darkness that vanished into the golden light.
"Dymas," Nyx whispered. The sound wasn't spoken; it arrived directly in Aurora's ear, carried on a phantom breeze. "The Garden of Excess. Prince Belphegor keeps a tidy yard."
Aurora turned in a slow circle. They stood at the edge of what looked like a vineyard, but the scale was monstrous. Grapevines thick as tree trunks twisted around obsidian trellises, laden with fruit the size of melons. The grapes shimmered with an iridescent purple sheen, pulsing slowly as if pumping blood .
"Gluttony," Aurora said, the word tasting sour . "I remember the briefing."
Nyx glided forward, their feet making no sound, merely sliding over the terrain. "Briefings are ink on paper. This is the reality. Do not let the beauty fool you, little lawyer. The soil here is fertilized with want."
They began to walk, pushed forward by the sheer unease of standing still. The path wound between the gargantuan vines. Aurora watched where she stepped, avoiding the tangled roots that looked too much like arthritic fingers clutching the earth. Beside her, Isolde moved with an eerie grace. Aurora glanced back at the Fae’s wake; the mossy grass sprang back instantly, leaving not a single footprint or indentation.
"The air," Aurora muttered, rubbing her throat. "It’s greasy."
Isolde plucked a leaf from a passing branch. She didn't tear it; the stem released its hold with a wet pop. "The atmosphere is designed to sustain appetite, not life. It keeps the metabolism racing , the hunger sharp. A perpetual state of starvation amidst plenty."
Aurora watched Isolde bring the leaf to her nose, sniff it, and toss it aside. The leaf hit the ground and dissolved into black sludge.
"Do not touch what grows here with bare skin," Isolde advised, wiping her fingers on her skirt. "The flora is... eager."
The path opened up, revealing a sprawling orchard that defied botany. Trees with bark like cracked caramel bore apples that glowed like embers. Pears dripped a golden nectar that pooled on the ground, creating sticky, sweet-smelling puddles that swarmed with insects larger than Aurora’s hand. The buzzing sound was low and rhythmic , like a chant.
Aurora’s stomach lurched , a sudden, violent pang of hunger seizing her gut. It wasn't normal hunger. It was a hollow, scraping ache that demanded immediate satisfaction. Her eyes locked onto a low-hanging fruit, its skin glistening with dew.
Nyx’s hand—cold, incorporeal, feeling like mist—clamped around her wrist.
"Focus, Aurora." The violet glow of Nyx's eyes flared within the shadow of their cowl. "The fruit is a lie. It will turn to ash in your mouth, but by then, you will have sold a piece of your will to swallow it."
Aurora jerked her arm back, shaking her head to clear the fog. The hunger remained, a dull roar in the back of her mind. "I’m fine. Just... blood sugar."
"This place weaponizes biology," Nyx noted, drifting closer to a tree but keeping a respectful distance. "We should keep moving. The Masters of the feast do not take kindly to uninvited guests lingering in the pantry."
"Where is the exit?" Aurora asked. She tapped the Heartstone. "This thing is trying to burrow through my ribs. It means a portal is close, right?"
"Close is a relative term in the Hells," Isolde said. She pointed a slender finger toward a structure rising above the tree line in the distance. "The architecture suggests a gathering place. Where there are gatherings, the Veil is often worn thin by the passage of souls."
They marched toward the structure . As they went deeper, the sickening sweetness of the air intensified. The ground began to change, the soft moss replaced by tiles of polished marble , cracked and overgrown with sugary moss.
They entered a clearing dominated by a pavilion. The roof was supported by pillars carved to resemble human figures holding up the sky, their faces twisted in expressions of ecstatic agony. Beneath the canopy sat a table long enough to seat fifty, groaning under the weight of a feast that looked freshly laid.
Roast boars with apples in their mouths, towers of shellfish, tiered cakes that defied gravity, and depressed silver platters overflowing with exotic fruits. Steam still rose from the meats.
But the chairs were empty.
Aurora approached the table, the Fae-Forged blade held tight. The silence here was heavy, pressing against her eardrums.
"Where is everyone?" she whispered.
Isolde walked to the head of the table. She ran a hand over the back of a high velvet chair. "Consuming. Or being consumed. Time behaves poorly here. This feast may have been laid a century ago, or five minutes ago."
Nyx dissolved into a puddle of shadow and zipped under the table, re-emerging on the other side. "No traps. Physically, at least. But the magic woven into this wood is old. It compels the sitter to remain."
Aurora looked at the spread. Her hunger spiked again, aggressive and painful. A platter of oysters smelled like the ocean, fresh and briney, cutting through the sugar-rot of the air. Her mouth watered. She took a step toward the table.
"Aurora," Isolde said sharply .
Aurora froze. She looked down at the table. On the plate nearest to her, a single bone lay amidst the sauce. It wasn't an animal bone. It was a human phalanx, polished clean, teeth marks visible on the calcium.
She recoiled, backing into the hard line of Nyx’s solid form.
"The ingredients," Nyx murmured, their voice lacking any surprise . "Did you think the Master Chemists of Dymas used beef? The souls bartered here are seasoned, marinated in their own vices, and served."
"That’s..." Aurora swallowed bile. "That’s efficient ."
"It's hell," Nyx corrected.
A sound echoed from the far side of the clearing—a wet, tearing noise, followed by a heavy thud.
Aurora spun around, raising the dagger. The amber light flickered , casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to grab at their ankles .
"Something is watching," Aurora said. The hair on her arms stood up. The Heartstone was burning so hot it felt like a brand against her skin .
Isolde’s eyes went wide, the lavender shifting to a stormy grey. She stepped back, her feet hovering an inch off the marble . "Not watching, Rory. Hunting."
From the dense thicket behind the pavilion, the trees parted. A creature lumbered into the amber light. It was massive, shaped vaguely like a boar but hairless, its skin pink and glistening with oil. It had multiple sets of eyes, small and beady, scattered across its forehead, and its tusks were jagged shards of metal—rusty iron and gold.
It snorted, a cloud of yellow steam erupting from its snout. It didn't look at the food. It looked at them.
"Iron," Isolde hissed, retreating further. "Its tusks."
"I see them." Aurora shifted her stance, dropping her center of gravity. The delivery girl in her gauged the distance, the terrain. The fighter in her tightened her grip on the moonsilver. "Nyx?"
"I cannot touch it," Nyx said, their form growing indistinct, blending with the darker patches of the pavilion. "It is bound in iron. It will disrupt my form."
"Right. Of course." Aurora let out a breath , the sickly sweet air filling her lungs. "Isolde, get back. Nyx, find me a flank."
The creature pawed the ground, cracking the marble tiles. It squealed—a high, piercing sound like metal on a grindstone—and charged . The ground shook with the impact of its hooves, jarring Aurora’s teeth. She didn't retreat. She waited, watching the beast close the distance, the smell of rancid grease rolling off it in waves.
"Welcome to Dymas," she muttered, and braced for the collision.