AI Rory stepped through the shimmering distortion. The world shifted. One moment, the damp, earthy smell of Richmond Park filled her nostrils. The next, an aroma of rich spices and exotic fruits, heavy and sweet, overwhelmed her senses. Her boots, still caked with London mud, now rested on a path paved with iridescent cobblestones, each one catching the light and swirling with inner hues.
"Blimey," a voice from behind her breathed. It was Nyx, their shadowy form coalescing into a more solid shape, though still a silhouette against the warm amber sky. "Not exactly the local chippy, is it?"
The sky. Rory tilted her head back. Not blue, not grey, not even twilight. It was a perpetual sunset, a warm amber glow that infused everything with a permanent golden hour. Great, sprawling vineyards, heavy with plump, jewel-toned grapes unlike any she had ever seen, climbed gentle hills in the distance. Orchards laden with fruits glowing with their own inner light stretched as far as the eye could see. The air was thick and humid, a comforting warmth without being stifling.
Isolde, her silver hair a luminous contrast to the golden light, moved with an otherworldly grace beside Rory. "Welcome, Rory Carter," Isolde’s voice, a melodic whisper , carried on the sweet air. "This is Dymas, the realm of Gluttony." She swept her hand in a gesture that encompassed the extravagant landscape. “A place of… abundance.”
Rory felt a faint pulse from the Heartstone Pendant resting beneath her shirt. It grew warmer, a steady thrum against her skin, confirming their location. This was it. Not some dusty library or forgotten cellar, but an actual, honest-to-gods other world . A Hel realm.
They followed the path, the cobblestones humming subtly beneath their feet. Giant trees, their bark a mosaic of greens and purples, bore fruits resembling crystalline geodes, shedding soft, jewel-toned light onto the ground. Flowers the size of dinner plates, their petals unfurling in slow, deliberate movements, released clouds of sparkling pollen that drifted lazily in the air. The sounds were equally alien. A low, continuous thrum vibrated through the ground, like a distant, massive drum. Birdsong was replaced by delicate chimes, as if crystal bells rang in the fruit-laden branches.
"What's that smell?" Rory picked up a plum-like fruit from a low-hanging branch. It was soft, yielding almost liquid under her thumb. The aroma was intensely sweet, like candied violets and caramel.
"A nectar-fruit,” Isolde said, her pale lavender eyes observing Rory with an unnerving intensity . "Delectable, if one is accustomed to its... potency."
Nyx, who had been observing a butterfly with wings like stained glass, solidified further, their head cocked. “Potency for whom, I wonder?”
Rory took a cautious bite. The flavour exploded on her tongue, overwhelming her senses with sweetness, a burst of energy that made her skull tingle. She felt a sudden, profound sense of well-being, a dizzying surge of euphoria. It was intoxicating. Her body felt light, almost weightless.
“Woah,” she managed, slightly breathless . “That’s… something.”
Isolde’s lips, a faint purplish hue, curved into a knowing smile. "The fruits of Dymas are tailored to stimulate and satisfy every craving. A dangerous allure for those without discipline."
Rory, still buzzing from the fruit, felt her thoughts drift towards a second bite, a third. The world around her seemed to shimmer with even greater vibrancy, the colours more intense, the scents even more captivating. A part of her, the cool-headed, rational part, registered a flicker of concern. This was too good. Too easy.
"Easy now, Rory," Nyx’s whisper -like voice cut through the haze. Their shadowy hand touched her arm, cool and grounding. The touch sent a jolt through her, clearing the sweetness-induced fog. "Don't go getting lost in the sauce before we even get to the kitchen."
Rory blinked, the intense euphoria receding slightly . She looked at the half-eaten fruit in her hand, then tossed it away, a sudden, almost chilling clarity washing over her. She gripped the Fae-Forged Blade at her hip, its cold moonsilver a comforting anchor.
“Right. Staying sharp,” she muttered, shaking her head to clear the last vestiges of the fruit’s effect.
They continued their walk, the path widening as they moved deeper into the landscape. The hum beneath their feet grew stronger, now accompanied by a faint orchestral swell that seemed to emanate from the very air itself . They rounded a bend, and the source of the subtle music became clear.
Before them stretched a grand plaza, paved with gold-flecked obsidian. In the centre, a fountain sprayed not water, but streams of shimmering, liquid light that pulsed with rainbow colours. Around the plaza, grand structures of polished, bone-white stone rose, intricate carvings depicting feasts and figures reveling in acts of unbridled indulgence adorning their facades. Huge archways, draped with living vines bearing glowing, bell-shaped flowers, beckoned them inside. A low murmur of voices, laughter, and clinking sounds drifted from within the buildings.
"Prince Belphegor's palace," Isolde indicated the central, largest structure , its spires piercing the amber sky. "Where the grandest feasts are prepared."
The plaza bustled with activity. Figures moved with a languid grace, some shimmering like heat haze, others appearing as solid as humans, but with subtle differences – elongated limbs, skin that glowed faintly, or eyes that held an ancient, hungry intelligence. They wore lavish, flowing garments woven from threads that seemed to capture and scatter light . They carried goblets filled with glowing, iridescent liquids and small plates piled high with impossibly delicate pastries.
A scent, richer and more complex than anything Rory had encountered so far, wafted towards them. A blend of roasting meats, sweet spices, fermentation, and something else – something ancient and primal, like the smell of deep earth and blooming night flowers. Rory’s stomach rumbled despite herself.
“They certainly know how to live it up here,” she observed. No one seemed to notice their arrival, or if they did, they paid them no mind, too engrossed in their own pleasures.
Nyx’s form wavered slightly , as if their essence found the sheer opulence both fascinating and repulsive. “A feast for the senses, indeed. But what, I wonder, is the price of admission?”
One of the figures, tall and slender with skin like polished jade, passed close by them. They carried a crystal flute from which emanated a stream of soft, melodious notes. As they walked, blooming flowers sprang up in their wake from the obsidian paving, only to wither and dissipate into glittering dust moments later.
Rory watched, mesmerised. This was far beyond anything she’d ever imagined. Not a barren wasteland or a fiery pit, but a realm of impossible beauty and seductive excess. Each sensation, from the ambient hum to the clinking of crystal , from the sweet air to the ever-present thrum of the Heartstone, reaffirmed the reality of it all. They were truly here. And finding what they came for would not be as simple as just asking politely.