Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTY8D6CYMZWP3RTXW4G8SGN

The amber sky of Dymas hung over the horizon like a bruised peach, thick with the scent of overripe plums and roasting game. Aurora Carter stepped through the shimmering tear in the Veil, her boots sinking into soil that felt less like dirt and more like crushed velvet. She rubbed her left wrist, the crescent-shaped scar itching against the silver chain of the Heartstone pendant. The crimson gem throbbed against her sternum, a rhythmic heat that mimicked a second heartbeat. "The air tastes of sugar and rot." Nyx drifted beside her, their form a jagged tear in the golden light. Violet eyes flickered within the depths of a hood made of nothing, casting ethereal glimmers over the sprawling valley below. Where they stepped, the vibrant grass didn't bend; it simply ceased to exist, flickering back into reality once the Shade passed. Isolde Varga moved ahead of them, her silver hair trailing behind like a frozen waterfall. She left no indentations on the soft earth, her feet skimming the surface of sapphire-colored moss that carpeted the forest floor. Giant, translucent fruits hung from the boughs of trees with bark like polished obsidian. Within the skins of the hanging gourds, liquid light swirled in slow, hypnotic eddies. "Hunger is the law here, daughter of Cardiff. Do not let the scent of the orchards settle in your marrow." Aurora reached for the moonsilver hilt of the Fae-forged blade tucked into her belt. The metal emanated a biting chill that steadied her nerves against the cloying warmth of the realm. A breeze swept through the valley, carrying the distant sound of clinking crystal and the low, melodic hum of a thousand voices raised in a banquet song. It wasn't the sound of a party; it was the sound of a hive. "I didn't come for the buffet. Which way to Belphegor’s spire?" Nyx pointed a smoky finger toward the horizon. Deep within the amber haze, a structure rose like a twisted fork of ivory. Great balconies spiraled around its girth, dripping with flowering vines that pulsed in time with the Heartstone’s glow. "The Prince of Gluttony keeps his kitchens at the root and his guests at the crown. Every stone of that tower was quarried from the memories of those who couldn't stop wanting." They descended a slope where the vegetation grew dense and aggressive. Flowers the size of dinner plates snapped their petals shut as Aurora brushed past, emitting puffs of cinnamon-scented pollen. The further they walked, the more the natural beauty curdled into excess. Vines didn't just climb; they strangled. The trees didn't just bear fruit; they groaned under the weight of clusters so large they burst, spilling thick, golden nectar that pooled into fermented ponds. Aurora stepped over a stream of what looked like liquid chocolate. She crouched, squinting at the dark ripples. Tiny, silver fish with wings like dragonflies darted through the sludge, their scales sparking. "The physics are wrong here. Everything feels... heavy." Isolde paused by a standing stone etched with scrolling Dymasian script. She traced the grooves, her pale lavender eyes clouding. "The gravity of desire pulls harder than the earth. You feel the weight of what you lack, Rory. This realm feeds the void in the belly and the hole in the soul." A low roar vibrated through the ground. It wasn't a beast, but the sound of a massive furnace. They broke through a thicket of weeping willow trees—whose leaves were actually thin strips of edible gold leaf—and found themselves overlooking the Great Larder. Below them stretched miles of structured chaos. Helbound souls, dressed in silks that looked woven from spiderwebs, moved between rows of crystalline vats. Some stirred simmering pots large enough to drown a horse; others butchered beasts that defied nomenclature, their hides shimmering with iridescent oil. The scale was dizzying. It was a factory of indulgence, a cathedral built to the stomach. "Look at their eyes." Aurora followed Nyx’s gaze. The workers moved with a frantic, twitchy grace. Their eyes were wide, sunken, and fixed entirely on their tasks. One man, his skin the color of parched parchment, dipped a finger into a vat of violet cream and licked it. Immediately, a Warden—a hulking shadow of muscle and brass armor—cracked a whip made of coiled smoke. The man didn't flinch from the pain; he only wept because he couldn't take a second taste. "They’re contracted. Souls traded for a single perfect meal that never ends." Aurora’s grip tightened on the cold Moonsilver. The pendant grew uncomfortably hot, burning through her thin shirt. "The portal is close. The Heartstone is screaming." They moved along the ridge, skirting the edge of the industrial kitchens. The air grew humid, thick with steam that smelled of rosemary and burnt sugar. They reached a bridge carved from a single translucent rib bone that spanned a chasm. Far below, bioluminescent fungi lit the depths, revealing piles of discarded silver platters and cracked porcelain that glinted like a graveyard of wealth. "Stay to the center. The edges of this path are greased with the fat of the fallen." Nyx glided across the bone bridge, their shadow stretching long and thin against the amber sky. Aurora followed, her heart hammering. Halfway across, she looked up. High above, the sky began to swirl. The amber deepened into a bruised purple, and the shimmering distortion of a rift point flickered like a dying lightbulb near the spire’s summit. "The solstice is passing. The Veil is thickening." Isolde stood at the far end of the bridge, her ethereal form glowing with a soft, pale light that pushed back the Dymasian gloom. "The Prince knows we are here. The air changes when he breathes. Can you feel it, child of the Veil? The scent of the air is no longer sweet." Aurora sniffed. The jasmine and honey were gone. In their place was the sharp, metallic tang of blood and the sour stench of a gutter. The illusion was peeling back. The lush leaves of the gold-leaf trees shriveled, revealing jagged branches beneath. The sapphire moss turned to grey sludge. "It’s a glamour. The whole place is a rot covered in frosting." A rhythmic thud echoed from the direction of the ivory spire. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was the sound of a giant's footsteps, or perhaps a heart the size of a house. Nyx dissipated into a cloud of violet smoke, swirling around Aurora’s shoulders. "The Master of the House comes to greet his uninvited guests. Do you have the stomach for this, Aurora?" She pulled the Fae blade from its sheath. The moonsilver caught the dying amber light, glowing with a fierce, protective radiance. The coldness of the metal surged up her arm, numbing the frantic heat of the Heartstone. "I’m not here to eat. I’m here to break the table." They stepped off the bridge and onto the obsidian path leading to the spire’s base. The massive doors, forged from bronze and depicting scenes of starving kings, began to groan open. A wave of heat rolled out—a dry, suffocating furnace blast that carried the sound of a thousand silver forks clattering against empty plates. Isolde took a sharp breath, her feet finally touching the ground, leaving a single, faint mark in the grey dust. "Remember, Rory: in the land of the hungry, the one who is full is king. Do not taste. Do not touch. Do not linger." Aurora stepped into the shadow of the spire. The golden sky vanished, replaced by the vaulted ceilings of a hall so vast it had its own weather. Clouds of steam hung like ghosts among the rafters. Rows of tables stretched into the darkness, laden with food that moved of its own accord—bread that breathed, wine that pulsed like blood. At the far end of the hall, seated upon a throne of gilded bones, a figure shifted. "Welcome to Dymas. I hope you brought an appetite." The voice didn't come from the throne, but from the very walls. The Heartstone on Aurora’s neck flared bright crimson, blindingly hot, as the first Warden stepped out from behind a pillar of salt. Aurora raised the Fae blade, the moonsilver cutting a line of frost through the stifling heat. "The kitchen is closed."