AI The Heartstone pendant thrashed against Aurora's collarbone, a frantic, rhythmic pulse that mirrored her own spiking heart rate. She stepped through the shimmering distortion of the Veil, and the world didn't just change; it inverted. The transition felt like being swallowed by a warm, viscous lung. One moment, the damp, familiar scent of London's rain-slicked pavement filled her nose; the next, the air turned thick with the cloyingly sweet aroma of overripe peaches and roasting meat.
"Don't breathe too deeply," Nyx whispered. The Shade didn't walk so much as bleed across the landscape, their violet eyes glowing with a renewed, predatory intensity . "The air in Dymas is a physical weight . It seeks to fill more than just your lungs."
Aurora looked down. The ground beneath her boots wasn't dirt or stone, but a carpet of moss so lush and vibrant it looked like crushed velvet . Every step she took released a tiny puff of golden spores that smelled faintly of cinnamon. Above, the sky hung like a canopy of bruised oranges and molten gold, an eternal sunset that cast long, distorted shadows across a horizon choked with growth.
"It’s beautiful," Aurora murmured, though her hand instinctively gripped the hilt of the moonsilver dagger tucked into her belt. The Fae-forged blade remained ice-cold, a stark , sobering contrast to the oppressive heat of the realm.
"So is a pitcher plant to a fly," Isolde Varga remarked . The half-Fae moved with her usual eerie grace, her silver hair trailing behind her like a ghost’s shroud. She left no indentations on the soft moss, moving over the landscape as if she were a dream the realm hadn't quite noticed yet . "To eat is to belong here. To hunger is to be hunted. We seek the Orchard of Whispers, but do not let the fruit tempt your tongue, Rory. A single bite binds a soul faster than any iron chain."
They moved deeper into the sprawling expanse of Dymas. To their left, a river flowed not with water, but with a translucent, bubbling liquid that looked like liquid honey . Massive, iridescent dragonflies with wingspans the size of hawks hummed over the surface, their drone a low, vibrating bass note that Aurora felt in her teeth.
The architecture of the place was equally unsettling. They passed a series of towers that looked less built and more grown. They were spiralling structures of ivory-coloured bone and polished mahogany, draped in vines that bore flowers the size of dinner plates. From the open balconies of these spires, the sounds of crystalline laughter and the rhythmic clinking of silverware drifted down.
"Prince Belphegor’s guests," Nyx said, their form flickering into a more translucent state as they passed through a patch of brilliant amber light. "They’ve been feasting since the last Great Conjunction. Most have forgotten their names. Some have forgotten they have bodies at all."
"How much further?" Aurora asked. Her throat felt parched, a biological irony considering the humidity. Her eyes tracked a cluster of heavy, violet grapes hanging from a nearby trellis. They looked bursting with juice, the skins dusted with a fine, silver bloom. Her hand twitched toward them before she caught herself.
"Thirst is a lie told by the gut," Isolde said, her lavender eyes fixed on the path ahead . "Truth lies in the cold metal at your hip. Focus on the chill , Little Wolf."
They crested a hill and the Orchard of Whispers finally revealed itself. It was a valley of gnarled, ancient trees with bark that looked like pleated silk . Instead of leaves, the branches were heavy with translucent spheres that glowed with a soft, inner light. As the wind stirred the branches, the spheres didn't rustle; they sighed. It was a thousand overlapping voices, a murmuring tide of secrets and half-forgotten memories.
"The archives of Gluttony," Nyx murmured. "Every indulgence, every stolen taste, every secret whispered over a banquet table. It’s all stored here."
"I need the one concerning the Warden’s breach," Aurora said, stepping into the shadow of the first tree. The ground here was littered with fallen spheres, some cracked open and leaking a thick, silvery ichor that smelled of old parchment and ozone.
She reached out, her fingers hovering inches from a low-hanging globe. Inside, she could see a tiny, flickering image of a man in Tudor clothing, weeping as he stuffed handfuls of pearls into his mouth. The sound coming from the sphere was a wet, crunching sob.
"Not that one," Isolde warned. "That is a common greed. You seek a secret of the Veil. Look for the fruit that bleeds blue."
Aurora moved deeper into the grove, the whispers rising in volume until they became a roar of white noise. It was disorienting . She felt the weight of the Heartstone pendant grow heavier, pulling toward the center of the orchard. The deep crimson gem began to pulse in sync with a rhythmic thudding coming from the earth itself.
"Someone's coming," Nyx hissed, their shadow stretching unnaturally long and thin, melting into the trunk of a silk -bark tree. "The Gatherers. They don't like uninvited tasters."
From the far end of the valley, a group of figures emerged. They were tall, spindly beings dressed in tunics of woven grass, their skin the colour of overripe plums. They moved with a jerky, insectoid gait, carrying long hooked poles tipped with wickedly sharp silver blades. They didn't have eyes, only wide, circular mouths filled with rows of needle-thin teeth.
"Rory, the tree to your right," Isolde commanded, her voice losing its riddling lilt . "The sapphire fruit. Take it now."
Aurora spotted it. High up, nestled in a fork of silver branches, sat a single sphere that glowed with a piercing, electric blue light. It looked out of place among the amber and violet of the rest of the orchard. She didn't wait. She leaped for the lowest branch, the moss springing beneath her boots like a trampoline.
The wood felt warm, almost like skin. As she pulled herself up, the Gatherers screeched—a sound like metal grinding on stone. They began to sprint, their long limbs covering the distance with terrifying speed.
"Cover her!" Isolde shouted.
Nyx exploded from the shadows. They didn't use a weapon; they became one. A lash of pure darkness whipped out, catching the lead Gatherer across its chest and sending it spiralling into a cluster of exploding spheres. A cacophony of voices erupted from the shattered globes, a scream of a thousand different souls that momentarily staggered the advancing creatures.
Aurora climbed higher, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The air was getting thicker, sweeter, making her head swim. She reached for the sapphire sphere. Her fingers brushed the cool surface, and a shock of ice-cold energy raced up her arm, clashing violently with the heat of the realm.
"Got it!" she yelled, wrenching the fruit from its stem.
The moment the sphere left the tree, the orchard went silent. The whispering stopped. The sky deepened to a violent, bloody red. The Gatherers halted, their circular mouths opening wide as they let out a synchronized , low-frequency hum that made the very air vibrate.
"The Prince knows," Nyx said, their form flickering violently as they reformed beside the tree. "The feast has been interrupted."
Aurora slid down the trunk, the sapphire sphere tucked securely into her jacket. She landed hard on the moss, the Heartstone pendant now glowing so brightly it was visible through her clothes.
"We need to go," she said, looking back at the Gatherers. They weren't running anymore. They were crouching , their hooks lowered, as the ground began to heave.
A massive, bloated shape began to rise from the centre of the orchard. It was a mountain of pale, undulating flesh, draped in silks and smelling of a thousand rotting banquets. A gargantuan hand, each finger the size of a man, gripped the edge of a nearby ridge.
"Belphegor," Isolde whispered, her lavender eyes wide. "He’s early for supper."
The ground gave a violent lurch , and a rift of amber light tore open at Aurora's feet. It wasn't their way out; it was a mouth. A secondary maw of the realm opening to swallow the thieves.
"Nyx, the Veil!" Aurora screamed, drawing the Fae-forged blade. She plunged the moonsilver dagger into the edge of the opening rift. The cold magic of the blade bit into the golden heat of Dymas, creating a jagged, sparking tear of white light.
The Prince’s massive head crested the ridge, a singular, lidless eye focusing on them with a hunger that felt like a physical vacuum .
"The gate!" Isolde urged, shoving Aurora toward the silver tear.
As Aurora jumped, she felt a massive, cold hand wrap around her ankle. One of the Gatherers had lunged through the chaos, its needle teeth inches from her boot. She kicked out, the Heartstone pendant flared with a blinding crimson light, and the creature’s grip vanished as it was incinerated by a burst of raw, hellish energy.
Aurora tumbled through the silver tear, the scent of peaches replaced instantly by the biting, metallic tang of a London alleyway. She hit the wet cobblestones hard, the sapphire sphere rolling from her jacket and coming to a rest against a discarded beer can.
Behind her, the shimmer of the Veil snapped shut with the sound of a closing tomb. She lay there for a second, gasping in the thin, cold air of Earth, her fingers trembling as she reached for the glowing blue secret they had just stolen from the throat of Gluttony.
The alley was dark, save for a single flickering streetlight. Then, a shadow detached itself from the wall. It wasn't Nyx.
"You’re late with the delivery, Rory," a voice rasped.
Aurora looked up to see a man in a sharp, grey suit standing over her. He held a silenced pistol leveled at her chest, his eyes fixed on the sapphire sphere.
"Hand it over, and I might let you keep the hand you used to steal it."