AI The transition tore the air apart with the sound of tearing canvas. Aurora stumbled, the damp chill of a London midnight replaced instantly by a wall of suffocating heat. She dropped to one knee, gasping, her lungs seizing against the sudden density of the atmosphere. It didn’t smell like air. It smelled like a bakery burning down inside a winery—yeast, charred sugar, and the thick, dizzying fumes of alcohol.
She choked, wiping watering eyes with the back of her hand. The concrete she expected to scrape her palms was gone . Instead, her fingers sank into moss that felt unnervingly like velvet , warm and pulsing with a faint, rhythmic thrum.
A shadow elongated across the vibrant green turf, stretching out until it detached itself from the ground. It rose, twisting and knitting together until it formed a towering, roughly humanoid silhouette. Two violet lights ignited within the darkness of the face, burning with a cold, spectral intensity .
"Breathe shallowly, Aurora." Nyx’s voice did not come from a mouth but seemed to rustle through the strange, heavy leaves surrounding them, a whisper carried on a wind that wasn’t blowing . " The air here is rich. Too rich for mortal lungs to process all at once."
Aurora forced herself to take small, measured sips of the atmosphere. She stood, blinking rapidly. "You could have mentioned the atmosphere is essentially edible before we jumped."
"And spoil the surprise?" The shadow shifted, looking less like a solid figure and more like a hole punched in the fabric of the world. "Welcome to Dymas. The Garden of Excess."
She finally looked up. The sky was the wrong color. No sun hung overhead, yet the world was bathed in a perpetual, golden-hour glow. The heavens were a swirling expanse of warm amber, streaked with veins of bruised purple clouds that looked heavy enough to bruise the earth if they fell. It was beautiful, in the way a storm front is beautiful right before it destroys a house.
Aurora brushed a strand of black hair from her face, her bright blue eyes scanning the perimeter. "It looks... peaceful. I expected fire and brimstone. Or at least cages."
"Hel is rarely what mortals expect. Punishment here is not always inflicted with whips." Nyx glided forward, their feet making no sound on the lush ground. "Come. Standing still attracts the flora."
Aurora checked her belt. The Fae-forged blade Isolde had given her sat snug in its sheath, the moonsilver hilt cool against her hip. It was the only thing in this sweltering heat that didn't feel feverish. Against her chest, hidden beneath her shirt, the Heartstone pendant hammered a slow, heavy rhythm against her sternum, syncing with the strange pulse of the ground.
She followed the shade. They weren't in a wasteland; they were in a vineyard. But the scale was monstrous. Grapevines as thick as ancient oaks twisted into natural archways overhead, their bark glistening with a sticky, golden resin. The leaves were the size of dinner tables, casting dappled, amber shadows over the path.
Hanging from the twisted wood were clusters of grapes, each heavy, dark orb the size of a human head. They shone with a luster that looked almost plastic, too perfect to be real. A single droplet of juice fell from a cluster high above, splashing onto a flat stone near Aurora’s boot. It sizzled, eating into the rock with a hiss.
"Acid?" Aurora stepped wide around the splatter, her boots sinking into the unnervingly soft soil.
"Concentrated nectar," Nyx corrected, drifting through a patch of tall, fern-like plants that recoiled from their shadowy form. "Intoxicating enough to stop a human heart in minutes. Do not eat anything. Do not drink anything. If you feel thirst, bite your tongue."
"Noted." She rubbed the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist, a nervous habit she hadn't managed to shake since childhood. The path wound deeper into the overgrowth. The silence here was heavy, lacking the ambient noise of insects or birds. Instead, there was a wet, squelching sound coming from the roots of the massive vines, like boots stuck in mud, repeated a thousand times over. "What is that noise?"
Nyx paused, their form flickering at the edges as if the amber light was trying to digest them. "The roots feeding. The soil in Dymas is... enriched."
Aurora looked down. The moss gave way to dark, rich earth. She kicked a clump aside. Beneath the top layer, something white gleamed. She squinted, crouching for a closer look. It wasn't stone. It was smooth, curved, and unmistakably bone. A rib, perhaps.
A chill that had nothing to do with temperature spiked down her spine . "Nyx."
"I know." The Shade didn't turn back. "The orchards of Gluttony require potent fertilizer. Those who succumb to the feasts of Prince Belphegor eventually serve the realm in other ways."
Aurora straightened, wiping her boot vigorously on a patch of grass. The beauty of the amber sky suddenly felt nauseating. The sweet smell of the air curdled in her throat. She gripped the hilt of the leaf-shaped dagger tighter. "We need to find the rift point. The Veil is weak here, right? That’s what the readings said."
"The Veil is thin, yes. But the geography of Dymas is fluid. It shifts based on desire ." Nyx pointed a long, shadowy finger deeper into the grove. The path opened up into a clearing dominated by a single, colossal tree. Its leaves were gold, and it bore fruits that looked like pomegranates, but their skin was translucent, revealing swirling crimson light inside. "That way. The Heartstone. What does it tell you?"
Aurora pulled the pendant from her shirt. The gemstone, roughly the size of her thumbnail, was glowing with a deep, violent red light. It felt hot, almost burning her skin.
"It’s pulling," she said, holding the silver chain so the stone dangled freely. It swung abruptly toward the golden tree, straining against gravity. "Toward the tree."
"The Tree of Bounty," Nyx whispered, their voice sharpening . "A trap. But also a landmark. Stay close to my shadow, Aurora. The air grows heavier here."
As they approached the tree, the sensory assault intensified. The scent of roasting meat became overpowering, making Aurora’s stomach growl with a ferocity that hurt. Saliva flooded her mouth. The rational part of her brain screamed that she wasn't hungry—she’d eaten a sandwich before leaving the flat above Silas’ bar—but her body was reacting to a primal, supernatural signal.
"I’m starving," she muttered, the words thick.
"It is not real hunger," Nyx murmured, sliding between her and the tree. The violet eyes narrowed . "Focus on the cold of the blade. Focus on the scar on your wrist. Anchor yourself."
Aurora clenched her left hand, digging her nails into the old injury until the sharp sting cut through the haze of appetite. The tree loomed over them, its branches bowing low, offering the crimson glowing fruit.
Underneath the tree, the ground was littered with what looked like statues at first glance . Aurora stepped closer, squinting through the golden haze. They weren't statues. They were figures, seated or lying in varying states of repose, overgrown with vines and moss.
She approached the nearest one—a man in clothes that looked centuries out of date, ruffles and velvet now stained green. His mouth was open, jaw unhinged, stuffed with the golden moss. His eyes were wide, glassy, and fixed on the fruit hanging above him.
"Is he..." Aurora trailed off, realizing the man’s chest was moving. It was a shallow, pathetic rattle of breath. Vines had grown into his skin, weaving through his clothes, anchoring him to the earth. He was being digested , very slowly , while the tree kept him alive.
"A guest that never left," Nyx said, their form growing taller, spiking with agitation . "Do not touch him. You cannot help him. He is part of the architecture now."
Aurora backed away, bile rising in her throat. The horror of the place wasn't violence; it was stagnation. It was consumption without end. The beautiful amber light caught the gloss of the trapped man's eyes, making them twinkle as if he were crying .
"We need to move," Aurora said, her voice shaking but firm . She turned her back on the tree and the living statues. "The pendant is pulling past the tree. Through the roots."
She scrambled over the massive, knotted root system, the wood feeling slick and oily under her hands. Nyx floated beside her, slashing at encroaching vines with shadowy tendrils that solidified into razors for split seconds.
Beyond the tree, the terrain dropped sharply . A valley sprawled out below them, bathed in the same oppressive gold light. But here, the vineyards gave way to architecture. Great banqueting halls with no roofs stood amidst the orchards, long tables stretching for miles, piled high with mounds of food that steamed and rotted in the heat.
Tiny figures—demons, or perhaps the helbound chefs Isolde had warned of—scuttled around the tables. Even from this distance, the clatter of silverware and the roar of a thousand conversations drifted up like the hum of a disturbed hornet nest.
"The kitchens of Belphegor," Nyx hissed, the sound like steam escaping a pipe. "We are too close to the center. The Veil tear won't be in the heart of the realm; it will be on the frayed edges."
Aurora held up the pendant again. It was pulsing frantically now, the red light casting harsh shadows on her face. It didn't point toward the banquet halls. It pointed down, directly into the ravine below the cliff they stood on, into a thick, swirling mist that smelled of vinegar and old wine.
"Down," Aurora said, peering over the edge. The drop was substantial, disappearing into the fog. "Into the fog."
"The dregs," Nyx noted, drifting over the precipice to look down. "Where the waste flows. Disgusting, but logical. The Veil is often weakest where reality wears thin."
Aurora took a breath, holding the poisonous air in her lungs for a second before exhaling. She drew the Fae blade, the moonsilver gleaming with a pure, white light that cut through the amber haze.
"Well," she said, looking for a handhold on the oily rocks leading down. "At least it doesn't smell like roast chicken anymore."
"Careful, Aurora," Nyx warned, dissolving into a cloud of smoke to scout the descent. "In Dymas, even the rocks are hungry."
She lowered herself over the edge, her boots scraping against stone that felt shivering warm, and began the climb into the dark.