Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVPCFYBF2GAEQWQEAR60BHD

The Veil tore like wet parchment. Isolde stepped through the shimmering metaphysical distortion, her boots untouched by the frost of Richmond Park. Nyx slid through the gap as a column of living shadow, shifting forms in the transition between realms. Rory went last. She gripped the Fae-Forged blade at her hip. The moonsilver metal chilled her palm, a freezing anchor against the sudden blast of heat. Amber light swallowed them. The winter bite of the Earth realm vanished. A thick, syrupy warmth coated the air. The sky above held no sun, revealing only a bruised, unbroken expanse of liquid gold. Rory released the hilt of the dagger and dragged a hand through her straight black hair. The Heartstone sitting against her collarbone thumped a heavy rhythm against her skin. "This isn't Richmond." Nyx bled into a solid humanoid silhouette beside a towering grapevine. Violet eyes tracked the twisting, thick vines gripping the trellis. "The boundary bleeds here. Prince Belphegor's domain thrives on the overflow." "Dymas." Isolde brushed a silver lock of hair from her shoulder. Her pale lavender eyes locked onto the sprawling landscape. "A gilded cage for the ravenous." They marched down the cobblestone path. Row upon row of colossal vineyards stretched toward the horizon. Grapes the size of bloated plums hung in heavy indigo clusters. The air carried the scent of crushed sugar, roasting marrow, and a sharp coppery tang. Rory rubbed the small crescent scar on her left wrist. The amber sky pressed down by the minute, heavy and unbroken. "We need to find the citadel." "Sound carries." Nyx condensed their shadowy form. "Listen." A low rhythmic thud echoed over the rolling hills. Clinking glass. The hiss of searing fat. A hum of a million voices united in a feeding frenzy. Rory unhooked the moonsilver blade. The chill radiating from the leaf-shaped weapon anchored her senses. She stepped over a cracked rune stone. The cobblestones gave way to soft loamy soil. Isolde glided forward. Wildflowers did not exist here. Instead, carnivorous pitcher plants with slick glowing rims lined the path. Time meant nothing in the Grove, but here it warped further. Rory broke visual contact with the bizarre flora to consult her watch. The silver hands spun in rapid clockwise circles. "Abandon the mortal clock, Aurora." Isolde did not turn her head. "Here, time counts itself in courses. The feast never ends." Nyx drifted through the dense hanging leaves of a vast orchard. They materialized near a gnarled black trunk. "Souls at labor." Rory closed the distance. Through the dense foliage, the orchard opened into a vast sunken basin. Hundreds of figures moved between the trees in frantic, synchronized patterns. They wore pristine white chef coats over tattered spectral forms. Skin stretched tight over hollow cheeks. Rory watched a man scramble up a ladder. He tore glowing golden apples from the branches, throwing them into a massive basket. A taskmaster with obsidian horns slammed a flaming tether against the dirt. "Move the harvest! The Prince demands the compote by the seventh bell!" The shadow being's whisper drifted like a cold draft against Rory's ear. "Contracted souls. Masters of the culinary arts in life. Slaves to the palate in death." "Can we slip past them?" Rory traced the edge of the basin. The perimeter featured a low stone wall covered in thorny briars. "I will weave a glamour." Isolde pressed her fingertips against the briars. The thorns curled backward, retreating from her ethereal touch. "Keep close. The Helbound sniff out mortals. Your scent equals fresh meat to them." "Right." Rory consulted the crimson gemstone on her chest. The inner glow flared bright, signaling the proximity of another rift or ward. "Lead the way." The amber sky offered no shadow, but Nyx found the crevices beneath the sprawling roots. They slid along the ground, a two-dimensional slick of darkness scouting the path ahead. Humidity coated Rory’s skin. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The scent of roasted garlic and caramelized sugar grew intoxicating. Underneath the sweet aromas lay the rot of fallen, fermented fruit. Down in the basin, the spectral chefs chanted in low broken moans. They chopped and diced at massive marble prep tables stationed under the trees. Rory stepped over a root the size of a large oak trunk. The Fae blade glowed. Pale lunar luminescence washed over the dark bark. "Put that away." Nyx rose from a puddle of spilled wine. Their six-foot solid form towered over Rory. "Moonsilver cuts through wards. It also acts as a beacon in the dark." Rory slid the dagger back into its sheath. The cold touch abandoned her hip. The suffocating heat of Dymas rushed back in. "Just keeping it ready." "Readiness is quiet." Isolde navigated the jagged rocks bordering the basin. "We walk among the damned. Let them eat. Do not draw their hunger." They descended the slope. The loamy earth gave way to polished obsidian tile paths winding through the orchard. Strange bioluminescent fungi clung to the tree trunks. The spores pulsed in rhythm with the distant feasting drums. Rory examined a hanging fruit. It resembled a pomegranate, but the skin appeared translucent. Inside, tiny shapes swam in a thick violet syrup. "Do not touch the Dymasian fig." Isolde slapped her hand away. Pale lavender eyes locked onto Rory. "One bite burns your palate away. Mortals who eat from Belphegor's garden never taste anything again, yet starve for eternity." Rory yanked her hand back to her side. Nyx dissipated into a mist of shadow, floating ahead of the two women. The whisper of their voice carried directly into Rory's mind. "Carts approach." Rory pulled Isolde behind a pair of massive wooden vats. The reek of fermenting grapes stung her eyes. The Heartstone pendant at her throat flashed hot against her skin. A pair of towering, minotaur-like demons stomped down the obsidian path. They hauled a groaning iron wagon loaded with the glowing golden apples and massive slabs of bloody meat. The wheels ground against the stone, throwing up sparks. "Make way for the sovereign's reserve!" One of the beasts bellowed. Saliva dripped from its snaggle-toothed jaw. The acid hissed upon contact with the tiles. Rory slowed her breathing. She kept her grip on the Fae-forged blade's hilt without drawing it. The freezing metal numbed her fingers. Isolde stood still beside her. Fae glamour masked them, washing their visual presence into the background scenery. The demons passed by. The iron wagon rattled their hiding spot. A glob of gore sloughed off the cart, slapping the tile inches from Rory's boots. She stared at the pulsating muscle tissue on the ground. "What is that?" "The centerpiece." Nyx reformed from the shadows of the vat. "Belphegor’s feasts require rare ingredients. Sometimes they harvest leviathans from the boiling seas. Sometimes they harvest those who failed to cook the leviathan correctly." Rory swallowed. The thick fragrant air tasted like ash in the back of her throat. They crept out from behind the vats. The path led deeper into the subterranean kitchens of Dymas. Massive stone arches loomed ahead. The architects carved the entryways to resemble roaring maws. The heat radiating from the tunnels baked the moisture from Rory’s lips. The rhythmic pounding inside shifted from drumbeats to the relentless chopping of heavy butcher cleavers. Isolde tilted her head. Her ethereal face betrayed no emotion, but her pace against the ash-covered path sped up. "The Seer's sight catches murmurs." Isolde pointed toward the open maws. "The gate to the inner rings lies beyond the kitchens. The Wardens do not patrol the slaughterhouses." "Because nothing survives the slaughterhouse." Nyx flowed over the ground. Rory stepped into the tunnel entrance. The amber sky vanished entirely from view. Braziers filled with blue fire lined the basalt walls. They cast flickering shadows across the tunnel. Every breath drew in the scent of charred bone and exotic spices. She unclasped the Heartstone pendant and held it in her palm. The deep crimson gem pulsed hard, radiating heat into her skin. "There's a rift nearby." Rory traced the silver chain with her thumb. "The pendant reacts to something deep inside." "Hel contains thousands of weak points." Nyx drifted up the cavern wall, becoming a smudge of soot against the stone. "Or another relic approaches." A screech shattered the background hum of the kitchens. Rory dropped the pendant over her chest and drew the Fae blade. Moonsilver flooded the immediate area in a pale cold sheen. Down the tunnel, the blue flames flickered and died. A figure backed out of the kitchen archway. A spectral chef scrambled backward with a meat hook. The spirit shrieked and backed into a corner. The soul dissolved into white smoke as a heavy chained boot stepped out of the shadows.