AI The pendant burned against Aurora’s collarbone before she even saw the fissure.
She skidded to a halt on the damp leaves of Richmond Park, her boots sinking into the mulch. Behind her , Nyx materialised from the shadows of an oak, their violet eyes flickering like dying embers. Isolde glided to a stop, her silver hair catching the last of the twilight, her bare feet never quite touching the ground.
"There," Aurora breathed, pressing a finger to the Heartstone. The crimson gem pulsed, warm as a heartbeat, and the air before them shimmered like heat haze over tarmac. But this was no mirage. The distortion rippled, warping the trees beyond into something jagged and wrong .
Nyx tilted their head, shadows pooling at their feet. "The Veil’s thin here. Thinner than it should be."
Isolde’s lavender eyes darkened. "Not thin. *Torn *." She reached out, her fingers hovering just shy of the distortion. "Someone’s been careless."
Aurora didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, and the world dissolved.
One moment, she was standing in Richmond Park. The next, the ground beneath her boots was warm, the air thick with the scent of overripe fruit and something richer—spiced wine, caramelised sugar, the deep, earthy musk of truffles. She gagged, her stomach lurching . Not from the smell, but from the *wrongness* of it . The sky above was a bruised amber, streaked with clouds that moved too fast, like time itself was unspooling .
"Bloody hell," she muttered.
Nyx solidified beside her, their form flickering between shadow and substance. "Dymas," they murmured. "Gluttony’s domain."
Isolde stepped through last, her silver hair catching the strange light. She didn’t look back. "We’re not alone."
Aurora followed her gaze.
The landscape stretched before them in rolling hills of gold and green, but it was the *structures * that made her breath catch. Vineyards sprawled in neat rows, their vines heavy with grapes the size of her fist, their skins glistening like polished jewels—ruby, amethyst, onyx. Between them, orchards of trees bent under the weight of fruit that shouldn’t exist: pomegranates split open to reveal seeds that glowed like embers, peaches with flesh that dripped syrup, figs that pulsed faintly, as if breathing .
And the *buildings *. Not houses, not quite. They were more like pavilions, open-air structures of carved wood and woven vines, their roofs thatched with what looked like spun sugar . Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the scent of roasting meat, of butter melting on hot bread, of chocolate so rich it made her teeth ache.
But it was the *people *—if they could be called that—that made her skin prickle.
They moved between the pavilions, their forms shifting, never quite settling. One moment, a woman with skin like polished mahogany, her hair a cascade of dark curls, was plucking a grape from a vine. The next, her fingers elongated, her nails sharpening into claws as she popped the fruit into her mouth. A man with a belly like a barrel laughed, his jowls wobbling as he tore into a leg of meat, his teeth too white, too sharp. His laughter turned into a growl, and for a heartbeat, his face stretched, his jaw unhinging like a snake’s.
Aurora’s hand flew to her waist, where Isolde’s Fae-forged blade hung, cold and reassuring. "What *are * they ?"
"Helbound," Nyx said, their voice a whisper . "Souls who bargained for a taste of eternity. They pay for it with their humanity."
Isolde’s fingers twitched at her side. "They’re not the only ones here."
Aurora followed her gaze to the horizon, where the land sloped upward into a plateau. At its peak stood a palace of blackened wood and gold filigree, its spires twisting like antlers. Smoke billowed from its chimneys, and the sound of laughter—deep, guttural, *hungry *—carried on the wind.
Nyx’s shadows coiled tighter around their legs. "Belphegor’s court."
Aurora swallowed. "We’re not here for a tour."
Isolde turned to her , her lavender eyes unreadable . "No. But we must move carefully . Dymas is a realm of *want *. It will show you what you desire most. It will *give * it to you." She plucked a grape from a passing vine, her fingers brushing the fruit’s skin. It burst between her fingers, juice dripping like blood. "And then it will take everything else in return."
Aurora’s stomach twisted. She thought of her mother’s voice, of the way her father used to ruffle her hair when she was small. Of the life she’d left behind in Cardiff, the one she’d tried to outrun. Of Evan’s hands around her throat, his breath hot on her face as he—
She shook her head. "Then we don’t touch anything."
Nyx chuckled, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone. "Too late for that."
Aurora whirled.
A child stood before them, no older than eight, her skin the colour of honey, her eyes wide and dark. She held out a basket of pastries, their crusts golden, their fillings oozing something thick and red. "For the new guests," she said, her voice too sweet, too *knowing *. "Father says you must be hungry ."
Aurora’s fingers itched toward the blade. "We’re not—"
"Take one," Isolde said softly . "Refusal is an insult here."
The child’s smile widened, her teeth too white, too many. Aurora reached out, her fingers brushing the pastry. It was warm, almost *alive * beneath her touch. She pulled her hand back as if burned.
The child giggled, a sound like wind chimes. "You’ll change your mind." Then she was gone, skipping between the pavilions, her basket swinging.
Nyx exhaled. "That was a *test *."
Aurora’s pulse hammered in her throat. "What happens if we fail?"
Isolde didn’t answer. She was staring at the palace, her expression unreadable . "We need to move. The longer we stay in one place, the more *they * will notice us."
Aurora nodded, but her eyes snagged on something in the distance. A figure, standing at the edge of a vineyard, watching them. Tall, broad-shouldered, his skin the colour of aged whiskey. He wore a chef’s coat, stained with something dark, his hands resting on the hilt of a cleaver.
Their eyes met.
Aurora’s breath caught.
The chef smiled, slow and deliberate, and raised the cleaver in a mock salute.
Then he turned and vanished between the vines.
Nyx’s voice was a growl. "We’re being hunted."
Isolde’s fingers tightened around the hem of her dress. "Not yet. But we will be."
Aurora adjusted the strap of her bag, her fingers brushing the Heartstone. It pulsed , warm and insistent. "Then we find what we came for and get out."
They moved deeper into Dymas, the air growing thicker, the scents richer, the laughter louder. The ground beneath their feet shifted, no longer dirt but something softer, spongier. Aurora looked down and recoiled.
Mushrooms.
The forest floor was carpeted in them, their caps wide and flat, their stems thick as her wrist. Some glowed faintly, casting eerie blue light onto the path ahead. Others pulsed , their flesh rippling like a heartbeat.
Isolde knelt, her fingers hovering over one. "Do not touch them," she warned. "They’re not plants. They’re *memories *."
Aurora crouched beside her . "Memories?"
Isolde nodded. "Of those who’ve passed through here. The Helbound leave pieces of themselves behind. Their desires. Their regrets." She pointed to a cluster of mushrooms near Aurora’s boot. Their caps were a deep, mottled red, their stems twisted. "That one’s *hunger *. Not for food. For *power *."
Aurora’s gaze flicked to another. This one was pale, almost translucent, its cap trembling. "And that?"
Isolde’s voice was quiet. "Loneliness."
A sound cut through the silence —a wet, tearing noise, like fabric being ripped . Aurora spun.
A Helbound stood between the vines, his back to them, his shoulders shaking. He was tearing into something, his fingers buried in the flesh of a—
Aurora’s stomach lurched .
It wasn’t an animal. It was a *person *. A woman, her skin pale, her limbs splayed out on the ground. The Helbound’s fingers dug into her stomach , pulling out loops of intestine, his mouth stained red as he devoured them.
Aurora’s hand flew to her blade.
The Helbound turned.
His face was a ruin. His jaw unhinged, his teeth too long, too sharp, his eyes black pits. He grinned, blood dripping from his chin. "Hungry?" he rasped.
Then he lunged.
Aurora barely had time to draw her blade before Nyx was between them, their form solidifying into a wall of shadow. The Helbound slammed into them and recoiled with a shriek, his skin sizzling where Nyx’s shadows touched him.
Isolde grabbed Aurora’s arm. "Run."
They ran.
The forest twisted around them, the vines tangling, the mushrooms pulsing as they passed. Aurora’s breath came in ragged gasps, her boots sinking into the spongy ground. Behind them, the Helbound’s laughter echoed , joined by others—dozens of voices, all hungry , all *wrong *.
Ahead, the trees thinned, opening into a clearing. In its centre stood a fountain, its basin carved from black stone, its water a deep, swirling red. At its heart, a statue of a man, his arms outstretched, his mouth open in a silent scream. Water poured from his lips, thick and viscous, like blood.
Isolde skidded to a halt. "The Feast Fountain."
Aurora’s chest heaved. "What is it?"
Nyx materialised beside them, their form flickering. "A gateway. One of many in Dymas."
Aurora stepped closer, her boots splashing in the red water. The liquid clung to her soles, sticky and warm. She looked up at the statue’s face. It was familiar . Too familiar .
Her breath caught.
It was *her *.
The statue was a perfect replica of Aurora, down to the crescent scar on her wrist. But her face was twisted in ecstasy, her mouth open as if drinking from the fountain’s flow .
Isolde’s voice was a whisper . "It’s showing you your *desire *."
Aurora’s fingers trembled . "I don’t—"
"You do." Isolde’s lavender eyes bored into hers. "You want to *belong *. To be *wanted *. To never be alone again."
Aurora’s throat tightened. She thought of Eva’s laughter, of the way Silas clapped her on the back when she delivered a particularly tricky order. Of the empty flat above the bar, the silence that greeted her when she walked through the door.
The fountain’s water rippled.
A hand broke the surface.
Long, pale fingers curled around the edge of the basin, nails blackened and cracked. Then another hand. And another. And another.
Aurora stumbled back as figures hauled themselves from the fountain, their bodies slick with red water, their faces blank, their eyes hollow. They were all *her *. Dozens of Auroras, their mouths opening and closing in silent screams.
Nyx’s shadows lashed out, wrapping around the nearest doppelgänger. It shrieked as the shadows burned it, its flesh melting like wax.
Isolde grabbed Aurora’s arm. "We need to go. *Now *."
Aurora didn’t argue. She turned—and froze.
The chef stood at the edge of the clearing, his cleaver gleaming in the amber light. Behind him, a dozen Helbound fanned out, their forms shifting, their eyes gleaming with hunger .
The chef smiled. "Dinner’s ready."