Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7VPW5C0A1AX99R4555D91

The Heartstone warmed against Aurora’s skin, a reassuring thrum against the sudden chill. It pulsed faster now, a frantic beat mirroring the nervous flutter in her chest. Nyx shifted beside her, a ripple of shadow solidifying into a taller, vaguely humanoid form. “This… is unexpected,” Nyx murmured, their voice a low whisper that seemed to steal the heat from the air. Isolde, impossibly, hadn’t left footprints in the damp earth. She simply *was*, a silver-haired presence amongst the twisted, luminous flora. They’d followed the pull of the Heartstone, a desperate gamble after Isolde’s cryptic warning about a “breach blooming in the amber lands.” The stone had led them through Richmond Park, past the familiar deer and weekend ramblers, until the world warped. The ancient oaks guarding the Fae Grove had vanished, replaced by trees unlike any Aurora had ever seen—their bark a shimmering jade, their leaves a cascade of sapphire and ruby. The air tasted of spice and something else… something ancient. Like crushed gemstones and forgotten rituals. Aurora reached out, hesitant, and touched a nearby tree. A pulse of warmth flowed through her fingertips, followed by a dizzying rush of images—vines heavy with unfamiliar fruit, swirling feasts of unimaginable extravagance, faces blurred with pleasure and… something darker. A silent, insatiable hunger. "Dymas," Isolde breathed, her pale lavender eyes wide. "The Gluttony.” A path, paved with smooth, obsidian stones, wound between the trees. It sloped gently downwards, disappearing into a landscape bathed in a perpetual, warm amber glow. The light didn't come from a sun, but seemed to emanate from the very ground itself. “Well,” Aurora said, adjusting the strap of her messenger bag. “That’s new for a Thursday.” Nyx moved forward, their form flickering slightly as they navigated the unfamiliar energies. "The Veil... it’s thinner here. Almost nonexistent.” They extended a hand, and their fingers passed clean through the trunk of a sapphire-leaved tree, causing it to ripple like water. They began to descend, the air growing richer, heavier. The scent of spices intensified, mingling with the sickly-sweet aroma of overripe fruit. Sounds drifted up from below—the murmur of conversation, the clinking of glasses, music that was both vibrant and unsettlingly melancholic. The path opened into a vast valley. It was impossible. It shouldn’t exist. Imagine a vineyard, but not of vines. Instead, sprawling orchards stretched as far as the eye could see, laden with fruit the colors of jewels—amethyst plums, golden mangoes, scarlet pomegranates. The trees were immense, their branches heavy with produce, twisting towards the amber sky in a riot of vibrant hues. And beyond the orchards... a city. Not a city built of stone and mortar, but of flowing, organic forms. Buildings pulsed with a faint inner light, their walls crafted from living vines and shimmering, crystalline structures. Waterfalls cascaded down tiered gardens, feeding into intricate networks of canals that crisscrossed the valley. Tables groaned under the weight of impossible delicacies—roast birds with plumage crafted from spun gold, pies filled with glowing, iridescent berries, stacks of pastries taller than Aurora’s head. It was a feast laid bare for eternity. "Remarkable," Nyx murmured, their violet eyes scanning the scene. "The scale... the excess..." Isolde remained silent, her gaze fixed on a distant structure—a towering palace crafted from polished amber, its spires crowned with clusters of ruby-red fruit. "It smells like... cinnamon," Aurora observed, wrinkling her nose. Beneath the exotic scent, a faint, metallic tang lingered in the air. They walked further, drawn towards the city. The music grew louder, resolving into a strange, jazzy tune played on instruments Aurora couldn’t identify—a flute carved from horn, a drum made of stretched hide that shimmered with an oily sheen. Figures began to materialize from the shadows—Helbound souls, she realized, their faces pale and drawn, their eyes filled with a vacant, almost blissful expression. They moved with a languid grace, dressed in opulent silks and velvet robes. Some lounged at tables, consuming vast quantities of food and drink. Others strolled through the gardens, their laughter hollow and tinged with sadness. One woman, draped in emerald silk, caught Aurora’s eye. She was gorging herself on a tower of candied plums, her fingers sticky with juice. As Aurora met her gaze, the woman’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, revealing a flicker of something disturbingly empty behind her eyes. “They don’t look happy,” Aurora commented, voicing the unease crawling up her spine. "Happiness is a fleeting sensation," Nyx replied, their voice a sigh. "Here, contentment reigns. A dull, unending contentment." A group of souls passed them, carrying platters laden with roasted peacock—its feathers still shimmering, its eyes vacant. A young man brushed past Aurora, spilling a cascade of ruby-red wine onto her trousers. He didn't apologize. He simply stared through her with an unsettling lack of focus. "Excuse me!" Aurora blurted out, instinctively wiping at her jeans. The man didn't react. He continued to drift along, a vacant smile plastered on his face. Isolde finally spoke, her voice low and measured. "Observe. Do not interfere. We are merely witnesses." They came to a clearing where a culinary competition was underway. Three chefs, each surrounded by a throng of eager spectators, were vying for the title of “Master of Dymas.” They wielded gleaming knives and strange, arcane tools, crafting dishes that defied description. One chef was carving a swan from a single block of ice, while another was weaving a tapestry out of spun sugar. The air crackled with tension, but it was a bizarre, almost playful tension. The chefs weren't angry or competitive, but rather consumed by a feverish desire to create, to indulge. “Look at the ingredients,” Nyx whispered, their voice laced with a strange fascination. “These aren’t earthly. They’re… transmuted. Twisted.” Aurora followed Nyx’s gaze. One chef was pouring a viscous, silver liquid into a bubbling cauldron. The liquid seemed to shift and shimmer as it poured, resolving into fleeting images of… landscapes not of this world. Frozen forests, burning deserts, skies filled with impossible constellations. A waiter approached them, a gaunt figure in a crimson livery. He bowed deeply. “Welcome, travelers,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Prince Belphegor extends his warmest greetings. Would you care for refreshments? Perhaps a taste of the Ambrosial Pear? Or a sampling of the Dragon’s Breath Sorbet?” Aurora felt a primal urge to flee. To turn around and run back through the gateway before this place consumed her. "We're... just passing through," Aurora said, forcing a smile. "Admiring the view." The waiter’s smile didn’t waver. “A pity. Such delicacies await.” He gestured towards a table laden with glistening pastries. “Please, partake. It would please the Prince.” Isolde stepped forward. “We seek an audience with Prince Belphegor,” she stated, her voice resonating with an unexpected authority. The waiter’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something akin to annoyance crossing his face. “The Prince is… occupied. But I shall inform him of your request.” He bowed again, and then melted back into the crowd, leaving Aurora feeling strangely exposed. The Heartstone pulsed violently against her chest. The amber glow of Dymas seemed to deepen, to press in on them. And she felt, with a chilling certainty, that they were not welcome guests.