Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7ZN561HHWZ1YAJYMNA7QV

Aurora's fingers tightened around the Heartstone Pendant, its deep crimson gem pulsing like a heartbeat against her palm. The faint warmth had grown insistent over the past hour, tugging her deeper into Richmond Park's fog-shrouded fringes. Beside her, Nyx flowed like spilled ink across the dew-slick grass, their humanoid silhouette flickering between solidity and vapor. Isolde glided ahead, silver hair swaying like moonlight on water, her pale lavender eyes fixed on some unseen horizon. No footprints marred the earth behind her—never did. "The Veil thins here," Isolde murmured, her voice a riddle wrapped in silk. "A whisper seeks the roar, and what hungers finds its door." Rory shot her a sidelong glance, the small crescent scar on her wrist itching under the chill night air. "Poetic as ever. Just point me at the rift before Eva starts blowing up my phone again." Her delivery shift at Golden Empress had barely ended when Isolde's cryptic missive arrived—*Seek the amber hunger where shadows feast.* Nyx had materialized from her flat's corner shadows uninvited, violet eyes gleaming. *Trouble calls,* they'd whispered, wind through cracked glass. Now, the air hummed, a faint shimmering distortion rippling before them like heat haze over asphalt. The pendant throbbed hotter, and Rory's skin prickled as if static-charged. Nyx solidified beside her, tall frame casting elongated shadows that writhed independently. "It's open," they said, voice a breeze sighing through bare branches. "Hel's breath on our necks." Isolde raised a hand, moonsilver rings glinting. "Step where the heart leads, child of law and flight. But beware—the glutton takes what it tastes." Rory drew the Fae-Forged Blade from her jacket's hidden sheath. Its leaf-shaped edge hummed cold against her palm, luminescent even in the park's gloom. She nodded, heart hammering. One breath, then they plunged through. The world inverted. A rush like falling through warm honey enveloped her—viscous, sweet-scented, clinging to her straight black hair and denim jacket. Her stomach lurched, boots finding purchase on something yielding, not quite soil. She staggered, blade raised, breath fogging in sudden humidity. Amber light flooded her vision, the sky above a vast dome of molten honey, streaked with lazy swirls of deeper gold. No sun, no stars—just endless twilight warmth that seeped into her bones, loosening tendons she hadn't realized were knotted. The air tasted of ripe mango and smoked meat, heavy with the perfume of overripe fruit and baking bread. Her mouth watered unbidden. "What the hell—" Rory blinked, bright blue eyes widening. Vineyards stretched in every direction, vines thicker than her thigh twisting up trellises of bone-white stone. Grapes the size of fists dangled, skins translucent purple veined with gold, dripping viscous nectar that sizzled faintly on the ground. Orchards flanked them, trees groaning under burdens of fruit she'd never seen: orbs like swollen hearts pulsing softly, spires of crystal apples refracting the amber sky into rainbows, clusters of berries that hummed low tunes when the breeze stirred. Nyx materialized fully beside her, six-foot-two frame rippling as they inhaled deeply. "Dymas," they whispered, violet glow flaring. "Gluttony's belly. Belphegor's playground." Isolde stepped through last, unperturbed, her waist-length silver hair unmussed. She tilted her head, lavender eyes distant. "The prince's table is set eternal. Eat if you dare; starve if you deny." Rory sheathed the blade halfway, scanning for threats. The ground beneath her boots was spongy, a mosaic of fallen petals and pulp that squelched warmly, releasing bursts of cinnamon steam. Distant laughter echoed—rich, guttural, mingled with the wet smack of jaws and clinking goblets. No birdsong, but a constant undercurrent: bubbling broths, crackling fires, the symphony of endless feasting. "First time in Hel proper?" Nyx asked, shadows coiling around their feet like curious serpents. They extended a hand, solidifying fingers brushing a low-hanging grape. It burst at the touch, spraying juice that tingled on Rory's cheek like champagne fizz. She wiped it away, grimacing at the addictive sweetness lingering on her tongue. "Yeah, not on my Cardiff Uni syllabus. You?" Nyx's whispery laugh stirred leaves. "Trapped nearby once. Aldric's folly. This... excess was forbidden fruit then." They moved deeper, boots sinking into loamy paths lined with hedges of herbs that rustled whispers in unknown tongues. Rory's pendant cooled now, its pulse steady, as if sated. The air grew thicker, pressing against her chest like a full belly after Christmas dinner at her parents'. Unease prickled—how long had they walked? Minutes? Her watch read 11:47 PM, same as entry, but the amber sky hadn't shifted. A grand archway loomed ahead, carved from amber-veined marble into snarling faces with mouths agape, tongues lolling plates of fruit. Beyond: a plaza alive with motion. Helbound souls—translucent figures in archaic garb—tended vast kitchens under open skies. Chefs in soot-stained aprons hurled spices into cauldrons bubbling with liquid gold, flames leaping unnaturally high without wood. Tables groaned under roasts that self-carved, juices carving rivers into checkered cloths. Competitors diced ethereal vegetables that reformed if sliced wrong, judges—horned imps with distended bellies—sampling bites that made their eyes roll back in ecstasy. Rory froze as one soul, a portly man in Victorian finery, locked eyes with her. His gaze lingered hungrily, fork pausing mid-air. "Fresh meat," he rasped, voice echoing wetly. Nyx tensed, shadows thickening. "They smell mortal essence. Keep moving." Isolde smiled enigmatically. "Hunger sees what fills it. But the empty chase the full." They veered left, into the orchards. Trees here bore fruits that defied gravity: peaches floating inches above branches, lemons etched with glowing runes that shifted like living tattoos. Rory reached for one—a plum the size of her fist, skin velvet black flecked with stars. It vibrated under her fingers, warm as breath. Curiosity won; she bit. Juice exploded, tart-sweet fire racing down her throat, igniting visions: her mother's Welsh cakes steaming on the sill, Eva's laughter over cheap wine, the sting of Evan's fists. Memories amplified, flavors blooming impossibly vivid. She gasped, dropping the core, which sprouted instantly into a sapling. "God, that's—" Words failed. Wonder surged, chasing the unease. Nyx plucked a crystalline apple, shattering it against a trunk. Shards melted into wine that they sipped from cupped shadows. "Sustains forever. Or destroys." Deeper still, the path wound into gardens where flowers bloomed plates of pastry, petals unfurling éclairs dripping custard. Statues of reclining gluttons wept fountains of chocolate that hardened into truffles on contact with air. Sounds layered: moans of delight, burps like thunder, the slurp of invisible drinkers at dry wells. Unease deepened as shadows lengthened unnaturally, coiling toward them. Rory's scar burned, a old ache flaring. "This place... it's alive. Feeding on us." Isolde nodded, gliding soundlessly. "The sin that devours its vessel. Yet beauty in the banquet." A discovery: amid thorned brambles heavy with berry-canes, a pedestal cradled a single fruit—an orb of swirling crimson, mirroring Rory's pendant. It pulsed in sync, warmth drawing her forward. Nyx hissed, "Artifact echo. Dymas-born." She approached, blade drawn. The Fae edge glowed faintly, cold steel parting wards invisible to her eyes. The orb quivered, whispering in her father's barrister voice: *Take, Aurora. Fill the void.* Her hand hovered. Visions tempted—escape from London drudgery, endless feasts erasing loneliness. But the scar throbbed warning. "No." She sliced clean. The orb shattered, releasing a mist that coalesced into a map of glowing veins across the ground—paths to deeper rifts, perhaps to Belphegor's hall. Nyx's eyes flared violet. "Clever. You've marked the veins of Gluttony." Isolde's riddle-smile widened. "The heart denies the maw, and so unveils the core." Laughter swelled from the plaza, closer now. Footsteps—wet, slapping—approached through the vines. Rory pocketed a shard of the orb, pulse syncing with her pendant. "Company. We go deeper or back?" Nyx flowed ahead, scouting. "Deeper. The wonder hides teeth." They pressed on, amber sky unchanging, the garden's bounty whispering temptations. Rory's senses sharpened—every breath a sip of ambrosia, every step sinking into paradise's plush deceit. Hel's heart beat around them, wondrous and ravenous, as the path spiraled into shadowed groves where feasts turned feral. The air hummed with promise and peril, drawing them inexorably inward.