Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY880ST2727K2CF96JJBTT2

The Heartstone pulsed against Rory’s skin, a relentless thrumming against her ribs. It had been a dull warmth for days, a faint reminder of the looming… something. Now, standing within the Fae Grove, it was a frantic heartbeat matching her own. She glanced at Nyx, who was already a shifting silhouette against the backdrop of improbably vibrant wildflowers. Their violet eyes – the only truly solid part of their being – scanned the perimeter, unreadable. Beside her, Isolde moved with an unnerving grace, her silver hair seeming to absorb the dappled light filtering through the ancient oak standing stones that marked the grove’s boundary. Isolde didn't walk so much as *flow*, the earth beneath her feet undisturbed. Rory noticed it, a subtle thing, that defied observation. “Time,” Isolde murmured, her voice a rustling of leaves, “plays by different rules here.” Rory knew the implication. Hours spent within this pocket dimension could mean minutes, days, or even weeks lost to the outside world. She took a shallow breath, the air thick with the perfume of blossoms she couldn’t name, a sweetness layered with something ancient and unknowable. “So, is this it?” Rory asked, her voice sounding jarringly ordinary in such a place. "The gateway?” Isolde’s pale lavender eyes fixed on her, unblinking. "A path. Not a gateway, precisely. Paths twist. Destinations are… fluid.” Nyx simply tilted their head, a near imperceptible movement within their shadowy form. "You have the Heartstone. It will guide us.” They moved forward, stepping between the standing stones. Rory felt a brief disorientation, a flicker in her vision, and then the landscape shifted. The familiar lushness of Richmond Park was gone. Before them stretched a valley draped in perpetual twilight. Giant, luminous mushrooms pulsed with an internal light, casting an ethereal glow on the strange flora that carpeted the ground. Vines thicker than tree trunks wound their way up colossal, gnarled trees, their leaves shimmering with an otherworldly iridescence. A river of liquid silver snaked through the valley floor, reflecting the unnatural sky above. The air hummed with a low, resonant frequency, vibrating against Rory’s teeth. “Hel,” Nyx breathed, the word a mere whisper carried on the wind. “Or rather, a tendril of it.” Rory felt a prickle of unease crawl up her spine. This wasn’t the bleak, desolate wasteland she’d imagined when she thought of Hel. This was… beautiful. Disturbingly so. “It’s… a lot,” she said, stating the obvious. Isolde didn’t reply, her gaze fixed on a distant peak that pierced the amber sky. “Prince Belphegor has cultivated this region,” she explained eventually, her tone devoid of emotion. "A concession to Gluttony. He appreciates artistry, even if born of sin.” The Heartstone pulsed harder now, a painful throb in her chest. She pointed towards a cluster of colossal vines laden with fruit that glowed with an almost unbearable intensity. “It’s getting stronger that way.” They followed the pull of the Heartstone, the ground springy and yielding beneath their feet. The scent of the strange fruit was intoxicating, a heady mix of honey and decay. Rory saw small, winged creatures flitting amongst the vines, their bodies shimmering like polished jewels. They regarded her with curious, unblinking eyes before darting away, leaving trails of sparkling dust. As they progressed deeper into the valley, the landscape grew more opulent. They passed colossal fountains carved from obsidian, spewing streams of what appeared to be molten gold. Gardens overflowed with exotic plants and flowers, their colors defying description. Rory noticed tables laden with food - mountains of glistening fruit, roast beasts with eyes still glazed, and elaborate pastries dripping with sugary glaze. "Don't," Isolde warned, her voice unusually sharp. "Do not partake.” Rory understood immediately. This was a test, a temptation. Belphegor’s domain was built on excess. “It’s… unsettling how beautiful it is,” Rory admitted. “It’s almost… too much.” Nyx’s form seemed to deepen, their edges blurring as if they were absorbing the shadows. “Beauty without purpose is a siren’s song. It lures you into complacency.” They continued on, navigating a maze of winding paths lined with towering sculptures crafted from polished gemstones. Each sculpture depicted scenes of revelry and indulgence – feasts, dances, and manic laughter echoing in the unnatural stillness. The Heartstone pulsed with increasing urgency, pulling them towards the valley’s heart. Then they saw it. A palace - a sprawling, impossible edifice built from dark, polished stone and adorned with shimmering gold filigree. It rose out of the valley floor like a malevolent dream, its spires reaching towards the amber sky. The air surrounding the palace shimmered with heat, distorting the already bizarre landscape. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through Rory’s initial awe. “This is Dymas,” Isolde whispered. “The seat of Prince Belphegor.” The Heartstone throbbed violently, nearly knocking Rory off her feet. “It’s close,” she gasped. “Whatever we’re looking for… it’s in there.” Before them, a massive gate crafted from intertwined vines and bronze bars barred their way. Two hulking figures, their bodies grotesquely obese and adorned with jewels, stood guard. They were clearly helbound souls, twisted by centuries of indulgence. One of the figures lumbered forward, his voice a deep, gurgling rumble. “Who dares trespass in the domain of Prince Belphegor?” Nyx stepped forward, their shadowy form rippling with contained power. “We seek an audience.” The guard let out a booming laugh that shook the ground. “An audience? With the Prince? Mere shadows and… mortals? You jest.” He reached for a large, ornate club resting against the gate. “We are on a matter of grave importance,” Isolde said, her voice laced with an otherworldly authority. “A matter that concerns even the Prince.” The guard paused, his eyes narrowed. "Grave importance? What makes you think the Prince would concern himself with mortals?" Rory knew they needed a distraction. She drew the Fae-Forged Blade, the moonsilver shimmering in the twilight. It was always cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat radiating from the palace. “We’re here for the Key,” Rory stated, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "The Key to unlocking the Veil." The guards exchanged glances. The booming laughter ceased. A flicker of something akin to interest crossed one of their faces. “The Veil, you say?” The guard repeated, his voice lower now. “A dangerous request. But perhaps… worthy of an audience with the Prince.” He gestured towards the gate. "Proceed. But be warned. Gluttony demands a price.” The heavy bronze gate creaked open, revealing a seemingly endless corridor of marble and gold. The air within hummed with palpable power, a heady mix of temptation and dread. Rory took a tentative step forward, the Heartstone pulsing with a manic urgency. They were inside. And whatever awaited them in the heart of Dymas, she knew it wouldn’t be easy.