Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8ATG5527Q7XT9BKN5GQZ4

Aurora stepped through the rippling air first, the Heartstone Pendant around her neck throbbing like a second heartbeat against her skin. Heat bloomed from it, insistent, pulling her forward. She gripped the Fae-Forged Blade at her belt, its chill seeping through the leather sheath into her palm. Behind her, Nyx's form coalesced from the shadows, a tall silhouette that absorbed the fading light of London's evening. Isolde followed last, her silver hair catching faint glimmers as she passed the portal's edge without a sound—no footprints marked the ground where she walked. Warm amber light enveloped them. Aurora blinked, her bright blue eyes adjusting to the glow that hung in the sky like honey poured over the world. No sun pierced the haze, yet everything shimmered with an inner fire. Vines twisted up from the soil, heavy with clusters of fruit that pulsed faintly, as if breathing. She reached out, fingers brushing a low-hanging bunch—plump orbs the color of bruised sunset, their skins smooth and yielding under her touch. "This place hums with hunger," Isolde murmured, her pale lavender eyes scanning the horizon. "A feast that devours the feaster, or so the shadows whisper." Aurora glanced back. The portal had vanished, leaving only a faint shimmer in the air, like heat rising from pavement. Her stomach tightened. "Feast or not, we came for answers. That pendant led us here—it's from this realm, right? Dymas, you called it." Nyx's form shifted, edges blurring into wisps that trailed like smoke. Their voice rustled through the air, a breeze carrying secrets. "The air tastes of excess. Sweet rot beneath the bloom. We tread where mortals glut themselves eternal." A path unfurled before them, not carved but grown—interwoven roots forming a walkway that pulsed underfoot, warm and alive. Aurora took a step, felt the subtle give, like walking on a giant's vein. Unease prickled her skin; this wasn't earth she knew, solid and unyielding. Orchards flanked them now, trees laden with fruits that defied naming: some elongated like fingers, dripping nectar that sizzled on the ground; others swollen and veined, emitting low hums that vibrated in her chest. She plucked one, small and jewel-toned, its surface cool despite the ambient warmth. Juice burst across her tongue as she bit in—tart explosion, then honeyed fire that spread down her throat, igniting a craving she hadn't felt before. Her scar on her left wrist itched, a reminder of old pains in this new strangeness. "Tastes like nothing back home. Sharp, then sweet. Makes you want more." Isolde's lips curved, not quite a smile. "One bite beckons the second, the third a chain. In gardens such as these, desire blooms eternal, but the roots drink deep." Nyx extended a shadowy tendril, brushing a leaf that quivered at the touch. "Listen. The wind carries laughter, but it echoes hollow." Aurora paused, ears straining. Distant murmurs filtered through the foliage—giggles that twisted into groans, clinking utensils like bones rattling. The sound swelled as they pressed on, the path widening into a clearing where tables sprawled endlessly. Banquets heaped with dishes that steamed and glistened: roasted meats carved into impossible shapes, loaves that breathed steam like living things, sauces that shifted colors in the amber light. Figures moved among them, spectral and solid alike. One, a burly soul with eyes glazed in perpetual hunger, shoveled handfuls of glistening berries into his mouth, juice staining his chin black. He laughed, a wet, choking sound, then reached for more, his belly distending visibly. Aurora's gut twisted. Wonder clashed with revulsion—the sheer abundance stunned her, vines overhead dripping with ready harvests, yet the air hung heavy with something decayed, like overripe fruit left too long. "They're... trapped here. Eating forever. Is this what Dymas does? Turns indulgence into punishment?" "The prince of this realm savors such spectacles," Isolde replied, her voice threading through the din like a needle. "Belphegor, they name him. He weaves feasts from the souls' own cravings, a table that never empties, guests who never leave." Nyx's form solidified slightly, violet eyes flickering. "Unease stirs in me. These souls once wandered realms like ours. Now they bloat and wither in tandem." Deeper they ventured, the orchards giving way to vast gardens where flowers bloomed in riots of color, petals unfurling with audible sighs. Aurora knelt by one bloom, its center a swirling vortex of gold dust that swirled up at her breath, coating her fingers. Warmth spread through her hand, a seductive pull that made her envision banquets of her own—endless deliveries from the Golden Empress, piles of steaming dumplings she could devour without end. She shook it off, wiping the dust away. The pendant pulsed hotter now, guiding them toward a grand pavilion ahead. Stone arches loomed, carved with motifs of mouths agape, tongues lolling in ecstasy or agony. Inside, chefs labored—ethereal figures with aprons stained in iridescent sauces, their hands blurring as they chopped ingredients that wriggled on the boards. One turned, his face a mask of hollow cheeks and fevered eyes, offering a skewer of sizzling meat that dripped fat like liquid gold. "Partake," he rasped, voice thick with invitation. "From the vineyards of eternal yield. One taste, and you'll understand the true flavor of desire." Aurora hesitated, the aroma wrapping around her like a lover's arms—smoky, spiced, with an undercurrent of something metallic, like blood. Her mouth watered, but the unease won. She waved it away. "Not here for the food. We're looking for the one who sent this." She tapped the pendant, its crimson glow piercing the amber haze. The chef's grin stretched too wide. "Ah, the Heartstone. A gift from the depths. Follow the warmth; it knows the way." Isolde's eyes narrowed, lavender depths reflecting the pavilion's lights. "Gifts in such places bear teeth, hidden but sharp. The stone pulses for a reason—perhaps a summons, perhaps a trap." Nyx drifted closer to a simmering cauldron, shadows licking at the steam. "Heat rises here, but cold lingers in the spaces between. I sense watchers in the vines." A rustle echoed from the undergrowth. Aurora spun, blade half-drawn, its moonsilver edge catching the light with a faint luminescence. Eyes gleamed from the foliage—small, impish creatures with skins like bark, scurrying on all fours. One darted out, snatching a fallen fruit and vanishing with a chitter that sounded like mocking laughter. "Locals?" Aurora whispered, heart pounding. The wonder returned, sharp and thrilling—these beings moved with fluid grace, blending into the environment as if born from it. Yet their gazes held a predatory gleam, unease threading through her awe. "Denizens of excess," Isolde intoned. "They hoard the scraps, grow fat on forgotten morsels. Harmless until hunger turns them bold." The group pushed onward, the pavilion fading behind as vineyards stretched out, rows of grapes swelling to the size of fists, their skins translucent and veined with light. Aurora brushed a cluster; it chimed softly, like crystal bells, releasing a scent that dizzied her—wine-sweet, with notes of earth and fire. She imagined her old life in Cardiff, the rigid paths of pre-law, now dwarfed by this alien splendor. But doubt crept in: time moved strangely here, much like Isolde's grove. How long had they wandered already? Minutes? Hours? Nyx's form wavered, incorporeal wisps extending to probe the vines. "The ground shifts. Portals within portals, perhaps. I feel the pull of other realms, faint as echoes." A grand feast unfolded in the distance, tables circling a massive fire pit where whole beasts rotated on spits, fats crackling and popping. Souls gathered, their forms ranging from gaunt to grotesquely swollen, toasting with goblets that refilled themselves. Laughter boomed, but beneath it lurked moans, a symphony of satisfaction laced with torment. Aurora's fingers tightened on the blade. Discovery burned in her chest—the sheer ingenuity of this place, chefs conjuring dishes from air, fruits that sang when plucked. Yet unease gnawed: every delight seemed laced with a hook, pulling deeper into oblivion. "Look there," she said, pointing to a central figure on a dais, lounging amid cushions, a crown of twisted vines atop his head. His eyes locked on them, lazy and knowing. Isolde inclined her head. "The prince awaits those who seek. But remember, seeker, the heart's desire often devours the seeker whole." They approached, the air thickening with scents that clawed at Aurora's resolve. Nyx's shadows coiled tighter, ready. Wonder and dread intertwined, the world's secrets unfolding step by step in this realm of endless hunger.