Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY903Z3B964V59TVJPATQA7

Aurora's fingers tightened around the Heartstone Pendant as its crimson glow pulsed against her palm, warm like a heartbeat trapped in stone. The air in the Fae Grove thickened, the ancient oaks twisting their branches into unnatural arches above the wildflowers. Isolde led the way, her silver hair catching the perpetual twilight that filtered through the leaves. No footprints marred the moss behind her. Nyx trailed at the edges, their shadowy form flickering like smoke caught in a draft, violet eyes scanning the boundaries where the world bent. The Seer paused at the heart of the grove, her pale lavender gaze fixed on a shimmer in the air—a distortion that rippled like heat over cobblestones, but colder, pulling at the edges of reality. "The Veil thins here," Isolde murmured, her voice a melody wrapped in thorns. "Step where the light fractures, and the path opens. But remember, what lies beyond hungers as much as it feeds." Aurora swallowed the knot in her throat. The pendant's warmth spread up her arm, urging her forward. She glanced at Nyx, who coalesced into a more solid silhouette, tall and indistinct, like a man carved from midnight. "You sense it too? That pull?" Nyx's whisper slithered through the air, carried on an unfelt wind. "Shadows whisper of excess. A realm where want devours itself." Isolde extended her hand, palm up. No lines creased her skin; it gleamed smooth as polished marble. "The blade will guard you. Cut if the indulgence turns to chains." Aurora nodded, sliding the Fae-Forged Blade into her belt. Its moonsilver hilt chilled her hip through her jacket, a constant reminder of the cold edge waiting. She stepped toward the shimmer first, the group closing in behind. The air hummed, then tore—a brief sting like pins against her skin. The grove vanished. In its place stretched a landscape that defied the ache in her chest. Warm amber light bathed everything, the sky a vast dome of molten honey that never quite set. Vines heavy with fruit climbed trellises that spiraled into infinity, their leaves broad and veined with gold. Aurora's boots sank into soil richer than any earth she'd known, soft and yielding, scented with spices that made her mouth water unbidden. Grapes the size of fists dangled from arches overhead, their skins taut and glistening, promising juices that could drown a thirst she'd never felt before. She knelt, plucking one. It burst between her fingers, dark red liquid spilling warm across her knuckles. The taste exploded on her tongue—sweet, then sharp, then a depth that pulled her in, urging another bite. She shook her head, wiping her hand on her jeans. "This place... it's alive. Like it's breathing around us." Isolde moved ahead, her steps silent on the path of crushed petals that lined the ground. "Dymas calls to the hollow parts. Fill them, or they fill you." Nyx drifted closer, their form sharpening into edges that mimicked human shoulders and a jawline. They reached out, shadow fingers brushing a low-hanging branch. Leaves rustled without wind, releasing a puff of aroma—cinnamon and something feral, like meat roasting over unseen fires. "Listen. The echoes of feasts long past. Or yet to come." Aurora pushed forward, the path widening into a meadow where orchards gave way to terraced gardens. Trees bore fruits she'd never seen: orbs of blue flesh striped with silver, pods that hummed faintly when touched. Birds with feathers like polished brass wheeled overhead, their cries a chorus of laughter twisted into hunger. The air grew heavier, laced with the sizzle of distant flames and the low murmur of voices—hundreds, thousands, blending into a symphony of satisfaction. A stone arch loomed ahead, carved with reliefs of figures locked in eternal banquets, mouths open wide, hands clutching platters. As they passed beneath, the ground shifted to mosaic tiles, each piece a tiny scene of indulgence: a lover feeding another jewel-encrusted sweets, a warrior drowning in wine rivers. Aurora's skin prickled. The pendant throbbed harder now, its glow visible even in the amber light. "Feels wrong," she said, voice low. "Beautiful, but... like it's watching." Isolde tilted her head, silver strands swaying. "Beauty in Hel wears many masks. The Prince rules from excess, but chains hide in the silk." They crested a hill, and the valley unfolded below—a sprawl of vineyards that marched to the horizon, rows upon rows of vines twisting like serpents. In the center, a grand pavilion rose, its silken walls billowing in a breeze that carried scents of roasted meats and baked goods still warm from ovens. Figures moved within, ethereal at first, then solidifying into souls bound to this realm—cooks in aprons stained with sauces, diners sprawled on cushions, their laughter booming like thunder. Aurora froze at the sight of a massive table, laden with dishes that steamed and shimmered. Platters of glistening fish from nonexistent seas, towers of pastries flaking gold dust, bowls of creams swirled with colors that shifted like oil on water. One soul, a man with eyes too wide and skin too pale, lifted a goblet, wine sloshing over the rim. "Come! Join the endless night. Taste what you've craved." Nyx's form rippled, violet eyes narrowing. "Illusions woven into truth. They were mortal once. Now, they serve the gluttony." Isolde raised a hand, weaving fingers through the air. A faint barrier shimmered around them, thin as spider silk. "We seek the rift's heart, not its belly. Deeper, where the gardens choke on their own bounty." Aurora forced her legs to move, skirting the pavilion's edge. The man's laughter followed, echoing off the vines. Her stomach growled despite herself, the aromas coiling around her like fingers. She gripped the blade's hilt, its cold seeping through her resolve. The path dipped into a ravine, walls lined with espaliered trees bearing nuts that cracked open at a glance, revealing kernels pulsing with inner light. As they descended, the sounds changed. The distant feasts faded, replaced by a rhythmic thrum—like hearts beating in unison, or perhaps the churn of vast kitchens underground. The air cooled slightly, carrying hints of earth turned over, roots unearthed. Aurora brushed a hand against a trunk; sap oozed, sticky and sweet, clinging to her skin. She peeled it away, but the tackiness lingered, a subtle weight. "Look there." Nyx pointed, their whisper sharpening. A cluster of flowers bloomed at the ravine's base, petals unfurling like mouths, releasing spores that danced in the amber glow. Each puff carried visions—flashes in Aurora's mind of tables groaning under feasts, of hands reaching, never sated. She blinked hard, shaking it off. "It's messing with my head. Like whispers I can't quite hear." Isolde knelt by the flowers, her lavender eyes reflecting their iridescence. "Dream-weeds of Dymas. They plant seeds of want. Pluck one, and see your deepest hunger bloom." Aurora backed away, heart pounding. The ravine narrowed, forcing them single file. Stone steps emerged, worn smooth by countless feet, leading to a grotto where a spring bubbled from cracked earth. Water clear as crystal filled a basin, but ripples formed faces beneath the surface—souls staring up, mouths moving in silent pleas. One broke the surface, a woman's translucent form rising halfway. "Drink. Forget the chains above. Here, peace in abundance." Nyx extended a shadowy tendril, touching the water. It steamed on contact, hissing back to liquid. "Bound servants. The Prince's chefs, eternal in their toil." The unease settled in Aurora's gut like lead, but wonder threaded through it. The grotto's walls sparkled with embedded gems—rubies like frozen blood, emeralds veined with fire. She traced one, and it warmed, projecting a hologram of sorts: a grand competition, chefs battling with flames that danced like lovers, crowds cheering as dishes levitated on platters of light. "Competitions," Isolde said, her riddle laced with warning. "Where victory tastes of ash, and defeat feeds the vines." They pressed on, the steps climbing out of the grotto into a labyrinth of hedges. Thorns tipped with dew that smelled of honey guarded the turns, scratching at Aurora's sleeves. Each wrong path led to clearings of temptation: a bench laden with cheeses that melted at a touch, a fountain spraying nectar that hummed lullabies. Nyx slipped ahead, incorporeal now, scouting shadows between the leaves. They reformed abruptly, blocking a turn. "Dead end. But voices—planning a harvest that never ends." Aurora wiped sweat from her brow, the air growing thicker, humid with the breath of growing things. Her mouth dried, the earlier grape's sweetness turning cloying in memory. "How much deeper? This place pulls at you, like it's got hooks." Isolde's lips curved, not quite a smile. "Until the core reveals itself. The excess builds to a pinnacle." The labyrinth opened to a plateau, where orchards gave way to terraced fields of herbs that swayed in unison, releasing clouds of scent that made colors brighter, sounds sharper. In the distance, spires rose—towers of bone-white marble, topped with domes that pulsed like breathing lungs. Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the promise of breads baking, stews simmering. A group of souls worked the fields below, their movements fluid, almost dance-like. One turned, spotting the intruders. "Wanderers! Fresh palates for the Prince's table?" Aurora's hand went to the pendant; it burned now, guiding left toward the spires. Nyx merged with a shadow cast by a fruit tree, reemerging beside her. "The rift lies within. But guards approach—shades of gluttony, fattened on lies." The souls detached from their tasks, forms bloating slightly as they neared, eyes gleaming with unnatural hunger. Isolde drew a subtle circle in the air with her finger, murmuring words that twisted like vines. The air warped, bending the souls' path away. "Wonder and dread, hand in hand," the Seer said. "Dymas offers all, takes more." Aurora led now, the blade humming faintly at her side, its luminescence cutting through the amber haze. The plateau sloped toward a grand staircase, flanked by statues of revelers frozen in mid-laugh, goblets raised. Each step descended into deeper warmth, the thrum growing to a pulse that synced with her own heartbeat. Fruits hung lower here, brushing her shoulders, and she batted them away, their juices splattering like blood. At the base, a plaza spread out, paved with tiles that depicted the seven sins in mosaic—gluttony central, a maw devouring worlds. Fountains jetted wine of every hue, and market stalls overflowed with spices that sang when ground. Vendors called out, their voices a cacophony of invitation. "Spices from the abyss! Meats from forgotten beasts!" Aurora's vision blurred at the edges, the scents weaving dreams of feasts in her old flat above Silas' bar—endless plates, laughter with Eva, no shadows of Evan chasing her. She gripped Nyx's arm, the shadow solidifying under her touch. "Fight it. We're not staying." Nyx nodded, violet glow steady. "The heartstone leads true. Through the central arch." Isolde followed, her presence a cool anchor. They wove past stalls where souls haggled over loaves that expanded in hands, fruits that granted visions of lost loves. One vendor thrust a pear toward Aurora, its skin veined with light. "Bite, and remember what you've forsaken." She sidestepped, the pendant's heat guiding to a shadowed alcove. There, the air split again—a smaller rift, pulsing crimson like the stone. But unease crested as figures emerged from the plaza's edges—taller souls, their forms rippling with power, eyes fixed on the group. "The Prince's tasters," Nyx whispered. "They sample more than food." Aurora drew the blade, its edge glowing cold blue. The first taster lunged, mouth yawning wide, but the moonsilver sliced clean, parting shadow from flesh. It dissolved into mist, reforming as a puddle of syrup that seeped into the tiles. More came, their steps heavy, breaths ragged with need. Isolde chanted, barriers flaring, while Nyx darted between them, shadows coiling to trip and bind. Aurora slashed, the blade singing through wards that tasted of honeyed poison. One taster grazed her arm, its touch igniting a fire of want—she craved, suddenly, the life left behind, the simple deliveries for Yu-Fei's, the bar's dim lights. But the pendant burned brighter, grounding her. She drove the blade home, and the taster wailed, collapsing into fruit rinds that withered on the stone. The plaza quieted, echoes fading. The rift beckoned, its edges fraying like torn silk. Aurora sheathed the blade, chest heaving. Wonder lingered in the air's aftertaste, the alien beauty of Dymas etched into her senses— a realm where abundance twisted into trap, where every delight hid a devourer. Isolde placed a hand on her shoulder. "Deeper still calls. The true excess awaits." Nyx's form steadied, watching the rift. "We enter, or it claims us piecemeal."