Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAJV23XWFRTA9MQNJ572P8

The air tasted like overripe peaches and something else…something musky, almost animalistic, but not unpleasant. Rory wrinkled her nose, inhaling deeply. It was a thick, heavy scent, clinging to the dampness that saturated the grove. She glanced at Isolde, whose silver hair seemed to absorb the dappled light filtering through the seemingly endless canopy. The Seer moved with an uncanny grace, her bare feet leaving no mark on the thick carpet of wildflowers. “Time…flows differently here,” Isolde murmured, her voice a low thrum that vibrated in Rory’s chest. It wasn’t a statement, more of an observation, delivered with the same detachment she might use to describe the weather. Nyx shimmered, their form solidifying here, becoming less a silhouette and more almost human—tall, lean, veiled in an imitation of shadow. They reached out a long, slender hand, tracing the bark of an impossibly large oak. It was wider than a car, its branches reaching so high they were lost in the golden haze. The oak’s bark wasn't rough and weathered like the trees back home; it felt smooth, almost polished. "The air…it sings," Nyx whispered, their voice echoing faintly as if carried on a breeze. Rory couldn’t hear anything but the rustling of leaves and the drip of moisture from the foliage, but she understood. It was a feeling, a resonance. Rory held the Heartstone pendant, the crimson gemstone pulsing a steady, warm beat against her skin. She’d received it a week ago, slipped through the mail with no return address. It had led her here, to Richmond Park, to this hidden pocket of…something. Something that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. She brushed a strand of black hair behind her ear, the familiar gesture a futile attempt to ground herself. "So, what are we looking for exactly?" She asked, her voice sounding jarringly ordinary in this place of quiet majesty. Isolde turned her lavender eyes towards Rory. “A convergence. A thinning.” The words hung in the air, devoid of explanation. They moved deeper into the grove, the wildflowers rising to their knees in vibrant waves of purple, gold, and crimson. The air grew warmer, richer, the scent of peaches intensifying. Strange, luminous fungi sprouted from the roots of the trees, casting an ethereal glow on the surrounding foliage. Rory reached out, tentatively touching a cap of deep turquoise. It felt cool and yielding, like velvet. “Careful,” Nyx cautioned, their violet eyes, faintly luminous, fixed on the fungi. "Not all beauty is benign." Rory ignored the warning and plucked the fungi from it's base. It left a faint shimmer when removed. Ahead, the grove opened into a small clearing bathed in the warm amber light. Towering structures rose from the earth, intricate and bewildering. They weren't buildings, not exactly. More like…organic sculptures, formed from twisting branches and woven vines. They resembled massive beehives, or perhaps the nests of some colossal, unknown creature. The material shimmered faintly, as if light itself was woven into the structure. “What…are those?” Rory breathed, the question escaping before she could stop it. Isolde offered no reply. Her gaze was fixed on the largest of the structures, its entrance a gaping maw of shadow. She began to walk towards it, her movements deliberate, unwavering. Rory and Nyx exchanged a look. "Shouldn't we…ask?" Rory asked, but the question felt foolish even as she voiced it. Nyx simply shrugged, their form flickering slightly. "Questions are for those who have the answers. We seek them.” They followed Isolde, their footsteps muffled by the dense flora. As they neared the structure, the air grew noticeably colder, despite the pervasive warmth of the grove. A low hum resonated from within, vibrating through the ground and up into their bones. The Heartstone pendant against Rory’s chest pulsed faster, its warmth almost painful. Reaching the entrance, Rory peered into the darkness. It wasn't the absence of light, but an actively absorbing darkness, as if the air itself was consuming the amber glow. It smelled of ozone and something ancient, something that predated the world she knew. “It feels…wrong,” Rory said, her voice barely a whisper. “All beginnings feel wrong,” Isolde replied, her voice echoing strangely within the structure. Without hesitation, she stepped into the darkness. Rory exchanged a glance with Nyx, who gave a nearly imperceptible nod and followed Isolde. Rory took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. Immediately, the temperature plummeted. The warm amber light vanished, replaced by a perpetual twilight. The walls of the structure seemed to writhe and shift, formed of the same interwoven branches and vines, but now twisted into grotesque, unnatural shapes. The air crackled with an unsettling energy. The scent of peaches was gone, replaced by a sharp, metallic tang. The structure wasn’t empty. Scattered throughout the interior were tables laden with food - mountains of glistening fruits, platters piled with roasted meats, goblets overflowing with crimson wine. But the food wasn’t fresh. Some of it was moldy, crawling with iridescent insects. Other portions were blackened and brittle, as if preserved for centuries. And seated around the tables were figures – indistinct shapes cloaked in shadow. Some seemed to be feasting, their movements jerky and unnatural. Others simply sat, staring blankly ahead, their faces hidden in the gloom. Were they…people? Or something else entirely? Rory gripped the Fae-Forged blade she'd received from Isolde, the moonsilver cold against her palm. It pulsed faintly, a silvery luminescence breaking through the twilight. “This is... unsettling," Rory observed, her voice tight. Nyx moved silently through the cavernous space, their form gliding between the tables. They seemed to absorb the shadows, their presence almost becoming one with the gloom. "This place…" Nyx murmured, their voice carrying a faint echo. "It resonates with…insatiability. A hunger that can never be sated." Isolde stood before one of the tables, seemingly oblivious to the grotesque feast. Her gaze was fixed on a single goblet, filled with a dark, viscous liquid. She reached out a hand, her fingers brushing the rim. "The Gluttony takes many forms,” She said, her voice echoing in the chamber. "It is not merely consumption, but a desperate need...a yearning for something lost." The figures at the tables began to stir. Slowly, mechanically, they turned their heads towards Rory, their faces remaining hidden in the shadows. Rory felt a prickling sensation on her skin, a sense of being watched, scrutinized. One of the figures rose from its seat. Its form coalesced slightly, revealing a glimpse of pallid skin and hollow eyes. It emitted a low groan—a sound of profound despair and endless hunger. Then the others began to rise, their movements slow, deliberate, like puppets controlled by unseen strings. They shuffled towards Rory, their shadows stretching and distorting in the dim light. The Heartstone pendant pulsed violently against her chest, searing her skin. A wave of nausea washed over her. This wasn't just a strange place. This wasn't some whimsical pocket realm. This was something dangerous. “I think we took a wrong turn," Rory said, her hand tightening on the Fae-Forged blade. "A *very* wrong turn."