Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYARFG3XTTGPRP0766345NQ

The air smelled like honeyed wine and something older—something that had been fermenting in the dark for centuries. Aurora Carter exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around the worn leather of her messenger bag. The pendant at her throat, the one she’d found tucked into a book in Silas’s bar, pulsed faintly against her skin, warm as a living thing. She hadn’t told anyone about it. Not even Nyx, who moved through the world like a question mark in the corner of her vision, flickering in and out of solidity as if the air itself couldn’t decide whether to hold them. Isolde had warned her. *"The Veil thins at the solstice,"* the Half-Fae seer had murmured, her silver hair catching the dappled light of the Grove. *"But this… this is not the thinning. This is a tear."* She’d pressed the cold, slender blade into Aurora’s palm, the moonsilver edge biting just enough to draw a single bead of blood. *"For when the shadows call, you must answer."* Now, standing at the edge of this place, Aurora understood why. The ground beneath her boots was soft, yielding like damp earth, but not quite. It gave way beneath her weight, shifting as if alive, and she had to force herself not to sink. The trees here were not trees at all—towering, gnarled things with bark like cracked porcelain, their branches heavy with fruit she didn’t recognize. Some were plump and ripe, others withered and blackened, as if plucked from a feast long abandoned. The air hummed with a low, resonant vibration, like the note of a cello stretched too thin, and the sound of it made her teeth ache. Nyx was already moving forward, their form solidifying just enough to step over a fallen branch. *"This is Dymas,"* they whispered, their voice carrying on the wind. *"The realm of Belphegor."* Aurora’s breath hitched. *Gluttony.* The sin had a flavor, she realized—sweet and cloying, like too much sugar left in the mouth. She swallowed, her throat dry. *"We’re not supposed to be here."* *"No,"* Nyx agreed, their shadow stretching long and thin as they turned, eyes glowing faint violet. *"But neither are we supposed to be alive."* Isolde had come last, her silver hair catching the golden light filtering through the canopy. She moved without sound, her bare feet leaving no impression in the earth. *"The Veil is weakest here,"* she said, her voice like the rustle of leaves. *"But it is not broken. Not yet."* She extended a hand, and Aurora took it, the contact sending a jolt of something electric up her arm. The pendant burned against her skin. The deeper they went, the stranger the world became. The trees here were not just gnarled—they were *alive* in a way that made her skin prickle. Their bark pulsed faintly, like veins beneath skin, and the fruit hanging from their branches swayed as if in a breeze that wasn’t there. Some of the fruit was familiar—peaches, figs, grapes—but others were monstrous things, swollen and misshapen, their skins split open to reveal flesh that glowed faintly, like bioluminescent jellyfish. A few had already fallen, landing with a wet *thud* in the undergrowth, and the moment they hit, the earth around them seemed to *drink* them in, the soil parting like lips to swallow them whole. Aurora’s stomach twisted. *"What the hell is that?"* Nyx crouched, their shadow pooling around a particularly grotesque fruit—round, the size of a melon, with a skin like cracked amber and a single, milky eye embedded in the center. *"A Helbound memory,"* they murmured. *"The souls here are not just trapped. They are… repurposed."* They plucked the fruit from the branch, the stem giving way with a wet *pop*. The moment it touched their palm, the eye in the fruit blinked open, slow and deliberate. Nyx recoiled, dropping it. The fruit hit the ground and *exploded* in a burst of blackened petals, the scent of burnt sugar filling the air. Aurora stumbled back, her heart hammering. *"Did you just—?"* *"Summon something?"* Nyx’s voice was tight. *"No. But it was close."* Isolde’s fingers brushed Aurora’s wrist, her touch cool against the heat of the pendant. *"The fruit is not the danger,"* she said. *"It is the *hunger*."* A sound cut through the air—a low, guttural growl, like a thousand voices speaking at once. Aurora spun, her hand instinctively going to the dagger at her belt, the moonsilver blade cold against her palm. Between the trees, something *moved*. Not a person. Not quite an animal. Something *else*. Tall, emaciated, its limbs too long, its skin stretched tight over bones that seemed to *click* as it shifted. Its mouth was a lipless gash, filled with needle-like teeth, and its eyes—oh, its eyes—were hollow pits, reflecting nothing. *"A Glutton,"* Isolde breathed. The thing let out another growl, a sound that made Aurora’s teeth ache, and then it *laughed*, a sound like breaking glass and shattering bones. *"You should not have come,"* it hissed, its voice layered with a dozen others, overlapping, warping. *"This is not a place for mortals."* Aurora’s fingers tightened around the dagger. *"We’re not here to stay."* The Glutton tilted its head, its hollow eyes locking onto her. *"No,"* it echoed. *"But you will be hungry."* Nyx stepped forward, their shadow stretching like a living thing, coiling around the creature’s legs. *"Move,"* they commanded, their voice sharp. *"Now."* The Glutton snarled, its body *twisting*, its limbs elongating, stretching toward Nyx. Aurora didn’t think—she *moved*, lunging forward with the dagger, the moonsilver edge flashing as she drove it into the creature’s side. The blade passed through flesh like butter, and the Glutton let out a shriek that made the ground tremble. It recoiled, its form flickering, unstable, as if the very air was rejecting it. *"Run,"* Isolde urged, her voice urgent. They didn’t need to be told twice. The trees closed in around them, the branches twisting like grasping hands, the fruit falling from them like rain. Aurora’s lungs burned, her legs pounding through the soft, yielding earth, the pendant at her throat pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Behind her, she could hear the Glutton’s laughter, high and keening, the sound of it making her skin crawl. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the world *shifted*. The trees dissolved into mist, the air clearing like a breath held too long. They stood in a clearing, the sky above them a warm amber, the air thick with the scent of roasting meat and spiced wine. In the distance, a grand feast hall loomed, its towers reaching for the heavens, its banners snapping in a wind that didn’t exist. And at its center, a figure stood—tall, regal, his crown wreathed in flames. Prince Belphegor. Aurora’s breath caught. *"We’re not supposed to be here."* Nyx exhaled sharply, their form flickering. *"We’re not."* Isolde’s hand found Aurora’s shoulder, her grip firm. *"We are not welcome,"* she said. *"But we are not alone."* And then the doors of the feast hall swung open, and the Glutton stepped through, its form now *human*—a man, gaunt and hollow-eyed, his mouth stretched in a grin too wide for his face. *"Ah,"* he said, his voice dripping with honeyed malice. *"Guests."* Aurora’s fingers tightened around the dagger. *"We’re leaving."* Nyx stepped between them, their shadow stretching like a barrier. *"Not yet."* The Glutton laughed, the sound echoing through the clearing, through the trees, through the very air. *"Oh, but you will."*