AI Aurora’s boot skidded on a patch of moss that glowed a violent, sickly violet. She caught herself against the rough bark of an oak, but the wood felt warm, pulsing beneath her palm like a slow, heavy heart.
"Step exactly where the shadows bleed into the silver." Isolde didn't turn around . Her waist-length silver hair drifted behind her, unaffected by the lack of wind in the clearing. "To tread upon the emerald is to invite the earth to swallow the feast."
"The feast usually swallows back in this corner of the woods." Nyx drifted beside Aurora . Their form flickered, a humanoid silhouette of living shadow that seemed to drink the light rather than reflect it . "The Veil is thin here, Little Bird. Can you feel the itch in your marrow?"
Aurora pulled her hand away from the pulsing tree. Her Heartstone Pendant throbbed against her chest, a deep crimson heat that seeped through her thin cotton shirt. The sensation reminded her of a low-grade fever, persistent and demanding. She adjusted the strap of her bag and looked toward the center of the Richmond grove. The ancient oak standing stones no longer looked like simple rock . They shimmered , translucent and tall, like pillars of frozen smoke.
"I feel like I’m standing in a microwave," Aurora said. She followed Isolde's trail, carefully placing her feet on the dark, bruised patches of grass where the light failed to reach.
The transition happened without a sound. One step, the air smelled of damp London earth and dog walkers, the next, the atmosphere turned thick and cloying. It tasted of overripe peaches and ozone. The sky above them wasn't the dull grey of a British afternoon. It stretched into a vast, warm amber canopy, infinite and suffocating.
They stood at the edge of a sprawling, ancient orchard. The trees were magnificent, gnarled things with bark that looked like polished obsidian . Fruits the size of human heads hung from the branches, glowing with an internal, golden light. Beneath the trees, long wooden tables stretched into the distance, laden with silver platters that groaned under the weight of steaming meats, crystalline sweets, and carafes of wine that bubbled with violet foam.
"Welcome to the fringes of Dymas," Isolde whispered. Her pale lavender eyes scanned the horizon, never settling on one point for too long. "Gluttony has many doors, and we have just stepped through the kitchen entrance."
"It’s beautiful," Aurora admitted. She reached out toward a low-hanging branch, her fingers brushing against a fruit that felt like velvet . "Is this all... real?"
"Real enough to kill you if you take a bite." Nyx glided past her, their violet eyes glowing brighter against the amber sky. "Everything here exists to be consumed. If you aren't the eater, you are the meal. Do not touch the silver, and for the love of your mortal soul, do not drink the wine."
They moved deeper into the orchard. The click-clack of Aurora’s boots on the glass-like pebbles of the path was the only sound in the oppressive silence . There were no birds here. No insects buzzed around the rotting piles of fruit that lay discarded in the tall, iridescent grass. The scent of fermentation grew stronger, a heavy, sweet rot that made Aurora’s stomach flip-flop.
They passed a corner shop that looked entirely out of place, its brickwork Victorian and soot-stained, though it lacked a roof. Instead of newspapers or sweets, the shelves were packed with jars of shimmering spices and what looked like pickled organs preserved in glowing brine. A sign above the door read *The Final Course * in elegant, golden script.
"Keep moving," Isolde urged. She didn't leave footprints in the fine white sand that had replaced the glass pebbles. "The Wardens of the Gate do not appreciate window shoppers."
"What’s that sound?" Aurora stopped.
A low, rhythmic thumping echoed from somewhere ahead. It sounded like a drum, or perhaps a giant tenderising meat. Along with the sound came a new smell, the sharp, pungent aroma of roasting garlic and charred fat. It was mouth-watering, a scent so rich it felt like a physical weight in the back of Aurora’s throat.
"The Grand Feast," Nyx said. The Shade’s voice sounded more like a rasp of sandpaper than a whisper now. "Prince Belphegor is hosting. The souls contracted from your world are busy in the pits. They cook until they burn, then they are served as the next course."
As they rounded a bend in the path, the orchard opened into a massive, open-air ballroom. The floor was a mosaic of polished bone and emerald. Thousands of figures sat at the tables, dressed in fine, tattered silks of every imaginable colour. They weren't eating . They were shovelling food into their mouths with a frantic, desperate energy, their faces smeared with grease and wine.
At the center of the ballroom stood a fountain. It wasn't water that sprayed from the mouth of the marble titan at its peak, but a thick, dark liquid that smelled of iron.
"The Heartstone." Aurora gripped her pendant. It was burning now, the deep crimson gem glowing so brightly it shone through her fingers. "It’s pointing toward the fountain."
"The anchor is there," Isolde agreed. She held out a hand, stopping Aurora from taking another step. "But look at the guests, Aurora. Look at their eyes."
Aurora peered closer at the nearest table. A woman in a beautiful, tattered yellow gown was gnawing on a bone. Her eyes were wide, vacant, and entirely silver. She didn't look like she was enjoying the meal. She looked terrified , her jaw moving in a mechanical , repetitive motion.
"They can't stop," Aurora whispered.
"Gluttony is not about the food," Nyx said, their shadow-form elongated and sharp. "It is about the void that can never be filled. They are the shadows of what they once were, trapped in a cycle of eternal consumption."
Aurora felt a cold shiver run down her spine . She reached into her jacket and gripped the hilt of the moonsilver Fae-Forged Blade Isolde had given her. The metal felt like an icicle against her palm, a sharp contrast to the sweltering heat of the Dymasian air.
"We need to get to that fountain," Aurora said, her voice steady despite the trembling in her knees . "If the anchor is there, we break it and get out. Right?"
"Speculation is a dangerous game in the Prince’s garden," Isolde replied.
The rhythmic thumping stopped abruptly.
The silence that followed was worse than the noise. Every single guest at the nearest hundred tables stopped eating. They sat frozen, forks halfway to mouths, bones gripped in greasy fingers. Slowly, with a sickening, unified creak of necks, they turned their silver eyes toward the three intruders.
A loud, wet slurping sound emerged from the top of the fountain. The marble titan began to crack. Pieces of stone fell away, splashing into the pool of dark liquid below. From within the statue, something huge and pale began to unfold. It had too many limbs, each one ending in a delicate, long-fingered hand, and its skin looked like wet parchment stretched over a cage of needles.
"The Head Chef is displeased," Nyx hissed. Their form blurred, shadows coiling like angry snakes. "And he hasn't prepared enough appetizers."
The pale creature let out a high-pitched, warbling whistle. At the sound, the guests screamed, a ragged, discordant noise, and scrambled over the tables toward them, their silver eyes fixed on Aurora’s throat.
Aurora pulled the Fae blade from its sheath. The silver metal hummed, casting a pale, moonlight glow across the bone mosaic .
"Run," Isolde commanded.
Aurora didn't need telling twice. She bolted toward the fountain as the first of the guests, a man in a shredded tuxedo, lurched into her path with his teeth bared. She swung the blade, the moonsilver cutting through the air with a sharp, whistling hiss.
The man didn't bleed. He burst into a cloud of flour and ash.
"Don't let them touch you!" Nyx roared, diving into the crowd and tearing through the diners like a wolf through sheep.
Aurora dodged a clawed hand, her heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against her ribs. The Heartstone Pendant was a searing brand now, screaming at her that the portal was close. She reached the edge of the fountain just as the multi-limbed horror from the statue lunged. One of its many hands caught her ankle, its grip like a vice made of frozen meat. Aurora slammed onto the bone-white floor, the breath escaping her lungs in a sharp, pained gasp.
The creature leaned over her, its face a featureless mask of white skin with a single, gaping mouth lined with rows of needle-thin teeth. It leaned in, its breath smelling of copper and mint.
"Fresh meat," the creature warbled.
As it opened its maw wider, a shadow-stitching silence fell over the ballroom, and the crimson glow of the Heartstone exploded into a blinding, suffocating light.