AI The air thickened, pressing down like a velvet shroud woven with the scent of ozone and crushed honeysuckle. Aurora’s bright blue eyes narrowed , scanning the ancient oak standing stones that marked the boundary of Isolde’s grove. The wildflowers – impossible, year-round blooms of cerulean and crimson – shimmered , their petals vibrating with an excess of magic. What little sunlight filtered through the canopy seemed to stutter, caught between worlds.
The Heartstone Pendant, a deep crimson gemstone the size of her thumbnail, pulsed against her sternum. Not a gentle thrum this time, but a fervent throb, a beat that echoed Aurora’s own quickening heart. It burned with a warmth that spread through her chest, a warning and a beacon all at once.
“The Veil stretches thin here,” Isolde Varga’s voice, like windchimes in a distant storm, flowed from beside her. The Half-Fae seer stood motionless, her silver hair spilling to her waist, catching the stuttering light so it glowed like spun moonlight. Her pale lavender eyes, vast and ancient, stared into the swirling distortions between the final two standing stones. “A door opens for those with willing feet, though the path ahead demands more than mere will.”
Nyx, a towering silhouette of living shadow, shimmered into a solid form beside Isolde. Their faintly glowing violet eyes fixed on the unfolding void. A low, resonant sound, like a deep whisper carried on a gale, emanated from their form. “A familiar scent. Fleshy desire , unbound.” Nyx turned their head, a smooth, indistinct contour, towards Aurora, and the faint glow of their eyes seemed to deepen. “You feel its pull, little moth.”
Aurora ignored Nyx’s baiting. Her left wrist, where a crescent-shaped scar from a childhood accident rested, tingled with a phantom ache. She gripped the cold, leaf-shaped hilt of the Fae-Forged Blade at her hip, its moonsilver material a comforting anchor. “Pull? It feels more like a shove. And a headache coming on.”
Isolde merely smiled, a knowing tilt of lips that promised riddles and little comfort. “Heed the Heartstone, child. It knows where hunger dwells.” With a gesture so subtle it could have been merely the wind stirring her sleeve, Isolde drifted forward. Her feet, Aurora noted, as always, left no impression on the mossy ground.
The distortion between the stones intensified, coiling and unraveling like smoke in a wind tunnel. It wasn't a hole, but a *shift *—a sudden giving way of reality. One moment they were in the cool, verdant calm of the Fae Grove, the next, a breath of air different from any Aurora had ever known enveloped them.
It was warm, not hot, but the pervasive warmth of a humid summer evening after a storm . It felt heavy too, thick in her lungs, carrying a dizzying perfume. Above them, the sky was a deep, unblinking amber, vast and seamless, without sun or cloud, casting everything in a perpetual twilight glow. The ground beneath her worn boots was soft, almost spongy, yielding. It was the same rich, dark loam, but imbued with an alien quality, as if the very soil hummed with an invisible energy.
“Well,” Aurora murmured, pushing a strand of straight black hair from her eyes, “that’s… different.”
Before them, the landscape stretched into an overwhelming panorama of excess. Not a single tree resembled anything she'd ever seen on Earth. Some bore leaves of impossible colours – deep crimson, acid green that pulsed with an inner light, and shimmering violet. They twisted into convoluted shapes, some unfurling like elaborate fans, others drooping in heavy, fleshy folds. Grapevines, thick as sequoia trunks, snaked upwards, draped over unseen structures, laden with clusters of fruit the size of small pumpkins. The grapes themselves glowed with an internal radiance, shades of deep ruby, sapphire, and emerald, so ripe they seemed ready to burst .
“Dymas,” Isolde said, her voice barely a whisper , yet clear in the heavy air. “Where gluttony takes form.”
Nyx moved past Aurora, their shadowy form rippling, seemingly less constrained by the solid world here. They paused beside a massive plant whose blossoms were like gaping mouths, thick with pollen that drifted in iridescent motes. “A feast for all senses. And a trap for the unwary.” Their voice was a dry rasp in the sweet-laden air.
Aurora took a step further, the Heartstone a steady, insistent warmth . She wanted to touch everything, to understand the textures, the impossible colours. A waterfall cascaded in the distance, but the liquid wasn’t water; it was a pearlescent nectar, impossibly thick, shimmering with a mild luminescence as it crashed into a pool below. The sound was a deep, steady gurgle, like a hungry stomach .
“The air,” Aurora said, trying to identify the overwhelming scent . “It’s sweet, almost sickly. Like overripe fruit and… cinnamon?”
Isolde nodded, her eyes closed for a moment, savoring or enduring the aroma. “The Prince of Gluttony ensures his realm ever reflects his nature. Every breath, a taste.”
They walked, the spongy ground muffling their steps. Or, rather, it muffled Aurora's and Nyx's steps. Isolde still floated silently, leaving no disturbance in her wake. The density of the flora was immense, a thick tapestry of leaves, vines, and gargantuan blossoms. Strange, iridescent insects, the size of songbirds, buzzed between the flowers, their wings catching the amber light in flashes of purple and gold. They looked more like jewels than living creatures.
Aurora stopped before a bush whose berries, the colour of amethyst and larger than her thumb, pulsed with a faint, steady light. She reached out instinctively, then pulled her hand back. “Are these...safe?”
Nyx manifested a more defined hand, long and shadowy, and plucked one of the berries. They ran a shadowy thumb over its surface, then brought it close to their indistinct face. There was no eating, no consumption for a Shade, but an observation. “A sweet lie. The fruit of craving, born from longing, grown in excess.” The berry’s light dimmed, almost resentfully, as Nyx dropped it to the ground, where it immediately began to ferment, a tiny puff of gas escaping.
“Everything here,” Aurora observed, her practical mind trying to categorize the impossible, “is designed to tempt. To indulge.”
Isolde’s pale lavender eyes opened, fixed on a distant structure that peeked above the riotous canopy. It was a tower, not made of stone or metal, but of what looked like solidified sugar or crystal , catching the amber light and scattering it in shimmering facets. “Be wary, Rory. For indulgence has a price. Minds can be dulled, wills can be bent, and desires can turn to chains.”
The landscape shifted as they moved deeper. The vineyards gave way to immense orchards, where trees sagged under the weight of fruits of every conceivable shape and colour. Some were smooth and polished like jade, others rough and spiky, exuding a sticky sap that glistened like honey. The sheer scale was disorienting . A single apple might feed a village for a week.
From somewhere far off, Aurora heard a faint, ethereal music. It was a deep, resonant sound, like plucked strings and humming voices, both alluring and unsettling. It seemed to carry on the thick air, rising and falling like a deep breath.
“What is that?” she asked, tilting her head.
“The celebration,” Isolde answered simply. “Here, feasts are eternal. And the chefs… well, they are not always willing participants.”
Aurora felt a shiver run down her spine . The codex had mentioned "helbound souls contracted from Earth" as master chefs. The wonder of the exotic land suddenly gave way to a chilling understanding of its darker purpose. This wasn't merely a paradise of indulgence; it was a prison built from desire .
They came to a clearing, a vast expanse of emerald-green grass that rippled in low, silent waves. In the center stood a colossal plant, so enormous it looked like an organic monument . Its single, central stalk, wider than a bus, spiraled upwards, capped by a flower that dwarfed even the massive fruits. The petals, a brilliant sunset orange fading to a deep fuchsia at the tips, slowly unfurled and retracted, a rhythmic , silent pulse . From its heart, a plume of fragrant steam rose, smelling of roasted nuts and exotic spices.
“It breathes,” Rory whispered, fascinated despite herself. The flower emitted a low hum, a deep, bass note that resonated in her bones.
Nyx approached it, their shadow-flesh appearing to absorb the ambient light, making the flower’s colours seem even more vibrant by contrast. “A lure. A promise. Its nectar drives madness in mortals, yet grants eternal, blissful satiety.”
“Blissful satiety, at what cost?” Rory murmured, her hand still on the Fae-Forged Blade . The moonsilver felt colder here, almost aggressively so, a small defiance against the oppressive warmth . Her intelligence kicked in, trying to dissect the mechanisms of this realm. It wasn’t brute force, but seduction. Not an army to fight, but a hunger to resist . Her own childhood cravings for sweets, for escape, seemed pitifully small in comparison to the scale of desire engineered here .
Isolde walked around the enormous flower, her gaze sweeping the horizon where the amber sky met the distant, hazy outlines of more organic architecture. "Prince Belphegor knows the heart of longing. He does not enslave with chains of iron, but chains of pleasure ."
Aurora took a deep breath, the heavy perfume of the land filling her lungs, making her head feel light. "So, this is Dymas. Gluttony embodied." She looked at Nyx, then at Isolde. "What could anyone possibly want here that would be worth the risk?"
Nyx gave a silent, spectral shrug. "Perhaps what one cannot find anywhere else. Or perhaps, what one believes they *need *."
As they continued, a narrow path, almost swallowed by the overgrown foliage, appeared between two massive, intertwined trees that wept viscous, golden sap. The air grew thicker here, the smells more concentrated, a dizzying concoction that made Aurora instinctively quicken her pace. The Heartstone was now a steady, dull ache, no longer pulsing with warning but humming with a deep resonance , as if it had found its home.
The path twisted deeper into what felt like an endless garden maze . The ambient hum of the realm grew louder, punctuated by the occasional distant pop, like an overripe grape bursting, or a deeper, guttural groan that seemed to eman come from the earth itself . The beauty was still overwhelming , but the unease had intensified, a prickle at the back of Aurora's neck. This place was not merely wondrous; it was sentient, a living entity dedicated to consumption. And they were walking through its very maw .