AI The air in Richmond Park usually smelled of damp earth and aging bracken, but as Aurora stepped through the invisible ripple between the two ancient oaks, the atmosphere curdled. The scent of crushed lavender and ozone vanished, replaced by a thick, suffocating aroma of overripe peaches and roasting meat.
Aurora gripped the hilt of her Fae-forged blade. The moonsilver metal hummed against her palm, a cold vibration that countered the sudden, oppressive heat. Behind her, Nyx drifted through the shimmering Veil, their shadow-form wavering like smoke caught in a crosswind.
"Stay close, Rory," Isolde said.
The Seer glided ahead, her silver hair trailing like a comet's tail. She left no footprints in the soil, her boots hovering a fraction of an inch above a carpet of translucent, ivory-colored spheres that resembled spilled pearls.
Aurora looked up and nearly lost her footing. The sky wasn't the grey-blue of a London evening; it was a solid, bruised amber, thick as honey. No stars pierced the haze. Instead, massive, slow-moving silhouettes drifted through the upper atmosphere—leviathans of the air, casting long, sweeping shadows over a landscape that defied every law of nature Rory knew.
They stood on the edge of a forest, but the trees were pillars of amber glass. Their branches dripped with a viscous, golden sap that hissed when it hit the ground. Beyond the glass woods, a mountain rose that wasn't made of rock. It appeared to be a catastrophic pile of discarded treasures, bones, and half-eaten feasts the size of cathedrals. Rivers of dark wine cascaded down its slopes, pooling into fermented lakes that steamed in the amber light.
"Dymas," Nyx whispered, their voice a dry rustle. "The realm of Gluttony. Prince Belphegor’s larder."
Aurora pulled the Heartstone Pendant from beneath her shirt. The crimson gemstone pulsed with a rhythmic , frantic light, matching the speed of her heart. It grew warm against her skin, a localized fever.
"It’s reacting to the portal," Aurora noted.
"It is reacting to the hunger," Isolde corrected. She pointed to a gargantuan flower nearby, its petals made of sheets of cured meat, glistening with a salt-crusted sheen. "The earth here has teeth, Aurora Carter. Do not touch the flora. To taste is to be tethered. One bite, and you shall never leave the Prince’s table."
They began to move deeper into the glass forest. The ivory spheres underfoot crunched with an unsettling, wet sound. Rory knelt, narrowing her eyes. They weren't pebbles. They were tiny, calcified fruits, smelling of old wine and desperation. She reached out, but a sharp look from Isolde stayed her hand.
A low growl vibrated through the marrow of Rory's bones. The crystalline reeds to their left shattered as something lunged. It was a creature of pale, translucent flesh, far too many limbs, and a vertical slit for a mouth lined with needle-teeth.
Aurora pivoted. She didn't think, she simply acted, her Cardiff-born instincts honed by years of dodging more mundane predators. She swung the moonsilver dagger in a cold arc. The blade sliced through the beast’s shoulder with no resistance. Instead of blood, a spray of grey ash erupted from the wound. The creature shrieked—a sound like glass grinding on glass—and retreated into the amber shadows.
"The blade remembers its purpose," Nyx said, hovering over the spot where the creature had stood. They reached out a shadowy hand, touching the dissipating ash. "It was a soul once. A chef, perhaps, who forgot the difference between the ingredient and the eater."
The heat climbed. Every breath felt like swallowing warm honey . They reached an obsidian plaza where a table stretched into the golden gloom , piled high with fruit that glowed with internal fire. Plums the color of bruises, grapes like giant rubies, and oranges that bled steam.
"The Crossroads of the Banquet," Isolde said, halting at the edge of the obsidian tiles. "To go forward, we must pass the table. To pass the table, we must not look . To look is to desire . To desire is to stay."
Aurora stared at the fruit. Her mouth watered. A hollow, desperate ache opened in her stomach , a hunger that had nothing to do with her last meal and everything to do with the psychic weight of the realm. She could almost taste the explosion of juice against her tongue.
"Rory, look at me."
Nyx stepped in front of her, their shadow-form expanding to blot out the sight of the feast. The darkness was a relief—a cold, void-like balm against the searing amber glare.
"Close your eyes. Give me your hand. My form is nothingness; it holds no flavor."
Aurora reached out. Her fingers sank into the freezing, smoke-like substance of Nyx’s arm. She shut her eyes tight.
The world became a cacophony of smells. Roasted meats, honeyed pastries, and wines older than empires. The sounds of chewing, the wet slap of meat on stone, and the rhythmic clink of silver against porcelain echoed around her.
"Walk," Isolde commanded.
Each step felt heavy, as if the obsidian floor were made of magnets pulling at the iron in Rory's blood. A voice whispered from the table—a soft, familiar melody that made her lungs hitch.
"Rory? Is that you? I made your favorite, cariad."
Aurora’s heart plummeted. The scent of her mother’s shepherd's pie, rich with rosemary and browning potatoes, wafted past her nose. It was so vivid she could see the steam rising from the kitchen table in Cardiff. Her stomach cramped with a phantom longing.
"It’s the air, Aurora," Nyx’s voice whispered directly into her ear, though they remained several paces away. "A vibration designed to break the will. Do not listen."
The Heartstone Pendant flared, a sudden, searing heat that felt like a hot coal pressed against her sternum. The sharp pain broke the spell. The scent of the pie turned instantly back into the cloying stink of fermented rot.
"I'm fine," Aurora gasped, her grip on Nyx’s shadow-arm tightening until she felt the solid, spectral bone beneath the smoke. "Keep going."
They moved past the table, the sounds of the banquet fading into the low, constant hum of the amber sky. When Nyx finally pulled away, Aurora opened her eyes.
They stood at the base of the bone-mountain. The scale was dizzying. Skulls of creatures she didn't recognize formed the foundation—massive, tusked things stacked alongside delicate, bird-like remains. Higher up, the "rocks" were solidified mounds of spice, glittering like jewels in the haze. A winding path of ground-up shells led upward.
"We are within the sights of the Prince now," Isolde said, looking up the slope. Her lavender eyes reflected the golden glow, making her look more alien than ever. "Belphegor does not like uninvited guests who refuse his hospitality."
Aurora adjusted her grip on the Fae blade. The cold metal was the only thing that felt real.
"Then he’s going to be very disappointed."
They began the climb. The shells crunched underfoot, a sharp, rhythmic sound in the heavy silence . As they ascended, the air grew thinner, the amber clouds swirling around them like golden silk .
Halfway up, Aurora paused. She looked back toward the Veil. It was a tiny, shimmering sliver of grey in the distance, a reminder of a world that felt increasingly like a half-forgotten dream. A gust of wind caught her, carrying a fleeting scent of fresh London rain.
Then the wind died, and the smell of cinnamon returned, thicker than before.
"Rory."
Nyx pointed further up the path.
A doorway stood at the peak of the bone-mountain. It wasn't made of stone or wood. It was framed by two massive, curving ribs that met at the top, covered in gold leaf and dripping with liquid silver. Inside the doorway, there was only darkness—not the shifting, living darkness of Nyx, but a flat, ravenous void .
"The Larder," Isolde whispered.
Aurora stepped forward, the Heartstone Pendant now glowing with a light so bright it shone through her denim jacket. It pointed toward the dark threshold like a compass.
"That's where we'll find it."
She reached the threshold. The transition was immediate. One step, she was in the amber heat of the mountain; the next, she stood in a cavern of ice-blue stone. The silence here pressed against her eardrums like water.
The Larder was a forest of hanging crystals. Inside each one, a different object was suspended. A rusted crown. A tattered banner. A single, perfect rose that never wilted.
Aurora walked past a crystal containing a sword that seemed to be made of frozen lightning . In another, a book with pages that flipped on their own despite the lack of a breeze.
In the center of the cavern, a single pedestal of obsidian held a cage of silver wire. Inside the cage sat a bowl of grey, shriveled, ancient fruit. Beside the bowl lay a key carved from a single piece of starlight, pulsing with the same rhythm as Aurora’s Heartstone.
Aurora reached out, her fingers hovering inches from the silver wire. The air in the cavern suddenly rippled. The ice-blue stone shifted, turning the color of a bruised plum.
A voice boomed, not from a throat, but from the very walls . It was deep, wet, and heavy with the sound of someone speaking with a full mouth.
"You have a very strange definition of a guest, little bird."
Aurora's fingers brushed the silver wire. It was freezing , a cold that bit deep into her marrow.
"I'm not here for the food."
The floor trembled . The crystals overhead rattled, their internal lights flickering in alarm.
"Everything here is food, eventually."
A shadow longer and denser than Nyx’s began to stretch across the floor from the far end of the cavern. It didn't crawl; it flowed like spilled oil, consuming the blue light as it moved.
Aurora grabbed the starlight key. The moment her skin touched the cold material, a jolt of energy shot up her arm, making her hair stand on end. The Heartstone Pendant let out a final, blinding flare of crimson.
"Rory, move!"
Nyx lunged, their shadow-form colliding with the advancing oil-slick of darkness. A sound like a thunderclap echoed through the Larder.
Aurora bolted toward the exit, the key clutched against her chest. Isolde stood by the ribbed doorway, her silver hair whipping around her face in a wind that shouldn't have existed.
"The price must be paid! The gate demands a toll!"
Aurora skidded to a halt at the edge of the Larder's threshold. The amber world of Dymas roared outside, the leviathans in the sky circling low over the mountain.
The dark oil-slick surged around Nyx, who struggled to maintain their solid form. The Shade’s violet eyes were wide, their silhouette fraying at the edges.
"Go!" Nyx’s voice was a ragged whisper .
Aurora looked at the key, then at the shadow-being. She looked at the banquet below and the hungry mountain beneath her feet. The Prince’s presence filled the cavern, a weight of pure, unadulterated greed that threatened to drop her to her knees.
She gripped the Fae-forged blade in her other hand. The moonsilver glowed fiercely, a pinprick of sanity in the golden madness.
"Not today."
She turned back toward the darkness.