AI The air thickened, pressing in on Aurora, tasting of sugared wine and something sharp like crushed iron. Her vision swam with swirling greens and violent purples, then snapped into focus on a landscape bathed in an eternal, warm amber light. The Heartstone Pendant, clutched in her hand, thrummed against her palm like a trapped heartbeat.
"Not quite the British countryside," she muttered.
Nyx stood beside her, a wavering column of shadow that seemed to drink the amber light . Faint violet eyes surveyed the scene, taking in details Aurora might have missed.
"Hel is never *quite * anywhere," Nyx whispered, their voice a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. "And Dymas least of all."
A dizzying panorama unfolded before her. Vast, rolling hills stretched to a horizon that bled into the perpetually amber sky, covered in shimmering fields of what looked like oversized, luminous berries . Trees, heavier than any on Earth, groaned under the weight of fruits that pulsed with an internal glow, some resembling enormous, deep purple figs, others like clusters of golden honeycomb. A sweet, cloying perfume, rich with overripe fruit and baking spice, hung heavy in the air , almost suffocating. The ground beneath her feet felt soft, yielding, like damp moss, but it hummed with a subtle, low vibration.
"It smells… edible," Aurora said, crinkling her nose . The scent invaded her mouth, leaving a sugary film on her tongue. It was overwhelming, but undeniably seductive.
Nyx shifted, their form rippling like heat haze against the strange backdrop. "Every particle of Dymas exists to be consumed. Or to consume."
They began to walk, their steps soundless on the spongy ground. Aurora found herself navigating an orchard where the tree trunks were marbled green and brown, smooth as polished malachite. Low-hanging blossoms, the size of human heads, unfurled petals of spun sugar, releasing plumes of fragrant steam like tiny, decorative chimneys. Fat, iridescent beetles crawled lazily across the bark, their shells catching the amber light in metallic flashes. None of the insects seemed to mind their presence.
Ahead, a ribbon of silver, too wide and placid to be a river, snaked through a valley. It hummed with faint, deep notes. As they drew closer, Aurora realised it was not water, but liquid, shimmering metal, slowly flowing . Figures in the distance moved along its banks, small and indistinct.
"What's that?" Aurora asked, a prickle of unease finally cutting through the initial wonder.
"One of Dymas's great conduits," Nyx replied, the whisper carrying further than it should. "Nourishment for the grandest feasts."
The path, once soft earth, now became paved with tessellated tiles of what appeared to be dark chocolate, arranged in swirling patterns. Crystal vines, laden with gleaming , candied grapes, climbed over archways carved from enormous, petrified gingerbread. The sheer artistry of it, the boundless excess, was breathtaking. It was like stepping into a grotesque, delicious dream.
A low, collective rumble vibrated through the ground. It sounded like a thousand contented sighs, or perhaps, a furnace at full blast.
"Someone’s having a good time," Aurora observed dryly, though her stomach gave an involuntary twist . "Or cooking something very , very big."
The chocolate path widened, leading them into a vast plaza. Here, the amber light intensified, seeming to emanate from the very air. Gigantic banquet tables, carved from what looked like alabaster marble veined with golden sugar, stretched out across the square. They were laden with platters piled high with unidentifiable delicacies: towering cakes that pulsed with inner light, glistening roasts of creatures Aurora had never seen, rivers of thick, sweet cream pouring from ornate fountains. Strange, reed-like instruments made a soft, mournful music that drifted across the plaza, an oddly contrasting accompaniment to the scene of opulence.
Dymasian inhabitants bustled through the crowd, their forms diverse and shifting, some vaguely humanoid but often adorned with extra limbs, multiple eyes, or mouths that seemed too wide for their faces. They moved with an unhurried grace, sampling the food, murmuring to one another in liquid, gurgling tones that tickled Aurora's ears.
She noticed their attire. Flowing robes woven from iridescent silk , adorned with intricate embroidery depicting scenes of bountiful harvests and joyful consumption. Many wore elaborate headpieces wrought from solidified sugar or woven from delicate strands of pulled caramel. They all seemed perpetually sated, yet continuously partaking.
One figure, taller than the rest, glided past, carrying a goblet that seemed filled with starlight . Its face, smooth and unblemished, had no eyes, only spiraling patterns where they should be. A sweet, metallic scent wafted from it. Aurora gripped the Heartstone tighter.
"They don't seem like the fighting type," Aurora said, mostly to herself .
"War is a matter of deprivation," Nyx commented, appearing a fraction closer to her. "Here, there is only endless provision. Struggle would imply a lack."
The unease intensified. This place was too perfect , too rich. It felt like a trap baited with infinite pleasure. She spotted a smaller, secluded courtyard off to one side of the main plaza. It seemed quieter, less overtly celebratory. A single, dark archway beckoned, framed by thick, velvety vines bearing dark, unblinking berries that resembled eyes.
"This way," Aurora decided, nudging Nyx. The open celebration felt like too much, too exposed . That archway looked like a potential path to somewhere less conspicuous.
They moved towards the archway, the cacophony of the feast slowly fading behind them, replaced by the gentle murmur of unseen liquid and a faint, rhythmic thumping. The air here was cooler, drier, carrying a tang of ozone and something else, something vaguely familiar .
Beyond the arch, a narrow, winding alley stretched before them, paved not with chocolate but with smooth, dark stone that absorbed the amber glow. On either side, massive buildings rose, their walls slick with condensation, suggesting a radical temperature change from the outer plaza. These structures possessed no windows, only colossal, steel-reinforced doors that looked like bank vaults . The rhythmic thumping grew louder here, sounding like a slow, heavy pulse .
"What's in there?" Aurora asked, her voice hushed . This was not the gluttonous indulgence of the plaza. This was industrial, oppressive .
Nyx paused, their shadowy fingers brushing against the cold, damp stone. "Processing. The finer points of Dymasian sustenance."
The alley opened into another, smaller square. In its centre stood a monstrous, brass machine, intricate and gleaming , with countless pistons pumping and gears grinding in a hypnotic, brutal rhythm. Thick, acrid steam plumed from its top, smelling of burnt sugar and something else, something metallic and raw. Around the base of the machine, shadowed figures moved with grim efficiency, pushing vast wooden crates towards its gaping maw . These figures were different from the inhabitants of the feast—they were gaunt, clad in coarse, grey tunics, their movements jerky and devoid of the relaxed grace of the Dymasians.
Aurora’s bright blue eyes scanned the scene, her throat tightening. She could just make out faces—human faces, twisted by an unfamiliar despair, and marked with faint, shimmering script on their foreheads. She saw the crates, too. One of the figures, their shoulders bowed, strained to push a crate closer. The planks rattled, a sound strangely like a low moan.
"Helbound souls," Nyx stated, their voice devoid of emotion . "Contracted to Prince Belphegor. Their service feeds Dymas."
Just then, one of the gaunt figures stumbled, dropping their end of a crate. It slammed to the ground, splintering loudly. A collective gasp rippled through the small group of workers. From within the broken crate, something moved. Not an edible, glowing fruit. Not a pulsing cake.
A hand. Small, pale, and unmistakably human.
A shiver of absolute horror ran down Aurora’s spine, eclipsing all wonder. The rhythmic thumping of the machine, the acrid steam, the gaunt figures with their branded foreheads—it all clicked into a gruesome, sickening mosaic .
A hulking Dymasian guard, its skin mottled purple and crimson, its face a collection of too many teeth, turned slowly towards the commotion, its multifaceted eyes fixing on the broken crate, then on the two intruders frozen at the alley’s mouth. A low growl, like grinding stone, rumbled deep in its chest.