AI Warm amber light bled through the shimmering distortion of the Veil, coating the pavement of the alleyway in a hue that felt too heavy to be real. Rory stepped forward, the gravel crunching under her boots, though the sound vanished the moment her foot touched the grass beyond the boundary. The air hit her like a physical weight —thick, sweet, and cloying with the scent of overripe plums and aged wine.
Nyx drifted to her left, a shifting silhouette against the amber haze. Their violet eyes glowed brighter, reflecting the strange sky.
Smell that like rot?" Nyx whispered. The voice sounded like dry leaves scuffing against stone.
Rory tightened her grip on the silver chain around her neck. The Heartstone Pendant pulsed against her sternum, a rhythmic warmth that matched the beating of her own heart. She pulled the collar down to show Nyx the glow.
It's strong," Rory said. "The stone isn't lying."
"Hel does not lie to itself," Isolde said.
The Half-Fae seer stepped from the shadows behind them. Her silver hair caught the light, spinning like spun sugar. She moved without sinking her boots into the soft turf, leaving no indentations in the earth behind her. Her pale lavender eyes scanned the sprawling vineyards stretching toward a misted horizon.
"You feel it?" Isolde asked, tilting her head . The faint luminescence of the moonsilver blade tucked into Rory's belt flared as the seer spoke, reacting to the ambient magic of the realm.
Rory felt the cold metal against her hip. The blade hummed, a vibration she felt in her teeth. "Too warm," she said, rubbing her thumb over the crescent scar on her left wrist. "Usually it's just cold."
"Comfort is a trap here," Isolde replied. "Prince Belphegor does not offer hospitality without a price. Indulgence binds."
Nyx coalesced fully, their human form hardening out of the smoke. They leaned heavily on the staff of shadow they carried, the wood twisted into knuckles and roots. "Boundaries are thin. I can see the threads of souls tethered to the vines."
Rory pushed past the first row of grapevines. The leaves were broad and dark purple, dripping nectar that clung to the air. A low hum vibrated through the ground, coming not from the earth but from the sky itself . Above them, clouds drifted like thick steam, glowing with an internal amber fire. No sun hung here. No moon. Just the constant, warm radiance of something consuming itself.
"Where are we?" Rory asked. Her voice echoed, swallowed quickly by the mist.
"Past the gates of appetite," Isolde said. She walked toward a distant pavilion, her feet hovering inches above the soil. "We stand in the vineyards of Gluttony."
The sight of it made Rory's stomach turn. Giant baskets hung from branches, filled with fruits that pulsed like hearts. One looked like a melon but screamed when Rory drew closer. She stepped back, hand moving to the hilt of the Fae-forged blade.
"That one isn't fruit," Rory said. She pointed. "The stem looks like a throat."
Nyx reached out a hand made of shadow. Smoke poured over the pulsing fruit, sizzling as it touched. The scream cut off instantly. "Consumed," Nyx said. "They consume the food, the food consumes."
"Careful," Isolde warned. She stopped near a stone fountain. Water flowed upward into a hollow sphere, defying gravity. "Liquid memories. Belphegor hoards experiences as wine."
Rory took a breath that tasted like honey and dust . "How long?"
"Too long for a mortal to stand here without losing the thread," Nyx said. They pointed their staff toward the ground. The shadows lengthened here, stretching out to grab at their ankles.
Rory kicked a patch of grass, but it felt spongy, like skin. She felt the urge to scream rising in her throat, a primal instinct to feed, to eat, to never stop consuming. She gripped her wrist, focusing on the scar. The pain of the old cut grounded her.
"Stay away from the fountain," Isolde said. "I cannot lie, but they lie through the water."
"Show me the way," Rory said. "The stone told me it leads to the center."
The stone grew hot. Rory held it up. The crimson gemstone pointed toward the pavilion, the source of the hum.
"Gluttony," Isolde murmured, stepping closer to the stone. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the humming of the vines. "He eats what remains of the soul, Rory."
"I know."
"We are not guests." Nyx shifted, their form flickering . "A shadow cannot be consumed. I see the paths."
A low growl rumbled through the air. It didn't come from a throat. It came from the ground, as the earth itself was digesting something buried deep. The amber light flickered , casting jagged shadows over their faces.
Rory pulled the cloak of her jacket tighter around her shoulders. The fabric felt rough, smelling of rain and old London streets. This warmth was fake. "Let's move."
She walked toward the pavilion. The ground felt spongy underfoot now, yielding slightly with each step. She looked down. Tiny tendrils wriggled in the dirt, trying to latch onto her boots. She stomped them away, crushing the organic feel of the world beneath her heel.
"Isolde," Nyx said.
"I am here," Isolde replied, her voice carrying over the low rumble of the realm .
"Don't lie to me."
"I do not have the choice."
"Then warn us," Nyx hissed. "When the shadows turn."
Isolde watched the horizon where the mist parted. "They eat first. Then they keep."
Rory adjusted the grip on her blade. The metal was cold against her palm, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the sky. She thought of the Flat above Silas's bar, the quiet routine of coffee and paper. Here, time felt viscous. Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes blurred into hours.
"What happens if we don't find the center?" Rory asked.
"You starve." Isolde turned. Her eyes were devoid of color now, pools of washed-out grey that mirrored the sky above. "Belphegor offers nothing but consumption. To find him is to find the banquet."
Rory looked at the stone again. It pulsed faster, the rhythm accelerating. "It says there's someone ahead."
"Or the bait," Nyx corrected.
"No," Rory said. She started walking again. Her boots sank an inch deeper into the earth. "It says help."
The vines rustled. No wind blew, but the branches shook, dropping heavy seeds that shattered on the pavement.
Isolde stepped aside, leaving Rory and Nyx to lead. "Then walk. But do not taste."
Rory nodded. She pulled the heart of the pendant against her chest. The warmth seeped into her skin, pushing back the heavy, sugary fog that was creeping into her mind. She focused on the cold steel of the blade at her hip. It was the only thing that felt real.
Ahead, the mist parted enough to reveal a long, table of stone stretching into the dark. Servants made of clay and wire scuttled around it, pouring wine that never stopped flowing. They didn't spill a drop.
"Servitors," Isolde called out. "Constructed hunger."
Nyx moved faster, their form becoming smoke, skirting the legs of the servants. They re-materialized at Rory's other side.
"Trap," Nyx said. "They pour the wine because they don't drink."
Rory scanned the table. Dozens of empty plates sat at the end. "They don't need food. They take it."
"Then we take the offering," Isolde said, her voice dropping to a whisper . "We offer what we have."
Rory looked at the stone. "This is mine."
"Your blood is not enough," Isolde said. "You will give your memory."
The ground trembled . The amber clouds swirled faster, forming a vortex directly above the pavilion. The hum turned into a song, a low, harmonious chord that vibrated in Rory's marrow.
Nyx extended a hand of shadow toward the stone. "No."
"We must," Isolde said, her eyes locking onto Rory . "It is the price of passage."
Rory swallowed the taste of copper that had filled her mouth since the moment they crossed. She stepped into the open space of the clearing, away from the cover of the vines. The heat intensified, pressing against her skin like a heavy wool blanket.
"Let's go," Rory said. "Right now."
She began to walk toward the table. The stone in her palm burned, the crimson light flaring to match the burning eyes of the statue at the head of the table.
"Careful," Nyx warned, reaching out.
"I feel it," Rory said.
The statue's head tilted. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth made of bone and crystal . The wine in the fountains began to boil.
Isolde raised her hand, the Fae blade glinting in the artificial sun. "It is the Prince."
Rory tightened her grip on the blade handle. The cold bit her skin. "We aren't eating."
"We are," Nyx whispered.
The servitors turned their heads in unison, hollow sockets scanning the group. They held platters of meat that writhed on demand.
Rory raised her voice. "I'm not here for the feast."
A silence fell over the vineyard. The vines stopped rustling. The boiling in the fountains stilled. The only sound was the heavy breathing of Rory herself.
The statue did not speak. It only watched.
Nyx stepped forward, their shadows elongating, reaching out to touch the statue's legs. The shadows recoiled as if burned.
"Nyx?" Rory asked.
"It burns," Nyx said. "Something inside it."
Isolde looked at the statue, the purple light in her lashes fading. "That is not the Prince. It is a vessel."
"A vessel for who?" Rory asked.
"Whoever is being fed," Isolde said.
Rory looked down at the Heartstone. The pulse had stopped. It sat cold and dead in her hand.
Nyx's eyes widened . "It took it back."
"It's hungry," Isolde said. "And we are here."
Rory shifted her weight , ready to run. The ground beneath her felt unstable, shifting like a fluid. "Then we run before the table wakes up."
"I cannot leave," Isolde said. "I must see what he holds."
"You have to move," Nyx said, grabbing Rory's arm. The shadow grip was iron-hard. "Now."
Rory pulled her arm away. "Wait."
She held up the Heartstone. It was dark again. "It stopped. It didn't tell me anything."
"Then we are blind," Nyx said.
Rory looked at Isolde. The seer was staring at the stone, her face pale.
"It is a mirror," Isolde said. "He showed you what you were."
Rory looked at the reflection in the gem. Nothing. Just the dark, empty void of the realm.
"Show me," Isolde said. "Look deeper."
Rory looked closer. In the dark of the gem, she saw a face. A man's face, looking back. He had Rory's eyes.
"Who is that?" Nyx asked.
"I don't know," Rory said. "But I know him."