AI The air inside the Grove tasted of rain and old earth, a sharp contrast to the sterile chill of the London night they had left behind. Aurora adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, her fingers brushing the cold metal of the Fae-forged blade tucked into her waistband. Beside her, the silver hair of Isolde Varga caught the moonlight filtering through the ancient oak standing stones. The Seer did not look at the stones; she looked through them, her pale lavender eyes fixed on the shimmering distortion hanging in the center of the clearing.
It was the Veil. To anyone without sight, it was merely a heat haze, a trick of the light on a winter evening. To Aurora, it looked like oil spilled on water, rippling with a faint, sickly iridescence.
The Heartstone pendant at her throat pulsed against her skin. It was a slow, rhythmic thrum, like a second heartbeat, warm and heavy. It had been cold for months, but the moment they had stepped inside the boundary of the Grove, the deep crimson gem had begun to glow.
"The barrier is thin tonight," Isolde said. Her voice was melodic but distant, as if spoken from the other end of a long hallway. "The winter solstice pulls the threads taut."
Aurora nodded, though she wasn't sure the Half-Fae could see her. "Is it safe to cross?"
Isolde smiled, a expression that didn't quite reach her eyes . "Safety is a matter of appetite. Are you hungry, Rory?"
Aurora swallowed. She knew Isolde couldn't lie, but the Oracle’s words were never straight lines. "We need to know what's on the other side. The Wardens said a rift opened."
"The Wardens see the tear," Nyx whispered. The Shade stood to Aurora's left, a silhouette of living shadow that seemed to drink the ambient light . Nyx was taller than the rest of them, their form shifting slightly , edges blurring into the darkness of the trees. "But they do not see what bleeds through."
Nyx’s voice sounded like dry leaves skittering over pavement. Aurora glanced at the shadowy figure. They were a wild card, unpredictable, but they were the only one who could navigate the spaces between the realms without a map.
"Lead the way," Aurora said. She reached up and touched the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a nervous tic she couldn't quite suppress . The memory of Evan, of the violence that had driven her to London, was a ghost she carried alongside the supernatural ones.
Nyx stepped forward, dissolving into a pool of darkness before reforming on the other side of the shimmering distortion. They didn't walk through it; they flowed through it. Isolde followed, her bare feet making no sound on the frost-covered grass, leaving no prints in the dirt.
Aurora took a breath, the cold air filling her lungs, and stepped into the shimmer.
The transition was not a fall, but a slide . The sensation of gravity shifted, tilting her stomach . The smell of rain and pine vanished, replaced instantly by a thick, cloying sweetness. It smelled of roasted spices, fermenting grapes, and something metallic, like copper pennies on the tongue.
She stumbled as her boots hit solid ground. The grass was gone . Beneath her feet was a path of crushed red stone, warm to the touch.
Aurora looked up and stopped breathing.
The sky was not black. It was a deep, bruised amber, glowing with a light that had no source. There were no stars, only a heavy, luminous haze that pressed down on the horizon. To her left and right, vineyards stretched into the distance, but the grapes were not purple or green. They were translucent, glowing with an inner light, hanging heavy on vines that twisted like serpents.
"This is Dymas," Aurora whispered, the name feeling foreign in her mouth .
"The realm of the feast," Isolde said, stepping out of the distortion behind her. The Seer looked around, her expression unreadable . "Where the hunger never ends."
Nyx materialized fully, their violet eyes glowing faintly in the amber gloom . They stretched their arms, the shadows around them writhing like smoke. "The shadows here are... thick. Sticky. Like tar."
Aurora drew the Fae-forged blade. The moonsilver metal was cold, a stark contrast to the humid warmth of the air. It hummed softly, a low vibration that traveled up her arm. "Stay close."
They moved along the red stone path. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant, rhythmic clinking of silverware against porcelain , a sound that echoed from somewhere unseen. It was the sound of a banquet without guests.
"Look," Nyx said, pointing a shadowy finger toward a grove of trees.
The trees were not oak or pine. They were massive, with bark that looked like polished bone . Their leaves were wide and flat, shimmering like scales. Aurora approached one, reaching out to touch the trunk. It was warm, pulsing with a slow, sluggish rhythm.
"They grow on the souls of the contractees," Isolde said softly . She stood by a tree, her silver hair floating slightly as if in water. "The chefs. The bakers. The ones who trade their time for the taste of eternity."
Aurora pulled her hand back, wiping her palm on her jeans. "So this isn't just a place. It's a farm."
"It is a larder," Isolde corrected. "And we are the flies."
The pendant at Aurora's throat flared hot. She gasped, clutching the silver chain. The crimson gem burned against her collarbone, the heat seeping through her shirt.
"Something is near," Aurora said, her voice tight .
Nyx shifted, their form becoming more solid, denser. "I feel them. They are hungry. Not for food."
The distant clinking grew louder. It was no longer just one table; it was a chorus of dining. The sound of laughter drifted through the air, high-pitched and manic, devoid of warmth .
"We should not be here," Aurora said, looking back toward the shimmering tear in the air. The Veil looked smaller now, a pinprick of grey against the amber sky.
"The path is open," Nyx whispered. "But the door may close."
Aurora looked at the blade in her hand, then at the Seer. "Isolde, if we cross, can we come back?"
Isolde turned her lavender eyes to Aurora. "Time moves differently here. An hour inside can be a lifetime outside. Or a moment." She paused, her lips curving into that enigmatic smile . "The question is not if you can return. The question is if you will want to."
Aurora tightened her grip on the hilt. The heat from the pendant was becoming painful, a warning signal. "We need to find the source of the rift. The Wardens said it was expanding."
"Then we walk," Nyx said. They turned toward the vineyards, their silhouette elongating in the strange light. "But do not eat anything. Do not drink anything. And do not accept an invitation."
Aurora nodded, sheathing the blade but keeping her hand near it. She looked at the glowing grapes, the bone-white trees, and the amber sky that promised nothing but indulgence. The air felt heavy, pressing against her eardrums, urging her to sit down, to rest, to taste.
She thought of the cold flat above Silas' bar, the smell of rain on London pavement, the safety of the mundane. Here, the mundane was a memory.
"Let's move," Aurora said.
They stepped off the red stone path and into the rows of the vineyard. The vines brushed against their legs, soft and warm like skin. As they walked deeper into the orchard, the laughter grew louder, and the shadows cast by the bone-trees began to move on their own, stretching toward them with long, grasping fingers. Aurora kept her eyes forward, her breath steady, trusting the cold weight of the blade and the heat of the stone to guide her through the feast.