Run: 2026-03-03-01KJTZ5A1K3VBMJWFCEEGGMJSF

The air at the center of the Richmond grove tasted of ozone and crushed violets. Aurora adjusted the strap of her courier bag, her fingers brushing the cold, hidden weight of the Fae-forged blade against her hip. Beside her, the atmosphere curdled. Nyx materialized from the periphery, their form a jagged inkblot against the vibrant green of the ferns. The violet light in their eyes pulsed once, syncing with the faint, rhythmic thrumming of the Heartstone pendant trapped beneath Aurora’s jacket. Step through the stones. The hunger of the place will not wait. Nyx’s voice didn’t travel through the air but rippled directly into Aurora’s skull, cold as a winter draft. Aurora took a breath, the oxygen tasting metallic and sharp, and pushed past the ancient oak monoliths. Perspective twisted. The familiar canopy of Richmond Park disintegrated into a jagged skyline of amber and bruised gold. They stood on the edge of a precipice overlooking a valley that defied the geometry of the physical world. Instead of trees, gargantuan stalks of crystalline sugar spiraled toward a sun that hung low and heavy like a drop of liquid honey. The scent hit her next—roasted spices, fermenting berries, and the cloying, sickly sweetness of nectar. Dymas sprawled beneath them, an endless, terraced garden of excess. Vines thick as pythons coiled around columns of translucent marble, bleeding a thick, ruby-red wine that pooled into subterranean rivers. Aurora watched a cluster of blue-leaved fruit detach from a branch, hovering in mid-air before disintegrating into a cloud of shimmering spores. The ground beneath their boots felt soft, porous, like packed moss layered over velvet. Keep your distance from the rivers and your eyes off the fruit. Gluttony has a way of turning the teeth inward. Nyx drifted forward, their feet never touching the earth, trailing wisps of shadow that dissolved the moment they touched the vibrant flora. Aurora followed, her hand hovering near the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist. The Heartstone against her chest grew hot, a frantic, rhythmic tapping against her ribs that matched the distant, thunderous sound of heavy iron gates slamming somewhere miles away. The path narrowed, winding between hedges of singing thorns. Each leaf boasted a jagged edge, vibrating with a low, dissonant hum that set Aurora’s molars on edge. She reached out, stopping just an inch from a flowering bud that pulsed with an inner, amber radiance. There is order here, even if it looks like chaos. Everything that grows in this soil feeds on something else. Nyx gestured toward a nearby grove where the stalks grew crooked and black. A pile of discarded, gilded plates lay scattered beneath the roots, tarnished and caked in a grey, ash-like substance. Aurora picked one up, wiping the grime away with her thumb. The metal burned cold, unlike the humid heat of the valley. It bore an engraving of a weeping eye, the symbol barely visible through the rot. How much time do we have before the tide shifts? The sky began to deepen from amber to a bruised, sickly violet, mirroring the hue of Nyx’s eyes. A groan echoed across the valley, not of wind, but of something massive shifting beneath the topsoil. The ground lurched, buckling under Aurora’s boots. She stumbled, catching herself against a vine that felt surprisingly like muscle, its surface warm and slick. Movement flickered in the periphery. A dozen figures, translucent and draped in tatters of silken robes, drifted between the crystalline vines. They held bowls of silver that overflowed with golden, glowing embers, passing them in a silent, agonizing cycle. They did not notice the intruders. Their faces remained fixed in expressions of vacant, permanent craving. They are the Hollow, the ones who consumed until they were consumed in return. Don't look at their hands, Aurora. Reach for the blade if they turn. Nyx’s voice sharpened, shedding its rhythmic quality for a ragged edge. Aurora kept her gaze locked on the horizon, where a fortress of white stone pierced the clouds. The Heartstone burned, a searing brand against her skin, pulling her attention toward a hidden alcove shrouded in a curtain of weeping willow-like vines. She parted the thick, heavy strands. Behind them lay a small, secluded circular clearing. In its center hovered a fountain of liquid mercury, swirling with the same iridescent sheen as the Veil back home. It didn't belong here, a puncture wound in the fabric of the Dymasian landscape. The pendant wants the source. Aurora stepped into the clearing, the temperature plummeting until her breath clouded in the stagnant air. The fountain’s surface rippled like a disturbed pond. She saw her own reflection, but it wasn't the reflection of a delivery girl from South London. Her eyes blazed with the same pale, ethereal glow she had once seen in the dreams Isolde had warned her about. Something watched from the depths of the mercury. A hunger that made the Dymasian valley feel like a simple feast. A massive, elongated finger tapped against the underside of the liquid surface, sending ripples outward that shattered the image of the garden. The veil is stretched thin enough to snap. We aren't here for the sights. Bring it out. Aurora drew the moon-silver blade. Its cold temper flared, the luminescence cutting through the amber gloom of the clearing. She approached the fountain, the metal in her hand humming in resonance with the mercury’s rhythm. She didn't hesitate, plunging the tip of the dagger into the heart of the pool. The liquid shrieked. It wasn't a sound of physical pain, but the sound of something ancient being torn from its anchor. The surface of the fountain turned violent, erupting in a geyser of silver sparks that painted the surrounding garden in harsh, strobing white. Aurora braced her weight, the handle of the blade vibrating so intensely that her arm went numb, tremors traveling up to her shoulder. The mercury began to solidify around the blade, crawling up the moon-silver like living quicksilver. It dragged the dagger—and Aurora’s arm—deeper into the basin. Let go, or get consumed. Nyx lunged, their spectral form becoming a solid, suffocating shroud of darkness. They wrapped their fingers over Aurora’s wrist, pinning her to the edge of the fountain. The shadow-force collided with the liquid, a sizzling, acidic hiss filling the clearing. The mercury lashed out, tendrils of silver snapping like whips, carving deep, steaming gashes into the crystalline stalks surrounding them. Aurora teeth ground together, her heels digging into the soft, velvet earth. She felt the weight of the pendant lurching toward her throat, straining at the chain as if it wanted to physically rip itself from her body and dive into the basin. She wrenched the blade sideways, forcing the frozen mercury to crack, a jagged chunk of the substance breaking away and flying into the air. It hovered for a second, a piece of stolen reality, before plummeting into the dirt. The fountain collapsed inward with the force of a vacuum, drawing the surrounding garden's ambient light into its center. The amber sky turned a flat, dead gray. The ground beneath them groaned, a sound of tectonic plates grinding together, and the path behind them began to fold, the crystalline stalks telescoping into nothingness. The silence that followed was absolute, heavier than the noise that had preceded it. Nyx drifted back, their violet glow dimmed, their silhouette flickering as if the effort had torn at their own stability. They stood in the center of the sudden, unnatural twilight. The garden waited, breathless and still, as if the entire realm were holding its breath, sensing the wound they had left behind.