AI Aurora gripped the Heartstone Pendant tighter as its faint warmth pulsed against her palm, a steady throb that quickened with every step deeper into the grove. The ancient oak standing stones loomed ahead, their weathered surfaces etched with symbols that seemed to shift when she blinked . She pushed through a curtain of wildflowers that bloomed in impossible colours, petals brushing her face like curious fingers.
"Keep close," she muttered, half to herself .
A whisper uncoiled from the shadows between the stones. "Closer than breath, Rory. Always."
Nyx materialised beside her, their silhouette flickering between solid and smoke. The Shade's violet eyes glowed faintly, scanning the boundary where Earth bled into something older. They had followed the pendant's pull after Isolde's latest riddle had sent them chasing rumours of a fresh rift in Richmond Park. Now the air tasted of honey and iron, thick enough to coat Aurora's tongue.
The Seer herself glided ahead, silver hair trailing like moonlight on water. Her bare feet left no prints in the soft moss. "The Veil thins here," Isolde said, voice melodic yet edged with warning. "What hungers beyond cares little for your borrowed blade."
Aurora's fingers brushed the cold moonsilver dagger at her belt, its leaf-shaped edge humming faintly. "Then we move fast. In and out. No detours."
"Detours find you," Nyx whispered, the words curling around her ear like smoke from a snuffed candle. "Especially when you carry a piece of Dymas around your neck."
The pendant flared hotter. Aurora sucked in a breath as the standing stones parted like theatre curtains, revealing a path that had not existed moments before. Vines thick as her arm twisted overhead, heavy with fruit that glistened like rubies. The sky beyond the canopy burned a warm amber, not the grey London drizzle she had left behind minutes, or hours, ago. Time here already played its tricks.
They stepped through.
The temperature rose at once, sticky and sweet. Aurora's boots sank into soil so rich it felt alive, pulsing faintly beneath her soles. Ahead stretched rows of impossible vineyards, leaves the colour of midnight wine, grapes swollen and glistening . The air hummed with the drone of creatures that were not quite bees, their wings scattering sparks of violet light .
"Gluttony," Isolde murmured, tasting the word. "Dymas welcomes those who hunger. Whether they know it or not."
Aurora wiped sweat from her brow. The scar on her left wrist itched, the small crescent flaring with phantom pain. "We aren't here for the tour. The rift is supposed to be close. Find it, close it, get back before Silas wonders why his tenant hasn't shown up for her shift."
Nyx flowed forward, incorporeal now, slipping between the vines like oil. "The souls here sing. Listen."
Aurora strained her ears. Beneath the insect drone and the soft rustle of leaves came voices, low and indulgent. Laughter rolled from somewhere deeper in the orchard, followed by the wet sounds of feasting. A moan of pleasure cut short by a strangled gasp. She tightened her grip on the pendant.
"Don't like it," she said.
"Neither does Belphegor's table today," Nyx replied, solidifying again beside a gnarled tree heavy with golden pears. They plucked one, turned it over in shadowy fingers. The fruit's skin rippled, revealing tiny screaming faces beneath the surface before smoothing again. "Contracted souls. Chefs who sold their recipes for eternity. Tasters who never knew when to stop."
Isolde drifted to a cluster of night-blooming flowers that opened at her approach, releasing a scent like cinnamon and regret. "The Prince of this realm grows bored with simple excess. He seeks new flavours. New hungers." She plucked a petal, crushed it between thumb and forefinger. Purple juice ran like blood down her wrist. "Yours, perhaps."
The pendant flared so hot Aurora nearly dropped it. She hissed, switching it to her other hand. "Enough riddles. Point the way."
A low chuckle drifted from the trees ahead. Not Nyx's whisper . Something bigger.
They moved quicker now, boots crunching over fallen fruit that bled sweet nectar. The path widened into a courtyard paved with obsidian tiles that reflected distorted versions of their faces. Aurora's reflection showed her eyes glowing the same amber as the sky. She looked away fast.
In the centre of the courtyard stood a fountain. Not water. Thick, dark liquid churned within, releasing tendrils of steam that smelled of roasted meat and dark chocolate. Silver cups lined the edge, some still clutched in skeletal hands that had not quite decayed .
"Feast or famine," Nyx observed, circling the fountain. "The choice is never truly yours."
Aurora's stomach growled despite herself. The scent wrapped around her thoughts, promising warmth , fullness, an end to the gnawing emptiness she had carried since Cardiff. Since Evan. She took an involuntary step forward.
Isolde's hand closed on her shoulder, surprisingly strong. "The first trap. Taste nothing. Drink less."
"Wasn't planning to." But her voice lacked conviction. The pendant burned steadily now, almost painful. Whatever portal they sought lay close.
They pressed on through an archway draped in living vines that parted like eager courtiers. The next chamber opened into a grand kitchen larger than any restaurant Aurora had delivered for. Flames danced in hearths carved from black marble . Copper pans the size of bathtubs hung from chains that swayed though no wind touched them. On long tables, ingredients moved of their own accord: vegetables peeling themselves, knives chopping with rhythmic precision, dough kneading invisible hands.
A helbound soul looked up from basting a creature that still twitched on a spit. The man's eyes had been replaced with perfect spheres of obsidian. "New ingredients," he croaked, voice thick with culinary lust. "The mistress will be pleased."
"Not your mistress," Aurora snapped, drawing the Fae-forged blade. The dagger glowed cold blue in the amber light.
The cook tilted his head. A smile split his face too wide. "All become ingredients eventually. The question is seasoning."
Nyx surged forward, form expanding into a wall of living darkness. The cook stumbled back, knocking over a pot that spilled something golden and screaming onto the flagstones. The shadows swallowed the man whole. When Nyx retreated, only an empty apron remained, neatly folded.
"Sloppy," Isolde observed, though approval coloured her tone.
"They taste fear," Nyx whispered, shrinking back to humanoid shape. "I gave him eternity to consider his choices."
Aurora swallowed hard. The blade in her hand felt lighter, eager. "Keep moving. The pendant's practically vibrating."
Deeper they went, through corridors lined with shelves of jars containing preserved memories. One jar held the sound of a child's laughter, trapped forever. Another swirled with the precise shade of heartbreak. Aurora kept her eyes forward, though the images tugged at her like fishhooks.
The air grew heavier, sweeter. Music drifted from ahead, harps and violins playing a melody that made her hips want to sway despite the danger. They emerged into a banquet hall that stretched further than her eyes could track. Tables groaned under the weight of every food imaginable and some that should not exist. Roasted phoenix that burst into flames and reformed on the platter. Cakes that whispered compliments as you sliced them. Wine that changed flavour with every sip, reflecting the drinker's deepest desires.
Figures lounged at the tables, some human, some less so. All wore expressions of rapturous agony.
At the far end, a throne of twisted sugar and bone dominated the space. Upon it sprawled a figure too large to be contained by simple geometry. Prince Belphegor, Aurora realised with a jolt. His body shifted between obese and skeletal, never settling. Multiple mouths opened across his torso, tasting the air.
The pendant flared white-hot. Aurora cried out, dropping it. The chain caught on her wrist, the crimson gemstone swinging like a pendulum.
Belphegor's many eyes fixed on her. Several mouths smiled.
"Finally," the Prince rumbled, voices overlapping in greasy harmony . "The courier arrives. And she brings such interesting flavours with her."
Isolde stepped forward, silver hair lifting as though caught in an unseen breeze. "This was not the arrangement."
"Arrangements change, little half-breed. Like recipes." One of Belphegor's mouths licked fleshy lips. "The Shadow. The Seer. And the girl who ran from her own hunger. Perfect ingredients for my new menu."
Nyx flowed between Aurora and the throne, form spreading thin. "She carries Fae steel, Glutton. It cuts more than just meat."
"Everything cuts," Belphegor laughed, the sound wet and rolling. "The question is what you stuff inside the wound afterwards."
Aurora snatched the pendant back up, ignoring the burn. The gem now pointed directly at the space beneath the throne, where shadows gathered thicker than elsewhere. A rift. Small but growing, its edges shimmering like heat haze.
"There," she said, voice steady despite the fear clawing up her throat. "That's why the pendant led us here. Not a random tear. A deliberate one."
The Prince heaved himself forward. The table before him cracked under the weight of his belly. "Clever. Too clever. I like clever. It seasons the fear so nicely."
His servants rose from their feasting, eyes glazed with culinary madness. Knives and cleavers appeared in their hands, some still dripping.
Aurora backed up a step, blade raised. The Fae-forged dagger caught the amber light and threw it back colder. "We didn't come for your table."
"Oh, but my table has come for you." Belphegor's largest mouth stretched into something like a grin . "Starting with the main course."
Nyx struck first, shadows lashing out like whips. Two servants flew backwards, slamming into tables that collapsed in explosions of cream and blood. Isolde whispered words in a language that made Aurora's teeth ache. Flowers bloomed instantly across the floor, vines shooting up to ensnare ankles.
Aurora ran straight for the throne.
A cleaver whistled past her ear, embedding in a pillar of chocolate. She ducked under a swinging platter, the Fae blade slicing through a reaching arm as though it were butter. The severed limb fell, still grasping.
"Persistent little courier," Belphegor boomed. His throne shifted, sugar cracking as he stood. The floor trembled .
The pendant pulled her relentlessly toward the shadows beneath the throne. She could see it now, the rift, a jagged wound in reality itself. Through it flickered images of her flat above Silas's bar, of London streets, of safety.
Nyx appeared beside her, form flickering from the strain . "Go. We will slow him."
"Not leaving you here."
"You never do." Nyx's whisper held something almost like fondness. "But this time the choice isn't yours."
Isolde cried out as a demon chef grabbed her silver hair. She twisted, planting a hand on his face. The man aged centuries in seconds, collapsing into dust that smelled of cinnamon.
Belphegor lumbered forward, each step cracking the obsidian tiles. "The girl first. Her memories of that abusive boy will make an excellent glaze."
Aurora's scar burned. Evan’s face flashed behind her eyes, his hand around her wrist, twisting until something snapped. The memory fuelled her forward instead of freezing her.
She dove beneath the throne.
The rift tugged at her like a magnet. The pendant screamed against her skin, matching the scream building in her throat. Behind her, Nyx and Isolde fought in a whirlwind of shadow and blooming destruction. Belphegor's laughter shook dust from the ceiling.
Her fingers found the edge of the tear. It felt like ice and fire at once . The Fae blade sliced through the air, cutting the very fabric of the rift wider. Not closing it. Opening it fully.
A way home.
"Through!" she shouted back to the others.
Isolde broke free first, racing toward her with impossible grace. Nyx followed, form stretched thin, barely holding solid.
Belphegor roared. One massive hand swept down, catching Nyx mid-stride. The Shade screamed, a sound like wind through a graveyard.
Aurora lunged back out, blade flashing. The moonsilver edge bit deep into Belphegor's wrist. The Prince bellowed as black ichor sprayed across the feast tables, curdling everything it touched.
Nyx tumbled free, form flickering dangerously.
"Go," Aurora ordered, shoving Isolde toward the widened rift. The Seer vanished through with a sound like tearing silk .
Nyx hesitated, violet eyes meeting hers. "This debt—"
"Later." She grabbed the Shade's arm, dragging them both toward the portal as Belphegor's other hand descended like judgment itself.
The last thing she saw before the rift swallowed them was the Prince's face twisting in rage and something like delight .
The amber sky disappeared.
London's damp air hit her like a slap. They tumbled onto wet grass in Richmond Park, the standing stones already sealing behind them. The Heartstone Pendant cooled instantly, its crimson glow fading to a dull spark.
Aurora lay on her back, chest heaving. Rain pattered against her face, washing away the sticky sweetness of Dymas.
Nyx coalesced beside her, form unstable. "He marked you. I felt it. That hunger won't forget the taste."
Isolde stood a few paces away, silver hair plastered to her skin. No footprints marred the grass around her.
"New recipes require new ingredients," the Seer said softly . Her lavender eyes fixed on Aurora. "And now the Glutton knows exactly where to find the perfect one."
Aurora pushed herself up, the Fae blade still clutched tight in her fist. The small crescent scar on her wrist throbbed in time with her racing heart. In the distance, London traffic hummed, oblivious.
The pendant gave one final, warning pulse against her chest.
Above them, the sky flickered once, amber bleeding through the grey for the space of a heartbeat before the Veil snapped back into place.
Belphegor was not finished with her.
Not by a long feast.