Run: 2026-03-12-01KKHZ6AES5DQDQ5HNRYH6YK1H

Rory pushed through the final veil of shimmering air and her boots met ground that pulsed like a living heart. The warm amber sky stretched overhead without clouds or sun, just an endless glow that pressed down on her shoulders. Vines thick as her arm wound around pillars of dark stone, their surfaces etched with faces frozen in expressions of rapture or agony. She rubbed her thumb across the heartstone pendant. It throbbed hot against her sternum now, each beat matching the strange rhythm under her feet. Nyx coalesced at her side, their shadow form sharpening into something almost human, though the edges still bled into the air. Their violet eyes swept the landscape and the voice that emerged sounded like leaves scraping across stone. The excess here clings to everything. Isolde followed without disturbing a single blade of grass. Her silver hair trailed behind her like liquid moonlight, and her pale lavender eyes fixed on a distant orchard where golden fruits hung heavy enough to bend entire branches. She lifted one delicate hand to point toward the path ahead where the ground sloped into a valley filled with tables carved from what looked like bone. Words spoken in hunger carry the most weight. Rory adjusted the fae-forged blade at her belt. The moonsilver felt cold even through her clothes, a steady contrast to the pendant's heat. She took another step and the air shifted, growing thick with scents of roasted meat, ripe berries, and something sharper like fermented starlight. Her stomach twisted despite the pleasant smells. The place wanted her to want it. She crouched beside a low wall of flowering vines and traced her fingers along a cluster of deep purple grapes. Juice welled instantly at her touch and ran down her wrist, warm as blood. The small crescent scar there tingled. When she licked it off her skin the flavor exploded across her tongue, sweet then bitter then sweet again, and for a moment her vision blurred with images of endless tables and hands reaching for more. This isn't normal fruit. One bite and I almost saw my dad's old dining room in Cardiff, the one we stopped using after the fights. Nyx drifted closer, their form thinning until only their eyes remained visible against the amber backdrop. The shadow stretched across the ground and swallowed the glow from a nearby lantern made of twisted glass. Memories are the first indulgence they offer. Do not feed them yours. Isolde knelt beside Rory without a sound and plucked a single flower from the vine. It continued blooming in her palm even after she severed the stem, petals shifting from white to crimson. She held it out and the flower whispered in a language Rory half recognized from her Welsh childhood. The grove led us here through the tear the pendant sought. Now the gluttonous realm tests what we carry inside. Rory stood and wiped her hand on her jeans. The juice left a sticky trail that refused to dry. They moved deeper into the valley together, the path widening into a lane bordered by orchards that stretched farther than her eyes could track. Trees bore fruit in impossible combinations, apples fused with figs, pears dripping honey that formed tiny rivers on the bark. Bird-like creatures with too many wings flitted between branches, their songs sounding like clinking silverware. A low table appeared around the next bend, set for twenty but empty of guests. Platters overflowed with carved meats that still steamed, the slices knitting back together as she watched. Rory's fingers hovered over a knife that looked carved from a single ruby. The blade sang when she passed her hand above it, a single clear note that made her teeth ache. I could cut a piece. Just to see what happens. But something tells me once I start I won't stop at one. Nyx reformed fully and placed a solid hand on the table's edge. The wood darkened where they touched, as if the shadow drank the light from it. These feasts reset for the souls bound here. Prince Belphegor's domain never lets a plate stay empty. Or a desire stay unsatisfied. Isolde walked around the table twice, her bare feet leaving no marks on the soft grass. Wildflowers identical to the ones in her grove bloomed in her wake, only these carried tiny veins of gold that pulsed in time with Rory's pendant. She stopped at the head of the table and regarded a goblet filled with liquid that changed colors from amber to violet to gold. The prince feeds his court on more than food. Notice how the air grows heavier the farther we walk. It wants us comfortable. It wants us to stay. Rory felt it then, the subtle pull in her chest that made her want to sit down, to pour from that goblet, to forget the flat above Silas's bar and the delivery routes through London rain. She shook her head hard enough to make her black hair whip across her face and turned away from the table. The unease settled in her bones like cold metal, but wonder kept her feet moving forward. The scale of the place defied logic. Hills rolled in the distance covered in vineyards where workers toiled, their movements too precise, too repetitive. Helbound souls, she realized, contracted from Earth to labor in eternal harvest. She led them toward a cluster of grand pavilions visible through a break in the orchard. Fabric banners in shades of burnt orange and deep wine fluttered though no wind stirred the leaves. As they approached, the banners revealed themselves as living things, edges rippling like the gills of some massive sea creature. Rory's steps slowed. The ground here felt softer, almost spongy, and each footfall released a faint aroma of cinnamon and smoke. Look at the way those structures breathe. Not buildings. They're grown. Like the whole place is one giant organism waiting to digest us. Nyx melted into a pool of darkness at her feet then rose again on the other side of a fallen column, examining the carvings there. The faces on the stone now appeared to watch them, eyes following their progress with carved pupils that held faint traces of violet light similar to Nyx's own. These were once people who bargained too freely. Their forms became decoration for the next feast. The shadow's voice dropped lower, carried on an air current that smelled of overripe peaches. Isolde approached one of the pavilions and passed her hand through a curtain of hanging moss. It parted for her with a sigh, revealing an interior lined with cushions that appeared stuffed with clouds. Low tables held bowls of candies that rearranged themselves into patterns as she watched. One candy lifted from its bowl and floated toward her mouth before she waved it away with a flick of her wrist. Visions come easier here. The realm shows me a table where your abusive ex sits alone while endless plates appear before him that he cannot touch. A fitting torment, perhaps. But not our purpose today. Rory stepped inside after her, the temperature dropping several degrees within the pavilion walls. The relief from the constant warmth outside felt almost shocking. She ran her fingers along a wall that yielded like flesh, warm and slightly moist. The texture made her skin crawl yet she couldn't stop touching it, tracing the faint lines that resembled veins beneath the surface. This whole place pulses like it's alive and we're walking through its veins. The pendant is practically vibrating now. Whatever portal or rift we need must be deeper in. They emerged from the pavilion on the opposite side and found themselves in a garden where vegetables grew in spiral patterns, their leaves shimmering with edible glitter. A chef hunched over a massive cauldron in the center, stirring with a ladle the size of Rory's leg. The figure wore robes made of stitched tablecloths and its skin held the translucent quality of something preserved in syrup. When it turned its head toward them, its eyes were empty sockets filled with tiny dancing flames. The chef opened its mouth and a voice like bubbling oil emerged. New guests. The prince will be pleased. The table has room. Rory's hand went to the fae blade at her hip. The cold metal steadied her even as the chef's words made her mouth water despite herself. She backed away slowly, pulling Isolde with her while Nyx formed a protective wall of shadow between them and the cauldron. We're not here for the feast. Just passing through to find the heart of this place. Rory kept her voice level though her pulse raced to match the pendant's rhythm. The chef tilted its head and returned to stirring without another word. The liquid in the cauldron showed reflections of feasts from centuries past, faces laughing and crying in equal measure. Rory tore her gaze away and pressed onward through the garden, her shoulder brushing against a bush that released a spray of sweet nectar across her arm. The liquid absorbed into her skin and for several moments colors seemed brighter, sounds sharper, the pull to indulge almost irresistible. Nyx walked beside her now in full solid form, their height making the orchards look smaller. Their whisper voice cut through the growing hum that filled the air, a sound like thousands of mouths chewing in unison. The realm tests us with luxury. Your willpower is what drew me to you in London. Do not let it slip here. Isolde moved ahead, her steps creating temporary clearings in the undergrowth that closed behind them with soft whispers. She paused at the edge of a clearing where a massive tree dominated the space, its trunk wide enough to drive a truck through. Fruits of every color dangled from its branches, each one containing what looked like a miniature scene inside. Rory approached despite the unease crawling up her spine and plucked one the size of her fist. Inside the translucent skin she saw tiny versions of herself and her friends moving through this same landscape, repeating their actions in an endless loop. It's showing us our future if we stay too long. A perfect copy of this moment trapped in fruit. She dropped it and the fruit splattered on the ground, releasing a scent so intoxicating that all three of them stepped back in unison. The spilled juice formed tiny rivers that flowed toward the base of the tree where they disappeared into roots that glowed with inner light. Isolde studied the patterns the juice made before they vanished. Her voice took on that riddle cadence again though her words stayed direct. What the tree offers reveals more than it hides. The core waits where the feasts grow quiet and the hunger turns inward. They continued past the massive tree, the amber sky beginning to deepen toward a richer gold as if the realm itself tracked their progress. Rory's legs ached from the soft ground that constantly gave way beneath her, yet she pushed forward, drawn by the pendant's increasing heat. Around them the sounds of distant banquets grew louder, laughter and music and the clatter of plates creating a wall of noise that pressed against her ears. A narrow path opened between two rows of grapevines that reached well above their heads. The grapes here whispered when the wind touched them, tiny voices begging to be picked, to be crushed, to be consumed. Rory kept her arms tight to her sides and focused on the space between Nyx's shoulder blades as the shadow being took the lead. Their form flickered more frequently now, affected by the realm's constant pull on anything insubstantial. The path spilled them into another valley where the tables stood in long rows but these held no food. Instead they displayed artifacts and memories, objects from Earth arranged with care. Rory recognized a delivery bike similar to the one she used for the Golden Empress restaurant, its basket filled with impossible delicacies. Next to it lay a small crescent-shaped scar made of stone, identical to the one on her wrist. This place knows us. It's pulling pieces from our lives and setting them out like appetizers. Nyx examined a shadow box that contained what looked like their own former human hand from centuries ago. The fingers inside twitched when the shade approached. Knowledge comes at the price of appetite. We must move before the realm begins to feed on our presence directly. Isolde stood apart from the tables, her gaze fixed on a hill in the distance where the amber light concentrated into a single brilliant point. No footprints marked her path to join them but her silver hair stirred as if caught in a breeze only she could feel. The heartstone reacts to what lies beyond that rise. The realm's true excess begins there, where indulgence turns to the sins that bind souls forever. Rory checked the position of the fae blade again and started up the hill, her black hair sticking to her neck in the humid air. Each step brought new wonders and new warnings. Flowers along the path bloomed in response to her movement, releasing pollen that sparkled like edible gold dust. She covered her mouth with her sleeve to avoid breathing it in. Behind her Nyx and Isolde followed, the three of them carving a temporary trail through a place that clearly wanted to consume every visitor who entered its ancient grounds. The top of the hill revealed a vast basin below filled with what appeared to be a lake of liquid chocolate that swirled in complex patterns. Steam rose from its surface carrying scents of every dessert Rory had ever craved. Small boats made of hardened sugar floated across it, carrying passengers who looked like they had been there for decades, their bodies plump and content yet their eyes hollow with endless want. Rory stopped at the crest, the pendant now burning so hot she had to pull it away from her skin. The scene below filled her with equal parts dread and fascination, the alien nature of the realm pressing against her mind like a physical force. She turned to the others as the first hints of real fear mixed with the wonder that had carried them this far. We need to find a way across without touching that stuff. One taste and I don't think we'd ever leave. Nyx extended their shadow form down the slope, testing the ground ahead while Isolde examined a nearby stone marker carved with warnings in languages long dead. The half-fae's fingers traced the grooves without disturbing the dust that covered them. The crossing demands payment of some kind. The realm never gives passage freely. They began to descend together toward the chocolate lake, the air growing thicker with sweetness that coated their tongues even without eating anything. Rory's grip tightened on the pendant as they moved deeper into the heart of Dymas, each new sight revealing more of the realm's wondrous and terrible nature. The ground trembled faintly beneath them now, as if the place itself had noticed their presence and begun to respond in kind.