Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2DHZKWRYXFQWMZ6H166G5R

The amber sky of Dymas pressed down on them like a warm hand, the light deeper and richer than any sunset Aurora had ever known. It came from everywhere at once, as if the air itself glowed, casting long, tangled shadows that writhed at the edges of the vineyard path. She stepped off the cobblestone and onto soil the color of rust, and the smell hit her: honey so thick it was cloying, ripe fruit bursting on the vine, and something savory and roasting just beyond the treeline. “This is not a place for lingering,” Nyx said. Their voice came from everywhere at once, a whisper that shook the leaves of a nearby fig tree. The Shade had taken a solid form for the crossing—a tall, dark silhouette against the amber glow, violet eyes fixed on the horizon. Their form rippled in the heat, like a reflection in disturbed water. Aurora’s hand went to the Heartstone pendant at her throat. The deep crimson gem pulsed against her collarbone, a steady, patient warmth that matched the rhythmic thrum of the air around them. It had been doing that since they stepped through the rift in Richmond Park—Isolde’s grove, with its standing stones and time-slipping wildflowers, had spat them out here, into Hel’s own belly. The grove was gone now. Behind them, the path simply ended in a shimmering distortion like heat mirage. “I don’t like that it recognizes this place.” She let the pendant fall back against her chest. “It was made here,” Nyx said. “It remembers its home.” A grove of trees rose ahead, but these were no oaks or elms. Their trunks spiraled upward as if twisted by an invisible hand, bark smooth as polished copper, and from their branches hung fruit that pulsed with a soft, internal glow—pear-shaped, the color of molten gold. Aurora reached out to touch one, and Nyx’s hand, cold as a winter draft, caught her wrist. “The Gluttony trees feed on desire,” they said. “Touch it, and it will know what you crave most. It will show you that vision, and you will be lost reaching for it.” Aurora pulled her hand back, heart hammering. The fruit’s glow seemed to deepen, as if disappointed. They walked beneath the spiraled branches, and the crunch of their footsteps on the fallen leaves sounded like tiny bones snapping. The air grew heavier. Every few yards, they passed openings in the underbrush—narrow, winding trails that led to grottos and clearings. She caught glimpses: a stone table laden with roasted meats that steamed despite the still air, a pool filled with wine the color of blood, a tree whose branches had been braided into a throne, upon which sat nothing at all. The place was a feast for every sense, but there were no guests. “Where is everyone?” she whispered. “The court of Belphegor will find us when it wishes to. Not before.” Nyx’s form flickered, momentarily transparent. “This is the ante-chamber. The appetizer. The real feast lies ahead.” A path opened between two copper trees, and Aurora saw it: a bridge, if it could be called that, stretching across a chasm that plunged into darkness. The bridge was made of bones—femurs, ribs, vertebrae—lashed together with vines that grew roots into the marrow. It swayed gently in a breeze she could not feel. On the far side, a city sprawled: towers of amber glass, roofs that curved like open mouths, and in the center, a palace of flesh and stone entwined, its walls breathing. “Well,” Aurora said, her voice thin. “That’s not unsettling at all.” Nyx stepped onto the bone bridge without hesitation. Their weight did not make it creak. The bones seemed to welcome them, settling into place like old friends. Aurora took a breath, gripped the silver chain, and followed. The bones shifted under her weight. Not with a groan, but with a sigh. A sound that might have been relief. She kept her eyes fixed on the far side and did not look down. Halfway across, the warmth of the pendant became a distinct pulse, as if it had found a heartbeat of its own. She felt it in her teeth. The city’s amber towers caught the eternal sunset and threw it back in shards of light. She heard music then, faint and distorted, as if played underwater: strings, a flute, and something that might have been a scream. The bridge ended at a gate of living wood—branches woven together that shifted and grew as she watched, thorns like iron nails pressing outward. It had no handle. No lock. “Do we knock?” Aurora asked. Nyx raised a hand, and the gate shuddered. The branches recoiled, pulling back like startled snakes, and the thorns retracted into the wood. The gate opened. Beyond lay a feast hall that could have held a cathedral. Tables stretched into the distance, groaning under the weight of platters: whole roasted boars with apples in their mouths, towers of glazed pastries, fish that still glistened as if pulled fresh from the water, goblets that refilled themselves with a steady, bubbling pour. Candles floated in the air, their flames blue and green and violet. And at the far end, on a dais of polished obsidian, a figure lounged on a throne of fused silverware—forks and knives and spoons melted together into a grotesque seat. He was enormous, soft and pale as unbaked dough, with fingers like sausages and a mouth that seemed to stretch too wide for his face. Prince Belphegor was eating. He did not stop when they entered. Aurora felt the pendant burn. She slipped her hand into her coat pocket and touched the cold hilt of Isolde’s dagger. The moonsilver blade hummed against her palm. “You are not invited,” Belphegor said, without looking up. He tore a leg off a roasted fowl and bit into it. Grease ran down his chins. “But you are welcome to join us. We always have room.” He gestured with the bone at the endless tables. “There is so much, and I so hate to see it go to waste.” Nyx stepped in front of her. “We seek a soul. A bound soul. Evan Price.” Belphegor’s laugh was a wet, rattling sound that shook his belly. He dropped the bone and picked up a goblet, drinking until it ran dry. Then he smiled, and his teeth were all wrong—too many, too sharp. “Everyone who comes to Dymas seeks something,” he said. “But here, you don’t find what you seek. You find what you want. And there is a difference, little Shade.” He leaned forward, and his eyes found Aurora. “What do you want, girl? Tell me. I can smell it on you. Like perfume.” Aurora’s mouth went dry. The pendant pulsed so hard she felt it in her skull. The tables groaned. The music grew louder. And from the shadows behind the throne, something moved. Something with too many eyes.