AI The air in the Grove wasn't air at all; it was thick, sweet, and tasted faintly of crushed violets and ozone. My boots sank into moss that felt less like vegetation and more like velvet pressed over springs. Silence here wasn't the absence of sound, but a heavy, expectant vibration that hummed against my teeth.
"Don't touch the ferns," Isolde murmured, her silver hair catching a light that had no source in the sky. She moved ahead of me, her feet hovering an inch above the iridescent soil, never disturbing the carpet of glowing fungi.
"How long have we been walking?" I asked, my own voice sounding thin and foreign. The pocket watch in my jacket pocket had stopped the moment we stepped past the ancient oak stones.
"Time is a local custom you’ve decided to abandon, Aurora," she said, her lavender eyes flitting toward the shifting branches above us.
Nyx drifted alongside, a dark ripple against the vibrant, pulsating landscape. They didn't walk so much as bleed from one shadow to the next, their violet eyes scanning the canopy with predatory stillness. Where they passed, the vibrant colors of the Grove seemed to bleach, retreating like a tide.
"This place shifts," Nyx whispered, the sound a dry friction of parchment. "The architecture of the trees is rearranging itself behind us."
I checked the Heartstone Pendant resting against my sternum. It burned—a dull, rhythmic heat that matched the cadence of my own pulse . I gripped the cool, moonsilver handle of the Fae-forged blade at my hip, the metal biting into my palm with a welcome, freezing intensity . Danger here didn't growl; it shimmered .
We reached a clearing where the trees twisted into impossible arches, their white bark etched with glowing, geometric runes that pulsed in time with my necklace. In the centre sat a reflecting pool that held no water, but a swirling, gravity-defying mist of molten amber.
"The border to Dymas," Isolde announced, stopping at the edge of the mist. She gestured with a pale, slender hand. "The kitchen of Hel."
The scent shifted instantly. The sweetness of the Grove surged, tainted now by a cloying, heavy aroma of roasting meat and fermented fruit. It was intoxicating, a physical weight that pulled at the back of my throat. My stomach cramped, betraying a hunger I hadn't felt seconds ago.
"The Prince of Gluttony expects a tribute for passage," Nyx observed, their silhouette sharpening into a more human form . "He doesn't open his gates for mere sightseers."
I stepped closer to the amber pool. The surface rippled, showcasing glimpses of a sprawling, golden-lit orchard where fruit the size of carriage wheels dripped thick, sugared sap. I caught sight of a gaunt, shivering soul in a chef’s coat, frantically carving a massive, pulsating melon that bled wine instead of juice.
"What does he want?" I asked.
"He wants the story of why you left, Aurora," Isolde replied, not looking at me . "He loves the taste of regret almost as much as his vintage nectar."
"Tell him the story is mine to keep," I said, my voice steady despite the way the amber mist began to spiral upward, taking the shape of reaching, translucent fingers.
"He doesn't care for ownership," Nyx warned, their shadow-form flickering . "He cares for consumption."
The mist erupted, lashing out like a whip. I dropped into a crouch, the Fae-forged blade appearing in my hand as if it had been waiting for the motion. The cold of the steel was a shock, a sharp, arctic contrast to the sweltering, sugary heat radiating from the pool. The amber tendrils hissed as they neared the blade.
"It’s not attacking you," Isolde said, her expression serene and maddeningly unreadable . "It is tasting you."
A droplet of the amber mist landed on my sleeve, and the fabric instantly dissolved, leaving behind a sensation of profound , aching longing that had nothing to do with me. I felt the phantom taste of a childhood meal I hadn't thought of in years, the desperate, hollow ache of wanting something just out of reach.
"Get back," Nyx commanded, but their voice lacked its usual certainty . They reached out a hand of darkness, trying to brush the mist away, but the darkness was absorbed, swallowed whole by the amber vortex.
"He's finding your gaps, Rory," Nyx hissed. "Your hesitations. Your 'maybe's. He’s drinking them."
I stood tall, refusing to let the hunger take root. I focused on the crescent scar on my wrist, the sharp, grounding reminder of a life that wasn't dictated by the whims of a gluttonous demon. I drove the point of the moonsilver blade into the mossy ground, and a shockwave of frost erupted from the impact, turning the glowing flora to brittle, silver glass.
The pool recoiled, the golden mist shrinking back into the depths . The oppressive heat vanished, replaced by a sudden, jagged chill .
"An unfriendly guest," a voice boomed from the pool, deep and resonant enough to rattle the very bones in my ribcage. It wasn't one voice, but a chorus of a thousand overfilled stomachs. "But such a sharp, acidic flavor."
"We aren't here for your menu," I said, keeping my blade ready.
"Everyone is here for my menu," the voice countered, and the amber mist swirled into the silhouette of a massive, bloated figure sitting upon an invisible throne within the pool. "The question is, are you the diner, or the dish?"
The ground shuddered, the ancient trees bowing as if under immense pressure. From the shadows beneath the standing stones, things began to crawl, creatures composed of half-formed appetites and weeping sores, their eyes fixed hungrily on us.
"Stall for time," Isolde whispered, though her eyes were already scanning the constellations in the amber sky above the pool . "The Veil is thinning, but the gate isn't locked yet."
One of the creatures, a spindly thing with too many joints and a maw that stretched across its entire face, lunged. I swiped with the moonsilver blade, a clean, arc of luminescence carving through the air. The creature disintegrated into harmless, dry dust.
"Whatever you're doing, Isolde," I shouted, parrying another strike from a shadow-wrought claw, "do it quickly ."
"I am merely the witness," she replied, her voice calm as the entire grove began to crack, the reality of the place splintering like shattered porcelain .
The amber throne within the pool collapsed, and the Prince of Gluttony roared, a sound of grinding metal and wet tearing. The entire Grove started to tilt, the horizon line folding in on itself. We were no longer standing on ground; we were sliding down a throat of swirling, golden light.
"Hold onto something real," Nyx cried, their form expanding into a cloud of absolute, consuming blackness to anchor us.
I grabbed the silver chain of the Heartstone Pendant, the stone pulsing red-hot against my chest. Everything went bright, a blinding, sickening gold, and the world dissolved into the roar of a thousand famished ghosts. The ground vanished, and as I fell, I saw the exit—a jagged tear in the fabric of the air, leaking the grey, dull light of a London morning.
But between us and the opening stood a wall of shifting, hungry shadows, and the smell of roasting meat became the only thing left in the universe.