AI The cold moonsilver of the Fae-Forged Blade bit through my leather sheath, pressing freezing warnings against my thigh.
I stumbled over a roots-gnarled threshold, my boots sinking into soil that didn't feel like soil at all. It felt like walking on velvet -covered ash. Behind me, the metallic stench of London's exhaust cut off instantly, replaced by the thick, cloying scents of crushed mint, wet slate, and something ancient and honeyed.
"We are through," Nyx whispered.
The voice drifted from a shifting, violet-eyed column of absolute dark, vibrating in my chest like a bass note. Nyx had no solid feet, yet the shadow they cast stretched long and lean across the bioluminescent moss.
"Through is a relative term," Isolde Varga said .
She glided past us, leaving no footprints upon the glowing, dew-drenched wildflowers. Her waist-length silver hair caught a strange, sourceless light. Her lavender eyes stared ahead, unblinking, perceiving threads of things we couldn't dream of touching.
"The boundary lies behind us, yet the threshold still hungers," the half-Fae murmured, her voice carrying that airy , infuriatingly cryptic lilt . "Walk only where the violet-petalled night-shade grows, Aurora. To step upon the gold is to invite the feast."
I looked down. Sure enough, the velvety forest floor split into undulating veins of vibrant violet blossoms and deep, sickeningly rich gold buttercups.
"Right. Violet it is," I said, keeping my steps narrow. "I've had enough of being the main course for one lifetime."
I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing the crimson gemstone of the Heartstone Pendant. It pulsed . Not a gentle throb, but a rapid, frantic heartbeat that radiated a dry, tropical heat. The contrast against the freezing Fae blade on my hip made my skin prickle.
The Grove closed in around us. This wasn't Richmond Park anymore. The massive oak trees didn't grow upward; they twisted in elegant, spiral arches, their branches fusing together overhead like the vaulted ceiling of a gothic cathedral. Phosphorescent fungi clung to the bark, shedding a soft, amber-tinted light that painted the entire hollow in the warm colours of a perpetual autumn sunset. But there was no warmth here. The air tasted of ozone and old copper.
"The wind carries no breath," Nyx observed, their humanoid silhouette stretching, flowing up the trunk of a spiral oak like spilled ink. "Yet the leaves dance ."
"They dance to the music of those who fell before," Isolde said. She didn't look back at us. "The trees remember the taste of mortal blood. It makes their sap sweet."
"Charming," I muttered. My Cardiff-bred cynicism was the only shield I had left against this beautiful, terrifying place. "Let me guess. We're not here for a picnic."
"We seek the rift," Isolde said, stopping before a massive, cracked standing stone.
The stone stood ten feet tall, its grey surface etched with swirling runes that shimmered with a greasy, iridescent film. It looked like oil slicked over water. As I drew closer, the air grew incredibly dense, pressing against my eardrums like a deep-sea dive.
"The Veil is thin here," I whispered.
"Thin?" Nyx materialized beside me, their violet eyes glowing brighter. "It is a tattered rag. Can you not smell it, little delivery girl? The scent of caramelized sugar and burning rot. The kitchen of Dymas is venting."
I inhaled, and my stomach instantly protested. Nyx was right. Beneath the clean, cold scent of the Fae grove lay a heavy, nauseating aroma. Roasted meats, overripe peaches, spiced wines, and the distinct, sulfurous tang of the pit. It was Prince Belphegor's realm. Gluttony.
"The pendant is burning," I said, pulling the silver chain out from beneath my collar.
The crimson gem was glowing fiercely now, casting long, bloody-red reflections across the ancient standing stone. The light hit the iridescent film on the rock, and the runes began to move. They crawled like beetles, shifting and reshaping themselves into a language I couldn't read, but my blood seemed to understand.
"The gate demands a key," Isolde said, her pale gaze finally turning to me . "But a key is not always made of iron or gold. Sometimes, a key is a debt unpaid."
"I don't owe Belphegor anything," I snapped, my hand instinctively resting on the cold hilt of my moonsilver dagger.
"Not yet," Isolde whispered. "But the prince of excess always collects his ingredients."
Before I could ask what the hell that meant, the ground beneath us shuddered.
The silence of the Grove shattered . A sound like tearing silk echoed through the hollow, followed by a wet, bubbling hiss. The raw, amber light radiating from the standing stone flared, turning the shadows into jagged, reaching claws.
"Step back!" Nyx hissed, their shadowy form expanding, rising like a wall of darkness between me and the stone.
The iridescent film on the monolith tore open. It didn't crack like rock; it pulled apart like flesh, revealing a shimmering, liquid void of swirling amber and crimson. The stench of Gluttony spilled out, thick enough to choke on. Spiced honey, charred fat, and the desperate, weeping wails of bound souls forced to feast until they burst.
From the center of the liquid rift, a hand emerged.
It was massive, grey-skinned, and glistening with a thick, golden grease. The fingers ended in jagged, yellow claws, and as it gripped the edge of the standing stone, the ancient Fae magic screamed in protest. Sparks of pale silver light flew from the rock, sizzling against the demon's flesh, but it didn't let go.
"A harvester," Nyx warned, their voice losing its wind-like whisper, turning hard and sharp . "Belphegor's hounds are tracking the stone."
The creature's head pushed through the rift. It had no eyes, only a massive, circular maw lined with concentric rings of needle-sharp teeth, dripping with a thick, syrupy black drool that hissed as it struck the glowing wildflowers below. It sniffed the air, its faceless head turning directly toward me.
"The girl," the beast gurgled, its voice like wet meat being ground together. "The master demands the Cardiff stray."
"Not today, ugly," I said.
I drew the Fae-Forged Blade. The silver metal flared with a bright, moon-white light, casting a freezing aura that instantly drove back the suffocating heat of the rift. The demon hissed at the sight of the cold iron, its circular jaw distending in a silent scream of agony.
"Keep it steady!" Nyx shouted, plunging forward as a wave of pure, suffocating darkness, wrapping around the demon's arm to pin it to the stone.
"Strike where the gold meets the grey, Aurora!" Isolde called out, her voice static-charged , devoid of its usual calm. "The seam of the Veil must be sealed!"
I leaped forward, my boots skidding on the velvet -ash moss, ignoring the heat that blasted from the portal. The demon roared, thrashing against Nyx's shadow-bonds, its massive, grease-slicked claw snapping blindly toward my throat. I dodged left, the smell of rotting peaches filling my lungs, and lunged.
I plunged the moonsilver blade deep into the seam where the demon's flesh met the portal's edge.
A high-pitched, deafening shriek echoed through the Grove. Bright silver light exploded from the point of impact, cracking the standing stone down the middle. The portal shivered, the amber liquid turning into black, smoking tar. The demon's arm began to dissolve, but instead of retreating, the creature used its remaining strength to thrust its monstrous weight forward, launching its gaping maw directly at my face.