AI The shimmering distortion of the Veil collapsed behind them with a sound like tearing silk . Aurora stumbled forward, her boots sinking into soil that felt too soft, too yielding. She caught her balance and immediately brought a hand to her chest, her fingers brushing the silver chain at her throat. The Heartstone pendant rested against her collarbone, its deep crimson gem pulsing with a faint, steady warmth . It was a rhythmic thrum, a heartbeat of its own, confirming they had successfully crossed the boundary.
She turned to look back, but the tear in the metaphysical barrier was gone . There was only the heavy, syrupy air and a sky the color of warm amber. There was no sun, yet the light was pervasive and golden, casting long, strange shadows across the landscape.
This was Dymas. The realm of Gluttony.
Rory wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, pushing her straight, shoulder-length black hair out of her bright blue eyes. The humidity was immediate and oppressive , carrying a scent so thick she could almost taste it. It smelled of overripe fruit, roasted meats, caramelized sugar, and heavy, intoxicating spices. As a part-time delivery girl for the Golden Empress, she was used to the rich aromas of garlic, ginger, and star anise, but this was different. This was excess dialed up to a suffocating extreme. It made her stomach knot with a mixture of hunger and nausea.
A patch of darkness near the base of a massive, twisted tree began to boil and stretch. The shadow peeled itself off the bark, rising and solidifying until it stood a full six feet and two inches tall. Nyx stepped into the amber light, their humanoid silhouette shifting from incorporeal smoke into a dense, solid form. Faintly glowing violet eyes opened in the featureless dark of their face.
"The air is thick here," Nyx said. Their voice did not travel through the air like normal sound. It brushed against Rory's mind, a whisper carried on a sudden, cool breeze. "It tastes of old wine and desperation."
"Keep your voice down," Rory murmured, instinctively dropping into a crouch. She rubbed the small, crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a nervous habit she had never quite managed to break. "We do not know who or what is listening. Belphegor rules this place. We are trespassing in his dining room."
Nyx tilted their head, the violet eyes narrowing. "The shadows in this realm are heavy. Bloated. They do not slip easily. I will remain solid for now."
Rory nodded and stood, adjusting the strap of her canvas bag. She began to walk, moving deeper into the sprawling landscape. They were standing at the edge of a vast, terraced vineyard, but the vines were unlike anything she had ever seen on Earth. The trunks were as thick as oak trees, their bark weeping a sticky, golden sap. The leaves were the size of dinner plates, and hanging from the thick, serpentine branches were clusters of grapes the size of plums. They were deep purple and brilliant gold, some of them split open from their own internal pressure, dripping a thick, fragrant nectar onto the soil below.
She stepped carefully, avoiding the squelching puddles of fermented juice. The ground was littered with dropped fruit, creating a slippery, chaotic carpet. Everywhere she looked, the flora screamed of unchecked growth and rampant indulgence. Wildflowers the size of sunflowers bloomed in aggressive bursts of crimson and violet, their pollen drifting through the amber air like colored snow.
As they walked, the Heartstone pendant grew warmer against her skin. The faint inner glow of the thumbnail-sized gem illuminated the hollow of her throat. It was guiding her, pulling her gently toward the east, deeper into the heart of the realm.
"Do you feel that?" Rory asked, pausing to examine a massive, thorny bush laden with bright red berries.
"I feel the weight of the realm," Nyx whispered, gliding a few paces ahead. Their solid form absorbed the ambient light, casting a stark , sharp shadow on the ground. "The Veil is weak here. The boundary between Earth and Hel is stretched thin. I can hear the echoes of the mortal plane, muffled and distant."
Rory frowned. She missed the cramped, familiar safety of her flat above Silas's bar. She missed the predictable rhythm of London, the rumble of the tube, the damp chill of the Thames. Here, everything was too bright, too loud in its silence , too overwhelmingly alive. She let her hand drop to her hip, her fingers wrapping around the hilt of the Fae-Forged Blade tucked into her belt. The moonsilver was freezing to the touch. The biting cold was a sharp, grounding contrast to the sweltering heat of Dymas. It was a leaf-shaped dagger, a gift from Isolde, and its chill reminded her that she was not entirely defenseless.
They crested a low hill, and the vineyards gave way to a sprawling, manicured garden. Rory stopped dead in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat.
In the center of the garden sat a pavilion made of pale, veined marble , its columns carved to resemble twisting vines. Beneath the open roof was a feast of impossible proportions. Tables groaned under the weight of silver platters piled high with roasted boars, towers of exotic fruits, mountains of spiced grains, and delicate pastries dusted with shimmering sugar. The sheer volume of food was staggering , a monument to endless consumption.
But it was not the food that made Rory's blood run cold. It was the people.
Dozens of figures moved among the tables and the massive outdoor hearths at the edge of the pavilion. They were human, or at least they had been once. Their skin was pale and gray, their eyes hollow and fixed on their tasks. They turned spits, carved meats, and arranged platters with a mechanical , exhausting precision. They did not speak. They did not look at one another. They simply worked, their hands blistered and scarred, trapped in an eternal cycle of preparation for a banquet that never seemed to end.
"Helbound souls," Nyx murmured, the wind-voice tinged with a profound , ancient sorrow. "Contracted from Earth. They cook for the Prince and his court, forever denied a taste of the feast they prepare."
Rory watched a woman with graying hair mechanically baste a massive joint of meat, her face entirely devoid of expression. A surge of profound unease washed over Rory. This was not just a place of indulgence; it was a place of exploitation. The excess of Dymas was built on the backs of the damned.
"We need to keep moving," Rory said, her voice tight . She released her grip on the cold moonsilver dagger and took a step back from the crest of the hill. "If they see us, they might raise an alarm. Or worse, they might think we are part of the menu."
Nyx shifted, their form blurring at the edges as they allowed a fraction of their incorporeal nature to bleed through, making them harder to spot against the dark foliage. "The Heartstone beats faster," the Shade noted. "We are close to a rift point. A tear in the Veil."
Rory looked down at her chest. The crimson gem was indeed pulsing more rapidly now, its warmth bordering on hot. It was a beacon , leading her toward whatever unknown benefactor had sent it to her, or toward whatever danger awaited them in the heart of Belphegor's domain.
A deep, resonant sound echoed across the amber sky. It was a horn, low and mournful, vibrating through the soles of Rory's boots and rattling her teeth. Down in the pavilion, the helbound souls froze in unison. Slowly, as if pulled by invisible strings, they turned their hollow eyes toward the hill where Rory and Nyx stood.
"Time to go," Rory said.
She turned away from the pavilion and plunged deeper into the alien garden, the heavy scent of roasted sugar and rotting fruit filling her lungs. The shadows of the massive, twisting trees reached out for her, but she kept her eyes fixed on the pulsing crimson light at her throat, stepping forward into the wondrous, terrifying heart of Hel.