Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMFHFAACP8ATBHBMAZFQCJ

The air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and a hint of something wilder, something ancient that clung to the back of Rory's throat. She stepped through the boundary marked by the ancient oak standing stones, the world around her shifting subtly, as if a filter had been lifted from her eyes. The Fae Grove spread before them, a hidden clearing that seemed to defy the very laws of nature. Eva, her childhood friend, followed close behind, her hazel eyes wide with wonder. "It's like stepping into a painting," she whispered, her voice hushed as if afraid to disturb the tranquility. Rory could only nod, her gaze drifting over the wildflowers that bloomed in vibrant hues year-round, a riot of color against the verdant green of the grass. The sky above was a canvas of twilight, the sun hanging low, casting a warm glow that seemed to dance with the leaves of the towering trees. Nyx, the enigmatic Shade who had guided them here, moved with a grace that was both eerie and beautiful, their violet eyes flickering with a light that had nothing to do with the fading day. "This place is a nexus," they said, their voice a whisper that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. "A pocket between Earth and the Fae realm. Time moves differently here." Isolde, the Seer, emerged from the shadows of her dwelling, a modest cottage woven from living vines and flowers. Her silver hair cascaded down her back, a stark contrast to her pale lavender eyes. She spoke in riddles, as was her way, her words weaving a tapestry of possible futures and cryptic advice. "Seek the heart of Dymas, where the crimson stone beats in time with the pulse of the realm," she intoned, her gaze lingering on Rory. The Heartstone Pendant, a deep crimson gemstone set in a silver chain, lay against Rory's skin, its faint warmth a comforting presence. It had been a gift from an unknown benefactor, and now it seemed to pulse with a life of its own, guiding her toward a destination unknown. As they ventured deeper into the grove, the air grew heavy with magic. The group moved in silent awe, their footsteps muffled by the moss-covered ground. Rory felt the weight of history in this place, a sense of timelessness that made her acutely aware of her own mortality. Eva reached out to touch a flower, its petals shimmering with an iridescent sheen. The moment her skin made contact, the flower seemed to hum with energy, its color deepening. Eva gasped, pulling her hand back sharply, her eyes shining with excitement and a touch of fear. Nyx led them to a clearing where the remains of an ancient stone altar stood, its surface worn smooth by the passage of time. They paused, their shadowy form casting no shadow of its own. "Many rituals have been performed here," they said, their voice tinged with a melancholy that spoke of lost epochs and forgotten secrets. Rory approached the altar, her fingers tracing the carvings that spiraled across its surface. She could feel the echoes of power, a resonance that seemed to call to something deep within her. The Heartstone Pendant grew warmer, its glow intensifying, casting a ruby light upon the stone. Isolde watched them with an inscrutable expression, her gaze never wavering from Rory. "The path you seek is fraught with peril," she warned, her voice carrying the authority of one who had seen countless futures unfold. "Yet it is your fate to walk it, for the threads of your destiny are woven tightly with the fabric of this world and others." Eva stepped closer to Rory, her presence a reassuring anchor. "We're with you," she said firmly, her resolve cutting through the uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm them. Rory nodded, her hand closing around the Fae-Forged Blade at her side—a gift from Isolde. The moonsilver dagger was slender and leaf-shaped, always cold to the touch, and it gleamed with a light that seemed to belong to the twilight of the grove. It was a weapon of the Fae Courts, a rare and coveted artifact that could cut through magical wards and was particularly effective against demons. As night fell, the grove transformed. The wildflowers glowed with an inner light, casting an ethereal glow upon the surroundings. The air buzzed with the sound of unseen insects, and the rustling of leaves whispered secrets in a language none of them understood. They made camp near the altar, the comforting crackle of a fire providing warmth against the creeping chill of the night. Nyx remained on the periphery, their form flickering like a shadow cast by the dancing flames. They were a guardian of sorts, bound to protect Rory on her journey, though the nature of their bond was still shrouded in mystery. Rory sat with her back against the stone altar, the Heartstone Pendant resting against her chest. She could feel the pulse of the gem, a steady rhythm that seemed to beat in tandem with her own heart. The weight of the Fae-Forged Blade was a constant reminder of the responsibility she bore, the battles she would inevitably face. Eva sat beside her, her eyes reflecting the firelight. "No matter what happens," she said, her voice low and earnest, "we'll face it together." Rory met her gaze, her own resolve strengthening. "Together," she echoed, the word a promise, a vow that would carry them through the trials to come. As the night deepened, the grove grew silent, the air thick with anticipation. The Veil, that metaphysical barrier separating Earth from Hel and the Fae Realms, was thinnest here, and Rory could sense the vastness of the cosmos, the interconnectedness of all things. With the first light of dawn, they would set out for Dymas, the realm of Gluttony, ruled by Prince Belphegor. It was a place of excess and indulgence, where grand feasts and culinary competitions were commonplace. But it was also a place of danger, where the line between pleasure and ruin was perilously thin. For now, though, they rested, drawing strength from the grove and from each other. The Fae Grove was a sanctuary, a place of respite before the storm. And as Rory closed her eyes, she knew that the journey ahead would test them in ways they could scarcely imagine. But they were ready. They had to be. For the fate of worlds hung in the balance, and it was their hands—the delivery girl, the shadow, the seer, and the lawyer-turned-seeker—that would tip the scales.