Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMJWMDS1NBH7NMSZH6963E

The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, the kind that bloomed only in places where the veil between worlds grew thin. Rory adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, the Heartstone Pendant tucked safely beneath her shirt, its faint warmth pulsing against her skin like a second heartbeat. She had come to the Fae Grove for answers—not that she expected them to be kind ones. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled oaks twisted into shapes that seemed almost deliberate, as if some ancient hand had carved them into sentinels. The boundary hummed with a low, resonant energy, the kind that prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. She hesitated, fingers brushing the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist. *Just like old times,* she thought, though the last time she’d crossed into a place like this, she’d been running from something far more human. The moment she stepped between the stones, the world shifted. The distant hum of London traffic vanished, replaced by an eerie, breathless silence. The clearing stretched before her, bathed in silver moonlight that didn’t quite touch the edges of the trees. The wildflowers glowed faintly, their petals shimmering like scattered stars. Rory exhaled, slow and measured. *Okay. Still Earth. Still real.* She moved deeper into the grove, her boots sinking slightly into the mossy ground. The Heartstone’s warmth had intensified, its crimson glow seeping through the fabric of her shirt. She pulled it free, watching as the gem pulsed in time with her own heartbeat. *Hel portal,* she thought. *Close.* The thought should have been reassuring. Instead, it settled in her gut like a stone. Then came the first sound. A whisper, so faint she almost dismissed it as the wind. But there was no wind here. The air was still, heavy, as if the grove itself was holding its breath. Rory turned, scanning the tree line. Nothing. Just shadows, deep and impenetrable. She swallowed. "Hello?" No answer. Of course there wasn’t. She kept walking, following the pull of the pendant. The trees here were older, their bark blackened in places, as if scorched by something that had no business in this world. The wildflowers grew thicker, their petals brushing against her legs like curious fingers. She brushed them away, her skin prickling. Then—movement. At the edge of her vision, something darted between the trees. A flicker of pale, too-long limbs, a shape that didn’t quite resolve into anything recognizable. Rory froze, her breath shallow. "Who’s there?" Silence. Then, from behind her, a rustle of leaves. She spun. The clearing was empty. But the air smelled different now—sharp, metallic, like ozone after a storm. The Heartstone flared, its glow bright enough to cast shadows. Rory’s pulse hammered in her throat. *You’re imagining things.* But she wasn’t. The whispers returned, louder this time, overlapping, a chorus of voices speaking in a language that slithered through her mind like oil. She clapped her hands over her ears, but the sound wasn’t coming from outside. It was inside her skull. The pendant burned against her skin. Rory stumbled back, her boot catching on a root. She barely caught herself before she fell, her fingers digging into the damp earth. The whispers crescendoed, a cacophony of hisses and clicks, and then— A laugh. Low. Guttural. *Human.* Her blood turned to ice. She wasn’t alone. The realization hit her like a physical blow. She forced herself to stand, to turn, to face whatever was out there. The trees swayed, though there was no wind. The wildflowers trembled. And then, from the darkness between the oaks, a figure emerged. Tall. Too tall. Its limbs stretched unnaturally, its joints bending in ways that made her stomach lurch. Its face—if it could be called a face—was a shifting mass of shadows, features melting and reforming like wax. But its eyes. Its eyes were solid, black as polished stone, and they locked onto hers with terrifying precision. Rory’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. The Heartstone was a brand against her chest, its glow now a steady, furious pulse. The thing took a step toward her, its movements jerky, unnatural. It tilted its head, the shadows of its face rippling. *"Little lost thing,"* it said, its voice a wet, clicking rasp. *"You don’t belong here."* Rory’s fingers closed around the pendant. She had come for answers. She had not come to die. She took a step back. Then another. The thing lunged.