AI The standing stones loomed like the ribs of some long-dead titan, their gnarled oak trunks blackened with age and veined with silver moss. Aurora Carter hesitated at the threshold, her breath curling in the crisp November air. The Heartstone Pendant at her throat pulsed once, warm against her skin, as if sensing the shift in the world beyond the stones.
"Well," she said, turning to Nyx, "you first. You’re the one who can slip through shadows if this goes sideways."
Nyx’s form rippled, their violet eyes flickering like embers in the dim light. "Coward," they murmured, though their voice carried no malice—just the dry amusement of someone who had seen centuries of mortals flinch at the unknown. They stepped forward, their shadowy silhouette stretching unnaturally as they passed between the stones. For a heartbeat, they vanished entirely.
Aurora exhaled sharply . "Or we could both just—"
Nyx reappeared on the other side, solidifying into a humanoid shape. "Come on, then. It’s safe. For now."
She followed, her boots crunching over frost-kissed grass. The moment she crossed the threshold, the air thickened, sweet with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and something older—petrichor and ozone, like the world itself was breathing . The sky above the grove was a deep, impossible twilight, streaked with ribbons of aurora borealis that shimmered in hues of violet and silver. The trees here were taller, their leaves a luminous emerald that glowed faintly in the dim light, casting shifting patterns on the mossy ground.
Isolde stood waiting, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid moonlight. She smiled, but her pale lavender eyes held no warmth—only the quiet knowing of someone who had watched empires rise and fall. "You’re late," she said, though Aurora was certain only minutes had passed outside the grove.
Nyx tilted their head. "Time moves differently here. How long has it been for you?"
Isolde’s lips curved. "Long enough to grow weary of waiting." She turned, her bare feet making no sound against the soft earth. "Follow. The path is not always kind to those who stray."
The grove unfolded before them like a living tapestry . Wildflowers bloomed in impossible profusion—bluebells and foxgloves and something with petals like spun glass, their centers pulsing with a soft, bioluminescent glow. Aurora reached out, brushing her fingers against one. It chimed faintly, like a wind chime, and the petals curled inward, as if shy.
Nyx crouched beside a cluster of mushrooms with caps like polished obsidian. "These aren’t natural," they said, their voice barely above a whisper . "They’re listening."
Aurora frowned. "Listening to what?"
"Everything." Isolde’s voice was soft, but it carried. "The grove remembers. It *watches*."
A shiver ran down Aurora’s spine. She flexed her fingers around the hilt of the Fae-forged blade at her belt. The metal was cold, even through her gloves, and the faint luminescence of the moonsilver seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat.
They walked deeper, the path winding between ancient oaks whose roots twisted like serpents beneath the earth. The air hummed with a low, resonant thrum, like the distant tolling of a bell only half-heard. Aurora’s skin prickled. "Do you feel that?"
Nyx nodded. "Magic. Old magic."
Isolde said nothing, but her fingers trailed along the bark of a tree as she passed. Where she touched, the wood shimmered , revealing faint, glowing runes that faded as quickly as they appeared.
Then, the path opened into a clearing, and Aurora stopped dead.
At its center stood a pool of water so still it might have been glass. The surface reflected not the sky above, but something else—swirling clouds of silver and gold, shifting like smoke. Around the pool, standing stones rose in a perfect circle, their surfaces carved with spirals and knots that seemed to writhe when stared at too long.
Nyx stepped forward, their shadow stretching long and thin across the water. "A scrying pool?"
Isolde knelt at the edge, her reflection rippling as she dipped her fingers into the liquid. "A window," she corrected. "But not always a kind one." She beckoned Aurora closer. "Look. But do not touch the water. Not yet."
Aurora crouched beside her, peering into the depths. At first, she saw only her own face—pale, wide-eyed, the crescent scar on her wrist stark against her skin. Then the image shifted. The grove dissolved into a sprawling city of gold and crimson, its streets lined with towering spires that clawed at a sky the color of molten amber. The air smelled of roasting meat and spices, thick and cloying, and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled her ears.
Dymas.
The name slithered into her mind like a serpent. She recoiled, but Isolde’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist. "Steady," the seer murmured. "It shows what it wills. Not always what you wish to see."
Nyx’s voice was tight. "That’s Hel."
Aurora swallowed. "Gluttony."
Isolde released her, the water’s surface smoothing once more. "A realm of excess. Of hunger without end." She stood, her silver hair catching the light as she turned away from the pool. "And it is reaching for you, Aurora Carter."
Aurora’s fingers went to the Heartstone Pendant. It burned now, searing against her skin. "Why?"
Isolde’s gaze was heavy, ancient. "Because you carry a piece of it already." She gestured to the pendant. "That stone was not given to you by chance. It is a key. And keys open doors."
Nyx’s form flickered , their edges blurring like smoke in the wind. "Or cages."
A gust of wind swept through the clearing, carrying with it the distant sound of laughter—high, tinkling, and utterly inhuman. The standing stones hummed, the runes upon them flaring to life in a sudden, blinding glow.
Isolde’s voice cut through the noise, sharp as a blade. "We are not alone."
Aurora drew the Fae-forged dagger. The moonsilver gleamed, cold and hungry. "Show yourself!"
The shadows at the edge of the clearing deepened, pooling like ink. Then, from the darkness, a figure stepped forward—a man, or something like one, his skin the color of polished mahogany, his eyes golden and slitted like a cat’s. He wore a coat of embroidered silk , the patterns shifting and writhing as if alive.
"Prince Belphegor sends his regards," the man said, his voice smooth as honeyed poison. "And his invitation."
The Heartstone Pendant flared white-hot. Aurora gasped, clutching at it as pain lanced through her chest. The world tilted, the grove dissolving into swirling darkness—
And then, silence.