Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPCCW25FJK19EZGKBCP44H

The dense canopy of Richmond Park blocked out the last vestiges of moonlight, casting the grove in deep, jagged shadows. Rory, her breath shallow and visible under the sliver of crescent moon, ventured further into the concealed path she had found tucked between two ancient oaks. Her feet left tentative marks in the dew-kissed grass, the only sound for miles the quiet crunching of each step. She tightened her grip on the flashlight, its narrow beam slicing through the dense foliage and illuminating a narrow tunnel of wildflowers, their vibrant petals and lush greenery an anomaly in an otherwise barren season. She’d been here before, years ago as a child. Back then, Isolde’s Grove had seemed less daunting, a whimsical retreat where she and Eva pretended to be queens of an ancient realm. It had never felt like this. The air around her hung thick, cloying with a sweetness that turned saccharine in the back of her throat. Her nostrils flared, detecting something rotten beneath that floral mask. She shivered, raising her collar against the chill that seemed to creep from the shadows themselves, colder and more invasive than the night air. A silver chain dangled from her neck, its pendant—a heartstone—glowing faintly with an inner crimson light that cast a dim halo onto her chest. Rory swallowed hard, the dry click of her throat the only response to the knot of anxiety coiling tighter inside her. She fumbled for her phone with her free hand and glanced at the time: 11:48 PM. She was supposed to meet her benefactor at midnight. A twig snapped behind her. Rory whipped around, the flashlight's beam revealing nothing but undisturbed wilderness. Her heartbeat quickened, drumming a rapid tattoo against her ribcage. She closed her eyes and reminded herself of why she had come. This grove, haunted and lush with Fae lore, held answers. Perhaps even a proper escape from Evan, whose reach seemed to stretch even into the fathoms of her fresh start in London. Each step into the grove felt heavier than the last, like wet clay dragging at her ankles. The standing stones that marked the boundary loomed ahead, dark and imposing, covered in a moss she could swear glistened under the frail light of her torch. Her eye caught movement, something slithering down the side of a stone. A snake, perhaps, but it moved too fluidly, blending into the shadows as though it were part of them. "Rory," a voice whispered—soft, melodic, terrifyingly close. She spun around, heart pounding, the flashlight's beam trembling in her unsteady hand. No one was there. She caught her breath, the heat of fear rising to her cheeks. Rory reached up, brushing her fingers against the heartstone pendant. The faint warmth it emitted was comforting, yet the crimson glow seemed more vibrant now, pulsing in sync with her racing heart. "Focus," she muttered to herself. She steadied her flashlight and continued onward, each step taken with wary precision. As she approached the boundary, the air grew thicker. The forest around her seemed alive, the trees breathing, the shadows pulsating. The standing stones formed a circle around a small clearing, a pocket of alternate reality nestled within the world she knew. The sounds of the night—crickets, distant calls of nocturnal creatures—faded into an uncanny silence. It was the kind of quiet that smothered every other noise, a void waiting to swallow her last scream, should it come to that. She stood at the edge of the grove, feeling the mocking fingers of fear dance across her skin. And then she saw it. In the center of the clearing, basked in the eerie pale glow that seemed to emanate from the earth itself, a figure stood. The figure was draped in a hooded cloak, the color shifting subtly with the angles of light, merging with the night like a ghostly chameleon. "Malphora," the figure called her name, its voice a cold breeze caressing the nape of her neck. Rory didn’t recognize the voice, but it felt like it had been stitched into her memories, an echo from dreams she couldn’t quite recall. She swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped forward. "Who are you?" Rory asked, her voice steady with effort. "Why did you call me here?" The figure raised a hand, pale as moonlight, lowering its hood to reveal a face. Eyes, a stark and piercing gray, locked onto her own. "Names are of no consequence here," the figure replied. "What matters is that you possess the heartstone. You are destined to unlock the portal." Feeling trapped in a surreal dream, Rory held up the heartstone pendant, its light pulsing more intensely now. The warmth spread through her chest, dispelling the clammy tendrils of fear creeping under her skin. "What portal?" she urged, taking another step closer to the figure. "Why me?" "Why anyone?" The figure’s lips curled into a smile that sent a shiver down her spine. "You are a seeker, Aurora Carter. And seekers always find." The cryptic message only fueled her frustrations. She glanced around, noting the stillness; the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. Rory circled the standing stones, her flashlight casting long, exaggerated shadows on the ground. Movement flickered at the edge of her vision—a silhouette darting behind a tree. She turned abruptly, but once again, nothing. "Are you playing games with me?" Rory demanded, voice rising, echoing off the stones around them. The figure’s expression remained placid, but its eyes darkened with an intensity that made Rory take a step back. "The game is long over. This is the reckoning." From the edge of the clearing, a growl—a low, guttural noise that sent prickles of dread up her spine—emerged. Rory's grip tightened on the flashlight as she aimed it toward the sound, in time to glimpse a form—doglike, yet unnervingly wrong—in the periphery of her vision. "Stay back," Rory hissed, though whom she was warning, she couldn’t be certain. Her heart pounded, the rhythm merging with the pendant’s pulsing light. She needed answers, needed to understand what she was meant to do. Alone, she was vulnerable, but with purpose, she might have a chance. The figure’s patience seemed to wane. "Time is a luxury here," it spoke, voice now tinged with urgency. "The portal opens, but briefly. Use the heartstone, or be consumed." Taking a deep breath, Rory approached the center of the clearing, holding the heartstone pendant out before her. The warmth now felt like a heartbeat against her palm. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to focus, to drown out the fear and the strange noises that circled around her like a predator. A soft hum began to resonate from the heartstone, growing louder, harmonizing with the earth beneath her feet. The pendant’s light intensified, casting a crimson glow around the clearing. She could feel the fabric of reality thinning, a veil being lifted. The ground beneath her shoes vibrated as a fissure opened up at her feet, glowing with the same scarlet hue. Then, just at the boundary of her senses, she felt it—a presence, dark and insidious, watching her every move. Rory dared a glance back at the figure, but it was gone, leaving her alone with the growing portal and the growling shadows encroaching from all sides. There was no turning back. Rory stepped into the glowing fissure, feeling the pull of worlds beyond. As the portal engulfed her, the growl erupted into a cacophony of otherworldly shrieks. Just before the light swallowed her completely, she heard it again, that whispered name: "Malphora." And then, darkness. Rory blinked against the sudden brightness as she emerged onto the other side—a world reborn from crimson light and ancient whispers. The grove had vanished, replaced by an expanse that felt timeless, filled with a strange familiarity. She was not alone, but for the first time, it felt less like terror and more like purpose. Whatever awaited her here, Rory knew she was ready. She held the heartstone tightly, feeling its warmth pulse through her veins, grounding her in this new realm.