Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPGN1BQ2YT3W6T3J9NERYQ

The moon hung low in the cloud-strewn sky, a ghostly disc casting its pale light over Richmond Park. Shadows wove amongst the trees, cloaking the path ahead in a velvety darkness that felt alive. Aurora Carter paused at the ancient oak standing stones bordering The Fae Grove, the air heavy with a sweet, wild scent that mingled with the cold bite of evening. Her heart thudded dully in her chest, a reminder of the uncharacteristic unease pooling in her gut. Tonight was supposed to be simple. A late-night visit to fetch the Heartstone Pendant, but as she stood there, she felt the Grove's silence creep beneath her skin, the absence of familiar sounds like a fresh wound. No chirping of restless crickets, no rustle of scavenging creatures. Just... stillness. Rory reached for the pendant tucked inside her coat, reassuring her fingers against its cool, smooth surface. The faint pulse of warmth against her palm reassured her—she hoped its presence would guide her through the night. As she stepped into the Grove, the night air thickened, pressing against her as if the darkness was tangible. But the pendant remained mute, only glimmering gently in response to the approaching portal she could neither see nor sense. Each step further into the grove felt like stepping deeper into another realm entirely. The wildflowers, vibrant and strangely aglow in the moonlight, seemed to sway in a rhythm that was not quite right, as if beckoning her deeper into their embrace. Rory shook her head, willing her disquiet to slip away. Ahead, the trees clustered more tightly, their gnarled branches curling like skeletal fingers. She could have sworn she heard a whisper, rivulets of sound running through the air, falling just beyond comprehension. “Just the wind,” she muttered under her breath, though she doubted even that phrase would stand up to scrutiny here. The hairs on her arms pricked up, an involuntary response to an unseen energy ebbing and flowing around her. She remembered Eva’s warnings about the Grove, the tales of things seen and unseen, and she had brushed them off as fanciful. But now, as she wandered, a thick fog of ancient dread settled over her thoughts—she was not the first to tread these paths, and perhaps not the last. A distant creak fractured the silence, and Rory froze, pulse quickening. It sounded like the lament of ancient wood, but there were no trees close enough to her, and the sound persisted, flickering in and out like the rapid pulse of a heartbeat. She squinted into the murky depths where shadows writhed, her bright blue eyes scanning for any sign of movement. Another sound punctured the quiet—a soft rustling, as if something dragged itself along the ground. Rory’s breath hitched in her throat. Lurching backward, her foot caught on a root, and she stumbled, forced to grasp a sturdy branch for support. Panic clawed at the edges of her mind, urging her to run, but that instinct was tangled with an undeniable curiosity, a need to push through the overwhelming unease pressing against her. Holding her breath, she drew in the cool air and stepped forward, closer to the source of the noise. The grove appeared different, as if the trees had moved, tilted their branches with deliberation. Shadows did not merely dance; they lurked, concealing something unseen yet palpably felt. Her heart pounded a relentless rhythm, as though echoing a warning. Then came a whisper, low and intimate, curling its way into her ears, "Laila..." It echoed with an alluring sweetness, almost like a song beneath the notes of dread. Rory looked around, the name unsettling, the familiarity grating, and yet she felt drawn, pulled toward the unknown. “No one calls me that,” she murmured, her voice quaking against the surrounding stillness. But still, she walked on, the pulse of the pendant warming against her chest like an animal eager to escape. She caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, something swift and shadowy, as if it darted just beyond her peripheral vision. Rory turned sharply, her breath catching. The grove enveloped her in creeping frigidness. She peered into the darkness, searching for form or figure, her heart racing as terror unfurled within her. The rustling grew insistent, filling the space with an almost sentient hunger. If she stood still, perhaps, just listening might unravel whatever dread lay in wait. Rory schooled her breathing, drawing the air in through her nose, but her eyes darted, straining against fading shadows that seemed determined to shatter her calm. “Stop it,” she chastised herself, her voice steadying into steel. But a low giggle curled around her, chillingly childlike, though suffused with malice. The sound wrapped around her ankles like cool tendrils, teasing and soothing. Aurora clenched her fists, breath rooting deeper in her lungs against the mounting fear. “Laila…” again, the voice swayed like fragile leaves in the wind. “Come join me.” The phrase echoed, the lilt demanding, almost beguiling, coupled with the staccato of whispered promises lacing the night air. Entrancing and horrific, the call wrapped tighter around her consciousness, beckoning. And Rory, though dizzy with trepidation, felt a pull towards the very heart of the grove, as if the darkness sought to swallow her whole. “No,” she whispered, firming her stance, gathering the remnants of her will. This was no place for her. She turned abruptly, ready to retreat, but shadows cloaked the path behind her, shifting in ways they shouldn't. Each direction appeared unfamiliar, as if the grove itself had manipulated her sense of space, the way reality might bend in dreams. The tugging whisper became frantic, almost angry, “You do not wish to leave.” The shadows grew more defined, darting just beyond her line of sight, but Rory refused to succumb. She lifted the Heartstone Pendant, clutching the silver chain like a lifeline. In that moment, she felt it; the warm pulse intensified, and with it came a bright spark deep within the woods—a flicker revealing a path entwined with ancient roots. The landscape shimmered with an iridescent glow just beyond the thicket, revealing a way out. Rory seized the fleeting opportunity, desperation igniting her limbs as she ran full speed, branches snapping underfoot without care for the pain they might cause. The whispers thrashed against her, hissing and shrieking—an anger echoing back to her. Laila, Laila, come back! She broke through the dense treeline, the cool night air slapping against her cheeks with stark, biting clarity. The moonlight poured over her now, bathing the ground with silver, her heart hammering like a war drum. She could still hear the distant echoes of the grove, still feel the insinuation that she belonged within its confines. But she rejected it. Aurora stumbled back toward the realm of the familiar, determined not to be swept away by the dark allure of what waited beyond the ancient standing stones. A final glance over her shoulder revealed nothing but dense, inky shadows woven together. Her pulse slowed, the warmth of the pendant quieting, as if it too had recognized the danger. She stepped into the cold air of Richmond Park, the dense world behind her falling silent, the whispers retreating into the depths of the night, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she was alone again.