Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQE6P5XVJF3NB5RKC274MZ

Aurora Carter’s boots pressed softly into the thick carpet of moss that blanketed the earth, each step swallowed by the dense quiet of The Fae Grove. The ancient oak standing stones rose like solemn sentinels around her, their gnarled limbs reaching toward a moon she could barely discern behind a veil of restless clouds. The wildflowers at her feet, vibrant and impossibly out of season, nodded gently in an unseen breeze. The Grove was supposed to be a haven—a place half-forgotten by the modern world, a pocket threaded between Earth and something else. Something ancient, something ineffable. But from the moment she crossed beneath the arching boughs, Rory knew something was wrong. She had come here because she had to. An obscure clue tucked into the margin of a battered old ledger. A whisper from Eva, urgent and edged with panic. Something about the Heartstone Pendant and a doorway ‘hidden in plain sight.’ So here she was, after dark, with only the faint, steady pulse of the crimson gem resting against her chest beneath her jacket. A warmth she usually found comforting now felt like a warning. Rory’s bright blue eyes scanned the darkness beyond the stones. The clearing stretched out, wild and shimmering under the subtle sway of fae magic that seemed embedded in the air itself. Yet shadows twisted oddly at the edges, not quite matching the shapes they should have. She halted, fingers tightening around the pendant’s silver chain. There it was—the sensation prickling at the back of her neck—the unmistakable feeling of eyes watching, measuring, waiting. She swallowed hard. “Hello?” Her voice barely broke the heavy silence. No reply, just the faint rustling of leaves high above, like the murmur of a whisper too distant to catch. Rory’s breath came shallow and steady. She reminded herself: no panic. Quick thinking. Clear head. This was the Grove; time flowed strangely here. A sharp breath taken now might stretch into hours. She couldn’t afford to lose herself to fear. The faint glow of the Heartstone warmed her palm, pulsing gently. It felt closer to the ground, as if connected to something buried beneath the roots that curled through the soil. Rory knelt carefully, brushing aside a spray of delicate bluebells. Nothing visible—just earth and roots tangled deep. A soft footfall disturbed the silence—a sound too heavy and deliberate for a fleeing animal. Rory froze. Her eyes darted to the underbrush, to a shadow that flickered at the corner of her vision and vanished. That wasn’t possible. No one else was in here. The Grove was hidden, unmarked on any map. The city thrived just beyond, but here was sheltered wilderness. She rose slowly, every nerve acute. The wind shifted, ruffling her hair across her face. For a moment, something moved there—looming, shifting—it seemed to regard her with an unfamiliar sentience. Rory blinked; there was nothing, just the swaying branches. The natural world didn’t abide by natural rules anymore. The wildflowers bloomed eternal here, mocking time’s passage. And something else lingered past the veil—flickering at the edge of sight, impossible to grasp. Aurora started walking deeper into the clearing, heart thudding against her ribs like a warning drum. The night felt heavier here, more solid, like the air itself was holding its breath. Then she heard it: an unearthly melody, too fragile to be carried on the breeze. A faint song layered with crystalline notes that wound through the air like smoke. It was beautiful, and utterly wrong. “Who’s there?” Rory called out. Her voice was steadier, but the prickle on her skin crawled inward. Silence answered at first. Then came a shift—the softest brush of movement behind the stones. Something skittered across the earth. Rory spun, searching, but found no shape. The wildflowers bobbed in time with a slow, unnatural pulse. The standing stones themselves seemed to lean subtly inward, as if eavesdropping. Rory’s mind raced. “Could just be animals,” she muttered. But even as the words left her lips, she knew they were lies. The Heartstone’s glow deepened suddenly, like a heartbeat accelerating beneath her jacket. Rory’s fingers twitched. Another sound: a whisper, soft and urgent, curling around her like smoke. “Find the door...” The words were not spoken aloud, but a voice inside her mind. Not hers. Not human. She whipped around, searching for a source. The clearing was once again empty, but the weight of presence stretched in every direction. Rory’s pulse hammered in her ears. Something glided from the shadows—a flash of iridescent light, a pale limb like spun glass disappearing between two ancient oaks. The air shimmered faintly, and the longer she looked, the more the Grove seemed alive. Not just thriving but watching, waiting. The rustling grew louder, closer, but still out of sight. Rory felt the skin on her neck prick beneath the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist—a mark that tingled with strange electricity. She brought her other hand down, steadying herself against the nearest stone. Its bark was rough but oddly warm to the touch. “Why am I here?” she whispered to herself, fighting the surge of dread curling in her gut. The pendant pulsed again, a sudden heat that spread through her chest and out to her fingertips. It was a beacon—too strong to ignore now. Suddenly, the soft song changed—the fragile melody turning discordant, a twisted lullaby that pried at the edges of her sanity with invisible fingers. Rory stumbled backward, chest tightening. The Grove grew darker, though the moon still ran its pale arc overhead. She didn’t want to believe the stories—the old warnings about beings halfway between dream and nightmare that haunted these ancient oaks. But the evidence swelled around her. The way the shadows seemed to have shape and substance, shifting, defying logic. The faint whispers curling up from the earth like smoke. The eerie melody that seemed to speak only to her, unraveling patience and reason. A sudden snap—something breaking against stone—jerked Rory out of her spiraling fear. Her heart leapt as her eyes caught movement near the perimeter: a pair of gleaming eyes, reflecting the faint pendant glow. They blinked once, then slipped away, vanishing into the shadows beyond the standing stones. Rory’s breath caught. The pendant’s warmth flared violently, embedding itself like a pulse in her veins. She grasped it tighter, the chain cool beneath her palm. No. She would not run. Not yet. She had come for answers, and whatever haunted this Grove would have to face her. The shadows might twist, the melodies might pierce, and the unseen eyes might watch, but Rory Carter was not so easily broken. With one last steadying breath, she stepped forward—deeper into the night where time warped and old magic held sway—heartbeat echoing in time with the pendant’s restless glow. The Grove was alive, and it had been waiting. And now, so was she.