Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQNQMSEV6RWJQ5WBVF6K8R

Aurora squinted at the faded map on her phone, the dim glow barely illuminating the scrawl of paths and markers. Even with the GPS pinpointing Richmond Park, the Fae Grove remained elusive. “Isolde’s Grove,” the message had said. “Meet me where the old oaks stand.” The message had come from a number she didn’t recognize, and it was only the mention of the Heartstone pendant, a detail only the benefactor would know, that had convinced Rory to even consider the rendezvous. She shivered, pulling her worn leather jacket tighter against the unexpected chill of the late autumn night. The air in Richmond Park always felt a few degrees colder than the city, but tonight it held a unique bite. A damp, earthy scent clung to the wind, laced with something else she couldn't quite place—a hint of something floral, impossibly sweet for November. She checked her watch. Almost midnight. The part-time delivery shifts for the Golden Empress had been a godsend, keeping her on the move, but tonight had been a quiet one, leaving her free. Free, and restless. The path narrowed, trees pressing in, their bare branches skeletal fingers clawing at the moonless sky. The crunch of her boots on fallen leaves sounded unnaturally loud in the profound silence. No traffic hum from the distant roads, no city din. Just an oppressive quiet that pressed in on her ears, leaving them ringing. A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision made her snap her head around. Nothing. Just the shadows playing tricks. She told herself it was her own apprehension, the ghost of Evan still tugging at the corners of her mind, twisting familiar landscapes into places of dread. But this was different. This wasn’t the familiar fear of old trauma. This was new. This was the park itself. The trees here were ancient, their trunks gnarled and thick, boughs twisted into grotesque shapes. They seemed to watch her, their dark forms coalescing into indistinct figures in the gloom. The air grew heavier, thick with an almost tangible presence. Her breath plumed in front of her, a nervous puff of white. Then she saw them. A ring of massive oak standing stones, silent sentinels marking the boundary. The Fae Grove. A chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. This place, rumored to exist in a pocket between Earth and the Fae realm, was exactly as described. This was where time moved differently. An hour inside could be minutes or days outside. She had heard stories, of course, but always dismissed them as children’s tales, or just the kind of thing Silas told his patrons at the bar after a few too many pints. She stepped through the gap between two of the mighty oaks, and the change was immediate. The oppressive silence lifted, replaced by the soft whisper of leaves and the distant, melodic murmur of what sounded like running water, though she knew there was no stream nearby. The air warmed, as if a localized microclimate enclosed the grove. And the wildflowers. They bloomed in a riot of impossible color, defying the season, their petals unfurling in the moonlight. Blues, purples, golds normally only seen in the height of summer, glowed with an eerie luminescence. A sense of immense calm washed over her, a strange counterpoint to the growing unease tightening in her chest. It was beautiful, yes, but profoundly wrong. This wasn't natural. She pulled the Heartstone pendant from beneath her jacket. The deep crimson gem, roughly the size of her thumbnail, pulsed faintly, a soft, inner glow radiating warmth against her skin. It had never acted like this before. It usually only pulsed near a Hel portal. What did that mean? “Hello?” Her voice sounded thin, swallowed by the vastness of the grove. The whisper of leaves intensified in response, a chorus of hushed voices. A rustling in the undergrowth to her left. She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs. Nothing. Just the play of shadows, the wind. But the rustling had sounded too deliberate, too close. Like something moving with purpose. She started to walk deeper into the grove, her boots sinking slightly into the soft earth, thick with vegetation. The wildflowers brushed against her legs, cool and damp. The air was thick with their cloying sweetness, almost overpowering. It made her head ache. A low, guttural growl echoed from somewhere behind the towering trees. It was unlike any animal she had ever heard. Too deep for a fox, too resonant for a badger. It sounded… ancient. Predatory. She froze, every muscle tensed, listening. The growl did not repeat. Only the incessant whisper of leaves, and the almost imperceptible hum of the grove itself. “Who’s there?” she called out, her voice shaky this time. She clutched the pendant, its warmth a small comfort against the prickle of fear spreading through her. A high-pitched, almost musical giggle drifted through the grove. It sounded like a child’s, but distorted, elongated, trailing off into a sound that was more whimper than laugh. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, bouncing off the tree trunks, echoing amongst the flowering bushes. It chilled her to the bone. She quickened her pace, her gaze darting from side to side. The trees seemed to lean in, their branches forming a tangled maze, the moonlight barely penetrating the canopy. She felt an overwhelming sense of being watched, from every direction. The feeling was so strong, so pervasive, that it was almost physical. Like soft, unseen hands brushing against her skin. A small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a remnant of a childhood accident, began to tingle, as if reacting to the intense cold she now felt, despite the strange warmth of the grove. It was a phantom cold, seeping into her bones. A shadow detached itself from a cluster of ferns ahead. It moved fluidly, too fast for her eyes to track properly. It wasn't human. Not quite. Its silhouette was slender, impossibly tall, with a strange, undulating quality to its form. It vanished before she could get a proper look, melting back into the darkness between the trees. She stopped dead, her breath ragged. Her mind, usually so cool-headed and intelligent, was racing, trying to find a logical explanation. But there was none. This was beyond logic. This was something else. This was the stories come to life. The Heartstone pulsed harder now, a steady throb against her chest, a brighter, more insistent glow emanating from within its crimson depths. It felt hot against her skin. Another giggle, closer this time, directly to her left. She whipped her head around, her eyes straining. There, nestled amongst a cluster of luminescent bluebells, was a small, gnarled branch. It had not been there a second ago. And it was moving. Slowly, deliberately, as if it were reaching for her. She backed away, stumbling over a twisted root. The branch twitched again, closer. It wasn’t a branch. It was too sinuous, too flexible. It was a limb. Something living. Panic began to rise, a cold, hard knot in her stomach. She had to get out. Whatever message, whatever meeting, it wasn’t worth this. This was Malphora, her oldest fear, the creeping dread of things that moved in the dark, in the quiet. Only this was real. She turned to retrace her steps, but the way she had come was gone. The ring of ancient oak standing stones had vanished. Instead, more trees, indistinguishable from the rest of the grove, stood where the boundary had been. The path had twisted. Or the grove had. Time and space, folding in on themselves. A guttural growl, no longer distant, rumbled directly behind her. She didn't dare look. The sweet, cloying scent of the wildflowers became unbearable, suffocating her. It was in her throat, in her lungs. She ran. Blindly. Through the profusion of impossible blossoms, past the ancient, watching trees. The ground beneath her feet was soft, damp, pulling at her boots. The giggling followed her, skipping through the leaves, now joined by a chorus of whispers that seemed to speak her name. *Aurora*. *Laila*. The names her mother and father had used. The names from her past, the one she had fled. A heavy, dragging sound, like something being pulled across the forest floor, joined the symphony of dread. It was coming up behind her, steadily gaining. She gasped for breath, her lungs burning. The pendant was a searing ember against her chest, its warmth now an agony. A low branch, thick with glowing purple flowers, snagged her hair, pulling her head back. She struggled, fear clawing at her throat. The branch released its hold, but as she scrambled forward, a shadow detached itself from the thick trunk of a massive oak directly in her path. This time, it didn't disappear. It was impossibly tall, its silhouette gaunt and elongated. Its limbs were too long, too thin, like a spider's. And its head… there was no discernible head, just a vague, shadowed mass that seemed to ripple and shift. It stood motionless, blocking her way, its form absorbing the already dim light, leaving only a deeper void. A profound, ancient cold emanated from it, piercing through her jacket, chilling her to the bone. It didn’t speak, didn’t move, but she felt its presence, a weight of immense age and malevolence. It was waiting. The whisper of her name was everywhere now, surrounding her, pressing in. *Laila*. *Aurora*. The flowers beneath her feet seemed to pulse with a faint light, their scent growing ever more potent, more intoxicating, like a slow poison. She stood frozen, trapped between the unseen horror behind her and the silent, towering nightmare in front. Her mind, for once, was utterly blank. No quick thinking, no out-of-the-box solutions. Just pure, unadulterated terror. The Heartstone pendant, her last beacon, went suddenly cold against her chest. Its glow faded, leaving her in near-total darkness. The whispers intensified, weaving around her, no longer just her name, but unintelligible sounds, ancient and resonant, a language of the deep earth, of the Fae. Then, from the impenetrable blackness of the shadow-figure before her, two points of light emerged. Not eyes, but something colder, older. Pinpricks of ice blue, fixed on her. And in their terrifying gaze, Aurora Carter knew, with bone-deep certainty, that she was truly, utterly alone.