Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQXQJYY8GSJW7CN7N42QH9

The chill of the London night clawed at Aurora’s exposed arms as she navigated the uneven path. Streetlights bled into the periphery of Richmond Park, painting the ancient oaks in pale, flickering washes of orange. But here, deeper in, the park swallowed the light, leaving her with only the wavering beam of her phone and the inky blackness pressing in. She clutched the small, crimson pendant hanging from its silver chain, its familiar warmth a scant comfort against the burgeoning dread. Isolde’s grove, they called it. A place between places, she’d been told. A place where the veil between worlds thinned. Her friend Eva's hushed voice echoed in her mind: *"Just go, Rory. You need to find it. He said it’s the only way."* "He" was Rhys, a name that tasted like honey and ash on her tongue, a whisper from a life she’d tried to outrun. She’d left Evan, a storm cloud of a man, bloody knuckles and broken promises, and landed in London, crashing into Eva’s life like a loose screw. And now, Rhys, or the idea of him, was pulling her back into the murk. The air turned heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and something else, something cloying and sweet, like overripe flowers. Wildflowers, blooming out of season, Eva had said. Aurora pushed aside a low-hanging branch, its leaves whispering against her jacket. Her boots crunched on fallen leaves, each snap amplified in the oppressive quiet. The path, barely discernible now, twisted and turned, leading her further from the faint glow of the city. The silence wasn't empty; it was a presence, a held breath. She stopped, tilting her head. A faint sound, like the distant chime of bells, reached her. It was too delicate, too ethereal for the city, too out of place in this overgrown patch of darkness. The pendant pulsed against her skin, a tiny throb of warmth against the creeping cold. Helm portal, it was reacting to. A gateway between dimensions, Rhys had explained, his voice low and urgent. A way to… what? To escape? To find something lost? The details remained frustratingly hazy, lost in the desperate scramble to leave Evan behind. The trees pressed closer now, their branches like skeletal fingers against the sliver of a moon. Ancient oaks, their bark gnarled and time-worn, stood sentinel. Standing stones, lichen-covered and immense, emerged from the gloom, forming a rough circle. This was it. Isolde’s grove. The air hummed with an unseen energy, a subtle vibration that settled in her bones. It felt both ancient and alive. She stepped into the clearing, her phone beam cutting a desperate swathe through the darkness. Wildflowers, impossibly vibrant in the gloom, carpeted the ground—crimson, sapphire, and a startling, ethereal white. They seemed to glow with their own internal light. Another sound. A rustle, much closer this time, from the edge of the clearing. Aurora froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She swung the phone light towards the noise, but found nothing. Just the dense, unyielding wall of trees. *An animal,* she told herself, her voice a shaky whisper. *Just a badger. Or a fox.* But the sound hadn’t been the scurrying of small paws. It had been a deliberate movement, a drawn-out drag, as if something heavy were being dragged across the forest floor. She took a tentative step forward, her boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. The pendant warmed again, a more insistent beat now, a frantic little drum against her ribs. She held it up, its faint crimson glow a tiny beacon in the suffocating dark. It pulsed. Definitely pulsing. Near a Hel portal. Rhys had said the grove itself was a nexus, a place where the lines blurred. A flicker. At the very edge of her vision, a movement. Too quick for her to focus on. A shape, darker than the surrounding shadows, melting back into the trees. Her breath hitched. She concentrated, trying to peer into the space where she’d seen it, but there was nothing. Only the silent, watchful trees. The cloying floral scent intensified, making her head swim faintly. It was too much, too potent to be natural. The silence returned, but it was different now. It was laden with anticipation, with the knowledge that she was observed. The standing stones seemed to lean in, their ancient faces impassive. She imagined them as eyes, watching her with an ageless, indifferent gaze. A shiver traced its way down her spine, unrelated to the temperature. It was the prickle of being a trespasser, of having stumbled into a place that did not welcome outsiders. She started to walk, a slow, deliberate circuit of the clearing, her phone light sweeping back and forth. Every shadow seemed to writhe, every rustle of leaves felt like a footstep. She told herself it was the darkness playing tricks, the isolation getting to her. But the feeling of… *wrongness* persisted, a persistent hum beneath her skin. This was not just a hidden grove in a park. This was a place that wasn’t entirely on this side of reality. The chimes sounded again, closer now, a delicate, crystalline tinkle that seemed to emanate from the air itself. This time, it was accompanied by a soft, melodic humming, a wordless song that was both beautiful and deeply unsettling. It tugged at something primal within her, a forgotten memory, a half-formed dream. A sense of longing washed over her, so potent it almost brought her to her knees. She wanted to follow the sound, to find its source, but the pendant pulsed, a sharp, insistent warning against her skin. She took a step towards the source of the humming, then stopped. Her gaze fell upon the base of one of the standing stones. Something was carved into the moss-covered rock. Faint, almost obscured by the growth, were symbols. Runes, she thought, though she didn’t recognize them. They looked impossibly ancient, etched into the stone by a hand that had long since turned to dust. As she leaned closer, the humming seemed to coalesce around the stone, the air vibrating with its strange melody. And then she saw it. Movement again, more distinct this time. Not a flicker this time, but a slow, deliberate unfolding. From behind the standing stone, something emerged. It was tall, impossibly thin, its form indistinct in the gloom. It was cloaked, or perhaps its shape simply absorbed the scant light. It didn't walk; it glided, its movement unnervingly smooth, without a single rustle of leaves or crunch of twig. The humming ceased abruptly, leaving in its wake a silence so profound it was deafening. Aurora’s breath hitched. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a scream. It was not an animal. It was not her imagination. It was here. And it had seen her. The figure stopped a few yards away, its head tilted as if listening. She couldn't make out a face, only the vague impression of the featureless hood of its cloak. But she felt its attention, a palpable weight pressing down on her. The pendant throbbed, a desperate beacon of warmth against the engulfing cold that now emanated from the figure. She took a step back, her heel catching on a root. She stumbled, her phone clattering to the ground, its beam skittering wildly across the wildflowers before dying with a faint pop. Darkness descended, absolute and suffocating. The world shrunk to the pounding in her ears and the faint, pulsing warmth of the Heartstone against her skin. She was blind. And utterly, terrifyingly alone. Or was she? A whisper, dry and brittle as dead leaves, brushed past her ear. It was too close, far too close. She could feel its breath, cold and fetid, on her cheek, though nothing touched her. The floral scent was overpowering now, sickly sweet and laced with something metallic, like fresh blood. "You are not welcome here," the whisper slithered, not in her ears, but inside her head. The voice was ancient, layered, like a thousand dying screams woven into a single thread. "You do not belong." Aurora scrambled backward, hands outstretched, her fingers brushing against the cold, smooth surface of a standing stone. The pendant pulsed one last time, a frantic SOS, and then went still, its warmth fading. The darkness was a living thing, pressing in, promising oblivion. She heard a sound, a slow, deliberate scraping, like claws dragged across stone, moving closer. And the scent of decay.