Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR3WAHMJ587AC667WF21VX

The air in the Fae Grove felt thick, electric, a strange counterpoint to the absolute stillness of the ancient oak standing stones that marked its boundary. Rory stepped across the threshold, and the familiar scent of damp earth and wildflowers vanished, replaced by something sweeter, crisper – like crushed mint and a distant, unseen rain. Her shoulder-length black hair, usually so resilient against the city’s grime, felt light, almost floaty. "This is it," Nyx’s voice, a whisper carried on the nascent breeze, ghosted past her ear. Rory turned. Nyx, ever the humanoid silhouette of living shadow, stood a head taller than her, their faintly glowing violet eyes tracing the patterns on the ancient oak. They looked almost solid, the edges of their form sharpened by an unfamiliar light that filtered down from above. Isolde, the Half-Fae seer with silver hair that brushed her waist, drifted past them, her pale lavender eyes fixed on a point in the distance. She left no footprints, her ethereal form seemingly untouched by the dewy grass. "The veil thins," she murmured, her voice like wind chimes. "What you seek, you may find. What you hide, it will uncover." Rory clutched the Fae-Forged Blade at her hip, its moonsilver surface always cold, a small comfort against a world that was becoming increasingly unhinged. The Heartstone Pendant, a deep crimson gemstone the size of her thumbnail, pulsed faintly against her sternum, a low thrum echoing the shift in the air. The warning it offered was usually confined to portals to Hel, not Fae-touched pockets of Earth. "So, what exactly are we looking for?" Rory asked, her voice sounding oddly loud in the pervasive quiet. Isolde glanced back, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. "A path forged from starlight, a truth whispered by roots." Rory frowned. "Right. More riddles." They moved deeper into the grove. The wildflowers here were unlike any Rory had ever seen, blooming in impossible colours: blues too deep for the sky, golds that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it, and reds that bled into shades of violet. They swayed without a breeze, their petals shimmering, alive with a soft inner light. The trees themselves were ancient, their bark smooth as polished stone in some places, gnarled and knotted in others, their branches reaching up to form a canopy so dense that only slivers of the strange, unidentifiable light penetrated to the forest floor. Nyx seemed to absorb the shadows, their form becoming less distinct, more a part of the environment. "The Veil… it is different here," they whispered. "More permeable. The energies… chaotic." "Chaotic good, or chaotic bad?" Rory muttered, keeping a hand on her dagger. They walked for what felt like hours, though Rory knew time here was not to be trusted. The air grew warmer, sweeter, carrying the scent of exotic fruits she couldn't name. A stream, its water an impossible shade of amethyst, gurgled by, its banks studded with luminous, mossy rocks that pulsed with a gentle light. Rory knelt, scooping a handful of the water. It was cool, incredibly clean, with a faint, sweet tang. When she pulled her hand away, traces of purple shimmered on her skin before fading. "Don't drink too much," Isolde advised, her voice soft. "It binds. Slowly, subtly." Rory nodded, wiping her hand on her jeans. "Point taken." The trees began to change. Their leaves, once a riot of impossible colours, now shifted towards richer, deeper hues of emerald and sapphire. Fruits grew in extravagant clusters, some glowing with an internal light, others covered in delicate, crystalline husks. Rory recognized figs and pomegranates among the alien forms, but these were swollen to twice their natural size, vibrant and impossibly succulent. The scent of them, ripe and heady, was almost overwhelming. "Isolde, what is this place?" Rory asked, a sense of wonder warring with a growing unease. The Heartstone Pendant was radiating a stronger warmth now, a low pulse against her skin. Isolde turned, her expression serene. "This grove draws from many wells. The roots grow deep, beyond what you perceive." Her gaze drifted to the glowing fruits. "A taste of Dymas, perhaps." Rory shuddered. Dymas, the realm of Gluttony. Prince Belphegor. She’d heard enough stories from Nyx to know that realm was not to be trifled with, its excess a deceptive trap. The idea that this beautiful, tranquil grove might be drawing energy, or even substances, from such a place, was deeply unsettling. "Can we just… find the path?" she urged. As if on cue, the path changed. The ground beneath their feet, once soft earth, now became paved with smooth, iridescent stones that shifted colour with every step. They snaked through groves of trees whose leaves were now a deep, velvety crimson, their trunks spiraling upwards like living corkscrews. Strange, bell-shaped flowers hung from them, chiming softly in a breeze that Rory couldn't feel on her skin. Off to the side, Rory saw a patch of what looked like delicate, shimmering threads woven into a curtain. It hummed with a low vibration. She reached out, her fingers brushing the strands. They felt like spun moonlight, cool and impossibly fine. As she touched them, a faint image flickered in her mind: a vast, opulent hall, filled with the aroma of roasting meats and exotic spices, laughter echoing, and a figure, indistinct but immense, seated on a throne of polished dark wood. The image vanished as quickly as it came, leaving a faint sweetness on her tongue. "Did you feel that?" Rory asked, pulling her hand back sharply. Nyx had solidified again, their attention drawn to the shimmering curtain. "A glimpse," they whispered, their voice filled with a rare intensity. "A memory, perhaps, from the pathways of the Fae." Isolde seemed to shimmer as she walked, her silver hair catching the strange light. She pointed to a clearing ahead. "The heart of the grove," she said. "Where time twists and intentions reveal their truth." The clearing was dominated by a single, colossal tree, its enormous trunk wider than a small house. Its bark was a mosaic of impossible greens and browns, ancient and weathered, yet vibrant with life. Its canopy reached so high that it seemed to merge with the glowing sky above, filtering the light into patterns of shifting colours on the ground. At its base, exposed roots, thick as anacondas, coiled and interwove, forming a natural labyrinth. One root, thicker than the others, glowed with a soft, pulsing azure light. "That's it," Rory breathed, a thrill running through her. The Heartstone Pendant now throbbed with a steady heat, mirroring the root’s luminescence. They approached the glowing root. It pulsed with a contained energy, a warm, resonant hum that vibrated in Rory’s bones. Nyx stepped closer, their form flickering at the edge of the light. "The raw essence of a convergence point," they stated, their whisper sounding almost reverent. "Where the Veil is thinnest, a doorway." Isolde nodded, her eyes fixed on Rory. "The path lies within. But only for those whose hearts align with its song." Rory felt a pull, an almost irresistible urge to touch the glowing root. It wasn't menacing, but inviting, humming a silent song that resonated deep within her. She knelt, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached out. The air around the root shimmered faintly, like heat haze off asphalt. As her fingertips brushed the smooth, warm surface of the root, a jolt, not of electricity but of pure, concentrated energy, coursed through her arm. Visions exploded behind her eyes. Not fleeting glimpses, but a flood: a towering gate, forged of black iron and adorned with snarling demon heads; an endless desert of rust-coloured sand under a perpetually twilight sky; a vast, echoing chamber, where shadowy figures whispered ancient incantations. Then, a sudden, blinding flash of brilliant blue, the light too intense to bear, and a whisper that felt like it came from the very core of the Earth: *Malphora*. Rory gasped, recoiling violently, tumbling backward onto the iridescent stones. Her head spun, the visions still echoing, a phantom glow behind her eyelids. The Heartstone Pendant on her chest pulsed wildly now, its warmth almost a burning sensation. "Rory! Are you alright?" Nyx was instantly beside her, their shadowy hand hovering, not quite touching her. Isolde watched, her pale lavender eyes seeing something beyond Rory's dazed comprehension. "The root has spoken," she said, calm as still water. "It has presented your journey. And perhaps, a name not yet your own." Rory pushed herself up, rubbing a hand across her forehead. "Malphora?" Her own name, Aurora Carter, felt distant, almost alien. The whisper of ‘Malphora’ had resonated deep within her, a name she vaguely recalled from a fragmented dream, a forgotten memory. "What was that? What did I see?" "The gateways," Isolde explained, gesturing vaguely towards the glowing root. "The places you must eventually reach. And a name given to you by another, long ago perhaps, or yet to be." Rory looked down at the Heartstone, still beating furiously against her chest. "But what does it mean? What path?" Isolde simply smiled, a secret, knowing curve of her lips. "The heart knows its true North. Its pulse guides you, if you listen." The ambient light in the grove began to deepen, the impossible colours of the sky shifting towards a richer, more profound indigo. The bell-shaped flowers chimed a more insistent, melancholic tune. Time truly was an illusion here. "We should go," Nyx urged, their form flickering, becoming more ephemeral as the light changed. "The grove shifts with the deepening of the Veil. Remaining too long will make your return… unpredictable." Rory felt the growing pressure in the air, a sense of something vast and ancient stirring around them. The wonders of the grove were transforming, becoming less inviting, more profoundly alien. The beauty was still there, but tinged with a powerful, untamed wildness. She took one last look at the glowing root, its azure light pulsing like a silent heart. The whisper of ‘Malphora’ still echoed in her mind, a seed planted, a question irrevocably asked. She had entered the grove seeking a path, and it had given her a name, a vision, and more questions than answers. This Fae-touched pocket of Earth, pulling from the gluttony of Dymas and powered by the raw energy of the Veil, was far more than she had anticipated. As they began their egress, retracing their steps along the iridescent path, Rory felt the weight of her new knowledge, a strange, exhilarating fear mingled with an unwavering determination. The world was bigger, stranger, and more dangerous than she had ever imagined, and she was, undeniably, a part of it now. The Fae-Forged Blade at her hip felt colder, heavier, a direct line to a truth she had only just begun to uncover.