Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR54Z3EQXT6CTSKR2WBRK1

The air thickened, tasting of ozone and damp earth, a stark contrast to the crisp, pre-dawn chill of Richmond Park. Aurora stumbled, her hand flying out to catch herself against the rough bark of an ancient oak. Beside her, Nyx solidified from the shadows, their form coalescing like smoke caught in a sudden draft. They let out a breath, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. “That was… jarring,” Nyx’s whispery voice filled the sudden quiet. “The passage is usually less… visceral.” Aurora pushed herself upright, already scanning their surroundings. They stood at the edge of a clearing bathed in a light that wasn't sunlight. Golden motes danced in the air, suspended there as if the very atmosphere was alive. Towering trees with bark like polished obsidian framed the space, their leaves a vibrant, impossible hue of amethyst and emerald. Strange, bell-shaped flowers, their petals shimmering with an inner luminescence, grew in plush carpets underfoot, emitting a faint, sweet perfume that mingled with the earthy scent. “Visceral is one word for it,” Aurora murmured, her eyes wide. She touched the rough bark of the oak again, grounding herself. The small crescent scar on her left wrist throbbed faintly, a phantom ache that always accompanied moments of heightened awareness. Richmond Park was familiar, a place she’d sometimes escaped to when London felt too suffocating. But this… this was something else entirely. “Isolde wasn’t exaggerating about the ‘pocket between realms’.” Nyx glided forward, their shadowy form flowing rather than stepping. They reached for one of the luminescent flowers, their translucent fingers passing through it with only a faint resistance. “The Veil is thinner here, naturally. The Grove breathes with both sides.” Nyx turned, their faintly glowing violet eyes fixed on Aurora. “You feel it, don’t you? The pull.” Aurora did. A subtle tugging sensation, deep in her chest, originating from the Heartstone Pendant nestled beneath her shirt. The crimson gemstone pulsed with a faint inner warmth, a familiar comfort that now seemed amplified in this strange place. It had been a gift, left on her doorstep with no explanation, and it had pulsed with that same warmth when she’d first stepped through a shimmering tear in the night near the restaurant, a portal to somewhere… else. She hadn’t understood its significance then, not truly. Now, standing in this Fae-touched clearing, the pendant’s warmth felt like a beacon. “It’s… beautiful,” she breathed, taking a hesitant step into the clearing. The ground beneath her boots yielded like moss, soft and springy. Wildflowers, impossibly vibrant, brushed against her ankles. There were no footprints where she stepped, only the gentle sway of the blooms that had briefly been disturbed. “Beauty is a dangerous lure,” Nyx cautioned, though their voice held a touch of awe. “The Fae Courts are not known for their hospitality to mortals. Even exiled Fae can retain powerful… habits.” Aurora nodded, her gaze sweeping across the grove. Ancient, lichen-covered standing stones, taller than any she’d seen outside of druidic ruins, marked the perimeter of the clearing, their surfaces etched with swirling, unreadable runes. They seemed to hum with a low, resonant energy that vibrated in Aurora’s bones. Time felt strange, stretched thin and elastic. An hour inside could be minutes or days outside. She glanced at her watch. It had stopped. “How do we find Isolde?” she asked, her voice a little louder now, the unease sharpening. The sheer otherworldly beauty of the place was beginning to be tinged with a deep, unsettling strangeness. The air hummed, yes, but not with calm. It was a thrumming energy, unpredictable and ancient. “She will find *us*,” Nyx replied. “Her senses are keen. She knows we have arrived.” As if on cue, a faint, melodic chime echoed through the grove. The sound seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once, weaving through the rustling leaves and the hum of the standing stones. Aurora instinctively reached for the dagger Isolde had given her, the Fae-Forged Blade. Its moonsilver hilt was always cold, a sensation that now felt amplified in the Grove’s peculiar atmosphere. She drew it, the slender, leaf-shaped blade catching the ambient light, faintly luminescent. It felt powerful, alien, yet strangely familiar in her hand. From the heart of the grove, a figure emerged from the dappled light. Isolde Varga, the Half-Fae seer. Her silver hair cascaded down her back like liquid moonlight, and her pale lavender eyes, ancient and knowing, regarded them with an inscrutable gaze. She moved with an ethereal grace, her bare feet making no sound on the soft earth, leaving no footprints. “The child of earth and the shadow between realms,” Isolde’s voice was like the chime that had heralded her arrival, melodic and imbued with a resonance that bypassed the ears and settled directly into the soul. “You come seeking answers. The threads of fate are tangled, and the pattern grows… chaotic.” Aurora lowered the Fae blade slightly, though she kept it within easy reach. “Isolde. We need to know about the portal. The one that opened last night.” Isolde tilted her head, a subtle, almost imperceptible movement. “A tear in the Veil, a whisper from the abyss. Such things do not open without intent, nor without consequence.” She gestured with a delicate hand, her pale fingers leaving trails of faint light in the air. “You carry a fragment of Dymas, child of earth. Does it sing to you of the feast?” The Heartstone Pendant pulsed again, warmer this time, a distinct thrum that Aurora could feel even through her thick jacket. She touched it, the crimson gemstone cool against her skin as if absorbing her own heat. “Dymas? Gluttony?” The words felt strange on her tongue, like foreign concepts she was only just beginning to grasp. Prince Belphegor’s domain. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. “I… I don’t understand.” “Misdirection is the Fae’s oldest art,” Isolde’s lips curved in a subtle smile, though her eyes remained unreadable. “But truth, even when veiled, will find its way. The portal you stepped through… it leads to a place of endless hunger. A place where desire is the currency, and indulgence the only law.” Nyx shifted beside Aurora, their form rippling as if the Shadow they were made of was uneasy. “A Hel portal? That close to Earth? The Wardens should have….” “The Veil thins not only in places of power, but in places of desperation,” Isolde interrupted, her voice losing none of its melodic tone. “And the one who opened the rift, they are desperate indeed. They seek to bridge the worlds, to bring something… or someone… through the breach that should remain sealed.” Aurora’s gaze flickered to the pendant. “This pendant… it’s from Dymas?” “A trinket, a bauble, gifted by proximity,” Isolde said. “Its purpose is to guide. To mark the path to where the Prince of Gluttony holds court. And to warn of the dangers within.” The air in the Grove seemed to grow heavier, the sweet perfume of the flowers now cloying. The constant, low hum of the standing stones had intensified, a low thrumming that felt less like energy and more like a warning heartbeat. Aurora tightened her grip on the Fae-Forged Blade. She had fled a bad relationship, taken a part-time job, lived above a bar. She was a delivery driver, not a hero. But the Heartstone pulsed against her skin, a constant, insistent reminder of a destiny she was only beginning to uncover. A destiny inextricably linked to the swirling, dangerous realities that lay just beyond the Veil. “So, what does this mean?” Aurora asked, her voice steadier than she felt. “Someone’s trying to bring something from Hel into our world. And this pendant is showing me the way?” Isolde’s lavender eyes met Aurora’s bright blue ones. “It means the feast is soon to begin, child of earth. And the invited guests are not all welcome.” She paused, a shadow of something akin to pity crossing her ethereal features. “You are brave, or perhaps foolish. The path to Dymas is fraught with temptations that can unravel the very soul. But your friend, the one who walks in shadow… they will be a loyal companion. And the gift of the Fae courts… it will serve you well against the hungering things that dwell in the dark.” Aurora looked at Nyx, who gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. They were an enigma, a being of shadow and whisper, but they had been steadfast, accompanying her on this bewildering journey. As for the Fae-Forged Blade, it still felt alien in her hand, a testament to the strange alliances being forged in the increasingly perilous landscape of her life. The grove, with its impossible beauty, now felt less like a sanctuary and more like a gateway to a thousand unknown dangers. The scent of wildflowers, once intoxicating, now spoke of entrapment.