Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR5EG1W89SK4H1VHQ9NRTQ

Aurora Carter stepped beneath the oaks’ knotted limbs and felt the air shift, heavy as though the Grove exhaled at her arrival. Moonlight filtered through gnarled branches, pooling in silver patterns on the moss-carpeted ground. She forced her shoulders downward, hiding the tremor she felt in her chest. Time here moved differently—she had read the legend, traced its path in fading textbooks, but nothing prepared her for the weight of it. The standing stones loomed in a ragged circle ahead, ancient trunks carved by root and weather until they resembled silent sentinels. She inhaled, tasting damp earth and something older, deeper. She pulled the Heartstone Pendant free from beneath her shirt. Its silver chain glinted, and the crimson gem glowed faintly against her palm. If there was a Hel portal hidden in the Grove, the pendant would burn with purpose. Right now, its warmth was gentle, like a heartbeat against her skin. She wrapped it around her fingers, listening to her own pulse. She’d come prepared—Eva’s enthusiasm over the phone had sounded urgent, though the message’s timestamp was six hours old. “Something’s there,” she’d said. “You’ll know.” Aurora squared her shoulders. She’d fled Evan’s violence two years ago and learned to keep her nerves taut as bowstrings. She could handle this. She slid between two stones, stepping into the circle’s heart. The wildflowers lining her path glowed faintly, ivory petals pulsing in time with the pendant. She held up a hand to still the nervous ache in her throat. She told herself they were just flowers blooming year-round. Fae magic or no, they’d been here since Isolde’s grove first throbbed into being. She didn’t believe in pixies or goodwill spirits, but she believed in oddities. That was enough. The wind stirred. A soft crack, like a twig snapping underfoot, came from her left. Aurora froze. She glanced toward a mound of ferns. Moonlight played tricks between the fronds—shadows shifting, impossible angles. Her breath caught. She tapped the pendant’s chain, the crystals brushing together, a low jingle lost in the hush. The gem warmed more insistently. She swallowed and stepped forward. “Hello?” Her voice sounded foreign in the hush, as though she spoke through underwater glass. She swallowed again. “Is anyone here?” Silence answered. The Grove should hold birds or rustling small creatures. Instead, the only sound was the quick drum of her heart. She fumbled for her phone—half a battery life left—and clicked on the flashlight. A thin cone of cold light pierced the dark, illuminating knots of roots and curling fern fronds. The silver chain glinted between her fingers. She held the pendant out. It pulsed. The glow thickened, staining her palm crimson. Her pulse jumped. She moved the light toward the nearest standing stone. Patterns etched in the bark looked like runes, or scars carved long ago. She knelt to brush moss aside. Behind her, a soft sigh—or was it a breath?—tugged at her hair. She spun. The beam swept across the clearing, catching nothing but wildflowers and grass. But at the edge of the woods, shapes shifted—a crouch of limbs, two points of reflective light. She blinked. A pair of deer eyes? They vanished. She released a breath she hadn’t known she held. She replaced the phone in her pocket, hoping its dull glow wouldn’t betray her. She didn’t want another presence to flit away. She pressed a hand to the closest stone. The bark felt alive, faintly warm, as though the tree pulsed with hidden sap. The pendant flared. Aurora felt the thrum through her fingers. She traced the contours of the runes with trembling fingertips. They formed a spiral that narrowed to a knot at the base. She traced inward until the gem sank, as though pulled by an unseen gravity. A low hum filled the clearing, resonant and distant, like a thrumming bass beneath the breeze. The wildflowers’ petals quivered. Aurora stepped back, nearly tripping over a root. She forced herself to stand straight, to breathe in measured gulps. The pendant’s glow intensified, sparks of red drifting through the silver. The hum deepened, and she recognized the vibration—it was the same as the pulse in the Heartstone. Synchronizing, amplifying. She swallowed. “Show yourself.” Her voice found grit she hadn’t expected. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but she believed in things that lurked between realms. The Grove was a pocket, a seam. Fae-touched or Hel-bound—something used this place. Something answered. A sharp rustle, like fabric dragging across leaves, came from the southern ring of stones. Aurora turned her light. The beam sliced through darkness to reveal nothing but open air. Then a shape flickered: something tall, too slender for a human, moving just beyond the glow’s edge. She raised her phone again, heart pounding, thigh trembling. The shape paused. A pale arm, elongated and gaunt, curved around a trunk. The beam caught a pale face—sunken cheeks, eyes black as tar—and then it vanished, dissolving into shadow. She gasped, stumbled back. The glade pitched beneath her feet, but she caught herself on a stone. The pendant spiked with heat. Her hand burned. She yanked it free and held it out like a torch. It glowed hotter, the warmth searing her palm until sweat dripped down her wrist, stinging the little crescent-shaped scar she kept hidden. She clenched her teeth against the pain. Her other hand went to her scarf, set against October’s chill. She yanked the scarf free and wrapped it around the pendant chain, a thin buffer against the heat. The hum became a whisper, barely audible, but it moved like water around the stones. Aurora swallowed. The words Eva had spoken echoed in her mind: “The Grove will show you what you need.” But what was she meant to see? She stepped forward again, toward the center where the runic spiral lay half-buried. The whisper coaxed her, inviting, warning. She knelt and pressed both hands on the runes. The ground thrummed. The wildflowers blurred, shifting colors from white to silver to an unearthly violet. The wind eddied around her, tugging at her hair, pulling at the hem of her jacket. The hum rose into a keening wail that pressed against her eardrums. She squeezed her eyes shut. Then, as if pierced by steel, the sound cut. Complete silence fell. Her heart thundered. She blinked. The glowing flowers drooped. The runes went cold beneath her palms. The air turned so cold her breath misted between her fingers. A voice—dry and distant—whispered her name. “Rory.” The voice carried the taste of old stones and wilted petals. It brushed against her mind, half-formed, unwilling to reveal shape or purpose. Aurora’s bones vibrated with the sound. “Rory,” it said again, closer. She shot to her feet, scattering petals. The pendant’s glow flared abruptly, casting long, jittering shadows. Something moved at the edge of the ring—a figure stepping between two stones. She tensed, stomach twisting. The figure was slender, draped in grey that merged with the moonlight. No face, only a blurred shape that shimmered like heat on pavement. It tilted its head, as though studying her. Aurora held her breath. Her lungs burned. The pendant flared, searing her wrist through fabric. She yanked it free, flinging it upward. Time fractured. Moonlight fractured. The figure lurched forward, mouth open in a silent scream that she heard rattling through her skull. Aurora stumbled back, heart staccato. The pendant arced through the air, leaving a trail of red light. It landed at the foot of the figure. The faint inner glow swelled, illuminating the clearing in harsh crimson. The wildflowers shuddered, their petals trembling like frightened hearts. The figure recoiled, stretching its arms out, ribs visible beneath the cloth. It shuddered, then dissolved, melting into mist that clung to the stones. The hum returned, low and satisfied, and the Grove exhaled. Aurora came to her knees, gasping. The pendant lay before her, its glow dimming, warmth fading. She scooped it up, pressed it to her chest. The wind dropped. The wildflowers settled. The standing stones remained motionless, their runes silent. Aurora lifted her head. She saw the forest beyond the circle—shadows of oak and beech stretching into nothing. No shape lurked there now. No presence waited. A tear slid down her cheek, though she couldn’t tell whether it came from fear or relief. She closed her fingers around the pendant’s chain, tracing the gem’s edge. The whisper was gone, the voice silenced. But she knew it would return, in another hour or a day or an eternity. Time bent here. She might not get back to London until tomorrow—or a year from now. She might never leave. She stood in the center of the Grove, alone under the ancient oaks. The Heartstone hung against her chest, faint glow pulsing like a second heartbeat. She breathed in the cold night air, bracing herself. She hadn’t come for a fight. She hadn’t come for answers. But she’d come. And the Grove would not let her leave unchanged.