Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR9BD9V4M0ZYCXPXRCS8SF

The air in Richmond Park bit, sharper than a London winter had any right to be. Aurora hunched deeper into her jacket, pulling the collar up over her mouth, her breath misting in the frigid air. The path, once paved, dissolved into a slick, muddy track, hemmed in by the skeletal fingers of trees. The setting sun had bled the sky of all warmth, leaving it a bruised purple that hinted at something deeper, colder. She consulted the frayed map again, the paper soft and damp beneath her gloved fingers. The faded ink pointed to a spot deep within the sprawling park, beyond the well-trodden trails. Her instructions from Yu-Fei had been unsettlingly vague: “Deliver the package with utmost discretion. A woman expects it. Do not tarry.” The package itself, a small, velvet-wrapped box, was light in her backpack, but felt heavy with unspoken meaning. Rory usually enjoyed the quiet solitude of her evening deliveries, the city lights winking around her like a hundred thousand distant eyes. But out here, the darkness pressed in, absolute and suffocating. A branch snapped nearby, a sound too loud, too close in the profound silence. She froze, her hand instinctively going to the small, crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a nervous habit from childhood. Nothing. Just the wind, she told herself, trying to rationalize the sudden prickle on her neck. It was a fool’s errand, this. A wild goose chase into the darkening park. She should’ve just told Yu-Fei no. The map showed a small, forested area, marked only as ‘The Grove.’ Isolde’s Grove, some locals called it. She’d always dismissed the whispers about it as local folklore, the kind of stories spun by bored teenagers looking for a thrill. Now, the stories felt less like fiction and more like premonitions. The trees grew denser, their branches interwoven overhead, blotting out the last vestiges of twilight. The ground underfoot grew strangely smooth, almost unnaturally so, as if worn by countless footsteps over countless ages. Then, through the gloom, she saw them: rough-hewn pillars of ancient oak, standing sentinel, marking an irregular boundary. The Fae Grove. A shiver, deeper than the cold, traced its way down her spine. Entering the Grove felt like stepping into an older, forgotten world. The air shifted, growing eerily still, the biting wind from the park dying to a faint murmur. And then, the wildflowers. Tiny, luminous blooms in shades of violet and sapphire, carpeting the forest floor, pushing up through the damp earth, glowing with an impossible inner light. They should be dead, she thought. It was the middle of winter. She unzipped her backpack, her fingers brushing against the cold metal of the Heartstone pendant, a silent comfort. It hadn't pulsed with warmth, hadn't hummed with any energy she could discern. Whatever this place was, it wasn't a Hel portal. A low, keening sound drifted through the trees, a drawn-out sigh that seemed to melt into the silence. It *could* be the wind. But it didn't feel like the wind. It felt like a voice. Rory tightened her grip on her backpack straps, her heart thudding against her ribs. She was being ridiculous. It was a park. An old park, maybe, but still just a park. She pushed deeper into the Grove, following the faint path that snaked through the glowing wildflowers. The oaks here were immense, their trunks wider than her outstretched arms, their bark gnarled and ancient. Moss clung to them like velvet cloaks, soft and emerald green. There was no sound now, not even the rustle of leaves. The overwhelming silence was more unnerving than any noise. It felt as if the air itself had absorbed all sound, left it nowhere to go. The further she went, the more aware she became of a subtle shift in the light. It wasn’t quite dark, not truly. The luminous flowers cast a soft, ethereal glow, but above the canopy, she could still discern the faint, bruised purple of the twilight sky. Had she walked that far, that quickly? It felt like an hour, maybe more, but the sky suggested only minutes had passed. Time, she remembered from stories, moved differently here. A movement at the edge of her vision. She whipped her head around, her breath catching in her throat. Nothing. Only the gnarled trunks of the oaks, the luminous carpet of wildflowers. Her mind was playing tricks on her, she decided, a consequence of the spooky atmosphere and Yu-Fei’s cryptic instructions. She saw it again. A flicker, like a shadow detaching itself from a tree trunk, melding back into the gloom. Too swift to be real. Too subtle to be imagined. Rory stood perfectly still, her senses on high alert, straining to hear, to see. The silence pressed in, heavy and expectant. Then, a faint, rhythmic scratching sound. Like fingernails dragging across bark. Or claws. It wasn't constant, but intermittent, moving, circling. It came from her left, then her right, then from behind her. She spun around, a cold knot of dread tightening in her stomach. ‘Hello?’ she called out, her voice barely a whisper in the stifling silence. It sounded thin, swallowed by the vastness of the Grove. No answer. Only the intermittent scratching, seeming to draw closer. Her bright blue eyes darted amongst the trees, searching for the source of the sound. She tried to discern shapes in the deepening shadows, but the luminous wildflowers only made the darkness between the trees denser, more absolute. The scratching stopped. For a moment, she was almost relieved. Then, something brushed against her hair. Lightly. Like a feather. She flinched, pulling back, her heart leaping into her throat. She spun, hands up, ready to defend herself, but there was nothing there. Just the ancient oaks, the luminous flowers. The profound, terrifying silence. She wasn’t alone. The certainty of it settled over her like a shroud. Whatever was in the Grove with her, it was watching. It was playing with her. A sound, like a soft sigh right beside her ear, made her jump. It carried a hint of melody, a whisper of something ancient and mournful. She backed away slowly, her eyes wide, scanning the trees, her hand now clutching the Heartstone pendant, its cool metal a small anchor in the rising tide of her fear. ‘Who’s there?’ she demanded, her voice a little stronger this time, though it still trembled slightly. A ripple of movement, like heat rising off asphalt, disturbed the air between two trees ahead. Not a sound this time, just a visual distortion, a shimmering. And then, a shape began to coalesce in the space where the shimmer had been. Taller than a human, slender, its form indistinct, like a figure wrought of smoke and shadow. No discernible features, but she could feel its gaze, a palpable weight pressing down on her. The velvet-wrapped package in her backpack suddenly felt like a beacon, drawing whatever this thing was to her. The instructions had been 'utmost discretion.’ They hadn’t mentioned fighting off… this. She took another step back, then another. The shadowy figure mirrored her, moving with a fluid, terrifying grace, never quite solidifying, never quite showing itself fully. It didn't make a sound, but the air around it felt colder, the silence deeper. Rory spun and bolted. Not towards the interior of the Grove, but back the way she came, towards the ancient oak standing stones, towards the distant, normal world of Richmond Park. Her boots slipped on the damp earth, her breath ragged in her chest. She pushed herself harder, forcing her legs to pump, her lungs to burn. Behind her, she heard it. A sound like dry leaves skittering across stone, but faster, gaining on her. It wasn’t a footfall, not quite. More like a whisper-soft slither. She risked a glance over her shoulder. The shadowy figure was there, closer now, its form still indistinct but unmistakably present. It flowed between the trees, moving without effort, without hindrance, its silent pursuit more terrifying than any scream. The standing stones were ahead, a gaping maw beckoning her back to reality. She sprinted, adrenaline surging through her veins, blurring her vision. Just as she was about to burst through the boundary of the oaks, a gnarled, moss-covered branch, thick as a man’s arm, lashed out from one of the trees directly in front of her. It wasn’t there a second ago. It was too fast, too sudden. It caught her across the chest, sending her sprawling onto the damp earth. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs, leaving her gasping, dazed. Her backpack spilled open, the velvet-wrapped package tumbling out onto the glowing wildflowers. The shadowy figure was there, hovering over it, its form finally solidifying enough for her to perceive outlines. Long, slender limbs, fingers that tapered into impossibly sharp points. But still, no face. Just a void. It bent, with a terrifying, silent grace, and picked up the package. Aurora scrambled to her feet, her chest aching, her head throbbing. ‘No!’ she cried, her voice raw. ‘That’s not for you!’ The figure straightened, holding the package. And then, for the first time, it made a sound she could understand. Not a voice, not exactly. But an impression of a voice, ancient and resonant, echoing in her mind. *“It is not for me, little mortal. But for another. And she is here.”* As if on cue, the air around the shadowy figure rippled again, not with distortion, but with appearance. Another figure stepped out of the shadow, this one clearly human. A woman. She was tall, with long, dark hair, and eyes that shimmered with an unnatural light. There was a knowing smile on her lips. She reached out, and the shadowy figure, with an unearthly bow, handed her the velvet-wrapped package. The woman’s gaze fixed on Rory, bright and piercing. ‘Thank you, Aurora Carter,’ she said, her voice like wind chimes. ‘Your discretion is appreciated.’ Rory stared, speechless. Her name. This woman knew her name. The woman opened the package. Inside, nestled on a bed of dark silk, was an object that pulsed with a faint, internal light. It looked like an ornate, miniature hourglass, filled with what appeared to be shifting starlight. She closed the package, a look of profound satisfaction on her face. Then, she tipped her head, a strange, almost curious expression on her features. ‘You have a protector,’ she murmured, her eyes flicking down to Rory’s chest, to where the Heartstone pendant now pulsed with a faint, warm glow against her skin. Rory looked down, startled. It was glowing. Right here, right now. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh emanated from the shadowy figure beside the woman. The air around them began to shimmer once more. ‘You may go now, Aurora,’ the woman said, turning, her attention already focused on the shadowy entity. ‘Your delivery is complete.’ The world around Rory blurred, the luminous wildflowers twisting into streaks of color, the ancient oaks dissolving into indistinct shapes. She stumbled forward, pushing through the spectral boundary of the standing stones. One moment, she was in the heart of the Grove, facing a shadowy entity and an unnervingly serene woman. The next, she was back on the muddy path in Richmond Park, the piercing cold wind biting at her cheeks, the bruised purple sky above her head finally succumbing to the true, inky blackness of night. The Heartstone still pulsed faintly against her skin, a small, warm ember. But even its radiant reassurance couldn't erase the feeling that she had been gone for hours, yet only moments had passed. The memory of the shadowy figure, the glowing hourglass, the knowing smile of the woman, burned in her mind. She walked, hands shoved deep in her pockets, the phantom touch of a branch still aching in her chest, the echoes of an ancient sigh still whispering in her ears. The Grove was silent behind her, as if it had never been. But Rory knew better. Some things, once seen, could never be unseen. And some deliveries, once made, could change everything.