Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMRAADRPSBH7M542N9M1A76

Aurora Carter stepped cautiously through the ancient oaks marking the boundary of the Fae Grove, the silver chain of the Heartstone pendant cold against her palm. The clearing opened before her like a secret breathing space, wildflowers blooming defiantly under the moonlight, untouched by season or time. But from the moment she crossed the threshold, something niggled deep in her chest—a sense that even the familiar was fractured here, warped by the Grove’s otherness. She glanced behind her. Richmond Park’s usual night sounds—the distant hum of traffic, an occasional bark—were strangled, swallowed by thick shadows and leaves that whispered in a voice she didn’t understand. The standing stones loomed behind her, blackened silhouettes against the starless sky, their rough bark pulsing almost imperceptibly beneath the moon’s pale wash. Rory took a breath, trying to steady the tremor knitting her fingers halfway around the pendant. It pulsed faintly, a soft, warm throb that usually meant a Hel portal was near. Tonight, it felt muted, reluctant—as if something was blocking the usual gentle energy. She glanced down. The deep crimson gem hung quietly against her chest, its faint inner glow dulled to a whisper. Her breath came slightly faster, not from fear, but the odd sensation of being watched. She wasn’t entirely alone here, though she hadn’t heard anything yet. The idea pulled at her mind, unwelcome but persistent. She’d come for a reason. Eva’s voice had dragged her through memories darker than the Grove itself; whispered secrets that only this liminal place could reveal. A place where the veil between worlds thinned. Supposedly. The clearing felt smaller as she moved farther in. The wildflowers leaned in, petals brushing her ankles like breath. She tried to focus, told herself this was normal, a pocket trapped in time and space, nothing more. But the silence pressed heavy, too thick, swallowing the crisp shuffle of leaves beneath her boots. A crack echoed somewhere to her left—a dry, brittle sound, like twig snapping underfoot. Rory froze, heart knocking a quick rhythm against ribs. She turned slowly, eyes scanning the dark. Nothing moved but the branches, swaying gently with no wind. She swallowed. “Hello?” Her voice was little more than a thread in the silence. No answer. The faintest flicker—something at the edge of her vision—made her blink and look again. A shadow, too tall and slender, shifting just beyond the trees, dissolving with the blink of an eye. Rory’s fingers clenched tighter around the pendant. She forced herself to take another step, then another, drawing the pendant out from beneath her jacket in the moonlight. If there was a portal here, if the pendant was right, then she could protect herself—or find a way back if the Grove decided to hold her. But the grove didn’t answer. It watched, and waited. As she moved deeper, a faint melody filtered through the air—delicate, like music played on cracked glass. It teased the edges of memory and sanity. Rory’s scalp prickled. The sound was too sweet, too fragile to be normal, but it tugged at her anyway, drawing her forward. Around her, the wildflowers bent, their colors deepening in the silver light. Reds became bruised purples, blues shifted to shadowed charcoal. A chill threaded through her skin, far colder than the night air should be. Her eyes caught slight movement again—a shimmer between the branches, faint like vapour, dissolving before she could focus. She blinked, heart quickening. “Who’s there?” Her voice was firmer this time, though she swallowed the panic rising unbidden. The pendant pulsed once, sharply, then stilled. Behind her, a rustling sound—heavy, deliberate—made her spin. Nothing but darkness. Her breath hitched. The Grove seemed to slump and lean around her, ancient oaks hunching over like watchful sentinels. She moved with care, feet crunching on packed earth, hands twitching near the pendant. The scar on her left wrist itched faintly, a dull reminder of things past, as if warning her not to trust what she saw—or what she didn’t. The air grew thick; the sweet melody twisted into a low, guttural hum threading through the branches. Rory’s skin crawled, the sensation of eyes—many eyes—fixed on her from the shadows. Then, a whisper, just beyond hearing. Not words but a breath, a hiss curling around her name: “Laila.” Her blood turned to ice. She hadn’t told anyone she sometimes used that name, never aloud. No one except Eva—and maybe the Grove itself. Aurora pivoted again, heart hammering, senses stretched razor-thin. The clearing was empty—or should have been. But something moved, a figure crouched low, all limbs too long, skin impossibly pale, blending with the moonlight and bark. For the shortest moment, their eyes met—black pits that swallowed light, ancient and hungry. Rory’s hand snapped to the pendant, clutching it like a lifeline. The warmth flared suddenly, searing through her skin, the crimson gem burning like a live coal. The figure dissolved instantly, a flicker like smoke caught in a breeze. Rory backed away toward the stones, mind racing. She could feel the Grove’s pulse underfoot, a slow, steady heartbeat fading in and out. Seconds stretched unnervingly, the time-bend tangling her senses until she was unsure if she’d been out here minutes or hours. A cracked laugh bubbled from the shadows, hollow but mocking. Aurora swallowed her rising terror, pushing it down with what threads of calm she had left. “I’m not afraid," she told the dark, voice tight but steady. There was no reply, only the faintest seethe of laughter weaving through the wildflowers. The air thickened; the plants bent away as if repelled. She stepped past the boundary stones, each footfall heavier than the last. The pendant pulsed again, almost violently, as if desperate to draw her back to the real world. Time snapped. Rory blinked—and the Grove was behind her, silent and still. The usual hum of the city slid back into her ears: distant sirens, a dog barking, the wind rustling the leaves of Richmond Park. She exhaled, chest tight but unbroken, the scar on her wrist prickling as if warning her this night was far from over. Something had followed her here, something that didn’t want her to leave. And in the dark gleam of the Heartstone pendant, Rory knew the Grove wasn’t done with her yet.