Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMRBFV2T8ZN29VCAQTNCXY7

Aurora Carter paused at the rim of the clearing, the ancient oaks arching overhead like silent sentinels. Midnight draped itself across the Grove in an inky cloak, thick and unbroken, but for the faint glimmer of her Heartstone Pendant resting against her chest. The deep crimson gem pulsed beneath her fingers, a warm heartbeat in the chill air. She let out a slow breath, glancing down at the silver chain that glittered in the darkness. She had come tonight to find the portal. She had to be sure it was real. She stepped forward, boots sinking into damp moss. The world seemed to hush behind her, as if the Grove inhaled her every footstep. In the distance, fireflies wove slow spirals among the wildflowers that bloomed riotously, petals shining silver in the moon’s faint glow. Their soft light painted ghostly patterns across her bright blue eyes. She ran a hand along the crease of her straight black hair, brushing it behind her ear, then flexed her wrist where the small crescent–shaped scar lay. The spot tingled as if warning her to turn back. She forced herself deeper into the clearing. Time here refused her normal rules. From the moment she set foot inside the circle of standing stones, minutes expanded into hours—hours folded into strange moments uncounted by any mortal clock. She glanced at her phone: fifteen minutes, it said. Behind her, the shadows beneath the oaks had shifted, slender silhouettes now crowding the edges where none should stand. A leaf quivered. She stopped. Listened. Nothing—except a faint rustle that could have been her imagination. She tried to steady her heart. She needed the pendant to guide her. She held it up; its inner glow flared, painting her face in sanguine light. She hoped it would lead her to the Hel portal, the one rumored to open just beyond this pocket of Fae-touched earth. A distant sound drifted through the trees—whispered laughter, high and lilting, like children playing just out of sight. Her blood ran cold. She thought of Eva’s warnings: “Nobody goes in alone, Rory.” But this had to be done alone. If she failed, if she showed weakness… She swallowed. “It’s just the wind,” she whispered. The words tasted bitter. She advanced toward the standing stones, their gnarled oak frames carved with runes no human tongue could speak. She could feel their ancient power thrumming beneath her boots. The pendant’s warmth grew, pulsing against her palm, urging her forward. She circled one stone until the silver light of the Heartstone illuminated a hairline crack, a perfectly straight fissure that glowed faintly green. Hel magic, she thought. The portal must be close. Something moved behind her, flickering at the edge of her vision. She spun, raising the pendant like a lantern. The glow revealed nothing but the empty tangle of roots and wildflowers. She inhaled sharply, her pulse pounding in her ears. The Grove felt alive—watching, waiting. The laughter came again, closer now, but still no child, no creature to own that voice. It echoed in the hush, ricocheting off the oaks. Aurora forced herself to step forward again, tracing the line of boundary stones with her fingertips. Each time her skin brushed the oak, a shiver ran up her arm, as though the tree itself tested her presence. She tried to recall the map in her mind: three steps north of the northernmost stone, then turn east until the ground fell away into darkness. But the map had been drawn by mortal hands. This place reshaped itself. She took a step—only to find the very same stone before her. She turned and the path behind had vanished, swallowed by brambles that seemed to have grown in the last heartbeat. Her breath caught. She backed away, hand tight on the pendant, and colliding with something solid—a low wall of earth. She stumbled, scraping the scarred wrist on a hidden root. Pain flared, bright and sharp. She hissed, pulling her arm free and pressing the scar. The pendant fell, spinning through the air before landing on the moss with a soft click. It pulsed frightfully fast, warmth blazing across the clearing, as though alarmed at her fall. The laughter stopped. Silence pressed in around her, thick as fog. She crawled forward to retrieve the Heartstone. Craning her neck, she saw it safe, its crimson glow a beacon in the gloom. She reached out—then froze. Across the clearing, a shape pressed against one of the standing stones, exactly the same color and texture as the bark. She couldn’t move. The figure’s head tilted, two pale slits where eyes should have been. It watched her. She tasted copper on her tongue. Instinct screamed at her to run, but her legs trembled, rooted to the spot. The pendant pulsed again, warm and insistent in her palm. She clutched it to her chest, summoned a sliver of courage. “Who’s there?” she called. Her voice sounded thin, brittle. No answer. The thing remained, motionless. She let her shoulders drop, exhaled. She had to keep going. She could not let fear steal this chance. She stood, brushing moss from her knees, and moved past the figure—only to find the ground opening up in front of her. A shallow pit, rimmed with white fungus that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat half-remembered. Her breath caught again. The pendant grew heavier, hotter. A faint humming drifted up from the pit, low and insistent. A rift. Was this the portal? It fit the stories—an underground fissure, edged with otherworldly growth. She leaned closer. The humming grew louder, as if filling her head with a single, unbroken note. Then, from the darkness behind her, a voice: soft and coaxing, drenched in honeyed tones. “Aurora…” It called her full name, stretching the syllables until each seemed to echo in her skull. She whirled, eyes wide, but nothing stood behind her. The voice sounded so near, so intimate, she could almost believe it whispered from her own skin. “Stay with us,” it breathed. The breeze shifted; blossoms unfurled, petals brushing against her cheek like soft kisses. She tugged at the pendant, willing it to guide her back to reason. The voice trailed off and the blossoms snapped closed, looping away in the darkness. She stumbled back from the pit, pressing her palm to the glowing gem. Warmth spread through her chest, anchoring her. She forced herself to count steps, to map the clearing in her mind, to find the path home. But the Grove had other plans. The standing stones reorganized themselves, tilting inward, narrowing her escape. The moon slipped behind a cloud, and the air turned suddenly colder—sharp enough to steal her breath. The voice called again, gentler this time. “Rory…” She crumpled to her knees, head spinning, tears brimming. She was alone. She had been alone from the moment she stepped past the boundary. No portal, no map, only whispered promises and the endless watching of the unseen. She pressed the pendant to her lips. “Help me,” she whispered, because there was nothing else to say. The gem pulsed once, twice, then glowed steady, bright enough to cast iron-black shadows among the roots. In that light she saw them: slender silhouettes perched in the branches, eyes gleaming like wet obsidian. Their limbs bent at angles impossible for any human joint. They tilted their heads, studying her with hungry curiosity. She scrambled backward, stumbling over a tuft of wildflowers. They shimmered, reflected in dozens of tiny eyes. Behind her, the runes on the nearest standing stone glowed a sickly green. Shapes coalesced in the carved grooves: twisting faces, mouths open in silent screams. The pendant grew oppressively hot. She yanked it free of its chain, clutched it to her palm like a talisman. She would break it if she had to. She would do anything to make the voices stop. A twig snapped close by. She looked up. One of the creatures had dropped to the ground, landing with a soft, unnatural padding. It crept toward her, joints bending backward, head lolling. She backed up, heart hammering against her ribs. The creature paused a foot away, its face half-shrouded in shadow. It lifted a finger—too many joints, too long—and pointed at her scar, tracing the crescent shape with a translucent fingertip. She screamed and bolted, tearing past the standing stones. The path she ran felt familiar and then not—the trees bent inward, blocking her way. The wildflowers pressed in on either side, petals brushing her arms, watering her cheeks with dew. She pushed through and emerged at last into the boundary circle, panting, the pendant heel-pulsing warm in her fist. The grove fell behind her, the oaks arching like doors closing. She stumbled across the grass of Richmond Park, the night air fresh, the portal lost to time’s crooked rules. She kept running until the pendant’s glow faded to a pale ember, until the whispers dissolved into the wind, until the Grove felt nothing more than a distant echo. Only then did she stop, her chest heaving, fingers white with the silver chain, and realize how close she had come to turning forever into shadow beneath those ancient oaks.