Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMRC4TFHJM6QRMXTPT9K9PR

The ancient oaks of Richmond Park gave way to a faint shimmer in the air, a soft distortion flickering where the boundary between worlds bled thin. Aurora’s heart quickened beneath her ribcage as she stepped forward, fingers brushing the cool silver chain of the Heartstone pendant hidden under her jacket. The pendant’s faint crimson glow pulsed like a slumbering ember, responding to the faint disturbance in the Veil. Beside her, Isolde drifted ahead like a wispy wraith, her silver hair catching stray beams of a pale, unearthly light that seemed not quite of this world. Her pale lavender eyes scanned the horizon with quiet attention, lips parting now and then to speak words that sounded like riddles, half-heard and half-understood. Nyx followed behind Aurora in their shifting humanoid silhouette, the faint glow of violet eyes humming in the dimness beneath the canopy. Their voice barely rose above the rustle of leaves, a whisper carried on the wind. “This place breathes differently,” Nyx said. “Not bound by time, or so it seems. The Grove folds in and out of something older, something forgotten.” Aurora swallowed, eyes wide. Even the air felt thick — sweet and rich with wildflowers blooming year-round, their colors impossible to name. It was as though the sundappled realm they had stepped into was a living dream, caught between the ticking of the mortal clock and the timeless pulse of the Fae. The standing stones, gnarled and worn, loomed ahead. Ancient oaks carved into towering pillars, roots twisting like serpents weaving beneath the earth. Isolde stopped before them, her feet silent as the moss beneath. “The boundary,” she whispered, reaching out to touch the smooth bark of one stone, which hummed cold as ice beneath her fingertips. “Cross here, and the world shifts beneath your feet.” Aurora glanced back once, at the familiar shadows cast by London’s dim streets where her flat and Silas’ bar waited, at the echo of the city’s restless hum. Then forward again, her bright blue eyes fixed on the clearing before them. The Grove stretched wide, a pocket of wild magic carved out from the very fabric of reality. Time folded and spun curiously here. An hour inside could stretch into days without their knowledge. The air shimmered with that peculiar blend of warmth and chill, like a breath between lives. The wildflowers bloomed in riotous colors — luminous blues, vivid violet berries glistening like glass. The scent was intoxicating, both sweet and faintly metallic. Nyx’s shadow form drifted forward, fingers trailing through the strange blossoms, their fingers phasing in and out of corporeality. “Like the garden of the forgotten,” they murmured, voice a breeze through the leaves. “A place neither here nor there.” Isolde’s gaze turned to the sky, where the amber warmth of Dymas’s realms could almost be felt pressing faintly beyond the Veil. “This crossing grows weaker as the solstice approaches,” she said. “The boundaries thin, and dangers stir beneath.” A thread of unease tugged at Aurora’s spine. Not from the Grove itself — its beauty was undeniable — but from the way the Veil policed itself, watching, waiting. The repetitious pulse of the Heartstone quickened faintly against her chest. While Isolde traced ancient symbols in the soil, Nyx drifted toward a twisted tree at the edge of the clearing. Its branches creaked in a silence that felt too heavy, watching. The bark here was rough, blackened as if scorched, yet alive with silver veins pulsing faintly like nerves. Aurora took another step forward, drawn by a faint chime barely audible beneath the hum of the Grove. The sound came from the gnarled base of the tree, where a hollow opened like a doorway. Light, dim but present, spilled softly from its depths. “Be careful,” Isolde warned, voice still melodic, but edged with an ancient caution. “Not all that shines is safe.” She reached out to grip the Fae-Forged Blade at her belt, the moonsilver hilt cool and faintly glowing under the canopy’s filtered light. Aurora felt its cold promise, a weapon made to cut through darkness no mortal blade could pierce. Nyx hovered nearby, shadow fingers curling lightly. “Shadows twist when the Veil thins,” they said. “Curiosities become snares.” The trio moved cautiously, Aurora’s breath steady despite the hum of uncertainty threading through the clearing. With a hesitant step, she knelt beside the hollow. Inside, nestled in a nest of roots and glowing moss, lay an orb, no larger than a fist, flickering with shifting amber light. It seemed neither stone nor flame — something caught between essence and element. The pulse was slow and measured. Her fingers hovered, the Heartstone flickering wildly now, warming against her skin. Isolde’s eyes widened. “A fragment of Hel’s wyrd—a seed from the vineyards of Dymas,” she said in a voice both reverent and wary. “It carries echoes of gluttony and excess, but also potential. A cursed gift, or a boon yet born.” Aurora met Nyx’s glowing gaze. “We shouldn’t take it lightly.” Her voice was calm, but inside, a knot of anticipation twisted. The shade inclined their head in agreement, their form flickering faintly. “Power held here is ancient, dangerous. Yet its tether to the mortal coil still weak. If we can harness it, it might untangle threads we’ve thought lost.” Isolde’s silver hair shifted, as though stirred by an unseen breeze. “But beware the price,” she warned. “Everything here feeds — be it vine, shadow, or soul.” The clearing seemed to pulse around them, wildflowers trembling, the standing stones humming an ancient chorus. Aurora rose, exchanging a glance with her companions. Her fingers closed tightly around the Heartstone hidden beneath her jacket. The secret world of the Fae had beckoned them here—not just as wanderers, but as seekers. As they prepared to leave the Grove, the familiar sensation of time warping tugged at Aurora’s mind. What had begun as moments might stretch into hours or days beyond the Veil. But she could not yet say what mysteries, or dangers, lay waiting in the hidden realms between. The Grove held its wonders close, fragrant and alive, yet bound by an ancient caution whispered only in shadows. With one last glance at the silent standing stones, the three began their return, their steps light but their thoughts heavy with the burden of newfound truths—and the fragile thread between this world and the many others beyond.