AI The ancient oak standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled branches twisted into impossible arches that seemed to bend reality itself. Rory felt the Heartstone pendant grow warm against her chest as they approached the boundary markers, its crimson glow barely visible through her jacket.
"The Grove accepts you," Isolde said, her pale lavender eyes fixed on something beyond mortal sight. "Step between the stones, but keep your minds tethered to purpose. Time flows like honey here—sweet but treacherous."
Rory exchanged a glance with Nyx, whose violet eyes flickered with uncharacteristic uncertainty. The Shade's form wavered at the edges, as if the very air around the Grove challenged their existence between realms.
"After you, Carter," Nyx whispered, their voice carrying on a wind that shouldn't exist in the stillness of Richmond Park.
Rory stepped forward first, feeling the air thicken like warm syrup around her ankles. The moment she passed between the oak arches, the world transformed.
Wildflowers bloomed in impossible profusion beneath her feet—winter roses alongside summer daisies, autumn chrysanthemums nestled beside spring crocuses. The petals seemed to pulse with their own inner light, shifting colors that had no names in any human language. The grass beneath was not quite grass, each blade edged with silver that caught light from no visible source.
"Christ," Rory breathed, then immediately wondered if such words carried weight in this place between worlds.
The sky above stretched endless and opalescent, neither day nor night but something altogether other. Stars wheeled lazily through clouds that moved with deliberate purpose, casting shadows that fell upward instead of down. The air itself hummed with a music just beyond hearing, a harmony that resonated in her bones.
Nyx materialized fully as they entered, their shadow-form solidifying into something more substantial than Rory had ever seen. The Grove seemed to anchor them, giving weight to their existence.
"I can feel myself here," they murmured, wonder threading through their whispered voice. "Not just existing between, but... being."
Isolde drifted past them both, her feet indeed leaving no prints on the silver-touched grass. "All things find their truest nature in the Grove. It remembers what was, what is, and what might yet come to pass."
They walked deeper into the clearing, past trees that grew in spirals, their bark inscribed with symbols that shifted and changed when viewed directly. Fruit hung heavy from branches—some recognizable, others that defied classification. One tree bore what looked like crystallized moonlight, another drooped with pods that chimed softly in the strange wind.
"Don't eat anything," Rory warned, her practical mind asserting itself despite the wonder surrounding them. "Fairy tale rules still apply, yeah?"
"Wise child," Isolde agreed. "Though here, hunger is not of the body but of the spirit. The Grove feeds other needs."
At the heart of the clearing stood a pool of water so clear it seemed like liquid diamond. Its surface reflected not their faces, but glimpses of other places—fleeting images of London streets, shadow-wrapped alleys, and stranger vistas still. Rory caught a flash of amber sky and sprawling vineyards that made the pendant pulse more urgently against her skin.
"Dymas," she said, recognizing the warm golden light from her unwelcome visits to that realm of excess.
"The Scrying Pool shows what weighs upon the seeker's heart," Isolde explained, settling gracefully beside the water's edge. "Your destiny calls from many realms, Aurora Carter. The Grove knows this."
Nyx knelt beside the pool, their reflection appearing solid and human—a young man with dark hair and eyes that held centuries of sorrow. "I remember this face," they said softly . "Aldric. I had almost forgotten."
The water rippled, and the reflection changed. Now it showed not the man Nyx had been, but the shadow they had become, yet somehow beautiful in its ethereal nature. The image seemed to suggest possibility rather than loss.
Rory felt drawn to touch the water but held back, sensing that some discoveries couldn't be undone. Instead, she studied the grove around them, noting how each element seemed to exist in perfect harmony despite defying natural law. The very wrongness of it felt right, as if this place operated on older, truer rules than the mundane world she knew.
"How long have we been here?" she asked, suddenly aware that the question itself felt different in this space.
"Long enough for the world to turn thrice," Isolde replied with a riddling smile. "Brief enough that your morning tea grows cold."
Time twisted around them like the branches overhead. Rory could feel minutes stretching into hours while simultaneously compressing into heartbeats. The Grove existed outside mortal constraints, a bubble where possibility bloomed eternal.
A sound drew her attention—not quite music, not quite voice, but something that spoke directly to her soul. Following the melody, she discovered its source: a tree whose leaves rustled with whispered secrets, each one containing fragments of futures yet unwritten.
"The Whispering Oak," Isolde said, appearing beside her without seeming to move. "It speaks of choices not yet made, paths not yet taken. Listen well, but do not lose yourself in its song."
Rory pressed closer, catching fragments of words in languages she didn't recognize yet somehow understood. Warnings and promises intertwined, speaking of darkness gathering, alliances needed, and a choice that would reshape the very Veil between worlds.
The Fae-forged blade at her side grew cold, its moonsilver surface gleaming with urgent light. Even here, in this place of peace and wonder, danger's echo reached through time and possibility.
"We can't stay," Rory realized, though part of her wanted to sink into the Grove's timeless embrace and forget the weight of prophecy and responsibility.
"No," Isolde agreed. "But you will carry this place within you now. The Grove leaves its mark on all who enter with pure intent. When the darkness comes, remember what you have seen here—that beauty and wonder persist even in the spaces between worlds."
As they prepared to leave, Rory took one last look around the impossible garden. The Grove had shown them truth—that magic existed not as something to be conquered or controlled, but as a force of creation and connection that bound all realms together.
The pendant's warmth against her heart felt different now, not a warning but a reminder of the responsibilities that waited beyond the standing stones.