Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNETGZ42HFC4WNSZW684B3X

The night had settled over Richmond Park like a thick, damp blanket, muffling the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a lone dog. Aurora Carter moved through the winding paths with the practiced ease of someone who had spent countless evenings navigating the city’s backstreets, delivering orders for Yu‑Fei Cheung’s Golden Empress. Her black hair, pulled back into a low ponytail, brushed against the back of her neck as she walked, and the bright blue of her eyes caught the faint glimmer of the streetlamp that flickered above the footpath. She had taken a shortcut through the park after a long shift, a route suggested by Eva, the friend who had urged her to leave the cramped flat above Silas’ bar. The shortcut was supposed to be a quick way to get home, but the map Eva had handed her—drawn in a hurried hand, annotated with a single word, “Grove”—had promised something else. “If you’re looking for answers,” Eva had said, “the Fae Grove is where the veil thins. The pendant will guide you.” Aurora had laughed then, half‑in disbelief, half‑in hope. The Heartstone Pendant, a small silver chain with a deep crimson gemstone the size of a thumbnail, had been slipped into her palm by an unknown benefactor a week earlier. She’d examined it under the fluorescent lights of her flat, noting the faint inner glow that seemed to pulse when she thought of the old legends about Hel portals. She’d never believed in such things, but the scar on her left wrist—a crescent‑shaped line left from a childhood accident—had always been a reminder that she was more attuned to the unseen than most people realized. Now, the park’s familiar paths gave way to a darker, more tangled thicket. The trees grew taller, their branches intertwining overhead to form a vaulted canopy that blocked out the moon. The air grew cooler, carrying a scent of damp earth and something sweet, almost metallic, that seemed to cling to her skin. Aurora’s breath came out in short, visible puffs, and she tightened the grip on the pendant, feeling its faint warmth seep into her palm. She followed the sound of a low, rhythmic rustle that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The path narrowed, the ground softening under her boots as she stepped onto a carpet of moss that glowed faintly with the phosphorescence of wildflowers—tiny blossoms that never seemed to wilt, their petals a kaleidoscope of colors that defied the season. She paused, listening. The usual night sounds—crickets, a distant owl—were absent, replaced by a low, humming vibration that seemed to emanate from the very earth beneath her. The standing stones rose ahead, ancient oaks that had been carved into monolithic shapes by hands long gone. Their bark was knotted and scarred, each one bearing a faint, rune‑like etching that caught the pendant’s glow and reflected it back in a soft, crimson sheen. Aurora stepped between them, feeling the space compress, as if the stones themselves were breathing. She glanced at her wrist, the scar catching the pendant’s light. The crescent mark was a reminder of the accident that had left her with a heightened sense of danger, an instinct that had saved her more than once. She pressed her palm to the stone, feeling the faint pulse of the pendant synchronize with the rhythm of her own heartbeat. The pulse grew steadier, a gentle thrum that seemed to echo through the clearing. A sudden gust of wind rustled the wildflowers, scattering a spray of pollen that hung in the air like a fine mist. Aurora inhaled, tasting the metallic tang of the pollen on her tongue. The world seemed to tilt, the edges of her vision blurring as if the night itself were stretching. She felt a tug at the back of her mind, a whisper that was not a sound but a pressure, urging her forward. She moved deeper into the grove, the stones receding behind her, their silhouettes merging with the darkness. The air grew thicker, each breath a deliberate effort. The humming intensified, now a low, resonant chord that vibrated through her bones. Aurora’s mind raced, cataloguing the anomalies: the absence of ordinary night sounds, the unnatural glow of the flowers, the way the time seemed to stretch and compress around her. She stopped at the center of the clearing, where the ground rose slightly, a shallow depression that was carpeted with a layer of soft, silver‑gray moss. The pendant’s glow flared, the crimson gemstone pulsing in time with the humming. Aurora knelt, brushing the moss aside with the heel of her hand. Beneath the moss lay a shallow, circular indentation in the earth, as if something had been pulled out, leaving a perfect, dark void. She leaned over, peering into the darkness. The void was not empty; it was a surface of liquid darkness that rippled like water, though no water was present. The surface reflected the pendant’s light, sending back a distorted, wavering image of the standing stones, the flowers, and Aurora herself, all twisted in a way that made her skin crawl. A sudden, sharp crack echoed through the clearing, like a branch snapping under a weight. Aurora’s head snapped up. She could not see any source of the sound, but the hairs on the back of her neck rose. The hum shifted, a discordant note threading through the chord, as if the grove itself were reacting to her presence. She stood, clutching the pendant tighter. The darkness of the void seemed to pulse, sending a ripple of cold up her spine. Aurora’s thoughts turned to the stories Eva had whispered—stories of the Fae, of portals that linked worlds, of bargains made in the shadows. She had never believed in bargains, but the pendant’s warmth suggested something was near, something that recognized her. A soft rustling came from the edge of her vision. Aurora turned her head, expecting to see a rabbit or a nightbird, but the darkness held nothing but the silhouettes of the standing stones. Yet, as she watched, a faint movement flickered at the periphery—a shape, barely discernible, shifting like a shadow caught in a slow, deliberate dance. It was not a leaf, not a wind, but something that seemed to have a mind of its own. She swallowed, feeling the lump rise in her throat. “Hello?” she called, her voice barely more than a whisper. The words hung in the air, swallowed by the humming. No answer came, only the soft, rhythmic thrum that seemed to sync with her heartbeat. Aurora’s eyes darted back to the void. The surface was now rippling more violently, as if something beneath it was stirring. The crimson glow of the pendant intensified, casting a thin halo of light that made the wildflowers’ petals appear to pulse in time with the heartbeat of the grove. The scent of the flowers grew sharper, more pungent, and the metallic tang turned into a sour, iron‑like smell that made her nostrils flare. She felt a cold draft brush past her cheek, though the air was still. The sensation was like a breath on the back of her neck, a whisper that seemed to say, “You are not alone.” Aurora’s hand tightened around the pendant, the chain digging into her palm. She could feel the faint scar on her left wrist, a reminder of the accident that had left her with a heightened sense of danger, an instinct that had saved her more than once. She took a step forward, the moss giving way beneath her boots with a soft, muffled sigh. The standing stones seemed to close in, their shadows lengthening, stretching across the ground like dark fingers. The humming grew louder, now a chorus of low, resonant notes that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. A low, guttural laugh—more a vibration than a sound—rippled through the clearing. It was not a laugh of joy, but a mocking, ancient chuckle that seemed to echo from the very stones themselves. Aurora’s breath caught. She turned, trying to locate its source, but the darkness was impenetrable. The only thing she could see was the faint, pulsing glow of the pendant, a beacon in a sea of black. She felt a pressure on her mind, a weight that pressed against her thoughts, trying to pry open a door she didn’t know existed. The pressure was accompanied by images—a flash of a child’s face, a silhouette of a woman with eyes like polished amber, a hand reaching out from the void, fingers elongated and twisted. Aurora’s heart hammered against her ribs, and she forced herself to focus on the present, on the feel of the moss under her boots, the scent of the flowers, the warmth of the pendant against her skin. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice steadier now, a thin thread of determination cutting through the fear. The humming faltered for a heartbeat, then resumed, as if the grove was listening, deciding whether to answer. The void’s surface rippled again, and this time a shape emerged—a silhouette of a figure, tall and slender, its outline blurred as if made of smoke. The figure hovered just above the ground, its limbs elongated, its head tilted at an impossible angle. Aurora could not see its face, but she could feel its gaze, a cold, probing stare that seemed to look straight through her. The figure raised a hand, and the pendant’s glow flared, casting a crimson light that illuminated the clearing in a stark, eerie hue. The wildflowers seemed to recoil, their petals curling inward as if in pain. The standing stones trembled, the ancient bark cracking in places, releasing a faint, piney scent that mixed with the iron tang. Aurora’s mind raced. She remembered the stories of Hel portals—gateways that could be opened by those who carried a token of the old world, a Heartstone. The pendant was that token, and she had felt its pulse growing stronger as she approached the grove. She had come for answers, for a way to escape the shadows of her past, for a chance to find something beyond the ordinary grind of deliveries and cramped apartments. Now the portal was before her, a living thing that seemed to breathe, to watch, to judge. Aurora’s hand tightened around the pendant, the silver chain biting into her palm. She could feel the weight of the scar on her wrist, the reminder that she had survived before, that she could survive this. She forced herself to speak again, her voice a steady whisper that seemed to cut through the humming. “What do you want?” The figure’s silhouette wavered, and for a moment the darkness seemed to recede, revealing a glimpse of a cavernous space beyond the void—a realm of twisted trees, luminous fungi, and a sky that was a perpetual twilight. The figure’s hand lowered, and the humming softened, turning into a low, mournful sigh. A sudden, sharp crack echoed again, this time from the standing stones themselves. One of the ancient oaks split, a fissure opening along its bark, revealing a hidden cavity filled with a soft, amber light. From within the cavity came a faint, melodic humming, like a lullaby sung by unseen voices. Aurora’s eyes widened. She felt a tug at the edge of her consciousness, a pull toward the cavity, toward the light. The pendant’s glow intensified, the crimson gemstone now pulsing in perfect rhythm with the amber light emanating from the oak’s fissure. The figure’s silhouette dissolved into a swirl of dark mist, which rose and coalesced around the cavity, forming a vortex that seemed to draw the very air toward it. She took a step toward the oak, her feet moving of if guided by an unseen force. The moss under her boots gave way, revealing a thin, silver thread that led from the ground to the cavity’s opening. Aurora followed the thread, her hand brushing against the bark, feeling the roughness of the oak, the faint warmth of the pendant seeping into her skin. As she approached the fissure, the air grew colder, the metallic scent sharpening into a sharp, almost bitter tang. The humming grew louder, now a chorus of voices that seemed to speak in a language she could not understand yet felt oddly familiar. The amber light flickered, casting shadows that danced along the standing stones, turning them into grotesque silhouettes that seemed to move of their own accord. Aurora hesitated at the edge of the fissure, the pendant’s glow now a beacon that illuminated the darkness beyond. She could feel the weight of the scar on her wrist, a reminder of the accident that had left her with a heightened sense of danger, an instinct that had saved her more than once. She thought of Eva’s words, of the promise of answers, of the yearning that had driven her to this pocket of the world where the veil thinned. She inhaled, the cold air filling her lungs, and stepped into the fissure. The amber light enveloped her, wrapping her in a warm embrace that contrasted sharply with the chill of the night outside. The humming rose to a crescendo, then suddenly fell silent, as if the world had held its breath. The void behind her closed, the standing stones returning to their silent, unmoving state. The wildflowers ceased their glow, their petals drooping as if exhausted. The night outside the grove seemed to pause, the moon hanging low, a thin sliver of silver that barely illuminated the path back to the city. Aurora stood alone in the amber glow, the Heartstone Pendant pulsing against her chest, its crimson light now a steady, calm rhythm. She felt a presence around her, not hostile, but ancient, waiting, as if the grove itself were a living, breathing entity that had finally acknowledged her arrival. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the pendant seep into her bones, feeling the faint echo of the figure’s voice—an echo that seemed to whisper, “You have crossed, but the journey has only begun.” When she opened her eyes again, the amber light was gone, replaced by the soft, silvery glow of the moon filtering through the trees. The standing stones stood as they always had, ancient and indifferent. The wildflowers glistened with dew, their colors muted but still vibrant. The air was still, the humming replaced by the distant, faint chirp of a cricket. Aurora turned, her gaze falling on the narrow path that led back toward the park’s main entrance. The pendant’s glow had dimmed, its pulse now a gentle, steady beat that matched her own heart. She felt the scar on her wrist, a small crescent that caught the moonlight, a reminder of the past and of the resilience that had brought her this far. She took a deep breath, the night air filling her lungs, and began to walk, each step echoing on the mossy ground. The grove behind her seemed to recede, the ancient oaks retreating into the darkness, as if the pocket between Earth and the Fae realm had sealed itself once more. Aurora’s mind raced, the images of the cavernous space beyond the fissure still vivid, the sense of being watched lingering like a half‑remembered dream. She knew she would return, that the Heartstone would call to her again, that the mysteries of the Fae Grove would not be satisfied with a single night. But for now, she walked toward the city lights, the sound of her own footsteps a steady rhythm against the night’s silence, the weight of the pendant against her chest a promise that she was not alone, even in the darkest of places.