Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNEZE72GA1CZSZ8WHD2VV0J

The night air inRichmond Park tasted like damp earth and ozone, thick and heavy as Aurora Carter pushed through the ancient oaks. The path, barely more than a deer trail, wound deeper into the heart of the grove, the only sound her own breathing and the distant, rhythmic crash of the Thames. She’d come for the pendant, the Heartstone, a gift from a stranger that now felt like a curse. Its faint, internal warmth was a constant, unsettling presence against her skin, a reminder of the Hel portal it sensed nearby. The grove itself felt wrong from the start – the air shimmered slightly, like heat haze over hot tarmac, and the usual nocturnal chorus of owls and foxes was absent, replaced by an unnatural silence that pressed in on her. She’d parked her bike a quarter-mile back, the engine’s growl swallowed by the dense canopy. Now, the path narrowed, the ancient oak standing stones marking the true boundary of the Fae realm. Aurora’s hand drifted unconsciously to her left wrist, tracing the small, crescent-shaped scar – a relic from a childhood fall. The pendant, nestled in her pocket, pulsed again, a faint, internal heat that made her shiver. She’d come because the pendant’s warning was clear, even if the reason wasn’t. Someone, or something, was using the grove as a conduit, and she needed to find out who. The silence deepened, becoming a physical weight. Aurora paused, straining her ears. No wind rustled the leaves. No insects hummed. Just the distant, muffled thrum of the city, distorted and distant, like it was coming from underwater. She took a step forward, and the ground beneath her boots felt subtly different – softer, spongier, as if the earth itself had shifted. A flicker of movement caught the corner of her eye. She spun, heart hammering against her ribs, but the darkness swallowed the space. Only the gnarled roots of an ancient oak, twisting like skeletal fingers, met her gaze. She forced herself to breathe, counting slowly to ten. It was just her imagination, frayed by exhaustion and the pendant’s insistent warmth. The path opened into a small clearing. Moonlight, pale and cold, filtered through the dense canopy, illuminating patches of unnaturally vibrant wildflowers – orchids that shouldn’t bloom in November, their petals like stained glass. In the center stood a single, massive oak, its bark deeply furrowed and ancient, seeming to watch her. Aurora felt a prickle of unease crawl up her spine. This wasn’t just a hidden grove; it was a place where the veil between worlds was thin, and thin places attracted things best left undisturbed. The pendant’s pulse quickened, a low, resonant throb that vibrated in her chest. She moved towards the oak, her footsteps muffled by the thick moss. The air grew colder, carrying the scent of damp stone and something else – ozone, metallic, like blood. A sound, faint but unmistakable, reached her: the soft, wet *squelch* of something large moving through mud. Aurora froze, her breath catching in her throat. She spun again, but the clearing was empty. The only movement was the swaying of the wildflowers in a non-existent breeze. She pressed herself against the rough bark of the oak, her fingers digging into the grooves, feeling the cold seep through her coat. The pendant’s glow intensified, a deep crimson ember that cast eerie, shifting shadows on the moss. The silence returned, heavier than before. Then, a sound from behind her. A low, guttural *chuckle*, like stones grinding together. Aurora whirled, her hand instinctively going to the small, worn knife tucked into her belt. Nothing. Just the oppressive stillness, broken only by the frantic drumming of her own pulse. The pendant pulsed violently now, a hot, painful throb in her pocket. She knew she wasn’t alone. The grove wasn’t just a conduit; it was a trap. The Fae weren’t known for their hospitality, especially towards humans who meddled with their pathways. She backed away from the oak, her eyes scanning the clearing, the shadows between the trees. The wildflowers seemed to lean towards her, their petals shifting like watching eyes. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. The time distortion was real; she’d been here only minutes, but it felt like hours. The city’s distant thrum was gone, replaced by the oppressive silence and the feeling of being watched. The pendant’s warmth was a beacon, drawing something – or someone – to her. She needed to leave. Now. But the path back was gone. The dense canopy closed in, the standing stones vanished, replaced by a tangled thicket of thorns and ancient roots. The clearing itself seemed to have shrunk, the oak looming larger, its branches like skeletal arms reaching out. The wildflowers pulsed with an inner light, a sickly green glow that made the crimson of the Heartstone seem even more alarming. Aurora stumbled back, tripping over a root, landing hard on her hip. The breath was knocked from her lungs. The pendant flew from her pocket, rolling across the moss, its glow flaring bright enough to momentarily illuminate the clearing. In the sudden, harsh light, she saw it. Not a figure, but a shape – tall, impossibly thin, draped in shadows that seemed to absorb the moonlight. It stood just beyond the reach of the oak’s branches, watching her. Its eyes, if it had any, were black voids. It didn’t move, just stood there, radiating a cold that bit through her coat. The pendant’s glow dimmed, replaced by a deep, resonant silence. Aurora stared, frozen, the knife forgotten in her hand. The Fae weren’t just watchers; they were predators. And she was prey. The shape shifted, not walking, but flowing like smoke through the air. It moved towards her, the shadows around it coalescing, thickening. Aurora scrambled backwards, her hands scraping against the moss and roots, trying to find purchase. The air crackled with unseen energy. The pendant, now cold and heavy in her palm, pulsed weakly, a final, desperate warning. She looked at the shape advancing, a nightmare made flesh from the depths of the grove. The silence was absolute, broken only by the frantic beat of her heart and the distant, muffled sound of the city, now impossibly far away. The Fae Grove wasn’t just a place; it was a prison, and she was its newest inmate. The horror wasn’t in the gore; it was in the knowing, the absolute certainty that escape was impossible, and that the darkness watching her from the shadows was only the beginning.