Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNF38WWV758M00JKDEA7H6T

The oak trees parted like curtains drawn by an unseen hand. Aurora stopped at the threshold, her breath catching in her throat. The path they'd been following—a barely visible track through the bracken and birch of Richmond Park—had led them here, to a gap between two ancient trunks that should not have been wide enough to admit a person. Yet somehow it was, and beyond it lay something that made her certain she'd stepped through a door into another world entirely. "You've never been here," Nyx said. Their voice drifted like smoke, barely audible, though they stood close enough that Aurora could feel the cool absence of body heat where their shoulder nearly touched hers. In the amber light of the late afternoon—which somehow filtered through the canopy in golden threads that seemed to move with their own slow purpose—the Shade appeared more substantial than usual. Their shadow-form held its shape with unusual clarity, the edges of them sharp against the impossible landscape beyond. "No." Aurora's throat was dry. She'd seen strange things since that night in Cardiff, since she'd found herself suddenly, terrifyingly aware that the world held more than she'd ever imagined. She'd walked through a portal into Dymas. She'd stood in the amber-lit halls of Hel's realm of gluttony, the Heartstone pendant burning against her chest like a second heartbeat. She'd faced things that should not exist. But this was different. This felt like the first time, all over again, that she'd truly understood how small human understanding was. "Neither have I." Nyx's violet eyes—so faint they were nearly transparent in this light—moved across the clearing beyond. "I've walked many shadows. Crossed many thresholds. But the Fae realms..." They paused, and for a moment their form flickered, shadows rippling across their features like water disturbed by a stone. "They exist slightly to the left of where they should. It's disorienting." Aurora nodded, though she wasn't sure she'd understood. She adjusted the strap of the satchel on her shoulder—light, containing only the essentials Isolde had told her to bring—and took the first step forward. The ground beneath her feet was soft, springy, as if she walked on a carpet of moss and wildflowers that should have been dead at this time of year. But the codex had mentioned that—wildflowers bloom year-round in the Grove. She looked down and saw them: tiny bluebells, not the driedks she'd expected, brown hus but vibrant and alive, their petals soft against the leather of her boots. She could smell them, too, a sweet perfume that seemed to settle at the base of her skull and linger there. The clearing opened around her in all directions, though she knew from Isolde's instructions that they needed to move toward the center. The ancient oaks stood like sentinels at the perimeter, their bark dark and gnarled, their branches reaching overhead in a canopy so dense that the golden light filtered through in scattered coins of luminescence. Between the trees, she could see the standing stones—seven of them, arranged in a rough circle, each one carved with symbols that seemed to shift and writhe at the edges of her vision. "Don't stare at the carvings too long," Nyx murmured, their whisper carrying easily across the stillness. "The Fae mark things differently. Looking too long can invite their attention." Aurora tore her gaze away, focusing instead on the path ahead. The grass was taller here, waist-high in places, and as she pushed through it, she realized that it made no sound. No rustling. No whisper of blades against stems. The silence was so complete that she could hear her own heartbeat, the soft rhythm of her own breathing, and beneath it all, something else—a humming, almost subsonic, that seemed to come from the earth itself. "Can you hear that?" she asked. Nyx tilted their head, listening. "Hear what?" "That... humming. Like a vibration, just below hearing." The Shade was quiet for a moment. Then: "I hear nothing but the silence between sounds. Perhaps it's something only the living can perceive." Aurora wasn't sure if that was comforting or unsettling. She kept walking. The standing stones grew closer, and with each step, she became more aware of the wrongness of this place—not hostile, not threatening, but simply *other*. The air smelled of honey and rain and something else, something that made her think of starlight and old promises. The temperature was mild, neither warm nor cold, as if the concept of seasons had not occurred to this place. As they reached the first of the standing stones, Aurora felt a shift. The light changed, becoming brighter but somehow softer, and she looked up to see that the canopy above had opened, revealing a sky that was not the gray-blue of an English autumn but a deep, luminous violet, streaked with colors she had no names for. "Nyx." Her voice came out hoarse. "The sky." They looked up, and for the first time since she'd known them, she saw something like surprise cross their featureless face. "I've walked in the spaces between realms," they said slowly. "I've seen the void that swallows stars. But this..." They trailed off. Aurora reached up to touch the Heartstone pendant at her chest, seeking its familiar weight. The gemstone was warm—warmer than it had ever been, pulsing with a slow, rhythmic heat that matched her heartbeat. When she'd held it near the Dymasian portal, it had burned, literally scorched her palm through the fabric of her shirt. Now it simply glowed, a gentle warmth that seemed to say: *you are close now. You are close to where you need to be.* "Isolde said the Grove would know why she sent us," Aurora said. "She said the answers would be here." "The Seer speaks in riddles," Nyx replied. "She may have meant that the Grove itself would provide the questions." Aurora wanted to argue, but as she stepped between two of the standing stones, she felt it—a tremor in the air, a ripple like heat haze over summer pavement. The world tilted, just slightly, and for a moment she was somewhere else entirely: standing in a vast hall of amber light, the scent of roasting meat and spiced wine heavy in the air, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses ringing in her ears. She saw tables stretching into infinity, laden with food that glistened and steamed, and at the head of the hall, a figure with too many eyes and a smile that promised everything and nothing— Then she was back in the Grove, gasping, her hand clenching the pendant so hard its edges bit into her palm. "Aurora." Nyx was beside her, their form solidifying, shadows wrapping around her arm like a sleeve of darkness. "What did you see?" "Dymas," she whispered. "I saw Dymas. The pendant—I think it showed me where I've been. Or where I'm going." The Shade's grip on her arm tightened—or rather, the shadows did, coalescing around her in a protective cocoon. "The Veil is thin here," Nyx said, their voice urgent, threaded with something that might have been concern. "Isolde warned us. The boundaries between realms are not stable in this place. What you saw may have been a memory, an echo—or it may have been a door." Aurora steadied her breathing, forcing her heartbeat to slow. She thought of Eva, her best friend, the one who'd pulled her out of Cardiff and into this mad new life. She thought of her mother's voice on the phone, confused and worried, asking why she'd moved to London without telling anyone. She thought of Evan's hands, and the way he'd looked at her when she finally left, and the small crescent scar on her wrist that would never fully fade. She was not going to lose herself in some Fae-tainted grove. Not now. Not when she was so close to understanding what was happening to her. "The pendant is warmer here," she said, more to herself than to Nyx. "In Dymas, it burned. But here, it's just... warm. Like it's welcoming me." "Perhaps it is." They walked on, deeper into the Grove, and the standing stones rose around them like the ribs of some vast, sleeping creature. The light shifted again, settling into a soft, silver glow that came from everywhere and nowhere, and Aurora realized that hours might have passed—or minutes—or days. Time moved differently here. She'd known that going in. But knowing and experiencing were different things, and she felt the disorientation of it settle into her bones like a chill. Ahead, the trees thinned, and a structure emerged from the undergrowth: a circle of mushrooms, each one the size of a small wagon wheel, their caps a deep, luminous blue that seemed to pulse with inner light. At the center of the circle stood a figure. Aurora's hand moved to the Fae-forged blade at her hip before she consciously decided to reach for it. The moonsilver was cold even through the leather of its sheath, a constant reminder that she carried something not of this world—a gift from a Seer who could not lie, for reasons Aurora still didn't fully understand. "Hello?" she called out. The figure turned. It was a woman, or something wearing the shape of one—tall and willowy, with silver hair that reached her waist and eyes the color of pale lavender. She wore a gown that seemed to be made of moonlight and morning mist, and when she smiled, Aurora felt the air around them grow lighter, as if some great weight had been lifted. "Aurora Carter," the woman said. Her voice was like music, like the wind through leaves, like every beautiful sound Aurora had ever heard distilled into a single utterance. "You came." "Isolde sent us," Aurora said, though she was certain this was not Isolde. This was something older, something stranger. The woman's smile widened. "I know. I've been waiting." She extended a hand, pale and slender, fingers long and elegant. "Come. There is much to show you. Much to tell you. The Grove has been patient, but even patience has its limits." Aurora looked at Nyx. The Shade's form was flickering again, shadows rippling across their features, but they nodded—a small, almost imperceptible movement. "This is why we came," Nyx said. "The answers." Aurora took a breath. Then another. Then she stepped forward, into the circle of glowing mushrooms, toward the figure who might have been a welcome or a trap, toward the secrets that waited in this place where the world bent and time forgot itself, where the Veil was a gossamer thread and anything—anything—might be waiting. She went.