Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNF5P8MXDRGD0PD65V22315

The transition from Richmond Park to Isolde's grove hit Aurora like diving into cold water. One moment she stood on familiar earth, the next her feet sank into moss that sparkled with impossible colors. The Heartstone pendant against her chest pulsed warm, then cool, as if confused by the crossing. "Steady." Nyx's whisper came from her left, though their shadow-form seemed to flicker and stretch in the strange light. "The grove tests newcomers." Aurora forced her breathing to slow, drawing on the same calm that had carried her through pre-law exams and Evan's worst tantrums. The air here tasted of honey and copper pennies, sweet and metallic on her tongue. Above them, the sky rippled between sunset amber and midnight blue, colors bleeding into each other like watercolors on wet paper. "Is it always like this?" she asked, then stopped. Her voice sounded different here—fuller somehow, as if the grove added harmonics she'd never possessed. "Time moves as it wishes in Fae-touched places." Nyx drifted ahead, their form more solid than she'd ever seen it. The violet glow of their eyes left brief afterimages when Aurora blinked. "We may have minutes. We may have days." The path beneath their feet wasn't quite a path. It appeared only as they walked, moss and tiny white flowers springing up to cushion each step. Aurora glanced back and saw their trail already fading, the grove reclaiming itself with patient hunger. The ancient oaks that marked the boundary had vanished entirely. "Don't look back." Nyx's warning came sharp. "The grove feeds on doubt." Aurora fixed her gaze forward. The trees here defied logic—silver bark twisted into spiral patterns that made her eyes water if she stared too long. Their leaves chimed in a breeze she couldn't feel, each note hanging in the air longer than it should. Some branches bore fruit that looked like jewels, others flowers that opened and closed in rhythm with her heartbeat. A clearing opened before them, perfectly circular and carpeted with wildflowers that shouldn't bloom together. Spring bluebells nodded beside autumn asters. Summer roses tangled with winter hellebore. The scent should have been overwhelming, but instead each fragrance took its turn, as if the flowers had arranged themselves into an olfactory symphony. At the clearing's heart sat a cottage that looked built from moonlight and shadows. Its walls shifted between solid stone and translucent pearl, revealing glimpses of the interior before hiding them again. The door—if it was a door—appeared to be woven from twilight itself. "She knows we're here," Nyx said. The door dissolved like sugar in rain. Isolde stood in the opening, and Aurora's breath caught. The half-fae's silver hair moved in its own wind, each strand catching light that didn't exist. Her lavender eyes held depths that promised answers to questions Aurora hadn't thought to ask. When she smiled, Aurora noticed her teeth were just slightly too sharp to be human. "The one who carries the Heartstone arrives at last." Isolde's voice rang like struck crystal. "Though whether too early or too late remains to be seen." Aurora's hand went instinctively to the pendant. Its warmth had steadied to match her pulse. "You know about—" "Questions later, young seeker. First, hospitality." Isolde stepped aside. "Enter, but remember—in my domain, all choices have weight." The cottage's interior defied its modest exterior. Aurora found herself in a circular room that stretched up into darkness, walls lined with shelves that climbed beyond sight. Books bound in scales and starlight sat beside jars filled with captured storms. A fire burned blue-green in a hearth carved from a single geode, casting shadows that danced independently of the flames. Isolde gestured to chairs that hadn't been there a moment before. Aurora sat carefully, noting how the cushion adjusted to support her perfectly. Nyx remained standing, or rather hovering, their shadow-form pooling and reforming in the strange light. "Tea?" Isolde asked, already pouring from a pot that steamed with golden vapor. The liquid in Aurora's cup swirled through colors she had no names for. "Is it safe?" Aurora asked. "Nothing here is safe." Isolde's laugh tinkled like breaking glass. "But it won't harm you. Today." Aurora sipped. The tea tasted like memories—her mother's garden in summer, her father's cologne, Eva's laughter. Tears pricked her eyes before she could stop them. "Ah." Isolde settled into her own chair, which appeared to be carved from crystallized moonbeams. "You taste deeply. Good. The shallow-souled find only bitterness here." "We need your help," Aurora began, but Isolde raised a hand. Her fingers, Aurora noticed, had too many joints. "Need is a heavy word in places where bargains bind tighter than iron." The seer's eyes went distant. "You seek knowledge of the Heartstone. Of why it chose you. Of what comes next." "Yes." "Truth has a price here, as does everything." Isolde stood, her movements liquid grace. She drifted to one of the shelves and pulled down a box made of whispers and cobwebs. "But perhaps we can trade in smaller coins first." She opened the box. Inside, nestled in fabric that looked cut from the night sky, lay a dagger. Aurora recognized the leaf-shaped blade from dreams she'd forgotten until this moment. The moonsilver caught the firelight and threw it back changed, colder. "A gift," Isolde said. "Or a burden. In Fae-touched lands, they're often the same." Aurora reached for the dagger. The moment her fingers touched the hilt, cold shot up her arm—not painful but clarifying, like the first breath of winter air. The blade hummed against her palm, a frequency felt rather than heard. "It knows you," Isolde murmured. "How interesting." "I don't understand." "Understanding is overrated." Isolde returned to her seat. Around them, the cottage walls flickered between opacity and transparency, showing glimpses of impossible vistas—cities of glass, forests of metal, seas of stars. "Tell me, Aurora Carter of Cardiff, what do you think the Heartstone is?" Aurora's hand closed around the pendant. "A key?" "All things are keys if you know which doors they open." Isolde's smile revealed those too-sharp teeth again. "But the Heartstone is older than keys. Older than doors. It remembers when the Veil was new-woven, when the realms pressed against each other like lovers rather than enemies." Nyx stirred, their form rippling. "The solstice approaches." "Indeed." Isolde's expression darkened. "And the Heartstone grows restless. It seeks its purpose, as do all awakened things." She leaned forward. "What do you know of Dymas, child?" The word triggered something in Aurora's memory—a flash of amber sky, the scent of impossible spices. "Nothing. I've never heard that name." "Haven't you?" Isolde's fingers traced patterns in the air, leaving brief trails of silver light. "The Heartstone knows it well. Ask it, when you dream. Ask about the vineyards that grow sorrow, about the kitchens that serve desire." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Ask about the prince who collects hungers." The fire in the hearth flared, casting wild shadows. For a moment, Aurora could have sworn she saw shapes in the flames—faces twisted in expressions of endless want. "That's enough prophecy for one day," Isolde said, suddenly brisk. "The grove grows tired of visitors." Aurora stood, the Fae-forged blade strange but balanced in her grip. The cottage around them began to blur at the edges, like a painting left in the rain. "Wait—I have more questions." "Questions are seeds." Isolde's form wavered, becoming translucent. "Plant them carefully. Some grow into trees, others into nooses." The cottage dissolved. Aurora found herself back in the flower-filled clearing, Nyx beside her. The path they'd taken had reappeared, leading back toward the normal world. But now she carried the weight of the blade at her hip and new mysteries in her mind. "Did that help?" Nyx asked as they walked back through the impossible forest. Aurora touched the Heartstone pendant. It pulsed with renewed warmth, almost eager. "I'm not sure 'help' is the right word." They passed through the ring of ancient oaks, and Richmond Park reassembled around them. The normal world felt flat after the grove's layered reality. Aurora checked her phone—only twenty minutes had passed. A jogger ran by without giving them a second glance, though Nyx's shadow-form should have sent him screaming. "The Veil is thin here," Nyx explained, reading her confusion. "His mind edits out what it cannot accept." Aurora understood that feeling. Even now, the grove felt more like a vivid dream than a place she'd actually visited. Only the cold weight of the blade at her side proved otherwise. As they made their way back toward the city, one word echoed in her thoughts: Dymas. The Heartstone grew warmer with each repetition, as if recognizing an old friend's name. Or an old enemy's.