Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFWV61C0NHAH056V3YB10S

The air shifted the moment they stepped through the standing stones. Rory felt it first—a subtle change in pressure, like the world itself was holding its breath. The afternoon sun that had warmed their backs in Richmond Park vanished, replaced by a diffused golden light that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Whoa," she breathed, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the new illumination. The clearing was larger than it had appeared from the outside, ringed by ancient oaks whose branches twisted upward in impossible spirals. Wildflowers bloomed in riotous color—violets, buttercups, and flowers she couldn't name, their petals catching the golden light like tiny lanterns. Nyx solidified beside her, their form rippling from shadow to something almost human. "The Grove," they whispered, voice barely audible over the sudden chorus of birdsong. "It's been centuries since I've seen this place." Isolde stood at the center, her silver hair catching the light like spun moonlight. She moved with deliberate grace, bare feet making no sound on the mossy ground. "Welcome," she said, though her eyes were fixed on something only she could see. "The Grove answers to no master but itself. Time bends here, memory lingers, and truths hide in plain sight." Rory stepped forward, drawn by the otherworldly beauty. The air smelled of honey and old stone, with an undercurrent of something wild and untamed. She reached out to touch a cluster of blue flowers, their petals impossibly soft. As her fingers brushed against them, the blossoms released a cloud of glittering spores that hung in the air like tiny stars. "Don't—" Isolde's warning came too late. The spores swirled around Rory's hand, and she felt a sudden rush of euphoria, like the first sip of wine on an empty stomach. Images flashed behind her eyes—her childhood home in Cardiff, Evan's face twisted with rage, Silas polishing glasses behind his bar. The memories played out in reverse, each one sharper than the last. She stumbled back, shaking her head to clear the sudden onslaught. "What was that?" "The flowers speak in memories," Isolde said, her expression unreadable. "They show you what you most need to remember." Nyx circled the clearing, their form shifting between shadow and substance. "The Veil is thin here," they murmured, pausing to examine a patch of moonlight that seemed to pool on the ground despite the sun still shining overhead. "I can feel the boundaries between realms pressing against each other." Rory followed them, her curiosity overcoming her initial unease. The trees grew denser toward the back of the clearing, their trunks twisted into shapes that resembled faces—some serene, others twisted in silent screams. Between them, she spotted a narrow path barely visible beneath a carpet of fallen leaves. "There's something back there," she said, pointing. "A way through." Isolde's head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. "The path is not for the unprepared. It leads to places that even I do not tread lightly." But Rory was already moving, her boots making soft sounds on the moss. The path wound between the trees, the air growing cooler with each step. The golden light faded behind them, replaced by a silver glow that seemed to emanate from the very bark of the trees. She could hear water now—a gentle stream that grew louder as they progressed. The path opened into a smaller clearing, this one dominated by a circular pool fed by a miniature waterfall. The water was perfectly clear, reflecting the silver light in mesmerizing patterns. At the center of the pool stood a single white stone, its surface covered in intricate carvings that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles. Rory approached the water's edge, her reflection wavering in the surface. As she watched, her image began to change—her hair grew longer, her features softened, and for a moment she looked like someone else entirely. Someone older. Wiser. "What is this place?" she whispered. "A mirror of possibility," Isolde said from behind her. "The water shows not what is, but what could be." Nyx materialized beside the pool, their form solidifying into something almost human. They knelt and dipped a shadowy hand into the water, watching as ripples spread across the surface. "The carvings," they said, pointing to the stone. "They're a map. Of the realms." Rory leaned closer, squinting at the symbols. Some she recognized from her studies—the spiral for Earth, the broken circle for Hel, the intricate knotwork for the Fae Realms. But others were unfamiliar, their meanings lost to time. "The winter solstice approaches," Isolde said, her voice taking on a prophetic cadence. "When the Veil is at its thinnest, paths open that are closed the rest of the year. But beware—what crosses over may not be what you expect." A sudden gust of wind swept through the clearing, carrying with it the scent of snow and distant thunder. The trees around them seemed to lean inward, their branches creaking like old bones. Rory felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature, a sense of being watched by something ancient and hungry. "We should go back," she said, taking a step away from the pool. "This place... it doesn't want us here." Nyx rose to their feet, shadow pooling around their form like a living cloak. "She's right. The Grove is old, and it has rules. We've seen what we came to see." But as they turned to leave, Rory caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of her eye. Something large and dark slipped between the trees at the edge of the clearing, moving with a predator's grace. She froze, heart hammering against her ribs. "Did you see that?" she whispered. Isolde's hand found her shoulder, her touch cold as winter frost. "The Grove keeps its own counsel," she said softly. "Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed again." The wind died as suddenly as it had risen, leaving an unnatural silence in its wake. Rory looked back at the pool one last time, but her reflection had returned to normal—just a young woman from Cardiff, far from home and deeper into mystery than she'd ever imagined. As they made their way back through the twisted trees, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. Not in the Grove—in herself. The memories the flowers had shown her, the possibilities reflected in the pool, the presence that had watched from the shadows—they had marked her in ways she didn't yet understand. The golden light of the outer clearing welcomed them back like an old friend. Rory breathed deeply, trying to ground herself in the familiar scents of earth and growing things. But even here, in this pocket of wild magic, she could feel the weight of what they'd discovered pressing against her thoughts. "The solstice is three days away," Isolde said, her voice cutting through Rory's reverie. "We must prepare. The paths between realms will be open, and with them, opportunities—and dangers—beyond imagining." Rory nodded, though her mind was already racing ahead. The Heartstone Pendant in her pocket pulsed once, a faint warmth against her fingers, as if in agreement. Whatever was coming, whatever secrets the Grove had revealed, she would need to be ready. The world was larger and stranger than she'd ever known, and she was no longer just a delivery girl from Cardiff. She was part of something ancient. Something that reached across realms and through time itself. And she had a feeling that the hardest part was only just beginning.