Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSZ3Q6WJDF7BDW1GKX7WB7F

The grove swallowed them whole. Aurora stepped forward, her boots sinking into damp earth that smelled of damp earth and something older—something like rusted iron and crushed petals. The air hummed, thick with the weight of unseen things. Nyx drifted beside her, their shadowy form flickering like a candle flame caught in a draft. "Where the hell is *she*?" Aurora muttered, her breath curling in the unnaturally cold air. Nyx’s whisper slithered through the space between them. *"She waits. The Seer always waits."* Isolde’s voice slithered into Aurora’s mind before she could react—*not a sound, but a thought, sharp as a blade drawn across stone.* **You are late.** Aurora flinched, pressing a hand to her temple. "Christ, can you *not*—" **Silence is a courtesy here.** The voice was gone, but the words lingered, heavy as a stone in her gut. The trees here weren’t trees at all. They rose like skeletal fingers from the earth, their bark smooth and silvered, their leaves—if they could be called leaves—long and veined with veins of liquid silver that shimmered when the wind stirred. The wind didn’t stir. It *moved*, slipping through the branches like smoke, carrying the scent of honey and something metallic, like blood left too long in the sun. Aurora reached out, her fingers brushing against one of the silvered trunks. The bark was cool, almost *alive*, pulsing faintly beneath her touch. A low, resonant hum vibrated up her arm, and for a heartbeat, she swore she could feel the tree *breathing*. Nyx’s shadow flickered closer, their form coalescing just enough to loom over her shoulder. *"Do not touch what you do not understand."* Aurora jerked her hand back. "Why not?" *"Because some things remember."* The ground sloped downward, the path unmarked but undeniable. The deeper they went, the thicker the air became, pressing against her skin like a second body. The silvered trees gave way to others—taller, their leaves broad and flat, catching the light in ways that made her eyes ache. Some of them *moved*, shifting slowly, deliberately, as if watching. Aurora’s pulse hammered in her throat. "This is *weird*." *"Weird is the least of it,"* Nyx murmured. A sound cut through the silence—a soft, rhythmic *clicking*, like bones knitting together. Aurora spun, her hand instinctively going to the Fae-forged blade at her hip. The blade was cold, its edge humming with a faint energy, but it didn’t *sing* like it usually did. It was *quiet*, as if holding its breath. The clicking came again, closer this time. A figure emerged from between two of the shifting trees—tall, slender, her silver hair catching the dim light like spun moonlight. Isolde. She didn’t walk. She *floated*, her feet barely skimming the ground, her pale lavender eyes fixed on Aurora. The air around her shimmered, distorting the light into prismatic threads. Aurora swallowed. "You’re *floating*." Isolde’s lips curved, just slightly. *"The earth remembers me."* Nyx’s shadow coiled tighter around Aurora’s ankles. *"She remembers *everything*."* Isolde’s gaze flicked to the pendant at Aurora’s throat—the Heartstone, warm against her skin now, pulsing faintly. *"You have brought the key."* Aurora’s fingers twitched. "Key to what?" *"To the door that should not be opened."* Isolde’s voice was a melody, but the words were a blade. *"The Veil thins. The hunger stirs."* Aurora’s breath hitched. "The Veil—" *"Yes."* Isolde stepped closer, her bare feet leaving no impression in the damp earth. *"The barrier weakens. And where the barrier weakens, the hungry things come."* A gust of wind howled through the grove, and the silvered trees *screamed*, their leaves rattling like bones in a storm. The air turned colder, sharper, and Aurora’s skin prickled with the promise of something *wrong*. Nyx’s voice was a whisper in her ear. *"We should go."* Isolde’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. *"No. You should *listen*."* The ground trembled beneath Aurora’s feet. Not an earthquake—something deeper, something *organic*. The trees *shifted*, their silvered bark peeling back in places to reveal veins of black, pulsing like a heartbeat. Aurora’s hand closed around the Fae-forged blade. "What the hell is happening?" *"The grove is waking,"* Isolde said softly. *"And it is hungry."* The first *thing* emerged from the earth not ten paces away. It was wrong. Too many limbs, too many joints, its body a shifting mass of silvered tendrils and jagged bone. Its mouth—if it could be called a mouth—was a slit of black, dripping with something that wasn’t saliva. It *smiled*, and the sound was like nails on glass. Aurora’s blood turned to ice. Nyx’s shadow surged forward, a blade of darkness between the thing and them. *"Run."* Aurora didn’t hesitate. She bolted, the blade in her hand *burning* now, its cold energy flaring to life. The thing shrieked, its tendrils lashing out—but Isolde was already there, her hand pressed to the earth, chanting in a language that made Aurora’s teeth ache. The ground *split*. A rift opened beneath the thing, black and yawning, and it *screamed* as it was dragged down, its body unraveling like smoke in a wind. The rift sealed shut with a wet *snap*, leaving only damp earth in its place. Aurora stumbled to a halt, her chest heaving. The grove was silent again, too silent. Isolde turned to them, her eyes glowing faintly. *"The key is true. But the hunger is not yet sated."* Nyx’s shadow flickered, uneasy. *"We need to leave. Now."* Aurora’s pulse roared in her ears. "Leave? We just got here." *"The Veil is thinning,"* Isolde said, her voice a thread of warning. *"And whatever is on the other side is *waiting*."* Aurora swallowed hard. "Then we move. *Now.*" The grove *reacted*. The silvered trees leaned in, their branches twisting toward them, their leaves whispering like a chorus of the damned. The air thickened, pressing down like a physical weight. Aurora could *feel* it—the hunger, the *knowing*, the way the grove itself *watched*. Nyx’s voice was urgent. *"Aurora, *now*."* She didn’t need to be told twice. Aurora turned, her boots crunching on something—something *wrong*—as she ran. The grove shrieked behind her, the silvered trees *screaming* as she tore through them, her breath ragged, her heart a drum in her chest. She didn’t look back. The path out was clear, the trees thinning, the air growing lighter. She could *see* the edge of the grove now, the boundary marked by standing stones that glowed faintly, like embers in the dark. Aurora didn’t stop running until she was clear of the grove, until the last of the silvered trees faded behind her, until the only thing she could hear was her own ragged breathing and the distant, echoing *clicking* of something that wasn’t quite right. She collapsed to her knees, her hands shaking, the Fae-forged blade still clutched in her grip. Nyx’s shadow hovered beside her, their voice a whisper. *"We are not done."* Aurora didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because she knew, with a certainty that settled in her bones like lead, that whatever had just happened in that grove was only the beginning.