Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSZ50JACNJZ2EZJ9MXYAG48

The standing stones loomed like jagged teeth against the twilight, their bark rough under Rory’s fingertips. She traced the deep grooves of ancient carvings—swirling knots that seemed to shift when she blinked. The air smelled of damp earth and something sweeter, like honey left too long in the sun. "Time’s funny here," Isolde murmured, her silver hair catching the last light as she stepped between the stones. "An hour inside could be a breath out there. Or a week." Nyx materialized beside Rory, their violet eyes flickering like embers. "Or a lifetime." Their voice was the rustle of dry leaves. "The Grove doesn’t care for mortal clocks." Rory exhaled, adjusting the strap of her bag. The Heartstone pendant against her chest pulsed once, warm as a heartbeat. She ignored it. "Then we’d best not dawdle." The moment they crossed the threshold, the world tilted. The trees ahead weren’t trees at all—not like any she’d seen. Their trunks twisted like melted wax, bark the color of old parchment, and their leaves shimmered in hues of violet and gold, even though no wind stirred them. The ground beneath her boots felt spongy, yielding, as if she walked on something alive. Nyx crouched, pressing a hand to the earth. Shadows pooled around their fingers. "The soil’s humming." Isolde plucked a flower from the air—it hadn’t been there a second ago—and twirled it between her fingers. "The Grove breathes. It decides what you see." Rory’s pulse jumped as a bird the size of her palm darted past, its wings iridescent as oil on water. It landed on a branch that bent under its weight, though the creature weighed nothing. "What the hell was that?" "A memory," Isolde said. "Or a warning." Nyx straightened, their form solidifying. "Or dinner." The deeper they walked, the more the Grove unspooled around them. Vines coiled up the trees, heavy with fruit that glowed faintly in the dim light—some ruby-red, others a sickly green. Rory reached out, then hesitated. "Are these safe to eat?" Isolde plucked a peach-shaped thing from a low branch and bit into it. Juice dripped down her chin. "Delicious. But mortal stomachs might disagree." Rory’s fingers curled into her palm. "Noted." A sound like distant chimes carried through the trees. Not chimes—laughter. High and sweet, it echoed from everywhere and nowhere. Nyx’s shadows flared, tendrils snaking out to brush the air. "Something’s watching." Rory’s hand went to the Fae blade at her hip. The metal was cold, even through her jacket. "How many?" "Many." Isolde’s lavender eyes darkened. "But not all of them are here for us." The path ahead split. One fork led uphill, the ground littered with petals that never seemed to wilt. The other sloped downward, the air growing thick with the scent of wet stone. Nyx tilted their head. "The lower path smells like old magic." Isolde didn’t move. "And the higher one smells like old blood." Rory exhaled through her nose. "Great choices." A whisper slithered past her ear—words she almost understood. She spun, but nothing was there. The Heartstone pendant flared hot against her skin. "Did you hear that?" Nyx’s form flickered. "Hear what?" Before Rory could answer, the ground trembled. Not an earthquake—something beneath the earth was shifting. The trees groaned, their branches twisting as if in pain. Isolde’s fingers tightened around Rory’s wrist. "We’re being herded." The path behind them was gone. Just more trees, more vines, more of the Grove’s endless, suffocating green. Rory swallowed. "Then we pick a direction and run." Nyx’s laughter was a dry crackle. "Or we let it take us where it wants." Isolde’s grip tightened. "Or we don’t." The choice was made for them. The ground beneath Rory’s feet gave way—not a hole, but a slide, slick and steep, sending her tumbling into the dark. She barely had time to curse before she landed hard on her side, the breath knocked from her lungs. Above her, the opening had already sealed itself. No light. No sound. Just the damp, earthy dark. And then, a glow. Not from the pendant—from the walls. Tiny, bioluminescent mushrooms pulsed in slow waves, casting eerie blue light over the tunnel. Rory pushed herself up, brushing dirt from her jeans. The air was cooler here, thick with the scent of minerals. Nyx materialized beside her, their form solid but faint, like smoke given shape. "Well. This is new." Isolde dropped down behind them, landing as lightly as a leaf. "The Grove has a sense of humor." Rory’s fingers traced the tunnel wall. The stone was smooth, almost polished, but etched with the same swirling knots as the standing stones. "This wasn’t here before." "No," Isolde agreed. "But it was always here." Nyx’s shadows stretched ahead, probing the dark. "There’s something deeper in." Rory adjusted her bag, the Fae blade’s weight a comfort at her hip. "Then let’s not keep it waiting." The tunnel sloped downward, the bioluminescent glow shifting from blue to a sickly green the farther they went. The air grew heavier, pressing against Rory’s skin like a damp cloth. Her breath came shallow. Then, the tunnel opened. Rory froze. They stood at the edge of a cavern so vast the ceiling vanished into darkness. The walls shimmered with veins of crystal, pulsing with the same eerie light as the mushrooms, casting everything in a surreal, underwater glow. But it wasn’t the size or the light that made her stomach clench. It was the trees. Not trees—something like them. Their trunks were bone-white, their branches stretching like skeletal fingers, and hanging from those branches were fruits. Not fruits. *Hearts.* Human hearts. Still beating. Rory’s own heart hammered against her ribs. "What the *fuck* is this?" Isolde’s voice was barely a whisper. "A garden." Nyx’s form flickered, their violet eyes wide. "A *hungry* one." One of the hearts pulsed, its rhythm uneven. A drop of dark liquid fell from it, splattering onto the ground below. The earth *hissed* where it landed, steam rising from the spot. Rory’s fingers twitched toward the Fae blade. "We’re leaving. Now." Isolde didn’t move. "We can’t." A sound like a sigh filled the cavern. The branches above them trembled, and one of the hearts—smaller than the others, no bigger than a fist—twitched violently. Then it *ripped* free from its branch, plummeting toward them. Rory dove to the side as it hit the ground with a wet *thud.* The heart twitched, veins writhing like worms as it began to *crawl* toward her. Nyx’s shadows lashed out, wrapping around the thing and yanking it back. It let out a sound like a choked scream. "Run." They didn’t need to be told twice. The tunnel behind them was gone. In its place, a labyrinth of bone-white roots stretched into the dark, twisting and turning like a living thing. Rory didn’t hesitate. She bolted, the others close behind. The roots shifted underfoot, writhing like serpents. One lashed out, coiling around Nyx’s ankle. They snarled, shadows flaring as they severed it with a thought. The root shrieked, black ichor spraying from the wound. Isolde’s voice cut through the chaos. "The center! We have to reach the center!" Rory didn’t ask why. She ran. The cavern seemed to stretch, the walls receding the faster they moved. The air grew thicker, pressing against Rory’s lungs like a fist. The Heartstone pendant burned against her skin, its heat searing through her shirt. Then, the roots parted. A clearing. A single tree, its trunk wider than Rory was tall, its branches heavy with more of those *things.* But at its base, a pool of water so still it looked like glass. And floating above it— A door. Not a real door. A *shimmer,* a distortion in the air, like heat rising from pavement. The Veil. Isolde stumbled to a stop, her silver hair whipping around her as she turned. "We have to go through. Now." Nyx’s shadows coiled protectively around Rory. "That’s not the way we came in." "It’s the only way out." The roots behind them groaned, slithering closer. The hearts in the trees above began to *throb* in unison, a slow, sickening rhythm. Rory didn’t think. She grabbed Nyx’s hand and *ran.*