Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSZ58S95663381ST7VXV571

The air thickened as Rory stepped past the standing stones, her boots sinking into moss that hadn’t known winter. The grove swallowed sound—no rustle of leaves, no distant chatter from Richmond Park’s joggers. Just silence, heavy as a held breath. Nyx materialized beside her, their violet glow dimming to a smolder. "Time’s already slipping. We’ve got maybe an hour before the grove spits us back out." Isolde didn’t turn, her silver hair catching the light like spun glass. "Or three days. The grove decides." Her bare feet left no prints in the damp earth, just the faintest shiver of disturbed petals. Rory adjusted the Heartstone pendant beneath her shirt. It pulsed against her collarbone, warm as a living thing. "So we don’t waste time." She nudged a low-hanging branch aside. The leaves weren’t leaves at all—delicate, translucent membranes that hummed when brushed. "What the hell are these?" Nyx extended a shadowy finger, hesitating just shy of contact. "Fae flora. They sing if you listen close enough." Their voice carried the echo of wind through ruins. "Though I wouldn’t recommend it." Isolde plucked one, holding it to the light. It thrummed between her fingers, vibrating like a plucked string. "They’re attuned to truth. Lie near them, and they wither." She tossed it into the undergrowth where it dissolved into mist. "Useful for weeding out spies." Rory’s wrist twinged where Evan’s grip had once bruised. She flexed her fingers, focusing on the path ahead. The trees here grew in impossible spirals, their bark etched with glowing runes that shifted when stared at too long. "You said the grove hides something. Where do we start?" Isolde pointed toward a break in the foliage—a narrow trail carpeted in bluebells that chimed softly underfoot. "The heart of the grove. But be warned: the deeper we go, the more the grove tests you." Nyx’s form flickered, their edges blurring like smoke in a draft. "Tests how?" "By showing you what you fear. What you desire." Isolde’s lavender eyes gleamed. "The grove doesn’t give answers. It gives mirrors." Rory exhaled through her nose. "Great. So we’re walking into a magical funhouse." The trail narrowed, forcing them single-file. Rory went first, her pulse quickening as the air turned syrupy, thick with the scent of ozone and crushed herbs. The Heartstone’s heat spread across her chest, insistent now. She reached back, fingers brushing Nyx’s incorporeal arm. Their touch was ice and static. "You feel that?" Rory murmured. Nyx’s glow intensified. "Something’s watching." Ahead, the trees parted. The clearing beyond wasn’t a clearing at all—it was a sinkhole, a perfect circle of darkness ringed by mushrooms the size of stools. Their caps pulsed with bioluminescent veins, casting eerie light on the sheer drop. At the bottom, a lake of liquid silver stretched into the distance, its surface rippling without wind. Isolde knelt, pressing her palm to the edge. The earth sighed beneath her touch. "The Veil’s thin here. Can you see it?" Rory crouched beside her. At first, there was nothing. Then—a shimmer, like heat haze over pavement. The air wavered, distorting the far side of the lake. "That’s it? The barrier between worlds?" "One of the weak points." Isolde’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Hel’s rifts are easier to spot. The Fae ones? They hide in plain sight." Nyx drifted forward, their form stretching toward the drop. "There’s something down there." Rory followed their gaze. The silver lake wasn’t still. Shapes moved beneath its surface—shadows with too many limbs, darting just out of sight. "What the hell are those?" "Echoes," Isolde said. "Memories given form. The grove’s way of showing you what lurks beyond." One of the shadows surged upward, pressing against the underside of the liquid. A face formed—pale, gaunt, mouth stretched in a silent scream. Rory recoiled. "That’s—" "Someone who tried to cross and failed." Isolde didn’t flinch. "The grove remembers." Nyx’s glow flickered like a dying bulb. "We’re not here for Hel’s leftovers. Where’s the damn relic?" Isolde stood, brushing dirt from her knees. "Patience. The grove doesn’t give up its secrets to the impatient." She stepped onto the first mushroom, testing its weight. It held. "Follow me. And whatever you do, don’t look down." Rory swallowed. "That’s not ominous at all." The mushrooms formed a spiraling path downward, their caps slick with condensation. Rory’s boots slipped once, her stomach lurching as she caught herself on Nyx’s arm. Their solidity was a relief, even if their skin felt like cooled wax. At the bottom, the silver lake lapped at their feet. The liquid didn’t splash—it clung, beading like mercury. Rory poked it with her toe. The bead skittered away, leaving no trace. Isolde waded in without hesitation. The liquid rose to her knees, then her waist, but never touched her skin. It parted around her like water around a stone. "Come on. It won’t hurt you." Rory exchanged a glance with Nyx. "Famous last words." She stepped in. The liquid was neither hot nor cold, but alive—it thrummed against her legs, a low vibration that set her teeth on edge. Nyx followed, their form rippling as the substance resisted them. "It’s trying to dissolve me." Isolde didn’t turn. "It’s testing your intent. Hold your purpose tight." The lake stretched on, endless. Rory’s thighs burned with the effort of pushing through the thick liquid. The Heartstone pendant grew heavier, its heat a brand against her sternum. "How much farther?" Isolde pointed. Ahead, the lake curved around a jutting rock formation—a natural bridge arching over the silver expanse. At its peak, something glinted. "There." Rory’s breath hitched. The glint resolved into a dagger, its leaf-shaped blade embedded in the stone. The Fae-forged blade. It hummed, a high, clear note that cut through the grove’s oppressive silence. Nyx’s voice was a rasp. "That’s it?" Isolde didn’t answer. She was already moving, her steps sure despite the treacherous footing. Rory followed, her fingers twitching toward the blade. The closer they got, the louder the hum became—a chorus now, voices layered over one another, whispering in a language that made her skull ache. The rock beneath her boots was warm. Too warm. Rory yanked her foot back as the stone hissed, tendrils of smoke curling from the impression her boot had left. "It’s alive." Nyx’s glow pulsed erratically. "The grove doesn’t want us to take it." Isolde reached the blade first. She wrapped her fingers around the hilt, her knuckles whitening. The hum cut off mid-note. The lake stilled. Then— A crack split the air. The rock beneath them groaned, fissures spiderwebbing outward. Rory lunged for the blade, but Isolde was already pulling it free. The moment the metal left the stone, the bridge collapsed. Rory fell. The silver liquid rushed up to meet her. She braced for impact, but it never came—the liquid caught her, cradling her like a hammock. She floated, suspended, as the grove’s whispers rose around her. *You are not worthy.* *You are afraid.* *You will fail.* The voices slithered into her ears, her mind. Rory gritted her teeth. "Shut up." The liquid released her. She hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from her lungs. Nyx materialized beside her, their form flickering like a dying flame. Isolde stood over them, the Fae blade clutched in her hand. Its glow cast jagged shadows across her face. "You passed the test," Isolde said. "The grove has deemed you... adequate." Rory pushed herself up, wincing. "Adequate? That’s it?" Nyx’s laughter was a dry rustle. "High praise from a sentient forest." The grove shuddered. The standing stones at the entrance shimmered, their edges blurring. Isolde tucked the blade into her belt. "Time’s up. We need to go. Now." Rory didn’t argue. She sprinted for the exit, the Heartstone pendant bouncing against her chest. The whispers followed, a chorus of hisses and sighs, until the grove spat them out into Richmond Park’s familiar chill. The standing stones snapped back into place behind them. Rory doubled over, hands on her knees, gulping down air that tasted of exhaust and rain. Nyx solidified beside her, their glow steadying. Isolde turned the Fae blade over in her hands, examining the runes etched into the metal. "It’s yours now. Use it well." Rory straightened, wiping sweat from her brow. The pendant at her throat had gone cold. "What do I even do with it?" Nyx’s violet eyes gleamed. "Cut through the bullshit, for starters." Isolde smiled, sharp as the blade’s edge. "And when the time comes, cut through the Veil."