Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT03MA6A7QZKXAJCKEW5FWJ

The ancient oak stones materialized through the September mist like the ribs of some long-buried creature. Aurora stopped short, her trainer sinking into moss that felt more like cloud than earth. The boundary between Richmond Park and the grove had always felt like this—a held breath, a threshold her body recognised even when her mind tried to deny it. "This is mad," Nyx whispered, their voice barely distinguishable from the wind threading through the standing oaks. The Shade had taken something closer to solid form for the journey, a humanoid shadow with edges that didn't quite hold still. "You lot are absolutely mad, walking into a place like this." "You're the one who suggested it," Aurora said. "I suggested you might benefit from her counsel. I didn't suggest marching in without proper caution." Isolde stood twenty paces ahead, her silver hair catching what little light penetrated the canopy. She wasn't waiting for them—she was already moving deeper into the grove, her footsteps silent against the undergrowth. Not metaphorically. Aurora had watched her walk across loose gravel without disturbing a single stone. Eva caught up to Aurora's side, her breath coming quick. "How long did she say it would take?" "She didn't." "Right. Brilliant. Vague prophecy oracle time." The moment they crossed the standing stones, the air changed texture. Aurora felt it first as pressure against her ears, then as a strange heaviness in her lungs, as if the atmosphere itself had thickened. The mist didn't dissipate so much as transform, becoming something more intentional, more present. It wrapped around her wrists and ankles like water. The flora here violated every law of autumn. Wildflowers bloomed in defiant profusion—blues and yellows and crimson reds that belonged to spring, summer, every season but this one. Aurora knelt to examine a cluster of foxgloves, their trumpets impossibly delicate. When she touched one, it didn't wilt. Instead, it seemed to lean into her palm, responsive and aware. "Careful," Isolde's voice drifted back. She didn't turn around. "They notice when you notice them." Eva made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. "Is everything in here going to be cryptic and unsettling?" "Yes," Nyx said flatly. The deeper they ventured, the more the world revealed itself to be constructed. Not in the modern sense—no scaffolding, no visible seams—but in the way that every element seemed placed with intention. The trees grew in patterns that almost formed arches. The wildflowers clustered in circles. The path, if it could be called that, curved in ways that felt choreographed. Aurora's heart had begun a steady thrum against her ribs. Not fear, exactly. Something else. Anticipation, maybe. The pendant beneath her shirt—the Heartstone—remained inert and cool. Whatever portal activity it might detect, there was none here. The clearing announced itself gradually. First, the light changed, becoming more golden, more alive. Then the trees opened like a hand unclenching. And then they were standing in a space that had no business existing within the confines of Richmond Park. The clearing stretched at least a hundred metres across, ringed by ancient oaks so immense their trunks could have held houses. At the centre stood a stone circle—not the dramatic megaliths of tourist destinations, but subtler stones worn smooth by time, each inscribed with symbols that hurt to look at directly. The symbols seemed to shift when Aurora wasn't watching them, repositioning themselves into configurations that suggested language but resisted comprehension. "Christ," Eva breathed. The wildflowers here reached Aurora's waist, a riot of colour that somehow maintained a clear path through to the stones. The air hummed, a frequency so low she felt it in her teeth rather than heard it. Or perhaps she did hear it—perhaps it was the same thing. The Fae-Forged Blade at her hip hummed back, a sympathetic resonance. Isolde stood at the circle's edge, her pale lavender eyes fixed on something beyond their seeing. "Is she—" Eva started. "Scrying," Nyx supplied. "Best let her be." Aurora moved forward, drawn by something she couldn't articulate. The wildflowers parted as she walked, as though she were meant to come this way, as though her path had been reserved. The ground beneath her feet felt less like earth and more like intention given substance. Each step seemed to matter. Each step changed something, though she couldn't identify what. The symbols on the stones began to glow as she approached. Not bright—more like remembering light after a long darkness. They pulsed in sequence, creating patterns that might have been writing or mathematics or something for which her language had no equivalent. A doorway, perhaps. Or a warning. "There," Isolde said, finally turning. Her gaze found Aurora's and held. "The third stone. What do you perceive?" Aurora stepped closer. The third stone was smaller than the others, weathered smooth as water-worn pebbles from some ancient river. It bore only one symbol—a spiral that twisted inward, suggesting depth that the flat stone couldn't possibly contain. She leaned closer. For a moment, the world fractured. She saw nothing and everything. Colors she had no names for. Spaces that existed in more dimensions than her eyes could track. Voices speaking in harmonic frequencies that made sense in her bones if not her brain. A marketplace hung between stars. Gardens where fruit fell upward. Cities of crystal spun from solidified music. Then it compressed. Collapsed back into a single point of focus. Aurora gasped, stumbling backward. Eva caught her, arms locked around her waist. "What did you see?" Isolde asked. Aurora's mouth had gone dry. "Other places." "All places," Isolde corrected gently. "The Veil thins here. The boundaries become porous. These stones are anchors—they hold back what lies beyond, maintain the separation between what is and what might be." She tilted her head slightly, that gesture that suggested she was listening to frequencies others couldn't hear. "The Veil weakens, Aurora. You can feel it. The winter solstice approaches." The temperature had dropped, though Aurora hadn't noticed when. Her breath misted now in the gold-amber light, though outside this grove, summer hadn't released its grip. "How long do we have?" she asked. "Time moves differently here," Isolde replied. "But outside? Before the boundaries fail entirely?" The oracle turned back to the stones, her silver hair catching the glow of the symbols. "Not long enough."