Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT09GVY75FST5SWZQP5QJS9

The grey drizzle of London soaked through Rory’s jacket, chilling her skin, but three steps past the ancient oak standing stones, the weather vanished. One moment she stood in the damp mud of Richmond Park, the next the air turned dry and sweet, smelling of honeysuckle and ozone. The traffic noise from the nearby road cut out as if snipped with shears. Rory blinked, wiping rain from her lashes, but her hand came away dry. She looked up. The heavy, steel-wool clouds were gone, replaced by a vault of impossible twilight—indigo and violet swirling together like oil on water. Stars burned with a sharpness that hurt the eyes, none of them constellations she recognised. "Keep moving. Don't stop." Nyx materialised beside her. They were a tall, slender cut of darkness that seemed to drink in the ambient light. Their voice was a rustle of dead leaves. Rory gripped the strap of her bag. The silver chain around her neck warmed against her skin, the Heartstone Pendant pulsing in a slow, rhythmic beat that matched her own heart. She took a hesitant step forward. Her boots sank into moss so thick and deep it felt like walking on a living mattress. "This is the Grove?" "The edge of it." Isolde drifted ahead. The silver-haired woman didn't walk so much as glide, her pale lavender robes brushing the tops of the strange, spiralling ferns. Where Rory and Nyx left heavy bootprints and scuffed earth, Isolde left nothing. The moss sprang back behind her, pristine and untouched. "The air feels heavy," Rory said. Her voice sounded too loud, swallowed instantly by the trees then spat back at her with a faint, metallic echo. "Like static electricity before a storm." "Because it is," Isolde said, not turning around. "The barrier here is thin. Breath it in, and it breathes into you. Be careful what you think." Rory shivered. The Fae-Forged Blade strapped to her hip was a block of ice, freezing her side even through the leather of her jacket. She touched the hilt. The metal hummed under her fingertips, vibrating with a low frequency that made her teeth ache. She looked around. The trees weren't right. They were oaks, mostly, but the bark was a deep, bruised purple, and the branches twisted in spirals that defied geometry, curling inward like fists. Leaves shimmered with a bioluminescent sheen, shifting from emerald to gold in the time it took to blink. Wildflowers grew in clumps that defied the season—snowdrops tangled with blood-red poppies and oversized bluebells. The colours were vibrant, almost aggressive. "Don't touch the bell-flowers," Nyx whispered, their form flickering as a breeze that didn't feel like wind brushed past. "They’ll sing you to sleep for a decade. Time runs differently here." Rory pulled her hand back from a towering bluebell that bobbed without wind. "How differently?" "An hour could be a minute," Nyx said. "Or a year. The Fae have no patience for linear tick-tocks." "Relativity." Rory adjusted the bag on her shoulder, scanning the perimeter. "So if we stay too long, we might miss work tomorrow, or we might come back and find London is a ruin." "Optimistic." Nyx flowed over a gnarled root, their shadowy outline stretching and thinning. "You might simply dissolve into memory." Isolde stopped at a clearing where the canopy opened up to reveal the swirling indigo sky. Moonlight, stark and white, flooded down, illuminating a stone table that looked carved from a single giant diamond. Rory gasped. She couldn't help it. The light caught the crystals embedded in the surrounding rock faces, refracting into a million rainbows that danced over her skin. "It’s beautiful." "It is a cage." Isolde turned, her ageless face impassive. "Beauty is the Fae’s favourite bait." Rory stepped forward, drawn to the table. The pendant against her chest grew hot, almost burning now. She looked down at the Heartstone. The deep crimson gem glowed, shedding a faint red light on the silver chain. "It’s reacting to the table," Rory said. "Or the gateway beneath it," Isolde said. She gestured to the floor of the clearing. Rory looked down. The moss and earth gave way to translucent, glass-like stone. Beneath the surface, veins of gold and molten lava flowed sluggishly, but no heat rose from it. Rory knelt, pressing her hand to the glass. It was freezing cold, colder than the blade at her hip. Her breath fogged the surface. "Is this Dymas?" Rory asked, watching the molten rivers shift. "It feels like the descriptions. Excess." "A reflection of it. The Grove touches many places." Isolde drifted closer, her silver hair streaming behind her as if underwater. "That is the Gluttony of the earth itself. Feeding on the magic of the Veil." Nyx moved to the edge of the light, their shadowy substance solidifying into a humanoid shape wearing a tattered coat. "The energy here... it’s thick. I can taste copper." Rory stood, her knees stiff. She looked at the endless orchards beyond the clearing. Trees loaded with fruit that shimmered like jewels hung low over paths of crushed velvet. The scent of ripening sugar was cloying, heavy on the tongue. "We need to keep moving," Rory said, forcing herself to look away from the fruit. "The longer we stand still, the more I want to..." She trailed off, her mouth watering inexplicably. "Want to stay," Nyx finished. "The compulsion. It wants you to eat, to sleep, to forget." "I'm not hungry." Rory clenched her jaw, fighting the sudden urge to sink her teeth into one of the jewel-like apples. "Let's go." She followed Isolde toward a path winding between two towering monoliths of obsidian. The air grew colder as they passed between the stones. The silence deepened, pressing against Rory’s ears like deep water. "Watch your step," Isolde murmured. Rory looked down. The path had vanished. She stood on a bridge made of woven light, suspended over a void that yawned beneath them. Down in the dark, shapes moved—massive, slow forms twisting in the gloom. "What is that?" Rory whispered, grabbing a handful of Isolde’s robe before she realised she’d done it. The fabric felt like woven water, slipping through her fingers. "The Guardians," Isolde said. "Or perhaps, the waste." "Doesn't inspire confidence." Nyx leaned over the edge of the light bridge, peering into the abyss. "They’re sleeping. For now." Rory pulled back, her heart hammering against her ribs. The pendant flared once, a sharp spike of heat that made her wince. "The Heartstone is going crazy. We’re close to something." "We are close to the boundary," Isolde said. She pointed ahead. "The Grove ends. The Wild begins." Beyond the bridge, the landscape shifted again. The riotous colour drained away, replaced by monochrome greys and stark whites. Trees there were skeletal, their branches black ink scratches against a white sky. Rory stepped off the bridge onto solid ground, grateful for the feel of dirt under her boots. She rubbed her left wrist, the crescent scar there throbbing in time with the stone. "Is it safer there?" she asked, gesturing to the monochrome land. "Safe is a word for children," Isolde said, tilting her head. "But it is quieter there. The Fae do not like the colourless places." "Good." Rory drew the Fae-Forged Blade. The leaf-shaped dagger released a wisp of condensation, the metal so cold it burned. "I’ve had enough colour to last a lifetime." Nyx chuckled, a sound like dry skittering insects. "You say that now, little mortal. Wait until you see the shadows in the grey."