Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0F255JYF2RFBNJD55XBR8

The ancient oak standing stones loomed ahead, their bark rough and fissured like dried riverbeds. Aurora Carter halted at the edge of the clearing. The air here tasted different, thicker, carrying the scent of ozone and crushed petals. She adjusted the strap of her delivery bag, though she carried no food this time. Her fingers brushed the deep crimson gemstone resting against her collarbone. The Heartstone Pendant pulsed with a faint warmth, rhythmic as a sleeping heartbeat. Nyx stepped through the gap between the first two stones. Their form shifted, the living shadow solidifying into a humanoid silhouette standing over six feet tall. Faintly glowing violet eyes scanned the canopy above. The light bends wrong here. Aurora followed. The transition hit her like a physical blow, a drop in pressure that popped her ears. Behind them, the grey London sky vanished. Above the grove, the atmosphere shimmered with a warm amber hue, though no sun was visible. The shadows stretched long and deep, inviting Nyx to linger within them. Isolde Varga walked past Aurora without breaking stride. The half-fae seer moved with an ethereal grace, her silver hair reaching down to her waist like a cascade of moonlight. Where her boots touched the earth, the grass sprang back immediately. No indentations remained. No footprints marked her path. Time behaves like water in this place. It pools in the lows and rushes over the highs. Aurora glanced at her watch. The second hand ticked backward, then froze, then spun wildly before settling. She shoved the wrist into her jacket pocket. We need to keep moving. The Wardens monitor rift points. If they see a tear this big, they will come. Isolde paused beside a cluster of wildflowers. Bluebells bloomed alongside summer roses and autumn chrysanthemums, all vibrant and open despite the season. The seer ran a pale finger along a petal. The Veil grows thin where the roots drink deep. What is monitored on the surface remains blind to what grows beneath. Nyx drifted closer to the tree line. Their edges blurred, merging with the darkness under the branches. A whisper carried on the wind, sounding like dry leaves skittering over pavement. I can feel the spaces between. The realms overlap here. Earth and Fae ground share the same soil. Aurora drew the Fae-Forged Blade from its sheath at her hip. The moonsilver felt heavy, the metal always cold to the touch regardless of the ambient temperature. The leaf-shaped dagger luminesced with a faint glow, cutting through the amber dimness. She gripped the hilt tight, the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist itching beneath the leather glove. Does the blade react to this place? Isolde turned. Her pale lavender eyes fixed on the weapon. Steel sings when magic breathes nearby. Yours hums a warning. Aurora lowered the point but kept the weapon ready. The silence of the grove pressed against her eardrums. No birds chirped. No insects buzzed. Only the sound of their breathing and the rustle of Isolde's garments broke the quiet. She walked deeper into the clearing. The flora grew denser, vines twisting around the oak trunks in patterns that looked too deliberate to be natural. Some spiraled clockwise, others counter-clockwise, forming locks and keys in the wood. This feels like a trap. Nyx materialized beside her, the solid form flickering like a bad signal. Traps require bait. We are merely guests who arrived without an invitation. Guests leave tracks. Isolde does not. Aurora does. Aurora looked down. Her boots left clear impressions in the soft moss. She stepped onto a exposed root to minimize the mark. The Heartstone warmed further against her skin, almost burning now. The pendant reacts to portals. We are not near a gate to Hel. Isolde stopped before a large stone altar covered in moss. She placed both hands on the surface. Her expression remained serene, unreadable. The stone remembers. It holds the echo of those who stood here before. What do they say? They speak of a winter that does not end. Of a solstice that locks the sun in place. Aurora sheathed the blade. The coldness lingered on her palm. She needed to focus. The disorientation of the time distortion made her stomach churn. Minutes outside could be days in here. She had a shift at the Golden Empress restaurant in three hours. Or three days. The uncertainty gnawed at her cool-headed demeanor. We cannot stay long. Eva expects me back in the city. Expectations are chains we forge ourselves. Isolde stepped away from the altar. She walked toward a patch of ferns that glowed with a faint bioluminescence. The light pulsed in time with the Heartstone. Nyx hovered over the ferns. The shadow being reached out a hand. The plant recoiled, shrinking into the earth. It knows what I am. A shade belongs to the void, not the garden. You were human once. Aldric. Nyx stiffened. The violet eyes flared brighter. That name belongs to a corpse left in sixteen forty-three. I am what remains. Aurora stepped between them. The tension spiked, sharp as the blade at her hip. We do not have time for history lessons. Isolde, you brought us here for a reason. You said you had information about the rifts. Information is a currency. I trade in visions. Show me the vision. Isolde raised a hand. The air shimmered, a distortion visible only when Aurora squinted. The Veil. It looked like heat haze rising from asphalt. Within the shimmer, images flickered. A city in flames. A shadow swallowing the sun. A woman with black hair holding a crimson stone. Aurora touched her own chest. The pendant burned hot. That is me. The image shifted. The woman stood before a gate of iron and bone. Prince Belphegor waited on the other side. The sky above the gate was warm amber, matching the grove. Dymas. Isolde lowered her hand. The vision vanished. The Gluttony realm seeks entrance. The Veil weakens during the winter solstice. We stand in the shadow of that event. Why show me this now? Because you carry the key. The Heartstone does not pulse for warmth alone. It pulses for hunger. Aurora stepped back. The ground felt less stable, as if the earth beneath them tilted. Nyx drifted closer to the ground, their form spreading out like spilled ink. The shadows lengthen. Something approaches. Isolde turned toward the tree line. Her silver hair floated despite the lack of wind. The grove welcomes those who know the price. It rejects those who seek to take. Aurora tightened her grip on the hilt of the dagger again. The cold metal grounded her. She scanned the perimeter. The amber light dimmed slightly, casting the clearing into deeper twilight. The wildflowers closed their petals one by one. What price? Isolde smiled. It did not reach her eyes. That depends on what you value most. Time? Memory? Or the breath in your lungs? Nyx rose higher, hovering above the canopy. Their voice echoed from everywhere at once. We are not alone. The wards shift. Aurora spun around. The standing stones at the entrance seemed further away than before. The distance had stretched. The path they walked in now curved back on itself. You said this was a hidden clearing. It is. Hidden from those who walk in straight lines. Aurora looked at Isolde. The seer stood still, leaving no mark on the earth, watching the shadows lengthen. Aurora took a breath. The air tasted of ozone and crushed petals. She stepped forward, toward the seer, toward the deepening twilight. Show me the way out. There is no out. Only through.