Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0MNEAK9Y64CVRZPY25BPB

The air shimmered like heat haze over tarmac, but the chill that ran up Aurora’s spine was anything but summer. One moment they had been standing in the damp, earthy gloom of a forgotten corner of Richmond Park, the next, the world had folded in on itself with a soundless, gut-wrenching lurch. Her feet settled on a carpet of moss so soft it felt like walking on a cloud. The scent hit her first—honeysuckle, ripe peaches, and something metallic, like ozone after a lightning strike. She blinked, her bright blue eyes struggling to adjust. The light here was wrong. It wasn’t the weak, greyish light of a London afternoon filtering through trees. It was a deep, liquid gold, pouring from an amber sky where no sun was visible. “Well,” Nyx’s voice was a whisper that seemed to come from the shadows clinging to the ancient oak trunks around them. Their form, a humanoid silhouette of living darkness, seemed more solid here, the faint violet glow of their eyes brighter against the perpetual twilight. “This is new.” Aurora’s hand went instinctively to the silver chain at her throat. The Heartstone pendant pulsed against her skin, a warm, steady rhythm that was both comforting and unnerving. It hadn’t done that back in the park. “Is this it? Is this her grove?” “It is a place between,” Nyx murmured, their form flowing around the base of a giant, twisted oak like smoke. “The Veil is tissue-paper thin here. We have stepped through.” The grove was a cathedral of nature run wild. Trees with silver bark and leaves that chimed softly in a non-existent wind soared overhead. Wildflowers in impossible hues—sapphire blue, fiery orange, deep amethyst—bloomed in profusion across the forest floor, their perfume intoxicating. There were no birds, but the air was filled with a soft, melodic hum, as if the very light was singing. “Don’t linger on the path,” Nyx advised, their voice barely audible over the hum. “Time has its own rules in such places. An hour here could be a minute out there. Or a week.” Aurora tightened her grip on the strap of her bag, feeling the solid weight of the Fae-Forged Blade within. Isolde had given it to her for a reason. She hadn’t said ‘for stabbing giant singing flowers,’ but the cold weight of the moonsilver was a tangible anchor in this disorienting beauty. They moved deeper, the mossy path giving way to a circle of standing stones. They weren’t granite or slate, but living, breathing oak, grown into perfect, smooth pillars that arched towards the amber sky. In the centre of the circle, the air shimmered with that same visible distortion she now recognised as the Veil itself. “Look,” she breathed, stopping short. Beneath one of the arching stone-oaks, a pool of crystal-clear water lay perfectly still. Its surface reflected not the amber sky, but a field of stars—constellations she didn’t recognise. As she watched, a single flower petal, glowing with its own soft light, drifted down from above and landed on the water. Instead of floating, it sank into the starfield, disappearing into the depths. A sense of profound unease coiled in her stomach. The wonder was still there, a dizzying, breathtaking spectacle, but it was edged now with something predatory. This beauty wasn’t passive. It was watchful. Nyx flowed to her side, a cool presence. “The Seer’s home is close. Her magic is woven into this place. The pool shows possibilities. Potential futures. Do not look too long. It is… addictive for mortals.” Aurora forced her gaze away from the hypnotic star-pool. Her eyes caught on something else—a set of footprints pressed into the soft moss near the water’s edge. They were small, delicate. But as she watched, the impressions slowly faded, the moss springing back until no trace remained. “She was here,” Aurora said. “She is always here,” Nyx corrected softly. “She is the grove, and the grove is her.” A rustle, not from an animal, but from the very leaves of the path ahead, made them both turn. The flowers seemed to lean in, curious. The melodic hum of the light dipped and swelled. A figure emerged from between two of the great stone-oaks. She seemed woven from moonlight and mist. Her hair was a river of silver cascading down her back, and her eyes were the colour of a twilight sky. She left no imprint on the moss as she walked towards them. Isolde Varga smiled, a faint, enigmatic curve of her lips. “The shadow brings a new thread to the tapestry. One stained with the fire of another realm.” Her pale lavender eyes settled on Aurora’s chest, on the pendant that pulsed warmly in response. “And she carries a key she does not know how to use.” Her voice was like the chime of the leaves, musical and layered with meanings Aurora couldn’t grasp. “We need your help,” Aurora said, her own voice sounding harsh and blunt in comparison. “Need is a mortal concept,” Isolde replied, her gaze drifting to the star-pool. “You have questions that burn. You seek a path into the amber gluttony. Dymas.” She said the name like a taste on her tongue. “A place of exquisite consumption. They would devour a soul like yours, little key, and savor the aftertaste for centuries.” “Can you help us get in?” Aurora pressed, her patience, usually her strong suit, fraying under the grove’s disorienting influence. Isolde’s ethereal gaze returned to her. “The Veil weakens at the solstice. A door will open where the hunger is greatest. But a door swings both ways.” She tilted her head, and for a terrifying second, Aurora saw something ancient and utterly alien looking out from behind those lavender eyes. “You already hold a piece of that world. It calls to its own.” She gestured with a slender hand towards the Heartstone. “It will pull you towards the tear. But be swift. Prince Belphegor’s chefs are always hunting for rare ingredients. And you, little mortal, would be a delicacy.” The wonder of the place curdled completely, replaced by a cold, sharp fear. The beautiful, singing grove felt like the antechamber to a slaughterhouse. Isolde turned without another word and began to glide away, her form beginning to blend with the dappled, golden light. “Wait!” Aurora called out. “That’s it? That’s all you’ll tell us?” The Half-Fae Seer paused, glancing back over her shoulder. A faint, almost pitying smile touched her lips. “The shadow knows the ways between. The key knows the door. You have already everything you need. The question is, do you have the stomach to use it?” And then she was gone, not vanishing, but simply becoming one with the light and the leaves until there was no distinction between her and the grove. The melodic hum seemed louder now, pressing in on them. The vibrant colours of the flowers felt aggressive, the twisting branches of the trees like grasping claws. The star-pool swirled ominously. Nyx’s form condensed, the violet glow of their eyes sharp. “We should not remain. This place… it drinks perception. We have what we came for.” Aurora nodded, her throat tight. She touched the pendant again, its warmth now feeling like a brand. A key. A beacon. She looked back the way they had come, but the path seemed different, the trees rearranged. The wondrous, alien world had closed in around them, beautiful and utterly treacherous. They were visitors here, and the hospitality had just run out.