Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQQSNXASH1QJZ6WNAYYJG5

Aurora hesitated at the threshold. Ancient oaks formed a half circle, gnarled roots knotted into the earth. Their branches arched overhead and tangled into a living dome. Moss draped their bark like heavy curtains. She traced the rim of one standing stone with her fingertips. The surface felt cool, as if carved from moonlight. Nyx slipped across the boundary without a ripple of sound. The air around them trembled, and Aurora’s pendant throbbed faintly against her chest. She wondered whether it pulsed in warning or recognition. The Heartstone never lay silent. We’re inside now. Rory, watch your step. Their boots sank into a carpet of moss threaded with pale blossoms. Petals glowed in twilight, though no sun had flickered overhead for hours. Aurora pressed her hand to the ground. No echo answered. The earth bore no mark of her presence. These wildflowers bloom year-round, wasn’t that Isolde’s line? If the Seer ever spoke straight. A breeze curled through the clearing. It carried the scent of crushed herbs and something darker, like burnt sugar. Nyx drifted ahead. Lampshade shadows clung to their silhouette. They paused beneath a tangle of vines, violet eyes flicking over carved runes. A breath of wind shifted the letters. They seemed to rearrange themselves, urging Aurora forward. She drew the Fae-Forged Blade, its moonsilver edge catching the dim radiance. She ran a fingertip along the cold metal. It hummed against her skin, declaring itself alive. This is a place beyond wards, Nyx. No demon could hide here. Or no mortal. The Shade tilted its head. You’d know better. Aurora crept beneath the canopy. Light fractured into stained-glass shards—emerald, amber, and violet. Leaves trembled, and each rustle sounded like whispered names. She swallowed hard and tucked the blade into her belt. Better to draw steel when you know what you face. The forest opened onto a stretch of black water, still as obsidian. A lone oak rose from the centre of the pool, its branches hung with lantern-like pods. They emitted a pulse of pale blue. Aurora moved closer, toes brushing silver-veined grass. She expected ripples, but the water held its silence. Nyx reached out a hand. Their shadow form swelled across the surface, then sank without a word. Aurora crouched at the water’s edge. The lantern pods glowed against her reflection. It fractured—her bright blue eyes stared back, then reversed, staring past her. She jerked back. The pendant thudded against her ribcage. A voice drifted through the grove. Soft, distant, and undecipherable. Somehow ancient. Somehow immediate. Aurora stood. Heart rattled behind her ribs. Can you hear it? Nyx’s voice barely rose above a whisper on the wind. She nodded, though the sound of her throat clearing felt foreign. The voice twisted around her bones, urging her deeper. Aurora made her way around the pool. Wildflowers bowed their heads as though afraid. Petals brushed her ankles like hesitations. The water’s lanterns tracked her with steady pulses. One… two… three. Each beat felt like a summons. A tremor shook the grove. Roots writhed beneath her boots. The oak in the centre shivered, and lantern pods flared. Their glow turned from blue to acid green. Aurora stepped back into the undergrowth. Nyx appeared at her shoulder, lean and towering amid the blooms. You shouldn’t have touched the stones. I didn’t do anything. I just walked through. Touch carries meaning here. Your presence carved a mark. Aurora tightened her grip on the blade’s hilt. The ground vibrated. Vines snaked around the trunks, their tips sprouting buds that opened to reveal pale, mothlike faces. They blinked. Aurora’s breath froze. Nyx leaned forward, whisper drifting like smoke. Faces couldn’t bloom without intent. Something’s waking. A low cracking sounded overhead. A fragment of bark the size of a fist fell at Aurora’s feet. She knelt, stared as the wood curled inward to reveal another rune. Sharp lines inlaid with silver. The same runes she’d seen on the standing stones. Nyx tilted their head. A doorway. Aurora used the blade to slice a horizontal groove through the bark. The air hissed. The runes glowed. The oak dissolved into a shifting portal, a liquid shimmer that draped between two trunks. Rain of pale motes drifted through the gap. Each spark carried the scent of burnt rosemary. Aurora raised her chin. Ready? Nyx’s whisper rode the current of wind. Ready. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward. The gap closed behind them. The world warped around her—colors throttled, the hush stilled into a ringing silence. When the mist cleared, they stood in a corridor of living wood. Branches arched like ribs overhead. The floor pulsed beneath her feet, as though the grove itself drew breath. The scent here turned sweet and oppressive. Nectar and rot in the same moment. Aurora fought the urge to gag. She swallowed the lump in her throat and pressed forward. Every step sent a quiver up her spine. Tiny lights drifted above them—will-o’-the-wisps or something older. They weaved through the branches like dancers. Their glow painted shadows onto the walls. Nyx’s form flickered with each pass. These corridors end in arenas or chalices. She remembered Isolde’s riddles. Only the Seer could speak truth here, yet the Fae compulsion bent her words into riddles. How to trust the riddles without trusting the speaker? Ahead the corridor widened into a chamber. Columns of wood spiraled into the gloom, each bark face carved with twisted expressions. The ground cracked beneath a pool of liquid moonlight. Aurora approached. The light pooled like molten silver. She knelt at its edge. In its surface her reflection hovered. Then another—Isolde’s lavender eyes glowed back, framed by silver hair. Aurora jerked upright. Blinking, she saw only her own face. What trick is this? Nyx brushed past her, leaning over the pool. The reflection rippled. A ripple of violet. Nyx dipped a hand in. The water clung to them, dripping motes of light. Then it stained their skin, leaving a ring of glowing runes around their wrist. Aurora cursed under her breath. The Shade looked at her, voice threaded through the wind. The Veil thins here. We cross threshold after threshold. Aurora scanned the chamber. Branches reached out as if to close the gaps. Petals fell like rain. Each blossom dripped with sap that glimmered like starlight. One splashed against the Fae-Forged Blade. The metal hissed, slicing the blossom in two. Crimson sap spilled onto the blade. Aurora reined in a shiver. Blood on moonsilver could only be a promise. Nyx knelt beside her. The runes on their wrist flared and faded. The water drained from the pool, seeping into cracks in the floor. A gust of wind slammed the slash of the corridor door shut. Darkness coiled at the edges of the chamber. Aurora raised the blade. Six columns formed a hexagon around the silver pool. From each wood face gaped a hollow eye. Eyes that watched her. Aurora planted her feet. Nyx unfurled their shadow form until they towered overhead. Branches trembled. The air tasted of metal and honey. Somewhere in the grove the wind caught a voice. Real or imagined. Never mind. A voice means someone speaks. She tapped the blade against the stone floor. Tell me where to go. No answer. The sap on the blade turned from crimson to ink, then vanished into the metal. Aurora lifted the dagger, scanning each pillar. The carved faces whispered their own riddles in a language older than the Seer’s tongue. Steel found the nearest rune. Aurora pressed the blade’s tip into the groove. It sank through wood like through mist. A hidden panel swung open, and a jet of cold air burst through. Aurora stumbled backward. The edge of the blade caught the lip of the secret door and snapped shut with a hollow echo. Nyx prodded the door with an elongated shadow arm. A corridor lay beyond it, lit by pale lantern-pods identical to those in the water. The path curved downward. Aurora exchanged a look with Nyx. No hesitation this time. They stepped through. The faces on the columns shivered, then resealed silent and unblinking. The chamber behind them folded back into living wood. The corridor guided them deeper into the grove’s heart. Every pulse of the wood, every susurration of vines, reminded Aurora that she had crossed into a world older than memory. And there, beyond the carved door, lay the next discovery, waiting in silence.