Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX3S1QYCWC3ZH24TFM9PDV

The air in the Fae Grove hung heavy and still, a velvet cloak draped over the ancient oaks. Rory, her shoulder-length black hair brushing her collar, shivered, though the late summer night offered only a gentle chill. Her bright blue eyes scanned the inky blackness beyond the glow of her phone screen. The faint light painted the gnarly trunks of the standing stones a sickly green, their rough surfaces a testament to untold centuries. A small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist throbbed with a phantom ache, a ghost from a childhood tumble. She had come for answers, drawn by a cryptic message, a whisper of old ways and hidden truths. The message spoke of a connection between her recurring dreams and this place, a place she'd only ever known as a serene, sun-drenched patch of Richmond Park. Now, under the moonless sky, it felt like a different world entirely. The air itself tasted metallic, like ozone before a storm. A branch snapped behind her, sharp and sudden, ripping through the oppressive silence. Rory spun, her heart hammering against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in her ears. Her gaze darted through the shadows, but saw nothing but the skeletal branches of the oaks, their leaves rustling with an almost imperceptible whisper. A trick of the wind, she told herself, but the reasoned explanation felt thin, unconvincing. She took a hesitant step deeper into the grove, her trainers crunching softly on unseen leaves. Her hand instinctively went to the small, crimson-colored Heartstone Pendant nestled beneath her shirt. It pulsed faintly, a warmth spreading across her skin, a reassuring thrum against the growing dread. It had always done that when near a portal, a gateway to something else. What lay beyond this one, she couldn't guess. The wildflowers, usually a vibrant tapestry of colour, were muted now to shades of grey and black, their petals drooping like weary spirits. Time moved differently here; an hour inside could be minutes or days outside. That thought, meant to be a comfort, instead twisted into a fresh wave of unease. How long had she actually been here? How long had she *felt* this wrongness? A low thrum vibrated through the ground, a resonance that went deeper than sound, shaking her bones with an unsettling frequency. It was the kind of feeling you got standing on a bridge as a heavy lorry rumbled past, but multiplied tenfold, without a discernible source. Rory stood frozen, listening, her breath held captive in her chest. The thrum intensified, a rhythmic pulse that grew stronger, more insistent. Then, a faint, high-pitched keening echoed through the trees. It was a sound that made the hairs on her arms stand on end, a primal wail that spoke of sorrow and ancient pain. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, a haunting chorus that faded as quickly as it had begun, leaving only the sound of her own ragged breathing. She took another step, then another, pushing deeper into the grove. The path, once familiar, seemed to unravel before her, the trees pressing in, their shadows thickening into menacing shapes. She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She spun again, her phone light cutting through the gloom, but found no eyes staring back, only the silent, unyielding wood. A flicker of movement at the periphery of her vision. A shadow, darker than the night itself, darted between two ancient oaks. Rory squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, forcing herself to focus. "Hello?" Her voice, surprisingly steady, cracked slightly on the last letter. Only the rustle of leaves answered, a mocking whisper in the otherwise silent grove. She began to walk faster, the urgency building with each strained breath. The Heartstone pendant pulsed harder against her chest, its warmth now a burning heat. The air grew colder, bitingly so, even as the pendant grew hotter. A thick mist began to swirl around her ankles, crawling upwards, clinging to her trousers, damp and cloying. It smelled of damp earth and something acrid, almost like burnt sugar. The keening returned, closer this time, a sorrowful lament that seemed to wrap around her, pulling at her very soul. It was accompanied now by a series of soft, guttural clicks, like stones rubbing together, or bones. The sounds seemed to move with her, echoing her every step. Rory forced herself to keep moving, her eyes darting from side to side, straining to pierce the impenetrable darkness, the swirling mist. A twisted root, thick as her arm, rose from the ground directly in her path. She stumbled, catching herself before she fell, her heart leaping into her throat. As she righted herself, she noticed something new: faint, phosphorescent spores clinging to the rough bark of the trees, glowing with a sickly green light. They dotted the trunks like a rash, revealing the gnarled fingers of the branches above, reaching down like grasping claws. The clicks grew louder, interspersed with a rasping exhale, wet and heavy, as if some immense creature breathed just behind her. She didn't dare look back. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to flee this cursed place, but her feet felt rooted to the spot, heavy and leaden. The feeling of being watched intensified, morphing into a certainty; something was there, a presence unseen, unknowable, and utterly malevolent. It was only inches away.