Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX4TT4BT0F0044FMZVSB9C

Aurora’s motorbike sputtered, coughed, and died, leaving her stranded in the oppressive silence of Richmond Park. Headlights, two feeble beams, cut through the inky blackness, revealing only the immediate stretch of winding tarmac. No streetlights illuminated the drive. She had been sure she’d had enough fuel to make it to the grove. The air, heavy with the scent of damp earth and unseen blossoms, clung to her. She checked her watch. Ten minutes past midnight. The note had been explicit: *Midnight. The Fae Grove. Don’t be late.* The words, scrawled in an unfamiliar hand, had offered no explanation, no hint of the sender. Only the command. A shiver traced her spine, unrelated to the surprising chill of the late spring night. Rory dismounted, the soft crunch of her boots on gravel echoing loudly in the stillness. A quick kick of the starter, a hopeful twist of the throttle — nothing. The engine remained stubbornly silent. Her phone, pulled from her pocket, displayed a single bar of signal, then two, then none. The screen went dark. Wonderful. She gripped the handlebars, her knuckles white. Another deep breath, a slow release. She scanned the dense line of ancient oaks bordering the road, trying to recall her directions. The grove entrance, if memory served, lay beyond the cluster of standing stones, a landmark she now realized was hidden by the impenetrable darkness. She sighed. No choice but to walk. The Heartstone Pendant, a deep crimson against her skin, pulsed faintly, a soft warmth spreading outward. It always did that when something was… off. Not dangerous, usually, just *different*. Tonight, the pulse felt stronger, a steady beat against her collarbone. Not quite a warning, more an affirmation of the abnormal. Rory started down the deserted road, her footsteps the only sound disturbing the nocturnal calm. The trees loomed, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching into the void. The ground beneath her boots was softer now, the tarmac giving way to a grassy track. She pulled her leather jacket tighter, more for comfort than warmth, the familiar scent of old leather a small anchor. The air grew heavier, thick with an almost cloying sweetness, like honey and night-blooming jasmine. It made her head swim, a dizzying effect that cleared the moment she focused on it. The track narrowed, eventually disappearing altogether, replaced by a carpet of moss and fallen leaves. The trees here grew closer together, their ancient trunks gnarled and twisted, forming a kind of arboreal tunnel. The faint starlight that had pierced the canopy vanished. Deep black swallowed her. She fumbled for the small tactical flashlight on her belt. The beam, a narrow spear, cut through the gloom. It revealed massive, rough-hewn stones, almost swallowed by ivy and moss, standing shoulder to shoulder in a rough circle. The standing stones. She had found it. The entrance to the Fae Grove. A gust of wind, sudden and cold, rustled through the invisible leaves overhead. It carried a sound, thin and reedy, like a forgotten flute. Or a whisper. Rory froze, her flashlight beam sweeping through the darkness beyond the stones. Nothing moved. The sound faded, leaving behind the heavy silence. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum in her chest. She stepped between two of the massive stones. The transition was unsettling. The air inside the grove was markedly different, warmer, almost humid, and the sweetness intensified. Wildflowers, impossibly vibrant, bloomed in the partial light of an unseen moon, their colours a blur of crimson and sapphire in the dimness. They shouldn’t have been there, not in this weather, not at this time of year. The path, if it could be called that, was a narrow trace through knee-high grass and ferns. She followed it, the Heartstone a persistent warmth against her skin. The further she went, the more the trees seemed to press in, their branches weaving together overhead, forming a dense, living ceiling. Stars, even the few that had been visible before, vanished completely. A soft thud sounded behind her. Rory spun, flashlight beam cutting through the shadows. A small branch, no thicker than her finger, lay on the ground. It hadn't been there a second ago. Had it fallen? A small breeze, barely a breath, whispered past her ear. It carried the scent of wet earth and something else, something musky and strangely animalistic. She continued, her pace quickening. The air grew still, the silence profound, almost suffocating. The only sounds were her own ragged breaths and the crunch of her boots on the leafy ground. Then, a rustle. Not the wind this time. It came from the dense undergrowth to her right, a distinct movement, like something large sliding through the ferns. Rory stopped, her hand instinctively going to the small knife she kept in her boot. She didn't draw it. Not yet. Her bright blue eyes darted into the shadows. Nothing. The rustling ceased. She waited, every nerve ending alert, straining to hear over the roar of her own blood in her ears. A shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness at the edge of her vision, a fleeting, undefined shape. It moved low to the ground, too fast to properly register. Her flashlight beam whipped towards it, but it was gone, swallowed by the oppressive gloom. Her breath hitched. She was not alone. The certainty settled over her like a shroud. A low, guttural growl rumbled through the air, vibrating in her chest. It wasn't human. It came from all directions, surrounding her, pressing in from the darkness. Her grip on the flashlight tightened. The beam wavered. She could feel eyes on her now, a cold, hungry gaze from the unseen. The Heartstone throbbed, a steady, insistent beat against her skin. It was no longer a gentle warmth, but a searing heat. A warning. She backed away slowly, her eyes scanning the impenetrable wall of trees. The growl intensified, a chorus of unseen throats. The sweetness in the air turned sickly, cloying. A twig snapped behind her. Rory whirled, flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. Nothing. But the feeling of being watched intensified, a malevolent presence pressing in closer, its breath, cold and stale, brushing against her neck. She spun again, panic rising like bile in her throat. She needed to get out. Now. The way back, however, had disappeared. The path, once faintly visible, was gone, swallowed by the encroaching flora. Trees, thick and unyielding, formed an impenetrable barrier in every direction. The wildflowers bloomed brighter now, their unnatural hues glowing faintly in the deepening darkness. A high-pitched shriek tore through the silence, raw and chilling, too close for comfort. It echoed through the grove, impossibly loud, before fading into a guttural chuckle. The sound, undeniably, was laughing at her.