Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXBR38NVBM2DRVC9Y4JR8Y

The air shifted as Aurora stepped past the ancient oak standing stones, the temperature dropping several degrees. The pendant beneath her shirt pulsed once, a faint warmth spreading across her chest. Behind her, Nyx flowed from shadow to shadow, their form coalescing as they entered the space. Isolde moved silently, her silver hair unmoving despite the sudden breeze that carried the scent of flowers unknown to Earth. Rory's eyes widened as the Grove revealed itself. The clearing stretched impossibly far beyond what the park's boundaries should allow. Wildflowers bloomed in impossible colors — blues deeper than the ocean, reds that seemed to vibrate with energy, and yellows that glowed with their own internal light. The sky above remained London's grey, yet within this space, sunlight filtered through leaves that hadn't existed moments before. "How is this possible?" she whispered, reaching out to touch a flower that shimmered between silver and gold. Isolde's lavender eyes followed Rory's movement. "The Grove exists where it chooses. Time and space bend to its will, not the other way around." Nyx drifted closer to a massive tree at the center of the clearing, their violet eyes studying the bark that swirled with patterns like liquid mercury. "This place hums with old magic. Older than me." Rory stepped deeper into the Grove, her boots making no sound on the springy moss beneath her feet. The air felt different here — thicker somehow, charged with energy that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Every breath tasted of something sweet and ancient, like honey and herbs she couldn't name. The trees twisted upward, their trunks impossibly wide, branches weaving together to form a natural cathedral ceiling. Through the gaps, Rory caught glimpses of a sky that wasn't London's — a deep, velvety purple with stars she didn't recognize, even as the sun still shone through the leaves in dappled patches. "Watch where you step," Isolde warned, though her voice held no urgency. "The ground here is as alive as the rest." Rory looked down to see the moss shifting beneath her feet, tiny tendrils curling around the edges of her boots before retreating. She jumped back, her heart racing. "It won't harm you," Nyx said, their whisper seeming to come from all directions at once. "It's merely curious. Few mortals tread here anymore." As they moved deeper, Rory noticed the sounds of the city had vanished completely. No traffic, no sirens, no distant chatter of people. Instead, she heard the rustle of leaves in a wind she couldn't feel, the faint chiming that might have been insects or something else entirely, and occasionally, what sounded like whispers just at the edge of hearing. The Grove opened into a wider space where a small pool reflected the impossible sky. Rory approached cautiously, kneeling at the edge. The water was crystal clear, yet she couldn't see the bottom, no matter how deep it should have been. "What's down there?" "Answers," Isolde replied simply. "And questions. The water shows what it wishes to show." Rory's fingers twitched with the urge to touch it, but something held her back. A primal instinct warning her that some waters weren't meant for mortal hands. Nyx drifted to the opposite side of the pool, their form becoming more solid in the strange light. "There are passages here. Doorways to other places, if you know how to look." As they spoke, Rory noticed what appeared to be pathways leading away from the clearing in several directions. Each seemed to shift and change when she looked directly at them, only to stabilize when she focused elsewhere. "Where do they lead?" "Everywhere and nowhere," Isolde said, her silver hair catching the impossible light. "Some lead deeper into Fae territory. Others to places between worlds. One might even take you home, should you choose to follow it." Rory stood, brushing dirt from her knees. The pendant against her skin had grown warmer, a steady pulse that matched her quickening heartbeat. She reached beneath her shirt to grasp it, the crimson stone cool despite the warmth it radiated. "It likes this place," she murmured. "It recognizes kinship," Nyx agreed. "Both exist between worlds, in a manner of speaking." As they continued their exploration, Rory noticed the flora changing subtly as they moved through different sections of the Grove. In one area, mushrooms grew as tall as her waist, their caps glowing with soft blue light. In another, vines hung heavy with fruits that seemed to contain tiny stars floating within their translucent skin. "Can I...?" Rory reached toward one of the star-fruits. "I wouldn't," Isolde said, though she made no move to stop her. "Fae food binds. One taste, and you might never want to leave." Rory pulled her hand back, remembering the old stories her grandmother used to tell about the dangers of accepting anything from the Fae. She hadn't believed them then. Now, standing in this impossible place, she wasn't so sure. The ground sloped downward as they moved further in, the air growing cooler still. Rory wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she'd brought a jacket despite the mild London weather they'd left behind. Ahead, the trees thinned to reveal a structure that hadn't been visible before — a stone circle similar to the one they'd passed through, but older, weathered by time that didn't seem to touch the rest of the Grove. Massive stones stood sentinel around a flat altar-like stone in the center. Rory approached slowly, her fingers finding the Fae-forged blade at her belt. The dagger felt colder than usual here, as if drinking in the ambient magic. The stones hummed with energy, a low vibration she felt in her bones rather than heard with her ears. Nyx flowed around the circle, their form becoming more defined in the presence of the ancient magic. "This is a place of power. Old as the hills, older than some kingdoms." Isolde stepped to the center of the circle, her feet leaving no impression in the moss that grew thick between the stones. "This is where the Veil grows thin. Where worlds touch." Rory followed her gaze upward to see the distortion hanging in the air above the altar stone — a shimmering in the air like heat haze, but with an iridescent quality that hurt her eyes if she stared too long. "The Veil," she breathed, understanding dawning. "Part of it," Isolde agreed. "A weak point where the boundaries between worlds grow thin. The Wardens monitor such places, though they can't always find them all." As if summoned by her words, a ripple passed through the air. The space around the stone circle seemed to waver, reality bending like water. For a moment, Rory caught glimpses of another landscape through the distortion — amber skies, sprawling vineyards, something that might have been distant spires. "Dymas," she said, the pendant growing hot against her palm. "I can see it." Nyx moved closer to the distortion, their form stretching. "The Prince's realm hungers. Always hungers." The vision faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Rory breathless and dizzy. She stumbled back from the circle, clutching the stone in her hand as if it were an anchor. "Careful," Isolde warned. "Gazing too long into other worlds risks letting them gaze back into you." Rory nodded, her heart pounding. The Grove had seemed magical and wondrous at first, but now she understood its danger. This was a place of power, ancient and wild, and it followed rules she couldn't begin to comprehend. As they turned back toward the path they'd come, Rory noticed something new — a small sapling growing near the edge of the stone circle, its leaves the same deep crimson as the Heartstone pendant. The pendant pulsed in response, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo through the Grove. "Some connections run deeper than others," Isolde said, noticing Rory's attention on the sapling. "Some are written in the fabric of the worlds themselves." Rory reached out, her fingers hovering just above the tiny leaves. She could feel the energy flowing between the pendant and the sapling, a recognition that went beyond mere magic. Something older. Something fundamental. The Grove seemed to hold its breath around them, waiting.