AI The damp soil squelched under Aurora's trainers with each hesitant step. Brambles, thick as a man's thumb, clawed at her jeans. She pulled her worn jacket tighter, the biting air carrying the scent of wet earth and something else, something cloying and ancient, like forgotten incense. The trees here, ancient oaks mostly, pressed in close, their gnarled branches weaving a canopy so dense it choked out the moon.
"Right, Rory," she muttered, her voice swallowed by the oppressive quiet. "Just keep going."
Her breath plumed in the frigid air. The Heartstone Pendant, a deep crimson oval on a thin silver chain, pulsed faintly against her sternum. A slow, steady thrum, like a tiny heart beating just beneath her skin. It offered a strange comfort, a small warmth in the encroaching chill . She had found the path easily enough, marked by the ancient oak standing stones that bordered the Fae Grove. The transition had been seamless, a shiver down her spine and then the air went still, the distant hum of traffic from Richmond Park abruptly silenced.
The path twisted, illuminated only by the weak beam of her torch, revealing a claustrophobic tunnel of rustling leaves and looming shadows. She knew the Grove had a way of distorting time, an hour in here could be days out there, or minutes. Her current mission, though, felt like an eternity already. She squinted, scanning the edges of the light. Had that shadow just deepened? Or was it just the dancing light playing tricks?
A twig snapped behind her. Rory froze, every muscle tensing. The air grew heavy, like the weight of an unseen presence pressing down. She spun, torch beam swinging wildly across a wall of tangled undergrowth. Nothing. Just the dark, impenetrable woods. Her heart hammered against her ribs, echoing the rhythm of the Heartstone.
"Hello?" The word felt thin, inadequate against the vast, silent cold. Of course there was no answer. She continued on, faster now, her focus sharpened by the sudden jolt of unease. The path seemed to narrow, the trees growing ever closer, their branches intertwining like skeletal fingers. Wildflowers, impossibly vibrant despite the season, bloomed in defiant splotches of colour along the verges, their petals a startling contrast against the gloom . Too pretty. Wrong.
A rustle. Not a twig, this time. Something larger. More deliberate. It came from her right, parallel to her movements, just beyond the reach of her torch. Like something stalking her, just out of sight. She stopped, holding her breath, listening so intently her ears ached. The woods remained motionless, silent. Too silent. Even the wind, which had been a constant companion moments before, had died away entirely.
Rory forced herself to take another step, then another, trying to project a confidence she didn't feel. The air grew colder, each breath cutting a sharper pain in her lungs. The pendant on her chest began to glow, a faint, internal light, like a deep ember. It wasn't just warmth now, it was a subtle pulse , a vibration she could feel deep in her bones, building in intensity . This wasn't just *near * a Hel portal, she was practically standing on one.
The ground underfoot softened, becoming spongy and yielding. She glanced down. The rich earth faded into a sickly grey, like ash, or bone dust. It seemed to shimmer faintly under the pendant's light. A low, guttural moan drifted from the deepest part of the grove ahead. It wasn't human. It wasn't animal. It was something else, ancient and sorrowful, a sound that resonated with the primordial fear buried deep within her.
Her mind screamed at her to run, to turn back and flee this place. But she couldn't. Not yet. She had to find it. Just a little further. The moan came again, closer this time, and with it, a faint, foul odour like a charnel house, or a crypt long disturbed. It clung to the air, sickeningly sweet and metallic.
The trees ahead broke open into a small clearing, bathed in an eerie, phosphorescent glow. It wasn't the moonlight, nor her torch. The light seemed to emanate from the very air, a sickly green luminescence that cast long, distorted shadows. In the centre of the clearing stood a single, massive oak, its branches twisted and bare, impossibly ancient. Its trunk was wider than a truck, its bark a patchwork of deep fissures and gaping holes.
And then she saw it. Not on the ground, but *in* the tree . Embedded in the gnarled bark, almost swallowed by the wood itself, was a small, crude door. It looked like something from a child's forgotten playhouse, but made of dark, iron-bound wood, covered in intricate , spiralling glyphs that seemed to writhe in the green light . The Heartstone pulsed frantically now, a steady, hammering beat against her chest. This was it. The portal. The source of the wrongness.
A low whisper , like dry leaves skittering across pavement, tickled her ear. It wasn't a language she knew, yet the meaning was clear: *You don't belong here.*
Her hand trembled as she reached for the door. It felt cold, colder than the freezing air, and rough like forgotten stone. As her fingers grazed the surface, the glyphs flared, pulsing with an inner light that was stronger, more intense than the Heartstone's glow. They twisted, stretching like living things, pulling her focus, drawing her in .
A shadow detached itself from the base of the massive oak, coalescing from the oppressive gloom . It was tall, impossibly thin, and seemed to drink the light around it. Aurora couldn't discern any features, no face, no limbs, just a shivering void of deeper darkness against the eerie green light. It took a single, slow step towards her. The moaning returned, louder, deeper, emanating from the shadow itself, a sound of unbearable grief and monstrous hunger. The air grew even colder, a freezing claw raking down her spine . The scent of charnel intensified, gagging her.
The Heartstone flared, crimson light exploding outwards, pushing against the encroaching shadow. It gave her a momentary, defiant burst of courage. She had to open the door. Now. She pushed against the cold wood, gritting her teeth, her muscles screaming with the effort. It didn't budge. Not an inch. The shadow advanced another step, its form stretching, distorting.
"No," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper . She pushed harder, desperation lending her a surge of strength. The door remained steadfast. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through the ground, vibrating up through her feet. The whisper in her ear intensified, pressing against her eardrum, a cacophony of lost voices. The air grew impossibly thick, like breathing cold treacle. Aurora felt a terrifying certainty that she was not alone in this clearing. Not with the shadow. Not with the whispering voices.
The ground shuddered again, more violently this time. A low, grinding sound came from deep within the earth, reverberating through her very bones. The glyphs on the door flared again, blindingly bright, and the cold, unyielding wood *shifted *.