Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXQ7QN1MA237TTK5TWDZ1D

The black cab dropped Rory at the gates of Richmond Park. A chill wind bit at her exposed skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and something else, something sharp and metallic, like ozone before a storm. The driver, a squat man with a perpetually furrowed brow, simply pointed towards the winding path disappearing into the twilight gloom. "Fae Grove. Good luck with that, love." He peeled away before she fully emerged from the cab’s interior. Silence descended, heavy and absolute. Above, the sky bled from bruised purple to an inky black, a few hesitant stars pricking through the velvet. The air, already cool, seemed to drop another ten degrees. Rory shivered, though not entirely from the cold. A small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist throbbed with a dull ache. She clutched the silver chain of her Heartstone Pendant, the deep crimson gemstone pulsing faintly, a warmth spreading beneath her fingertips. Before tonight, the pendant had only glowed near the Hel portal in Silas’s pub. Its current activity sent a prickle of unease down her spine. The Fae Grove. Isolde’s words echoed in her memory, a low hum of urgency. Go there. Find the truth. She stepped onto the path, the gravel crunching under her trainers. Trees, skeletal against the fading light, clawed at the sky. Their branches, stripped bare of leaves, clicked together in the breeze, a sound like dry bones rattling. The path twisted deeper into the park, the streetlights quickly fading behind her, swallowed by the encroaching darkness. A dense canopy of ancient oaks now formed a tunnel overhead. Moonlight, when it dared to penetrate, dappled the forest floor in shifting patterns of silver and shadow. The air grew heavy, thick with the smell of damp earth and decaying leaves. The scent of ozone intensified, sharp enough to make her nostrils tingle. She pressed on, her bright blue eyes scanning the gloom. The path narrowed, replaced by a barely discernible track through tall, rustling bracken. The oaks here were immense, their trunks gnarled and thick with ancient moss, their branches interwoven like gnarled fingers. They were the sentinels Isolde had spoken of, the standing stones marking the boundary. A flicker of movement caught her eye. She stopped, holding her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. Nothing. Just the shadows playing tricks. She told herself that, but a cold knot of dread tightened in her stomach. The silence wasn’t empty; it was pregnant, waiting. She had the distinct impression of being watched. She pushed deeper, the pendant growing warmer, its faint inner glow now visible beneath her jumper. The air grew still, the breeze dying completely. The clicking branches ceased their dance. No birdsong, no distant hum of city traffic, just profound quiet. A new scent permeated the air, sweet and cloying, like overripe nectar. Amidst the shadows, wildflowers bloomed in impossible greens and blues, their petals luminous in the gloom. Isolde’s grove. This had to be it. She entered a clearing where the colossal oak trees stood in a rough circle, their roots snaking across the ground like petrified serpents. The air here shimmered with an almost visible haze, the luminous wildflowers growing in profusion, their intoxicating scent thick in her throat. Time moved differently, Isolde had said. An hour inside could be minutes or days outside. Rory felt a sudden, dizzying sense of disorientation, as if the ground beneath her feet was subtly shifting. A faint sound reached her ears, a high-pitched, almost imperceptible whine. It came from the centre of the clearing, a hollow ring where the tallest oaks stood closest together. She moved towards it, drawn by an invisible thread. The whine grew stronger, an almost musical vibration that resonated in her bones. A sudden gust of wind, cold and sharp, whipped through the clearing, though the surrounding trees remained motionless. The luminous petals of the wildflowers shivered. Rory spun, scanning the perimeter of the grove. Another flicker of movement, faster this time, darted behind one of the ancient oaks. Too quick to be an animal, too low to the ground for a person. "Hello?" Her voice, usually steady, sounded reedy and thin in the vast quiet. The only answer was the faint whine, and then, a new sound, like dry leaves scuttling across stone. It moved in a rapid, irregular pattern, drawing closer. She gripped the pendant, its warmth now a burning ember against her skin. The sensation of being watched intensified, a hundred unseen eyes boring into her. The scuttling sound stopped abruptly, right behind her. Rory stood frozen, every muscle tensed. She could feel a presence, cold and alien, radiating just inches from her back. The sweet, cloying scent of the wildflowers intensified, turning sickly. A whisper, too faint to discern words, brushed her ear. It wasn't human. It was ancient, a voice made of rustling leaves and dried earth. Rory whirled around, heart pounding. Nothing. Not a leaf stirred. The clearing was empty. Yet, the air felt heavy with lingering malice. She rubbed the crescent scar on her wrist, a nervous habit. The pendant glowed, a crimson beacon against the oppressive gloom. The whine, too, continued its ceaseless drone from the centre of the grove. It was a siren song, luring her deeper. She stumbled forward, her legs feeling heavy, as if moving through water. The glowing pendant pulsed in her hand, a steady beat against her racing heart. As she approached the cluster of central oaks, the whine escalated, a shrill, piercing note that vibrated through her skull. In the very heart of the ring, nestled among the colossal roots, a faint light pulsed. It wasn't the natural luminescence of the wildflowers; this was an unnatural, sickly green glow, radiating from a fissure in the ground itself. The air around the fissure crackled with a palpable energy. The sweet smell of nectar became overpowering, almost suffocating. Rory knelt, peering into the green light. The fissure was narrow, no wider than her hand, but it pulsed with a dark, swirling energy. Images flickered within the green glow – fleeting glimpses of twisted branches, shadowy figures, and something else, something with too many eyes. A ripple disturbed the air beside her. A low, guttural growl vibrated through the earth, not from an animal, but from something far older, far more unnatural. The green light intensified, washing over her face, turning her skin to sickly emerald. She scrambled back, heart slamming against her ribs, her breath catching in her throat. A shadow detached itself from the base of the nearest oak, long and attenuated, twisting itself into a vaguely humanoid shape. It glided towards her, silent, a gaping maw where a face should be, eyes like chips of obsidian staring out from the void. The obsidian eyes held her captive, trapping her gaze, digging into her mind with a silent scream.