Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYBB0QK3P36FJXDCE1ZWBF

The oak standing stones rose from the damp earth of Richmond Park like knuckles breaking the surface of a murky pond. Moss clung to the bark in thick, velvet patches, glowing faintly in the dying light of the London evening. Aurora stopped at the edge of the circle, her breath pluming in the air despite the unseasonable warmth radiating from the wood. She pulled the collar of her jacket tighter, her fingers brushing the cold hilt of the moonsilver dagger tucked into her waistband. Nyx drifted beside her, a silhouette cut from the twilight itself. The shadow's form rippled, edges blurring into the surrounding gloom before sharpening again into a humanoid shape. Violet eyes ignited within the darkness of their face, fixed on the gap between two of the ancient trees. Crossing here feels like stepping into a held breath. Aurora reached out. Her fingertips met the space between the oaks. The air resisted, thick and viscous like water, before yielding with a pop that echoed in her inner ear. She stepped through. The grey smog of London vanished. The sky above shifted from bruised purple to a perpetual, golden dusk. No sun hung visible, yet light poured from everywhere, sourceless and warm. Aurora looked down at her boots. Where the London grass had been brown and matted, here it sprang back under her weight, vibrant green and interspersed with blooms that defied the season. Bluebells nodded alongside summer poppies and winter hellebores, all open and fragrant. She checked her wrist. The digital display on her watch flickered, numbers scrolling rapidly before settling on a time that matched neither London nor any timezone she recognized. Time doesn't hold shape here. Nyx's voice whispered on the wind, bypassing her ears to vibrate directly against her skull. The Shade moved ahead, their form solidifying into a tall figure clad in shifting dark fabric. They reached out a hand, and the shadows of the leaves stretched toward their fingers like iron filings to a magnet. Aurora walked deeper into the clearing. The silence pressed against her eardrums, heavy and absolute. No traffic hummed in the distance. No planes cut contrails across the golden sky. Only the sound of their footsteps crunching on the path existed, and even those seemed muted, swallowed by the earth. She placed a hand on the Fae-forged blade at her hip. The moonsilver bit into her palm through her glove, cold enough to burn. The metal hummed, a low resonance that traveled up her arm and settled in her teeth. This place remembers steel. It remembers blood, too. Aurora scanned the tree line. The oaks here stood wider than any in the mortal park, their branches weaving together to form a cathedral ceiling. Vines draped from above, heavy with fruit that glowed with a soft, internal luminescence. She plucked one from a low hanging branch. The skin felt like warm silk. She tossed it to Nyx. The Shade caught it without looking. The fruit passed through their shadowy hand and hovered in the air beside them, suspended by an unseen force. Consumption binds us to this realm. I cannot eat what grows in the light. Aurora pocketed the fruit. The warmth seeped through her jacket lining. She moved toward the center of the grove where the light intensified. The ground sloped gently downward, forming a natural amphitheater. Wildflowers carpeted the depression, a riot of color that hurt to look at directly. Reds bled into violets, yellows sparked like embers. She paused. A patch of disturbed earth lay ahead, but the grass stood undamaged. No blades bent. No soil compressed. Someone walked here. Nyx stopped, their violet gaze fixing on the empty path. Yet the ground bears no weight. Aurora crouched. She ran a hand over the spot. The grass tickled her palm, springy and alive. No footprints marred the surface. It looked as though a person had glided over the top of the vegetation without touching it. Isolde. The name slipped out before she could check it. The air shimmered around them, a heat haze rising from the flowers. The distortion matched the descriptions of the Veil, but thinner, woven into the landscape itself. Aurora stood, her hand resting on the dagger hilt again. The cold spread through her chest, steadying her pulse. We are being watched. Not watched. Observed. Nyx corrected. Their form expanded, shadows lengthening across the flowers without crushing them. There is a difference in intent. Aurora turned in a slow circle. The trees seemed to have shifted position while she looked away. The path they had entered from was no longer visible. Only the golden light and the endless ring of oaks remained. The scent of ozone grew stronger, mixing with the perfume of the blooms. It smelled like a storm trapped in a bottle. She took a step forward. The ground felt spongy, resilient. Her boot sank an inch before meeting resistance. This isn't just a garden. It's a cage. Or a sanctuary. Nyx drifted closer, the violet glow of their eyes reflecting in the polished surface of Aurora's blade. Boundaries serve both purposes depending on which side of the bars you stand. Aurora walked toward the center of the amphitheater. The light grew brighter, forcing her to squint. Her bright blue eyes watered in the glare. In the middle of the clearing stood a single stone altar, smooth and white, devoid of moss or lichen. Upon it rested a bowl filled with clear water. The surface of the water remained perfectly still, mirroring the golden sky above. She approached the altar. Her reflection stared back from the water, but the image lagged. She raised her hand; the reflection raised theirs a second later. Don't touch the water. Aurora pulled her hand back. The ripple in the reflection settled slowly, long after her own hand remained still. Why not? It shows what was, not what is. Nyx circled the altar, their shadow form passing over the stone without casting a shade. Look closely. Aurora leaned in. The water shifted. The reflection showed her standing in the same spot, but she wore different clothes. A scar she didn't possess marked her cheek. The background behind her reflection showed the grove in ruins, the trees blackened and smoking. She straightened up, her heart hammering against her ribs. The air in the grove suddenly felt colder, the golden light dimming by a fraction. That wasn't me. It is a possibility. A thread unwoven. Nyx turned toward the tree line. The shadows between the oaks deepened, pooling like ink. She comes. Aurora gripped the dagger. The moonsilver warmed slightly, reacting to the approaching presence. The grass ahead of them parted, not from wind, but as if making way. No footsteps sounded. No branches snapped. Yet the pressure in the clearing increased, pushing against Aurora's skin like a physical weight. She scanned the tree line. Nothing moved. The flowers remained still. The only sign of movement was the shifting of the light itself, bending around an invisible form moving toward them. Stay behind me. You cannot shield me from what walks without weight. Nyx stepped back, merging partially with the shadow of the altar. But I will stand with you. Aurora planted her feet. The cold of the blade seeped into her bones, sharpening her senses. The scent of ozone spiked, sharp and metallic. The water in the bowl on the altar began to vibrate, tiny ripples forming concentric circles despite the lack of touch. The light from the sky dimmed further, casting the grove into a deeper twilight. The wildflowers closed their petals one by one, starting from the outer edge of the clearing and moving inward toward the altar. The sound of the closing blooms sounded like a hundred tiny hands clapping in unison. Aurora waited. Her breath came steady, though her muscles coiled tight. The empty space before the altar shifted. The air distorted, bending light like heat haze on asphalt. A figure began to coalesce from the shimmer, distinct only by the absence of the golden background behind it. Silver hair appeared first, catching the dim light like spun glass. Then the outline of a face, pale and ageless. The figure stepped forward onto the grass. The blades bent under the weight, yet when the foot lifted, they sprang back instantly, leaving no trace of passage. Aurora tightened her grip on the hilt. The stranger stopped three paces from the altar. Pale lavender eyes locked onto Aurora's bright blue ones. The woman's expression remained neutral, unreadable, yet the air around her vibrated with unspoken words. Nyx bowed their head, a ripple passing through their shadowy form. Aurora kept her hand on the blade. The cold burned now, urgent and demanding. She waited for the woman to speak, but the silence stretched, heavy with the weight of the grove itself. The water in the bowl continued to ripple, though the surface remained unbroken.