AI The cold, damp earth clung to Aurora’s boots as she pushed aside the low-hanging branches. Every snap of a twig sounded like a gunshot in the oppressive quiet. She’d been told to wait by the ancient oak standing stones, a place she’d only ever seen on faded maps tucked away in dusty archives. Now, the gnarled, moss-covered trunks loomed like skeletal guardians, their branches twisted against the bruised indigo of the night sky. The air here was thick, not just with the scent of decay and damp moss, but with something else, something that prickled the back of her neck and tightened her chest. It was the *Fae Grove *, though no marker announced its name, just the silent, watchful presence of these hulking stones.
Her hand instinctively went to the Heartstone Pendant nestled beneath her shirt. Its familiar warmth, usually a comforting presence against her skin, felt strangely muted, almost reluctant. She’d come here for answers, for a contact who promised to shed light on the whispers surrounding the Hel portals. But the promised rendezvous was now an hour past, and the only company she had were the rustling leaves and the unnerving feeling of being watched.
A skittering sound, too deliberate for a mere rodent, drew her gaze to the periphery. Shadows danced, coalescing and dispersing just out of clear sight. It was like trying to catch smoke. She strained her ears, trying to pinpoint the source. Was it merely the wind playing tricks, or was the Fae Grove actively shifting, its ‘protections’ subtly trying to deter her?
“Hello?” she called out, her voice a thin reed against the vast silence . It was a pathetic attempt at bravery, and the echo that answered felt more like a mockery. She was Aurora Carter, twenty-five years old, a former law student who now churned out bland deliveries by day. She’d fled London’s grime and her past for a semblance of peace, only to be drawn into this tangled web of forgotten realms and pulsing gateways. The Fae Grove . Isolde’s grove. Richmond grove, the ordinary world knew it, burying its otherworldly secrets beneath a veneer of suburban normalcy .
A faint, melodic chime, like distant wind bells, drifted on the air. It was too delicate, too pure to be natural. It seemed to weave through the trees, beckoning, then receding. Rory’s eyes, wide and searching, scanned the dense undergrowth. The wildflowers bordering the clearing, which the lore claimed bloomed year-round, were indeed a vibrant explosion of colour, even in the dim light, their unnatural luminescence casting faint, ethereal highlights on the gnarled roots. It was beautiful, achingly so, and that was the most unsettling part. Nature didn't belong so fiercely alive, so vibrantly out of season, in the heart of autumn.
She took a tentative step forward, her boot sinking slightly into the spongy ground. The air grew colder, the earlier prickling sensation escalating into a full-blown anxiety. The feeling of being observed intensified, not just from one direction, but from everywhere at once —the ancient oaks, the vibrant blooms, the very soil beneath her feet. It was a pervasive, unsettling awareness.
A rustle, closer this time, drew her attention to a cluster of ferns. Something moved within them, a flicker of white, gone as soon as she’d registered it. Her heart hammered against her ribs. This wasn't just the woods playing tricks. This was… different. The Fae Grove was known for its temporal anomalies, a sliver of existence where time itself bent and stretched. An hour inside could be mere minutes outside, or days. Had she already lost track of time?
She found herself walking, almost drawn, towards a denser patch of trees. The chime sounded again, clearer now, and with it, a subtle shift in the very fabric of her surroundings. The shadows seemed to deepen, to pool around her, and the vibrant flowers pulsed with an inner light, like tiny, watchful eyes. Then, a new sound, a soft, rhythmic thudding, like a distant heartbeat, began to pulse beneath the surface of the quiet. It was faint, almost imperceptible, yet it vibrated in her bones.
She stopped, breathing shallowly. The thudding grew stronger, more insistent, drawing her closer to a particularly massive oak, its bark scarred and ancient. The air around it felt… agitated, charged . And then she saw it.
Tucked within a hollow at the base of the tree, something pulsed with a faint, internal red light. It was small, no bigger than her thumbnail, nestled on a bed of dark moss. The Heartstone Pendant. Her Heartstone Pendant. It was here, nestled in the earth of the Fae Grove , glowing with a faint inner light that mirrored the faint crimson of its gemstone. But it wasn't just resting there. It was *pulsing *, a steady, rhythmic beat that now seemed to be the source of the thudding she’d heard. And as she stared, mesmerised, she noticed something else. Small, faint lines, like root systems, were beginning to spread out from the pendant, sinking into the moss, into the earth. It was anchoring itself.
A cold dread washed over her. This was no passive artifact. It was alive. And it was drawing power from this place.
The melodic chime returned, closer, more seductive. This time, it seemed to emanate from *within * the hollow, from the pulsing pendant itself. Rory’s hand shot to her own neck, her fingers closing around the familiar silver chain. Her pendant was still there, warm against her skin, but it felt… hollow, depleted. As if its twin here was siphoning its essence.
Suddenly, the ferns rustled violently behind her. Not a flicker this time, but a distinct movement . Rory spun around, her breath catching in her throat. The shadows at the edge of her vision coalesced, forming indistinct shapes that shifted and writhed. They were taller than any human, gaunt, and their movements were jerky, unnatural. And as they began to emerge from the deeper darkness, she saw them clearly.
Pale, translucent skin stretched taut over bone. Eyes like obsidian chips glinted with malevolent awareness. They weren't solid, not entirely. They seemed to be woven from shadow and moonlight, tendrils of darkness reaching out from their forms. And the melodic chime, she now realised, wasn’t coming from the pendant. It was their voices, a chorus of haunting, dissonant whispers that promised no comfort, only a deep, gnawing hunger.
They advanced, slow and deliberate, their forms blurring at the edges. The ground beneath their feet seemed to ripple, the vibrant flowers recoiling as they passed. Rory stumbled backward, her eyes locked on the encroaching figures. Her Heartstone Pendant, the one near her, still pulsed , its crimson glow intensifying, the tendrils reaching out from it now a vibrant scarlet. It wasn’t just a source of power; it was a beacon . And they were coming for it. For her.
“No,” she whispered, the word torn from her lungs . The Heartstone against her chest grew painfully hot, a desperate echo of the one buried in the earth. The Fae Grove , so beautiful and dangerous, was not merely a passive observer. It was alive, and it was yielding its secrets, and its dangers, to those who dared to disturb its slumber. The shadows closed in, a silent, terrifying wave, and the only thought that echoed in Rory’s mind was that she had walked right into their lair, armed with nothing but a fading artifact and a foolish hope for answers.