Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYNP1ZX05JDBNN5Q9TFYPZ

The ancient oak standing stones formed a jagged circle against the bruised purple sky of Richmond Park, their bark blackened and slick with evening dew. Aurora Carter stepped between them, the hem of her delivery trousers catching on a patch of thistles she hadn't seen in the fading light. The air inside the boundary tasted different, thick and sweet like rotting lilies, a stark contrast to the exhaust-choked wind whipping through the rest of the park. She clutched the strap of her insulated bag, knuckles white, though the Golden Empress orders inside had long since been delivered. This wasn't about work. The pendant against her collarbone pulsed, a rhythmic throb of heat that matched the sudden hammering of her own heart. Rory stopped just past the threshold. The wildflowers here bloomed in violent clusters of red and violet, defying the November chill, but their petals looked too heavy, drooping as if weighted by unseen water. Silence pressed against her ears, not the peaceful quiet of a city park at night, but a vacuum that sucked away the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of ordinary leaves. She scanned the clearing, her bright blue eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The reason she came—the whisper Eva passed along about a way out, a permanent exit from the life that constantly chased her—felt foolish now. A twig snapped behind her. She spun around, hand diving into her pocket for the pepper spray she kept next to her keys. Nothing stood there but the looming oaks, their branches twisted into shapes that resembled grasping fingers. The wind didn't blow here; the leaves hung motionless, yet the sound repeated. *Snap.* Closer this time. Not the dry crack of wood under a boot, but the wet tear of something soft breaking. Rory backed away from the sound, her heel sinking into moss that felt spongy and unnervingly warm. The Heartstone pendant burned hotter, searing her skin through her thin t-shirt. She ignored the pain, focusing on the perimeter. The stones seemed to have shifted. When she entered, the gap between the northern and eastern monoliths faced the path home. Now, that opening stared into a wall of dense, impenetrable thicket. The geometry of the grove had folded in on itself. "Is anyone there?" Her voice came out flat, stripped of the courage she usually wore like armor. The words died instantly, absorbed by the heavy air before they could echo. From the corner of her eye, a flash of movement flickered near the base of the largest stone. She whipped her head toward it. Empty space. Just the sway of a fern that hadn't moved a second ago. She blinked, rubbing the grit from her eyes, telling herself it was fatigue, the long shifts at the restaurant, the lack of sleep since fleeing Evan's last threat. But the certainty coiled in her gut, cold and hard. She was not alone. The scent of ozone mixed with the floral rot, sharp and metallic. The pendant vibrated violently now, a constant hum against her sternum. It wasn't just near a Hel portal; it was reacting to the fabric of this place unraveling. Rory took a step toward the stones, intending to force her way back through the boundary, but the ground beneath her feet rippled. The moss retreated, pulling back like a living tide to reveal soil that looked too much like dried skin, cracked and flaking. A low whisper drifted from the darkness beyond the flowers. It sounded like her name, but the vowels were stretched, distorted into a gurgling chant. *"Rorrrry..."* She froze, breath hitching in her throat. The voice didn't come from one direction; it emanated from everywhere at once, vibrating in the soles of her shoes. She scanned the tree line again. Between the trunks, shapes stood where there had been none before. Tall, slender silhouettes that blended perfectly with the bark, visible only when she stopped moving. As soon as she shifted her weight, they dissolved back into the woodwork. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the whisper. She forced her legs to move, walking backward toward the center of the grove, keeping her eyes on the perimeter. The flowers turned their heads as she passed, the blooms tracking her movement with a slow, creaking rotation. Petals unfurled to reveal centers that looked suspiciously like human eyes, blinking in unison. Rory squeezed her eyes shut for a fraction of a second, a desperate attempt to reset her vision. When she opened them, the silhouettes had advanced. They stood just outside the ring of wildflowers, motionless, facing her. No features marred their smooth, bark-like faces, yet she felt their gaze boring into her, heavy and hungry. The temperature plummeted, frost crystallizing on the warm moss, creating a halo of ice around her boots. The pendant grew hot enough to sting. She fumbled with the clasp, fingers trembling, but the chain refused to yield, as if the silver had fused to her skin. The warmth spread outward, tracing the veins in her arm, creeping up her neck. It wasn't comforting heat; it felt like a fever breaking, a sign of infection. A sound like wet dragging came from her left. She turned slowly. One of the figures had stepped into the flowerbed. It moved with a jerky, unnatural gait, limbs bending at angles that defied anatomy. It didn't walk; it unfolded, segment by segment, closing the distance without seeming to traverse the space between them. The others followed, stepping over the vibrant blooms without crushing a single petal. Rory's back hit the central cluster of stones. Cold granite bit into her spine. She pressed herself against the rough surface, searching for a handhold, a crack, anything to climb or squeeze through. The stone felt slick, coated in a slimy substance that smelled of old blood. She wiped her hand on her trousers, leaving a dark smear. The lead figure stopped ten feet away. It tilted its head, a sickening crack echoing in the stillness. The whispering grew louder, overlapping voices now, some sounding like Eva, others like her father, all twisted into something unrecognizable. They spoke of running, of hiding, of how she could never truly leave. "You don't belong here," she whispered, the words trembling. The figure raised an arm. Where a hand should have been, a cluster of sharp, black thorns protruded from the wrist, dripping a clear, viscous fluid. It pointed at the pendant glowing against her chest. The light from the crimson gem cast long, dancing shadows that seemed to detach themselves from the trees and slither across the ground toward her feet. Rory kicked at the encroaching shadows, but they passed through her boots like smoke, leaving a trail of numbness in their wake. Her toes went cold, then lost all sensation. The numbness crawled up her ankles, a creeping paralysis. She tried to push off the stone, to run, but her legs refused to respond. She slid down the trunk, landing hard on the skin-like soil. The circle of figures tightened. They made no sound now, no footsteps, no breathing. Just the endless, rhythmic pulsing of the Heartstone, which seemed to sync with the slow, deliberate approach of the things in the dark. The wildflowers closed their eye-like centers one by one as the shadows swallowed the clearing, leaving only the faint, crimson glow of the pendant and the bright, terrified reflection in Rory's own eyes. The lead figure loomed over her, blocking out the starless sky. The thorns hovered inches from her face. The scent of rotting lilies became overwhelming, choking her, filling her lungs with the taste of grave dirt. She opened her mouth to scream, but the air refused to enter her lungs. The silence returned, absolute and suffocating, as the thorn-tipped finger descended.