AI
The stone felt cold against her back, a solid, unyielding presence in a world that had suddenly dissolved. One moment, Rory was leaning against an ancient oak in Richmond Park, the next, the air had thickened, shimmered , and then spat her out into a place that defied logic. The silver chain of the Heartstone pendant was a familiar weight against her skin, its crimson gem now pulsing with a slow, steady heat.
"Stay close." Nyx's voice was a whisper of dead leaves skittering across pavement, a sound that seemed to come from every shadow at once . They stood a few feet away, their form a dense, humanoid silhouette that drank the ambient light. The faint violet glow of their eyes was the only colour on them.
Rory pushed herself off the standing stone, her boots sinking slightly into a carpet of moss that glowed with a soft, internal luminescence. The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine and damp earth, a scent so potent it felt like a physical touch . Above, the sky wasn't a sky at all, but a deep, velvety canopy of indigo, pricked by stars that burned in unfamiliar constellations. There was no sun, no moon, only this endless, star-flecked twilight.
"What is this place?" Eva's voice was a hushed tremor. She clutched Rory's arm, her knuckles white. She was the one who had insisted on coming, driven by a morbid curiosity that now seemed to be curdling into fear.
"The space between," Nyx said, their form wavering at the edges. "A fold in the world. The Grove."
Rory took a step forward, her eyes wide. Wildflowers, impossible in their variety and colour, bloomed in profusion around them. Bluebells glowed with an electric blue light, roses shimmered with petals of polished silver, and lilies unfurled in spirals of soft gold. They left no footprints in the glowing moss, their stems bending under her weight only to spring back, untouched, as she passed. She knelt, her fingers hovering over a flower with petals like stained glass. It felt warm, alive. She touched it, and a soft chime echoed in her mind, a single, clear note of pure sound.
"Beautiful," Eva breathed, her fear momentarily forgotten. She reached out a hesitant hand towards a cluster of bell-shaped flowers that chimed gently in a breeze Rory couldn't feel.
"Don't." Nyx's voice was sharp, a blade of static. "Nothing here is what it seems. The beauty is the lure."
Eva snatched her hand back as if burned. Rory rose slowly , the wonder in her chest now tinged with a cold thread of caution. She looked around, truly seeing the place for the first time. The standing stones, a dozen of them, formed a rough circle. They were ancient, covered in a script of swirling, unfamiliar runes that seemed to shift and writhe when she looked at them directly. The air between the stones hummed with a low, resonant frequency, a vibration she felt in her bones.
"This is Isolde's home," Rory said, more to herself than the others . "The Fae Grove."
"The Fae don't have homes," Nyx corrected. "They have territories. And this one is marked."
Rory followed their gaze. In the centre of the clearing, a magnificent weeping willow grew, its long, silver-green leaves trailing to the ground. It was larger than any willow she had ever seen, its trunk gnarled and immense. From its lowest branches hung hundreds of slender, silver chains, each ending in a delicate, shimmering crystal . The crystals tinkled softly , a discordant, beautiful melody that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. It was the source of the chime she'd heard from the flower.
As they moved towards the tree, the ground changed. The glowing moss gave way to a carpet of what looked like black glass, smooth and perfect . It reflected the starry canopy above so perfectly that for a dizzying moment, Rory felt as if they were walking across the universe itself. She saw her own reflection, a pale, startled face surrounded by the impossible flowers. Beside her, Nyx was a patch of deeper darkness in the reflection, their violet eyes the only detail visible.
The air grew colder as they approached the willow. The scent of jasmine was replaced by something else, something clean and sharp, like ozone after a lightning strike. The tinkling of the crystals grew louder, more complex , a thousand tiny bells playing a song that had no beginning and no end.
Rory felt a pull, a strange and irresistible compulsion to walk faster, to reach the tree, to touch its silvery bark. She took another step, and then another, her pace quickening despite a voice screaming in the back of her mind to stop.
"Rory." Nyx's voice was a low hiss, a warning. "The path is a promise. Be careful what you promise."
She froze, her hand outstretched. The compulsion vanished, leaving her breathless and disoriented. She shook her head to clear it. "What was that?"
"The tree sings a song of belonging," Nyx whispered. "It offers you a place. A purpose. To accept is to be bound."
Eva shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "Let's go back. This place... it's wrong."
Rory looked from the mesmerising tree to the shadowy form of her guide. The Heartstone pendant against her chest was growing warmer, almost hot now. It wasn't a warning of danger, not exactly. It felt more like a resonance , a key turning in a lock she didn't know she possessed. She thought of Isolde, the strange, silver-haired woman who had given her the Fae-forged blade now tucked into her jacket. *You will know when you are needed *, the Seer had said, her lavender eyes holding a universe of secrets.
"We're not here to picnic," Rory said, her voice steadier than she felt . "We're here for answers."
She turned away from the willow and scanned the edge of the clearing. The space between two of the standing stones seemed darker than the rest, a patch of pure, unadulterated black that didn't reflect the starlight. It was a hole in the world.
"There," she said, pointing.
As they drew closer, the air crackled. The faint shimmering distortion she sometimes saw around the city, the one she now knew was the Veil, was visible here, a heat haze hanging in the air. But here, it was torn . The blackness wasn't an absence of light; it was a wound, and from it seeped a palpable sense of dread. The sweet scent of the grove was tainted by the faint, acrid smell of something burning, of sulphur and cooked meat.
A low growl rumbled from the tear. Not the sound of an animal, but something deeper, the grinding of stone on stone, the sound of a place under immense pressure.
"What is that?" Eva whispered, her face pale .
"Hel," Nyx said, their voice flat . "Or a door to it."
Rory knelt before the rift, the Fae-forged blade suddenly feeling heavy in her jacket. The air from the tear was hot, dry, and it carried a sound, a distant, rhythmic chanting in a language that felt ancient and cruel. She peered into the darkness, and for a fleeting second, she saw a vision: a sprawling orchard under an amber sky, trees heavy with glistening , blood-red fruit. A place of impossible, decadent beauty. The Heartstone pulsed against her skin, a frantic, urgent beat.
The chanting grew louder, closer. A shape began to form in the centre of the tear, a silhouette of coiling smoke and embers. Two pinpricks of malevolent red light ignited within the smoke, fixing on her. A low, guttural laugh echoed from the rift, a sound that promised pain and eternity.