Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVP1RP9A9KCTV6D94XT6YX4

Rory left the bicycle clamped to the wrought-iron gates of Richmond Park. The laminated Golden Empress delivery bag sat completely flattened against the rear rack. Her exhausting part-time shift concluded hours ago. The cramped flat above Silas’ bar promised a humming radiator and a quiet mattress, but the artifact hanging over her sternum changed her plans. The silver chain bit cold into the back of her neck. A deep crimson gem rested against her collarbone. Heat radiated from the Heartstone, burning her skin with the intensity of a lit fever. It pulled her past the familiar brick paths, steering her deeper into the oldest, untamed section of the park. Streetlights surrendered the dark to looming tree lines. Frost coated the overgrown grass stalks. Spiky ice crunched beneath her heavy boots, the noise loud in the absence of traffic. The steady hum of London died away, replaced by the hollow howl of wind tearing through bare branches. Twenty-five years of living in cities left her unprepared for the absolute, heavy silence of the deep woods. A stray gust blew a lock of straight, shoulder-length black hair across her vision. Thick shadows clustered ahead. The dark turned dense and absolute, resisting the faint moonlight. Two ancient oak standing stones rose from the frozen soil. Bark stripped from the immense trunks long ago left smooth, pale wood twisting toward the waning moon. They formed a narrow, imposing archway. Natural columns marking an unnatural border. The heat blooming against her chest spiked into sharp pain. Rory gripped the thumbnail-sized pendant. Her thumb traced the smooth facets of the crimson gem, seeking a familiar grounding sensation. The pad of her thumb pressed into the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, an old childhood reminder of falling from a garden wall. Grounding herself did little to stop the burning in her chest. She stepped through the ancient oak archway. A wall of heat rushed over her face. Frost vanished from the ground beneath her boots. The freezing winter air gave way to a muggy, oppressive warmth. A thick, cloying floral scent flooded her lungs, tasting sweet and decaying at the edges. Vibrant wildflowers carpeted the entire clearing. Bright blue and violent pink petals bloomed in the dead of winter, turning their heads toward the dark sky overhead. The Fae Grove. A hidden pocket tucked in the seams between Earth and the Fae realm. Eva's warnings echoed in her memory. Time operated on disjointed mechanics here. The steady march of clocks dissolved the moment a person crossed the oak boundary. Hours bled into days out in the real world. A brief, ten-minute visit risked weeks of lost life outside the boundary. Rory released the pendant. Her boots sank into the soft earth. The damp, spongy soil swallowed the noise of her shifting weight. A high-pitched snap rang out from the brush on her right. She stood rigid. She analyzed the sound. Wood breaking under direct pressure. Something heavy stepping on a fallen branch. Wind rushed through the canopy overhead, rustling the bare branches of the surrounding oaks in a chaotic flurry of noise. The knee-high wildflowers at her feet remained motionless. Not a single vivid blue petal bent in the gale. The air at ground level sat stagnant and dead. She looked over her shoulder. The towering ancient oak standing stones loomed far in the distance, reduced to thin pale splinters on the horizon. She counted four strides past the boundary, yet the gap between her and the exit stretched wide enough to fit a sprawling London council estate. "Just a dimensional distortion. Basic pocket realm geometry." Her voice sounded flat and hollow. The heavy atmosphere snatched the words from her mouth, muting the acoustics of the clearing. The sentence died an inch from her lips. The Heartstone pulsed under her jacket. A faint inner glow emanated from the deep crimson gem, casting a reddish tint against the black nylon fabric of her zipper. Something shuffled in the deep brush beyond the edge of the flowerbed. Rory pivoted toward the disturbance. Deep pockets of shadow pooled between the thick oak trunks lining the perimeter. The darkness possessed physical weight, thick and impenetrable. A rhythmic cadence started. Thump. Drag. Thump. Drag. The sound circled the massive clearing. It stayed outside her peripheral vision. Rory turned her body in precise, measured increments, keeping her shoulders squared, tracking the noise. Her bright blue eyes scanned the tree line. The footfalls maintained their exact distance. The entity holding the blind spot over her right shoulder moved with deliberate, mocking pacing. If she stepped left, the dragging shifted left. "I know you're there. Make your move." Silence fell over the Grove. The dragging ceased. The chaotic wind in the upper branches died away. The patches of wildflowers nearest to the closest oak trunk wilted. The bright blue petals curled inward, turning the color of wet ash. A distinct stench of rusted iron and rotting meat rolled over the sweet floral scent, hitting the back of her throat and triggering her gag reflex. The pendant seared her skin. She pulled the gem out from under her collar, holding the silver chain taut. It pulsed white-hot against her palm. The inner glow throbbed in a violent staccato rhythm matching the pulse in her throat. Hel portals triggered this exact reaction. Her unknown benefactor provided the Dymas artifact for one specific reason. The gem served as an early warning system for tears leading to the underworld. A shape detached from the gloom beneath the trees. The figure lacked solid edges. The mass of shifting night drank the ambient light around it, leaving a void shaped like a nightmare. It stood over six feet tall, dwarfing her five-foot-six frame. The hunched creature rolled its broad shoulders with a fluid motion defying standard human joint mechanics. Rory backed away, planting her rear foot for balance. Her heel struck a patch of raised dirt. The dragging sound resumed. It echoed much closer this time. It did not originate from the shadow entity blocking the path forward. It came from the empty space behind her back. Two directions. Two distinct sources of movement. Rory kept her eyes locked on the shifting shadow ahead. Her right hand dropped to the heavy aluminum torch clipped to her sturdy leather belt. The cold metal cylinder sat heavy and solid in her palm. "Take a step back." The shadow entity mirrored her defensive posture. It retreated one step into the dark canopy. A frigid breath ghosted over her exposed neck. The temperature of her skin plummeted. The air surrounding her immediate space dropped to sub-zero temperatures, clashing with the oppressive, unnatural heat of the Grove. The breath rolling over her skin smelled of turned graves and stagnant swamp water. The standing stones in the distance blurred. The atmosphere warped, twisting out of focus as the localized air pressure plummeted. Her ears popped. A sharp ache bloomed behind her eyes. A whisper grated out of the dark. The overlapping syllables lacked human pitch or cadence. Massive boulders grinding together beneath a heavy river current formed the base of the guttural noise. Rory whipped around, bending her knees into a low crouch. Her thumb flicked the rubber power button on the heavy torch. A brilliant beam of white light cut a harsh path through the absolute dark. Dust motes and pollen spores danced in the bright cone. The space behind her sat empty. The beam illuminated only blooming wildflowers and distant tree trunks. Nothing stood there. The whisper sounded again. This time, the grinding noise vibrated at the center of her skull, bypassing her ears entirely. The Heartstone flared bright crimson, flooding her vision with red light. The silver chain snapped tight against her neck, pulled upward by an invisible, immense force. The burning gem lifted into the air, straining horizontal. The metal chain burned cold against her throat, choking off her air supply. Rory grasped the chain with both hands. Her fingers slipped on the freezing metal, the crescent scar on her left wrist throbbing in perfect time with the screaming gem. The heavy silence of the Grove compressed into a physical barrier. A massive, unseen weight pressed down from the sky. The colorful wildflowers flattened against the earth, crushed into fragrant mulch all around her boots. A wet, tearing sound echoed through the ancient trees. The air in front of her face ripped wide open.