Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVP81NADEDGH9E6S0BNHK8Y

Rory pushed through the dense, tangled underbrush of Richmond Park. Briers caught the denim of her jeans. The city lights of London bled a dull orange against the low-hanging clouds, but the glow failed to penetrate the thick canopy ahead. A heavy, oppressive weight settled on her shoulders. She clutched the silver chain resting against her collarbone. The Heartstone burned. The deep crimson gem, roughly the size of a thumbnail, radiated a rhythmic, blistering heat against her sternum. She navigated the slope, tracking the invisible pull of the pendant. Yu-Fei Cheung expected her back at the Golden Empress an hour ago. The thermal delivery bags sat empty in her moped basket miles behind. Overtime was not on her schedule, but the artifact awoke during her final route. The pulse became a frantic drumbeat demanding attention. A Hel portal opened nearby. The air shifted. The damp, earthy smell of decaying autumn leaves vanished. A sickeningly sweet fragrance washed over her instead. Jasmine, foxgloves, and something sharp like crushed lavender. Wildflowers blooming in the dead of November. Two massive, petrified oak standing stones loomed in the gloom. Their gnarled roots coiled into the earth like frozen serpents. The boundary markers. She stepped between the ancient pillars. The transition ripped the ambient noise away. The distant hum of dual carriageway traffic, the planes descending toward Heathrow, the rustle of urban foxes disappeared. A vacuum of absolute, suffocating silence took their place. The Fae Grove swallowed her. Rory held the pendant in her palm. The gemstone cast a faint, blood-red inner glow. The light washed over her skin, illuminating the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. The crimson illumination pushed back the unnatural darkness just enough to reveal a carpet of vibrant bluebells and snowdrops blanketing the forest floor. The petals stood rigid, untouched by any wind. Time ceased its steady forward march. A minute here felt like dragging a stone through mud. The still air clung to her skin, thick and gelatinous. Breathing required deliberate force. She stood anchored to the spot. Her bright blue eyes scanned the black spaces between the towering ash and beech trees. A twig snapped. The sound cracked like a gunshot in the dead air. She spun toward the noise. Her straight, shoulder-length black hair whipped across her face. She dropped her hand, letting the pendant fall back against her chest. To her right, a cluster of ferns sat entirely motionless. She squinted into the impenetrable shadows. "Show yourself." Her voice lacked any tremble. A flat, clinical demand. Her Irish barrister father taught her never to show weakness in a courtroom. The rule translated well to avoiding a panic attack in an otherworldly death trap. Silence answered her. She stepped forward. Her sneaker crushed a patch of luminous bluebells. The petals burst with a wet, squelching noise. She froze. A mimicking squelch echoed from the darkness. Fifty yards away. Beyond the perimeter of the red light. Rory tracked the noise. Her hand drifted to her pocket, fingers wrapping around the cold, heavy brass of her flat keys. A makeshift weapon. The pendant pulsed violently. The heat turned searing. The stone recognized a presence. The wet footsteps began again. Pacing her. She moved parallel to the standing stones. The heavy padding matched her rhythm perfectly. A purposeful, mocking dance. A tall silhouette detached from the trunk of a massive oak. It lingered at the very edge of her vision. Limbs elongated, hanging down past malformed, knobby knees. When she turned her head to look directly at the shape, it dissolved back into the black canvas of the forest. Peripheral phantoms. Hunting tactics. She backed away slowly. The safety of her small flat above Silas' bar felt lifetimes away. The Grove separated her from Earth. Time dilated. She entered minutes ago, but the oppressive dark made it feel like days. Every shadow morphed into grasping hands. Every knot in the wood twisted into a screaming face. She reached out blindly to guide herself along the closest oak. Her palm pressed against the rough bark. The bark yielded. Warm and wet. She yanked her hand back. A thick, viscous sludge coated her skin. In the crimson light of the Heartstone, the substance shined slick and black. The smell hit the back of her throat. Copper. Spoiled meat. A slaughterhouse hiding behind the perfume of blooming jasmine. "Not an oak." She wiped her hand fiercely against her jacket. She memorized the layout of the Grove from Eva's reluctant warnings. Standing stones at the entrance. The clearing in the center. She drifted too far right. A whistle sliced through the heavy air. Four erratic, disjointed notes. High-pitched and entirely human. It came from directly above her. Rory tipped her head back. The canopy wove a solid, impenetrable roof of leaves. The red light barely scratched the gloom overhead. Shadows danced in the high branches. A thick branch thirty feet up sagged under a sudden, immense weight. Bark peeled away and rained down upon the wildflowers. Something crawled down the trunk. Headfirst. Rory locked her knees to stop herself from running. Running triggered the chase. The creature descended with an arachnid grace. Long, multi-jointed fingers dug deep gouges into the wood. The thing possessed the frame of a starved man stretched on a rack. Pale, grey flesh stretched taut over protruding ribs. The head pivoted. A hundred and eighty degrees. The neck let out a rapid series of sharp, sickening snaps. The face passed into the red light. Bone-white. No nose. No eyes. Just deep, ragged concavities where sensory organs belonged. The mouth stretched ear to ear, dominated by rows of translucent, needle-like teeth. It clung to the tree ten feet above her. Rory maintained her ground. She held the creature's blind gaze. The pendant surged, radiating a heat that blistered the skin beneath her shirt. The artifact compelled her to act, to seal the breach, but her analytical mind ran the grim mathematics of the situation. She possessed a set of brass keys against a subterranean apex predator. The creature's jaw unhinged. The jawbone dropped with a wet tearing sound, extending the maw to chest length. It did not roar. "Rooory." The voice belonged to Evan. A perfect, honey-smooth replication of her ex-boyfriend's manipulative tone. The sound carried the exact cadence of his midnight apologies. The acoustic precision shattered the unnatural quiet of the Grove. "Come back inside, Rory." A memory weaponized. Plucked straight from the darkest corner of her skull. "Stop hiding." Rory tightened her grip on her keys. The brass dug deep into her palm, the sharp pain grounding her to reality. The creature fed on reactions. It searched for a vulnerability. It searched for the fear that fueled it. "You don't belong here." She projected absolute certainty to the eyeless face, masking the terrified drumming in her chest. The creature's head tilted again. More bone-cracking snaps echoed into the trees. The mimicry of Evan's voice faded, replaced by a low, rattling hiss. The predator realized the psychological assault failed. The creature lifted one elongated limb from the trunk. It reached down. The needle-fingers ghosted an inch from her face. The smell of the slaughterhouse poured from its open, slavering mouth. Rory refused to flinch. She observed the trembling of the entity's hand. The red glow of the Heartstone painted the pale flesh the color of fresh blood. The gem flared. A brilliant flash of crimson light exploded outward, illuminating the entire grove. The creature shrieked. A chaotic, overlapping chorus of tortured metal, shattering glass, and human weeping blasted from the beast's throat. It scrambled backward. Multi-jointed fingers shredded the bark of the oak as it hauled its elongated body into the upper canopy. The rustling leaves marked its chaotic retreat deep into the unseen spaces where the Fae realm rotted into Hel. Rory exhaled. A white cloud of breath plumed in the cold air. The blistering heat from the pendant faded to a dull, manageable warmth. The red glow dimmed. The suffocating silence returned, heavier than before. She remained alone in the Grove. The isolation pressed against her skin. The creature fled the light, but the pulse of the Heartstone resumed. A steady, rhythmic thrum tapped against her chest. The area remained corrupted. The woods stretched endlessly into the dark. Countless more standing stones formed a jagged maze ahead. Every rustle of a wildflower petal, every shifting branch overhead, held the promise of an ambush. She stepped deeper into the blooming darkness.