Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVPJ3RH0EWCXVQ57MYVXDDQ

Richmond Park held a damp, biting chill, but the space between the two dead oaks radiated dry heat. A shimmering distortion fractured the gap separating the overarching branches. The air warped, bending the oak trunks into impossible geometric angles. Rory touched her breastbone. The Heartstone pendant left an imprint against her skin through her cotton shirt, casting a crimson halo onto the fabric. The thumbnail-sized gem fed off the proximity to the rift, a steady pulse mirroring her own heartbeat. "The Boundary wears thin." Nyx rose out of the shadow cast by an unlit streetlamp. The shade formed a six-foot-two humanoid silhouette, edges rolling with living smoke. Faint violet light pierced the void where a face belonged. "It is an open door." Rory adjusted the strap of her canvas bag. "Let us see the destination." She pushed her shoulder through the distortion. A static shock whipped across her collarbone. The metallic stench of London traffic vanished. A wall of crushed pollen and raw ozone slammed into her lungs. Rory stumbled onto soft, spongy earth. The overcast grey sky shattered. A canopy of twilight replaced the English afternoon, painted in streaks of indigo and gold. Rory dragged her boots across a dense carpet of wildflowers. The blooms stretched outward in an aggressive explosion of color. Deep sapphire orchids, crimson lilies the size of dinner plates, and silver-veined lotuses bathed the grove in a bioluminescent hum. Nyx poured through the breach a second later. The shade bled out over the vibrant flora, a stain of absolute dark against the glow. The ambient light bit into their edges. Nyx snapped their form tight, condensing from incorporeal mist into a razor-sharp solid silhouette. "A pocket realm." Nyx drifted over a patch of goldenbells. "Old earth. Untamed." Rory knelt. She brushed her fingertips over a cluster of jagged blue petals. The surface held the texture of warm silk. A drop of dew clung to the edge of a leaf. Rory flicked the stem. The dewdrop detached. It did not fall. The bead of water hovered, descending fractions of a millimeter a second. Rory tracked its glacial progress. She rubbed the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. Time pooled in this space, stagnant and heavy. An hour spent wandering these woods demanded decades from the surface world. "Leave the nectar alone." Rory stood. "I consume only oblivion." The silence of the clearing pressed inward. It carried enough weight to bruise. No wind rustled the high canopy. No insects buzzed. The petals swayed on their own accord, dancing to a rhythm buried deep beneath the topsoil. Rory picked a path through the dense thicket of impossible flora. She marched toward a towering oak standing stone off to her right. Fifty paces into the brush, her boot kicked a familiar cluster of jagged blue petals. A severed stem leaked glowing sap onto a bruised leaf. Rory halted. She pointed out the damaged plant to the towering shade beside her. "I snapped that stem three minutes ago." "A spatial fold." Nyx extended a wisp of darkness over the flower. "Geometry bends in the realm of the Fae. The horizon tells falsehoods." Rory turned a slow circle. The petrified oak stones surrounded them in every direction, maintaining an identical distance regardless of which way she faced. Every stride forward looped them back to the center of the snare. Unease spider-walked up her spine, replacing the initial wonder with a cold, sinking realization. They occupied a terrarium. "There is a trick to the navigation." Rory dropped her canvas bag onto the soft earth. She dug out a handful of loose coins from her delivery shifts at Golden Empress. She lobbed a pound coin forward. The silver disc arced over the glowing lilies, vanished mid-air, and struck Rory in the back of the shoulder. It fell into the moss. "Fascinating." Nyx's whispers carried a dry amusement. "Annoying." Rory rubbed her shoulder. She analyzed the broken physics of the space. Her legal training demanded logic, a linear progression of cause and effect, but the Grove operated on a surrealist painter's rulebook. She unclasped the silver chain from her neck. The Heartstone pendant dug heat into her palm, pulsing a deep, violent crimson. It hungered for the Dymasian rift. "The Fae magic loops physical movement." Rory calculated the geometry. "But this pendant operates on a separate frequency. Hel bounds it." She held the gem out by the chain. The crimson light flared, tilting left. The magnetic pull of the hidden doorway dragged the stone off its axis. "We walk blind. Follow the pull." Rory shut her bright blue eyes. She gripped the pendant, letting the burning sensation guide her steps. She placed one boot in front of the other, ignoring the rustle of the thick vegetation and the disorienting lack of wind. The Heartstone grew hotter with every stride, searing against her skin. "Open them." Rory opened her eyes. The spatial loop had shattered. The towering oak standing stones now crowded around them, their cracked granite bark looming dozens of feet into the canopy. The center of the glade opened up into a massive circle of untouched, pristine white lilies. A figure waited in the dead center of the ring. Waist-length silver hair captured the indigo twilight. The woman wore garments woven from mist and gossamer thread. Pale lavender eyes tracked Rory’s approach. Her skin possessed an ethereal, translucent quality, devoid of pores or blemishes. "The delivery girl brings a stain of night to my sanctuary." The voice layered over itself, carrying the chiming resonance of struck crystal. "I go by Rory." Isolde Varga glided forward. Her bare toes brushed the tops of the blooming lilies. The petals did not bend. She left unbroken stems in her wake, defying gravity with casual indifference. "Names are cages forged by the terrified. You wear yours like an ill-fitting coat, Aurora Carter." Rory widened her stance. She dropped her hand nearer to the canvas bag at her hip. "I need a pathway to the Dymasian gates. The Heartstone drags me toward rifts, but Belphegor’s territory demands a specific key." Isolde laughed. A sound resembling ice cracking over a frozen lake. "Gluttony offers sweet wine and rotting teeth. You seek an amber sky, yet you trespass in my garden wrapped in mortal starlight." Nyx stepped between Rory and the seer. Tendrils of shadow whipped from their forearms, slicing through the bioluminescent fog. "Speak plain, exiled one." Isolde did not flinch. She reached out, driving a pale finger through Nyx’s incorporeal shoulder. The shade hissed. "The Aldric-thing forgets its place. Time means nothing beneath my oaks, sorcerer. A minute here turns a mortal century to dust. Guard your tongue, lest you find it turned to ash." Rory pulled the silver chain over her head. The crimson gem flared, throwing violent red shadows across Isolde’s serene face. The pendant pushed heat into Rory's palm. "I offer a trade." Rory held the artifact out. "You guide me past the wardings to the Gluttony ring, and I leave you out of the crossfire." Isolde’s lavender gaze locked onto the jewel. "A bauble born in Hel. It beats with the blood of an absent Prince." Isolde reached into the folds of her gossamer robes. She withdrew a slender, leaf-shaped dagger. Moonsilver drank the twilight. Frost bloomed across the unadorned crossguard. The ambient temperature in the clearing plunged, crystalizing the moisture on Rory’s collar. "A gift from the Courts I can no longer walk." Isolde presented the hilt. Rory closed the distance. She gripped the weapon. The metal stripped the warmth from her fingers, biting down to the bone. Faint luminescence pulsed along the razor edge, casting a cold, dead glow that repelled the warm colors of the grove. "What does it do?" "It cuts through the unseen. Curses, wards, the flesh of demons. Moonsilver recognizes no master and honors no shield." Rory slid the Fae-forged blade into her belt. The freezing temperature radiated through her denim jeans. "What is the catch?" Rory crossed her arms. "The truth knows no catch. It knows only a destination. The amber sky demands a feast. Bring the silver to the table." Nyx touched Rory’s shoulder. Absolute void resting against the denim jacket. "The Fae binds us in circles. We spend our moments foolishly." "Moments are copper coins. I hoard vaults of them." Isolde turned her back on the pair. She drifted toward the largest petrified standing stone. Her physical form melted into the solid granite, leaving behind the distinct scent of bruised lavender and static electricity. Rory traced the crescent scar on her wrist with her thumb. She tapped the cold pommel of the dagger resting against her hip, scanning the impossible array of wildflowers once more. "Then we carve a path."