Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPE6KJ76DF2YDKVZTZQG80

The Heartstone Pendant pulsed against Rory’s collarbone, a slow, insistent warmth like a second heartbeat. She adjusted the strap of her bag, fingers brushing the worn leather where the Fae blade lay hidden. The air here smelled different—thick with the scent of damp earth and something older, something wild. Nyx materialized beside her, their violet glow flickering like a guttering candle. "The stones remember us." Rory didn’t answer. She was too busy staring at the standing stones ahead, their gnarled oaks twisted into shapes that shouldn’t exist. The bark shimmered faintly, as if dusted with starlight. Between them, the air rippled like heat off pavement, but colder. Much colder. Isolde stepped forward, her silver hair catching the dim light. "The Grove does not welcome all who knock." Her voice was a melody, but the words carried weight. "It chooses." Rory exhaled, fog curling in front of her. "Then let’s hope it chooses us." She stepped through first. The world tilted. For a heartbeat, she was falling—not down, but sideways, as if the ground had dissolved beneath her. Then her boots hit soft moss, and the air rushed back into her lungs. The clearing stretched before them, impossibly vast. Wildflowers bloomed in hues she had no name for, their petals shifting between blue and violet like a living sunset. Above, the sky wasn’t sky at all—it was a canopy of interwoven branches, their leaves translucent, filtering the light into something golden and liquid. Nyx let out a sound that might have been a laugh. "Time moves differently here." Rory’s fingers twitched toward the pendant. It was warmer now, almost hot. "How much time?" Isolde didn’t answer. She was already walking, her bare feet leaving no prints on the moss. Rory followed, her sneakers sinking slightly with each step. The ground wasn’t just soft—it was alive. Tiny tendrils of grass curled around her ankles, then retreated, as if tasting her. Ahead, a pool of water shimmered, its surface perfectly still. Rory crouched, dipping her fingers in. The water was neither hot nor cold, but *aware*. It clung to her skin, then pulled back, as if deciding she wasn’t worth the effort. Nyx knelt beside her. "It’s not water." Rory didn’t ask what it was. Some things were better left unknown. Isolde stopped at the edge of the pool, her lavender eyes fixed on something beyond it. "The path splits here." Rory stood, wiping her damp fingers on her jeans. The clearing didn’t just split—it *shifted*. One moment, there was a narrow trail winding through the trees. The next, it was gone, replaced by a bridge of woven roots arching over a chasm she hadn’t seen before. The air hummed, low and constant, like the distant thrum of a plucked string. Nyx’s shadow stretched long and thin, pooling at their feet. "The Grove is testing us." Rory adjusted her bag again. "Then let’s not keep it waiting." She took the bridge. The roots beneath her feet were warm, almost feverish. They pulsed faintly, like veins. The chasm below wasn’t empty—it was filled with mist, swirling in patterns that made her eyes ache if she stared too long. Halfway across, the bridge trembled. Rory froze. Isolde’s voice came from behind her, calm. "It’s not the bridge that’s moving." Rory looked down. The mist had risen, tendrils of it curling around her boots. Not mist. *Shadows*. They slithered up her legs, cold and insistent. She yanked her foot back, but the shadows clung, tightening like ropes. Nyx’s voice cut through the hum. "They’re not yours." Rory didn’t wait. She reached into her bag, fingers closing around the Fae blade’s hilt. The moment the metal cleared the leather, the shadows recoiled, hissing like steam on a hot pan. The blade’s glow was faint, but it was enough. The shadows dissolved, retreating into the chasm. The bridge stilled. Rory exhaled, her breath shaky. "What the hell was that?" Isolde stepped past her, unperturbed. "Echoes. Memories the Grove hasn’t let go of." Nyx’s silhouette flickered, their edges less defined than before. "Or warnings." The other side of the bridge opened into a glade. At its center stood a tree unlike any Rory had ever seen. Its trunk was silver, its branches heavy with fruit that glowed like embers. The air here was thicker, sweet with the scent of honey and something metallic. Isolde stopped at the tree’s base. "The Heartwood." Rory reached out, then hesitated. The bark wasn’t bark at all—it was smooth, like polished bone. "What is this place?" Isolde plucked one of the glowing fruits. It pulsed in her palm, casting flickering light across her face. "A crossroads. A prison. A cradle." She held the fruit out to Rory. "Eat, and the Grove will answer your questions." Rory took it. The skin was warm, yielding. She bit down. Flavor exploded across her tongue—not sweet, not sour, but *alive*. It tasted like lightning, like the first breath after surfacing from deep water. The world around her sharpened. The hum of the Grove became a chorus of voices, whispering in languages she didn’t know but somehow understood. She saw the Veil. It shimmered at the edges of her vision, a fragile curtain between worlds. Beyond it, she glimpsed other realms—some bright and burning, others dark and suffocating. Hel. The Fae Courts. Places that weren’t places, where the rules of reality bent like reeds in the wind. And then she saw *him*. A man in a long coat, his face obscured by shadow. He stood at the edge of a vineyard, his fingers brushing the leaves of a plant that writhed at his touch. The air around him warped, the Veil thinning like worn fabric. The Heartstone Pendant burned against Rory’s skin, searing hot. She gasped, the vision dissolving. The fruit fell from her fingers, rolling into the grass. Isolde’s voice was soft. "The Grove shows what it wills." Rory’s hands trembled. "Who was that?" Nyx’s glow flickered, their voice barely a whisper. "Trouble." The tree’s branches rustled, though there was no wind. The ground beneath them trembled, just once, like a held breath finally released. Isolde turned, her silver hair catching the light. "The Grove has spoken. Now we leave." Rory didn’t argue. She followed Isolde back across the bridge, the shadows parting before them like water. The standing stones loomed ahead, the air between them rippling like a mirage. Nyx paused at the threshold. "Time moves differently here." Rory glanced back. The glade was already fading, the silver tree dissolving into mist. "How much time passed out there?" Isolde stepped through the stones. "Enough." The world tilted again. Rory braced herself, but this time, the fall was shorter. She stumbled onto damp grass, the scent of rain and earth filling her lungs. Richmond Park stretched around them, ordinary and quiet. The standing stones were just stones now, their magic dormant. Rory touched the Heartstone Pendant. It was cold again. Nyx solidified beside her, their edges sharp once more. "We’re not done here." Rory exhaled, watching her breath fog in the chill air. "No. We’re not."