Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPW6RGZ5ATZDBNW1B05DZM

The standing stones loomed like the ribs of some long-dead giant, their gnarled oak trunks blackened with age and veined with silver moss. Rory adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, the Heartstone Pendant tucked safely inside, its faint warmth pulsing against her sternum like a second heartbeat. The air here was different—thicker, sweeter, laced with the scent of wildflowers that shouldn’t have been blooming in late November. She exhaled, watching her breath curl into mist that didn’t dissipate, but instead drifted upward like smoke caught in an unseen current. Nyx materialized beside her, their form solidifying from the shadows between the stones. The violet glow of their eyes flickered like candlelight in a draft. *"The Veil is thin here,"* they murmured, their voice a whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. *"Can you feel it?"* Rory could. It prickled along her skin, a static charge that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. She nodded, then glanced back at the path they’d taken. The trees beyond the stones were already fading, their edges blurring as if viewed through warped glass. *"We’re not in Richmond Park anymore, are we?"* *"Not quite,"* Nyx said, stepping forward. Their shadow stretched long and wrong, pooling at their feet like spilled ink before snapping back into place. *"The Grove remembers those it welcomes. And it has welcomed you before."* Rory didn’t have time to dwell on that. Ahead, the trees parted, revealing a clearing bathed in golden light. She sucked in a breath. The Fae Grove was nothing like the stories. It wasn’t just a circle of mushrooms or a glade of silver trees—it was a living tapestry of impossible beauty. Flowers the size of dinner plates unfurled in hues Rory had no name for, their petals shimmering with dew that never fell. The grass beneath her boots was soft as velvet, springing back with each step as if eager to cradle her weight. Above, the sky wasn’t sky at all, but a vast, shifting canopy of leaves in every shade of green and gold, woven together so tightly that the light filtering through them painted the world in dappled amber. And the sounds—God, the sounds. A melody hummed in the air, not from any instrument Rory could see, but from the Grove itself. It vibrated in her bones, a low, resonant thrum that made her teeth ache. Birds—if they were birds—flitted between the branches, their wings leaving trails of starlight in their wake. Their songs were wordless, but Rory understood them anyway. *Welcome. Stay. Wonder.* Nyx moved ahead of her, their form flickering between solid and shadow as they tested the air. *"Time moves differently here,"* they said, though Rory hadn’t asked. *"An hour could be a minute. A day could be a year. The Grove decides."* Rory swallowed. She’d heard the warnings, of course. But hearing and *seeing* were two different things. She flexed her fingers, the crescent scar on her wrist itching. *"Isolde’s here?"* *"She’s always here,"* Nyx said. *"But she won’t come to us. Not yet."* Rory stepped forward, her boots sinking slightly into the earth. The ground wasn’t just soft—it was *alive*, pulsing faintly beneath her soles like a heartbeat. She crouched, pressing her palm to the grass. The moment her skin made contact, images flashed behind her eyes: a woman with silver hair laughing as she danced beneath a waterfall of light; a child with pointed ears weaving flowers into a crown; a man with eyes like polished river stones, his hands stained with ink as he wrote in a book that never ended. She jerked back with a gasp. Nyx was at her side in an instant, their shadow pooling around her like a cloak. *"What did you see?"* *"Memories,"* Rory breathed. *"Not mine."* *"The Grove shows what it wishes,"* Nyx said. *"Be careful what you touch."* Rory stood, brushing the dirt from her knees. The Heartstone Pendant burned against her chest, its warmth spreading through her like a slow sip of whiskey. She reached into her bag and pulled it out, the crimson gem catching the light as it swung from its silver chain. The glow inside it pulsed brighter, as if responding to the Grove’s energy. *"It knows this place,"* Nyx observed, their voice tight. *"Or it knows what we’re here for,"* Rory said. A rustle in the undergrowth made them both turn. Between the trees, something moved—not an animal, not quite a person. A figure, slender and pale, with skin that seemed to shift between bark and flesh. It tilted its head, watching them with eyes like polished obsidian. Rory’s pulse spiked. *"What the hell is that?"* Nyx’s form darkened, their edges bleeding into the shadows. *"A guardian. They won’t harm us unless we threaten the Grove."* The creature—*thing*—stepped forward, its movements fluid, unnatural. It reached out a hand, fingers elongating into vines that curled toward Rory’s wrist. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. The vines brushed her scar, and suddenly she was *falling*, tumbling through a vision: A battlefield. Smoke and fire. A man in tattered robes screaming as his body unraveled into shadow. The Veil tearing like wet parchment. And then—nothing. Just the echo of a name. *Aldric.* She gasped, stumbling back. The guardian recoiled, its form dissolving into mist. Nyx caught her before she could fall. *"Rory?"* She pressed a hand to her temple. *"I saw—"* She cut herself off. The vision was already slipping away, like a dream upon waking. *"I don’t know. Something about the Veil. And you."* Nyx went very still. *"What about me?"* *"You were human once,"* Rory said slowly. *"Aldric."* The name hung between them, heavy as a curse. Nyx’s violet eyes flickered, their form wavering like a candle flame in the wind. For a moment, Rory thought they might deny it. But then they exhaled, their voice barely a whisper. *"Yes."* Before Rory could respond, the air itself seemed to *breathe*. The golden light dimmed, the melody shifting into something slower, deeper. The trees at the edge of the clearing parted, and Isolde stepped forward. She was exactly as Rory remembered—ageless, ethereal, her silver hair cascading down her back like a river of moonlight. But her lavender eyes were sharp, knowing. She wore a dress woven from spider silk and petals, the fabric shifting colors as she moved. And though she walked, her bare feet left no prints in the grass. *"Little thief,"* Isolde said, her voice like wind through reeds. *"You’ve returned."* Rory’s mouth went dry. *"I’m not here to steal."* *"Aren’t you?"* Isolde tilted her head, a smile playing at her lips. *"The Grove remembers your last visit. The way you plucked the nightshade from its roots. The way you lied to its guardians."* Rory’s fingers twitched toward the Fae blade hidden in her boot. *"That was different."* *"Was it?"* Isolde stepped closer, her presence pressing against Rory’s skin like a physical weight. *"You take what isn’t yours. You ask questions you shouldn’t. You walk the line between worlds and pretend you don’t see the cracks."* Rory lifted her chin. *"I’m here because I need answers."* *"And what makes you think I’ll give them?"* *"Because you *want* to,"* Rory said. *"You’re Fae. You can’t lie. And you wouldn’t have let us in if you didn’t have something to say."* Isolde’s smile widened, sharp as a blade. *"Clever girl."* She turned, her dress whispering against the grass. *"Come. The Grove is patient, but even it grows weary of mortals who linger too long."* Rory exchanged a glance with Nyx, who gave a barely perceptible nod. Together, they followed Isolde deeper into the clearing, where the trees grew taller, their branches twisting into arches that seemed to defy gravity. The air hummed with power, thick and electric, raising the fine hairs on Rory’s arms. Isolde led them to a pool of water so still it might have been glass. The surface reflected not the sky, but a swirling void, stars blinking in and out of existence like fireflies. She knelt, dipping her fingers into the water. The ripples spread outward, and the void *shifted*, revealing glimpses of other places—other worlds. *"The Veil weakens,"* Isolde said, her voice distant. *"Not just at the solstice. Everywhere. The rifts grow. The Helbound slip through. And something stirs beneath Dymas, something hungry."* Rory’s stomach twisted. *"What does that have to do with me?"* Isolde’s gaze snapped to hers, sharp as a blade. *"You carry a piece of Dymas in your pocket, little thief. The Heartstone is not just a key—it is a *beacon*. And beacons draw moths to flame."* Rory’s hand flew to the pendant. *"You’re saying it’s calling them? The demons?"* *"I’m saying it is calling *him*,"* Isolde corrected. *"Belphegor. Prince of Gluttony. And he is not the only one who has noticed."* A cold weight settled in Rory’s chest. *"Who else?"* Isolde didn’t answer. Instead, she reached into the folds of her dress and withdrew something small and silver. She held it out—a dagger, its leaf-shaped blade catching the light. The Fae blade. *"Take it,"* she said. *"You’ll need it before the end."* Rory hesitated, then reached out. The moment her fingers closed around the hilt, the metal burned cold against her skin. She hissed, but didn’t let go. The blade hummed, vibrating faintly, as if recognizing her. *"It will cut through the Veil,"* Isolde said. *"Through flesh. Through lies. But be warned—Fae steel has a price. Every wound it inflicts is a debt. And debts must be repaid."* Rory swallowed, tucking the dagger into her belt. *"Noted."* Isolde stood, her form already beginning to fade at the edges. *"The Grove will let you leave. For now. But remember, little thief—you are marked. By the Heartstone. By the blade. By the blood in your veins."* Her lavender eyes gleamed. *"And blood calls to blood."* With that, she was gone, dissolving into the golden light like mist. Rory exhaled, her breath shaky. The Grove seemed to sigh around her, the melody shifting once more, this time into something mournful. The guardian from before reappeared at the edge of the clearing, its obsidian eyes fixed on her. Nyx’s voice was quiet. *"We should go."* Rory nodded, but as she turned to leave, the Heartstone Pendant flared against her chest, its heat searing through her shirt. She gasped, clutching it as the crimson gem pulsed like a heartbeat—once, twice— And then, from the shadows between the trees, a voice whispered her name. *"Aurora."*