Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7MW85GBG5Z0G71TZDM13J

The ancient oaks loomed, their branches skeletal against the fading twilight. Rory pulled her jacket tighter, the chill deeper than the October air should account for. Richmond Park at night wasn't particularly unsettling—just the usual rustle of leaves, the distant hum of the city, the occasional startled deer. This wasn’t Richmond Park, though. Not entirely. She’d followed the instructions precisely. Three paces west of the Isabella Plantation entrance, then due north until she felt the shift. The shift was subtle, a pressure behind her eyes, a prickling on her skin. Then, the scent—wildflowers, yes, but layered with something else. Something almost cloying, like overripe fruit and damp earth. The Fae Grove. The stones were there, just as the old maps had described. Six standing stones, each a gnarled oak, older than London itself. They formed a crude circle, and within it, the clearing pulsed with an unnatural bloom. Wildflowers in impossible colors—violet so deep it bordered on black, orange that shimmered like trapped fire—carpeted the ground. The air vibrated with a silent hum. Rory checked her wrist, the crescent-shaped scar a pale line against her dark skin. Time. It felt…normal. An hour, maybe. Enough time to find what she was looking for, to be in and out before anyone noticed. She clutched the Heartstone Pendant beneath her jacket. The silver chain was cold against her skin, but the stone itself pulsed with a faint, insistent warmth. It always did in places like this, places near the Veil. She'd received it anonymously, slipped into her bag during a delivery run to a peculiar antique shop in Shoreditch. No note, no explanation. Just the pendant, heavy and strangely compelling. It had pointed her here, drawn her into this twilight space. The silence was the first thing that felt wrong. Not a lack of sound, exactly, but a stillness that swallowed everything. No rustling leaves. No chirping insects. Not even the distant city hum. It was as if the world held its breath. She took a tentative step into the clearing. The wildflowers felt strangely soft beneath her boots, almost…yielding. A flash of movement at the edge of her vision. Squirrel? A deer? She turned, but there was nothing there. Just the oppressive stillness and the watchful gaze of the ancient oaks. “Hello?” she called out, her voice sounding too loud, too brittle in the unnatural quiet. The word seemed to hang in the air, then dissipate without an echo. She told herself it was nerves. She was used to unusual requests, unusual deliveries. A late-night order of Peking duck to a man with a taxidermy collection? That was weirder than this, probably. But this…this felt different. This felt like something more than just strange. The Heartstone pulsed faster, the warmth radiating through her jacket. She focused on it, using it as an anchor. The instructions she’d found—obscure references in a forgotten grimoire, translated from a dead language—mentioned a convergence point, a nexus of energy near the central stone. That’s where she needed to be. Moving deeper into the clearing, she noticed the details she hadn't seen before. The wildflowers were arranged in patterns. Not random splashes of color, but deliberate configurations. Spirals. Triangles. Symbols she didn't recognize, but that felt…intentional. A twig snapped. Rory froze. Her breath caught in her throat. It hadn't been her. She was sure of it. The sound was too sharp, too deliberate. She scanned the perimeter of the clearing, her eyes straining against the dim light. Nothing. Just shadows lengthening from the ancient oaks. She told herself it was an animal. A fox, maybe. They were in Richmond Park, after all. But foxes didn’t snap twigs with such precision. Another twig snapped, closer this time. Behind her. She didn’t turn. She wouldn’t. Whatever was out there, she didn't want to see it. She focused on the central stone, the largest of the six, its bark twisted into grotesque faces. The vibration in the air intensified, coalescing into a low thrum that resonated in her bones. The Heartstone practically burned against her skin. A scent, stronger now. The overripe fruit, the damp earth…and something else. Something metallic, like old blood. She could feel it now, a presence. Not something she could see, but a weight in the air, a pressure on her mind. It was watching her. Studying her. Waiting. A sound. Faint, almost imperceptible. Like a child’s humming. It wasn’t a pleasant melody. It was discordant, off-key, and laced with an undertone of…grief. A profound, aching sorrow that seeped into her mind and chilled her to the core. She forced herself to move, to walk towards the central stone. Each step felt heavier than the last. The humming grew louder, closer. She could almost feel the breath on her neck. Something shifted in the shadows. A flicker of movement, too fast to register. A glimpse of…something. Tall. Slender. Humanoid, but wrong. The proportions were off. The limbs too long, the movements too fluid. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing it away. It was a trick of the light. A shadow playing games. She opened her eyes, and it was still there. Or rather, it was *everywhere*. Not a distinct form, but a distortion in the air, a ripple in the fabric of reality. The Heartstone pulsed violently, the warmth radiating outwards in waves. Rory gasped, clutching it tighter. The humming stopped. A new sound replaced it. A scraping. Like nails dragging across stone. It was coming from the central stone. She looked up, her eyes drawn to the grotesque faces carved into the bark. They seemed to shift, to contort, to become…more alive. A single, crimson eye opened in the center of one of the faces. It stared directly at her. The scraping sound intensified, climbing in pitch until it grated on her teeth. A fissure appeared in the bark of the central stone, widening slowly. From the fissure, something began to emerge. Not a creature. Not a monster. But something…less. A void. A blackness that seemed to absorb all light and sound. It spread outwards, engulfing the base of the stone, then creeping up the trunk like a stain. Rory stumbled backward, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had to get out. Now. But she was frozen. Paralyzed by a fear so profound it stole her breath. The void widened, revealing a glimpse of…something else. A landscape of twisted trees and broken towers. A sky filled with swirling, violet clouds. A place that felt ancient and utterly alien. The Heartstone pulsed one last time, a searing wave of heat that knocked her off her feet. As she fell, the void reached out, tendrils of darkness snaking across the clearing. The last thing she saw was the single, crimson eye in the stone, watching her fall. And then, nothing. Just the suffocating weight of the darkness, and the faint, lingering scent of overripe fruit and damp earth.