Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7W1MZT80Q0KJSK5TND7B5

Aurora pushed through the dense thicket at the edge of Richmond Park, the beam from her phone's flashlight slicing erratic paths across twisted roots and low-hanging branches. Night had fallen hard, the kind that swallowed London whole, leaving only the distant hum of traffic as a faint reminder of the city beyond. She had come here chasing whispers—rumors Eva had dug up online about hidden groves where time bent and old magic lingered. The Heartstone Pendant hung heavy against her chest, its crimson gem pulsing with a warmth that had grown insistent over the past week, like a heartbeat urging her forward. Evan was long gone, but this pull felt different, a tether to something older, something that might explain the scar on her wrist aching in the cold or the dreams of crimson light flooding her sleep. She stepped into the clearing, and the air shifted. Thicker, somehow, laced with the scent of wildflowers that shouldn't bloom in autumn frost. Ancient oaks loomed at the perimeter, their trunks etched like standing stones, bark gnarled into faces that watched. Rory paused, breath clouding in the chill. Her phone's light caught flecks of dew on petals—vibrant blues and yellows dotting the grass, defiant against the season. She had expected solitude, a quiet spot to think, to test if the pendant's glow meant anything real. But the silence pressed in wrong, too absolute, as if the world had inhaled and forgotten to exhale. Her boots crunched on fallen leaves, the sound echoing louder than it should. She glanced back at the path she'd carved through the underbrush, but the thorns and brambles had knit together already, seamless, like no one had passed. A trick of the light, she told herself. Or fatigue from the double shift at Golden Empress, dodging Yu-Fei's sharp orders while balancing steaming trays. She tugged the pendant from beneath her jacket, its silver chain cool against her skin. The gem's inner glow flickered, faint but steady, warmer now, as if sensing proximity to... what? A portal, the forums had claimed. Fae nonsense, probably. But the warmth spread through her fingers, chasing away the night's bite. Wind rustled the oaks, branches creaking like old doors on rusty hinges. Rory froze. No wind stirred the wildflowers at her feet; they stood rigid, petals unbowed. The sound came again, a low groan from the trees, followed by a snap—twig breaking under weight. She swung her light toward it, beam piercing shadows that danced just beyond reach. Nothing. Just bark and leaves. Her pulse quickened, but she shook it off. Animals roamed parks at night. Deer, foxes. She pressed on, deeper into the grove, the grass soft underfoot, muffling her steps. "Why here?" she muttered, voice slicing the quiet. "What the hell am I even looking for?" The words hung, unanswered, but they grounded her. Eva would laugh if she knew—Rory, the level-headed one, chasing fairy tales in the dark. But the pendant had arrived unannounced, slipped under her flat door with no note, no sender. And now it led her here, to this pocket of strangeness where the stars above seemed sharper, too many for London's light-polluted sky. A whisper skimmed the edge of hearing. Not wind this time—words, fragmented, like voices carried from a distant room. Rory halted, ears straining. "...come... lost..." It faded before she could pin it down. She spun, light arcing wild. Shadows leaped and retreated, but the grove remained empty. Her breath came shallow. Imagination, fueled by isolation. She had fled Cardiff to escape Evan's grip, rebuilt in London above Silas' bar with its sticky floors and rowdy patrons. This? Just another escape, a distraction from the mundane grind. Yet the wrongness built. The air grew heavier, pressing on her shoulders like unseen hands. She moved toward the center of the clearing, where a cluster of wildflowers formed a rough circle, blooms overlapping in patterns that twisted her gaze. The pendant thrummed against her palm, its pulse syncing with her heart. Warmth flooded her, but so did a chill at the base of her spine. Something watched. Not paranoia—certainty, bone-deep. Eyes on her back, tracking every step. Leaves rustled to her left. She jerked the light there, catching a flicker of motion—branches swaying, but no breeze touched her face. A shape darted at the periphery, low and quick, gone before she could focus. Fox? Too fluid, almost deliberate. Rory backed up, boots sinking into the damp earth. The ground felt softer here, yielding like flesh. She yanked her foot free, heart hammering. "Who's there?" Her voice cracked the silence, sharper than intended. No answer, but the whispers returned, closer now. "...hers... the stone..." She clutched the pendant tighter, its glow intensifying, casting a reddish hue over the grass. The scar on her left wrist itched, a phantom burn from that childhood fall—tripping over roots in the Welsh woods, gashing herself on a jagged stone. Similar roots snaked across the grove floor now, pale and vein-like in the light. One twitched. She blinked, stared. It lay still. Tricks of the mind, shadows playing games. Deeper into the grove, the oaks closed ranks, their trunks forming a natural archway. Beyond, darkness thickened, impenetrable even to her flashlight. The pendant pulled her toward it, warmth insistent, almost demanding. She resisted, planting her feet. "This is stupid," she said aloud, forcing a laugh that echoed hollow. "Go home, Rory. Sleep it off." But turning back, the path she'd entered through blurred, thorns denser, as if the grove reshaped itself to keep her. A soft thud echoed from behind an oak—footfall, deliberate. She whirled, light stabbing the trunk. Bark peeled back in her beam, revealing grooves that mimicked a face, eyes hollow, mouth agape. Just weathering, she reasoned. But as she stared, the grooves shifted, subtly, like a slow blink. Her stomach twisted. Not alone. The certainty clawed up her throat. Something circled, unseen, patient. Whispers multiplied, overlapping now. "...return... blood..." They slithered from all directions, indistinct but urgent. Rory spun in place, light whipping shadows into frenzy. A glimpse—pale limb? Branch? It vanished. The air vibrated, charged, like before a storm. Wildflowers bent toward her, stems elongating, petals brushing her ankles with feather-light touches that felt like fingers probing. She bolted toward the archway, driven by the pendant's heat searing her skin. Bad idea, her mind screamed, but retreat felt impossible; the grove's boundary had vanished, swallowed by undergrowth. Under the arch, darkness enveloped her, flashlight beam swallowed whole. Sounds amplified—her breaths ragged, footsteps pounding, and beneath them, a chorus of rustles, pursuing. Something grazed her shoulder, cold and fleeting. She slapped at it, found nothing. The pendant blazed, illuminating faint outlines ahead—a shimmer in the air, like heat haze over pavement. Portal? The whispers crescendoed, voices distinct now, laced with hunger. "...ours... claim her..." Rory skidded to a halt, chest heaving. Not alone. Never alone here. Eyes pierced the dark, multitudes, glowing faintly like embers. They ringed her, closing in slow. Panic surged. She gripped the pendant, yanking it free, chain snapping with a sharp twang. "Stay back!" Her shout bounced off invisible walls, but the eyes paused, wavering. The gem's glow intensified, pushing shadows back, revealing glimpses—forms humanoid but wrong, elongated limbs, faces masked in foliage. They recoiled from the light, hissing. Rory backed away, light trembling in her grasp. The grove's time warped; minutes stretched, her phone's clock frozen at midnight. Whispers morphed into laughter, low and mocking, echoing from the oaks. A branch lashed out, snagging her jacket, tearing fabric with thorns that drew blood. She wrenched free, warm trickle down her arm joining the scar's throb. Deeper shadows stirred, larger shapes uncoiling from the earth. Not animals. Not human. The certainty solidified—they hunted, drawn by the stone, by her. She had come seeking answers, but the grove offered only questions wrapped in dread. Footsteps mirrored hers now, syncing perfectly, as if the pursuers toyed with mimicry. She ran, blind, pendant clutched like a talisman. The archway loomed again, but twisted, leading not out but deeper. Whispers clawed at her ears. "...Aurora... stay..." Her name, spoken in voices that weren't voices. How? The pendant burned, vision blurring with its crimson haze. Shapes lunged from the sides, brushes of cold against her skin, withdrawing just as quick. She burst into another clearing, smaller, ringed by stones that hummed. The eyes followed, patient, encircling. Not escaping. Trapped. The wrongness peaked, a symphony of unseen watchers, their presence a weight crushing down. Rory dropped to her knees, pendant slipping from numb fingers, glow pulsing like a beacon calling them closer. Still, they held back, savoring the build. A hand—not hers—brushed her hair, whisper-soft. She spun, met empty air. Laughter rippled through the grove, eternal, as time slipped away.