Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY94MPGZKAT8H0DFP2XT7HF

The rain hadn’t let up. It was a fine, insistent drizzle that clung to everything – the slick, moss-covered stones, the low-hanging branches of the oaks, and the unsettlingly bright petals of the wildflowers blooming in the Grove. Aurora pulled her threadbare scarf tighter around her face, the damp wool doing little to ward off the chill that had settled deep in her bones. Richmond Park, even in daylight, felt vast and lonely, but here, within the Grove, it was an oppressive, suffocating solitude. She’d told Eva it was a hunch. A persistent, insistent feeling that the pendant – the Heartstone – was strongest here. That’s what the anonymous benefactor, a man she’d only spoken to through encrypted channels, had said. “Dymas,” he’d typed, the name flickering on her phone screen, “the pendant responds to the echoes of Hel.” Dymas hadn’t offered any specifics, just a location and a plea: ‘Find the source.’ The standing stones, ancient and weathered, formed a rough circle around the clearing. They weren't particularly impressive, just dark, moss-covered oak, but they radiated a subtle, almost painful stillness. It felt as though the air itself was holding its breath. She'd checked her watch. Twenty minutes had passed since she’d stepped through the shimmering distortion – the ‘pocket’ – that marked the boundary between Earth and the Fae realm, but the rain hadn’t stopped. It hadn’t lessened. It hadn’t even seemed to shift. The Heartstone, nestled against her chest beneath her worn jacket, pulsed faintly, a barely perceptible warmth against her skin. It was a beautiful thing, the crimson gemstone glowing with a delicate, inner light, held captive by a simple silver chain. She’d never known anyone who’d possessed something like this, let alone a piece of Dymas’s lore. It felt wrong, somehow, this sudden immersion into a world she didn’t understand. A twig snapped behind her. She didn’t jump, didn’t even turn. She simply held her breath, listening. The rain continued its relentless drumming, a white noise designed to mask other sounds. There was silence for a long moment, thick and heavy. Then, another snap, closer this time. A rustle in the undergrowth. “Hello?” Her voice sounded small, swallowed by the rain and the Grove’s unnatural stillness. It was a futile gesture, a desperate attempt to impose order on the growing unease. Nothing. She shifted her weight, her boots sinking slightly into the muddy ground. The wildflowers, stubbornly blooming beneath the rain, seemed to watch her with an unnerving intensity. They weren't actually *watching*, of course. It was just the rain distorting their shapes, playing tricks on her eyes. But the feeling persisted – the sense of being observed. The Heartstone pulsed again, a little stronger this time, and a prickle of something akin to cold fear traced its way down her spine. It wasn't a physical cold, not exactly. It was a deeper, more insidious chill, rooted in the pit of her stomach. She pulled out her phone again, attempting to contact the benefactor. No signal. Just the static hiss of dead air. Damn it. She’d relied too heavily on this connection, on the promise of cryptic instructions. Another sound. This time, it wasn’t a snap or a rustle. It was a melody. Faint, almost imperceptible, like the distant echo of a music box carried on the wind. It wasn't a pleasant tune; it was unsettling, mournful, filled with a haunting quality that resonated deep within her. Aurora slowly, deliberately, turned. Her eyes scanned the perimeter of the Grove, searching for the source of the sound. The rain obscured her vision, blurring the edges of the trees, turning the wildflowers into indistinct blobs of color. The standing stones loomed like silent sentinels, their moss-covered surfaces slick and gleaming in the dim light. The music grew slightly louder, and she noticed something moving at the edge of her vision – a flicker of movement between the trees. She strained her eyes, trying to make out the shape, the form. It was too fleeting, too indistinct to properly identify. Just a shadow, a distortion in the rain. She took a step forward, then another. The ground beneath her feet was soft and yielding, the mud clinging to her boots. The Heartstone pulsed with an increasingly frantic rhythm against her chest, and the scent of damp earth and something else – something sweet and cloying, like overripe fruit – filled her nostrils. “Show yourself,” she said, her voice firmer this time, though the fear was still present, a cold knot in her gut. The music stopped. The silence that followed was even more profound than before, broken only by the relentless drumming of the rain. Then, a voice. It wasn’t spoken aloud, not in the way she understood the word. It was more like a feeling, a sensation that brushed against her mind, cold and unsettling. It wasn’t a voice she recognized, yet it carried a weight of ancient sorrow. *You trespass.* Aurora froze, her heart pounding against her ribs. She didn't dare move, didn't dare look. She simply stood there, rooted to the spot, listening to the voice, feeling its presence. The water droplets clinging to her eyelashes began to coalesce, forming tiny, shimmering spheres that drifted downwards, suspended in the air for a moment before dissolving into nothingness. The wildflowers seemed to lean towards her, their petals brushing against her face with a disconcerting softness. She felt a tightening in her chest, a pressure building behind her eyes. It wasn’t a physical pressure, but a psychic one, a sense of being weighed down, of being observed with something far older and far more powerful than herself. The Heartstone flared with an intense, blinding light, and Aurora instinctively clutched it tighter against her chest. The warmth intensified, spreading through her body, but it wasn’t comforting. It was… invasive. Like a burning brand. Then, she saw it. Just a glimpse, a fleeting impression at the edge of her vision. A shape. Tall and slender, draped in a gown of woven moonlight. A face, partially obscured by shadow, with eyes that burned with an unsettling, otherworldly light. It wasn't human. Not entirely. There was something… *wrong* about it. Something fundamentally and terrifyingly alien. And as the image solidified, even for a fraction of a second, Aurora realized with a sickening certainty that she wasn't just being observed. She was being hunted. The rain intensified, a torrential downpour that completely obliterated the already limited visibility. The music started again, softer now, but even more insistent, more deeply unsettling. And as the figure began to move towards her, gliding effortlessly through the trees, Aurora knew, with a chilling clarity, that the feeling of wrongness wasn’t just in the Grove. It was in her.