AI Aurora Carter pushed through the thicket at the edge of Richmond Park, the beam of her torch slicing erratic paths through the ink-black night. Leaves rustled under her boots, crisp despite the late autumn chill that should have stripped the branches bare. She had come here on a whim, really —a tip from a stranger at Silas's bar, a murmured word about a place where the air hummed with secrets, where something ancient might explain the faint warmth that had started pulsing from the pendant around her neck two nights ago. The Heartstone, they called it, though she still didn't know who had slipped it into her coat pocket outside the Golden Empress. Curiosity had dragged her out here after her shift, the city's distant glow fading behind her as she veered off the main paths.
The park sprawled vast and empty under a moonless sky, stars pricked like distant warnings. Rory's breath fogged in the cold, her straight black hair sticking to her neck from the hurried trek. She adjusted the silver chain beneath her jacket, the thumbnail-sized crimson gem pressing against her skin like a second heartbeat. It had grown warmer mile by mile, urging her deeper into the wilder sections where joggers never ventured after dark.
She paused at a cluster of ancient oaks, their trunks twisted into shapes that suggested faces half-formed in the bark. The stranger's directions echoed in her mind: follow the deer path until the stones appear. Sure enough, there they stood—massive slabs of weathered oak, not stone at all, but petrified wood rising from the earth like forgotten sentinels . They formed a rough circle, maybe ten feet across, enclosing a clearing she swore hadn't been on any map she'd checked back at her flat.
Rory stepped over the threshold, her torchlight catching on wildflowers blooming in defiant clusters along the ground. Daisies and violets, petals unfurling as if kissed by spring, though frost should have blackened them weeks ago. The air shifted, thicker here, carrying a scent like rain on stone mixed with something sweeter, almost cloying, like overripe fruit. She swung the torch around the perimeter. Nothing. Just the grove, isolated and still.
She killed the light to listen. The city's hum had vanished entirely; no cars, no planes slicing overhead. Only the wind sifted through the branches, but it sounded wrong—too rhythmic , like whispers braided into the gusts. Rory shook her head, chalked it up to exhaustion from dodging traffic all day on her delivery bike. The pendant throbbed once, a gentle reminder . She knelt in the center of the clearing, pulling it free from her collar. The deep crimson gem caught no light, yet it glowed from within, faint as a dying ember.
"What are you?" she muttered to the empty air, her voice flat and swallowed by the trees.
No answer came, of course. She traced the scar on her left wrist, the small crescent from a tumble off her bike as a kid, grounding herself in the familiar sting of old skin. The tip had promised answers here—something about portals, realms bleeding into each other. Rory had laughed it off at first, but the pendant's pull had hooked her, dragging her out into this madness. Pre-Law dropout or not, she knew a lead when it tugged.
A rustle snapped from the underbrush beyond the oaks. Her head jerked up. Squirrels, maybe, or a fox scavenging. Richmond Park teemed with wildlife at night. She waited, breath held, but the sound didn't repeat. The flowers at her feet swayed, though no breeze stirred the air inside the circle.
Rory stood, pocketing the pendant's chain but leaving it out, the glow a dim beacon against her palm. She paced the boundary, boots crunching on moss that felt too soft, too alive underfoot. The oaks loomed taller from this angle, their branches interlocking overhead like a cage woven from bone. She reached out, fingers brushing one trunk. Warm. Not sun-warmed, but pulsing, as if sap coursed through it faster than blood in veins.
She pulled back, heart kicking up a notch. Imagination. That's all. She circled again, slower, torch reignited to banish shadows. The light played tricks, stretching branches into claws that retracted when she blinked. At the far edge, something flickered —a shape darting between two oaks, gone before she could focus. A deer? Too quick, too low to the ground.
"Ridiculous," she said aloud, forcing a scoff. But her voice echoed oddly, layering back at her from the trees, as if the grove mimicked her.
The whispers in the wind picked up, fragments now: soft syllables that dissolved before meaning formed. Rory froze, straining to catch them. Leaves? No, voices, layered and distant, like a crowd murmuring from another room. She spun, torch beam sweeping wide. Empty. The flowers nodded in approval, their petals brushing her ankles like tiny fingers.
She pressed on, reason be damned. The pendant burned hotter, guiding her to the northern arc of the circle. There, amid the roots, a seam in the earth yawned—a crack no wider than her hand, but deep, exhaling cool mist that carried the cloying sweetness stronger. Rory crouched, peering in. Darkness swallowed the light, but the whispers surged from below, clearer: names, perhaps, or pleas, twisting into English for a heartbeat. Her name? No, impossible.
A twig snapped behind her, sharp as a bone breaking. She whirled, torch catching only air. But the shadows clung longer this time, pooling at the base of the oaks like ink seeking form. Something shifted in her periphery—a silhouette, humanoid, melting into the bark as she turned fully. Her pulse thrummed in her ears. Not alone. The certainty settled in her gut, cold and unyielding.
"Who's there?" Rory called, voice steady despite the tremor in her chest . No response, but the flowers stilled, as if listening .
She backed away from the crack, torch held high. The oaks creaked, though the wind had died. One branch dipped low, leaves rustling without cause, brushing her shoulder. She flinched, swatting it away. Fabric? No, just foliage. But the touch lingered, a chill seeping through her jacket.
The whispers circled now, encircling her, words half-formed: "Stay... linger... join..." They pulled at her, threads of sound weaving into her thoughts. Rory clamped her hands over her ears, but they burrowed deeper, vibrating in her skull. The pendant flared, crimson light pulsing in time with the voices, drawing her back to the crack.
She resisted, eyes darting to the boundary. Exit there, past the eastern oak. But as she moved, the ground softened, moss sucking at her boots like mud in a bog. The trees leaned inward, the circle shrinking, or was it her imagination stretching space? Time warped here; the stranger had warned of that. An hour inside could bleed into days.
Another flicker —two this time, on opposite sides. Shapes peeled from the shadows, tall and slender, faces obscured by hanging vines that writhed like hair. They didn't approach, just watched, eyes glinting wetly in the torch's edge. Rory's breath came short. Fae. The word slammed into her mind, unbidden. The grove's pocket between worlds, alive with things that mimicked life but hungered for more.
She bolted for the gap between oaks, torch bouncing wildly. The whispers chased her, swelling into a chorus that clawed at her back. Branches whipped close, snagging her sleeve, tearing fabric with deliberate tugs. The flowers surged upward, stems elongating to tangle her legs, petals unfurling into mocking smiles.
Rory kicked free, lungs burning. The eastern oak rushed at her, but its trunk bulged, a handprint forming in the bark, fingers elongating toward her. She veered left, scraping past, the wood groaning in pursuit. The pendant scalded her skin, its glow illuminating eyes in the underbrush—dozens, unblinking, circling.
She burst through the thicket outside the circle, collapsing onto solid path. The whispers faded to echoes , the air thinning to normal chill . But the grove watched. Oaks stood sentinel , their forms undulating subtly, inviting her return.
Rory scrambled up, torch trembling in her grip. The pendant cooled, but its pulse lingered, a siren's call. She ran, park paths blurring, but behind her, the circle hummed, unsatisfied. The shapes stirred anew, slipping toward the boundary she had crossed.
She didn't look back. The city's lights beckoned, but the wrongness clung, a shadow stitched to her heels. The grove remembered. And it waited.
Deeper in, unnoticed, the crack in the earth widened a fraction, mist coiling like breath. The flowers bloomed brighter, petals whispering secrets to the night.
Rory reached her bike, chained by the park entrance, hands shaking as she fumbled the lock. Pedal hard, she told herself. Home to the flat above the bar, to Eva's voice on the phone, to normalcy . But the pendant warmed again, faint, insistent. The stranger's tip had been truth, twisted. Portals, realms—Hel's echo , perhaps, bleeding through Fae veils.
She mounted and pushed off, wind whipping her hair. Richmond Park receded, but the certainty gnawed: not alone anymore. The grove had marked her.
Hours later—or was it minutes?—she slammed the door to her flat, heart still racing . Silas's bar thumped below, muffled laughter seeping through the floorboards. Safe. But the pendant dangled, crimson glow pulsing softly against her chest.
She stripped it off, dropping it on the bedside table. Sleep clawed at her, but the whispers echoed in dreams waiting to form.
Outside, in the park, the oaks creaked under starless sky. Shapes danced at the circle's edge, footfalls silent on wildflowers that never wilted. They hungered, patient, for the one who carried the Heartstone's fire.
Rory bolted upright in bed, sweat-slicked. Dawn light filtered through grimy windows, but the clock read 3 AM. Time slipped. She grabbed the pendant—cold now, inert. Yet as she clutched it, a rustle sounded from the fire escape, soft as leaves on glass.
She peered out. Empty alley, bins overflowing. But the air hummed, that cloying sweetness faint on the breeze.
The door to her flat rattled, knob turning slow. Locked. She had locked it. Heart pounding , Rory slid from bed, grabbing the nearest thing—a lamp, heavy base in hand.
The rattle stopped. Silence blanketed the room, thick as the grove's mist.
Then, from the hallway outside, footsteps padded away. Light, bare soles on wood.
She waited, breath shallow, until the bar's jukebox kicked in downstairs, shattering the quiet. Imagination, frayed by night. She sank back, but sleep evaded, chased by eyes in the dark.
Morning came hesitant, gray light pushing shadows aside. Rory dressed for her shift, the pendant tucked away. Delivery routes would ground her—Yu-Fei's shouts, Eva's texts, the city's pulse .
But as she descended to the bar, Silas nodded from behind the counter, wiping glasses. "Rough night? You look like you've seen ghosts."
She forced a grin. "Just the park. Took a wrong turn."
He chuckled, but his eyes lingered. "Richmond's got spots that bite back. Stick to the paths."
She nodded, grabbing her bike keys. Outside, the streets bustled, oblivious. Yet the pendant warmed midway through her first run, pulsing as she neared the park's distant edge.
Coincidence. She shook it off, pedaling harder.
By evening, the pull returned, stronger. The grove called, voices threading through traffic noise.
Rory ignored it, crashing early. But in dreams, the oaks encircled her bed, branches tapping windowpanes, flowers blooming on her pillow.
She woke gasping, the pendant clutched in fist, crimson light bleeding through fingers.
Not alone. Never again.
The shapes waited, patient in the pocket realm, their forms coalescing from mist and shadow. One stepped forward in the grove, face half-human, eyes like the pendant's glow. It extended a hand, palm up, inviting.
Join us, the whispers promised. Linger. Stay.
Time stretched, an hour there equaling eternity here. Rory stirred in sleep, murmuring denial, but her fingers tightened on the chain.