AI The path to the grove narrowed as they stepped into Richmond Park, but Aurora didn’t slow. Her boots crunched over fallen leaves—oak, she thought, old enough to have seen the grove’s first standing stones, though she’d never seen them before. Silent beside her, Nyx’s shadow seemed to huddle, as if the sun itself made them nervous. Behind them, Isolde glided, a silver trail of hair brushing the grass, no mark where her feet touched.
Aurora’s heart thudded, but not from exertion. The Heartstone Pendant against her breastbone pulsed , a faint, stubborn warmth , like a fly trapped in amber. *Hel portal *, she thought. *Eva said—* but Eva’s face was a blur, swamped by the memory of Evan’s fist on the wall. She shucked the thought, pressed her fist to the pendant. The warmth flared, brief, then stilled.
“Stop,” Nyx whispered. Their voice was a chill wind through the trees, and Aurora stopped. Ahead, the oak trees thickened, their trunks gnarled, bark scored with runes that glowed faintly when she blinked. Between them, a gap: not a path, but a *crack* in the world . Light leaked through—golden, not sunlight. Not real.
Isolde stepped forward. Her lavender eyes widened, but she said nothing. She reached the crack, placed a hand on it, and stepped through. Her shadow dissolved into the light. Aurora glanced at Nyx, who huffed, a sound like embers popping. “Don’t watch me,” they said. “It’s rude.”
Aurora smirked, but their hands shook as she stepped toward the crack . The runes flared brighter, sharp as a blade, but the warmth in her pendant grew, steady now. She slipped through.
The air hit her first—thick , sweet, like ripe peaches and burnt sugar. She blinked. The trees peeled back, replaced by a sky the color of warm amber, streaked with clouds that looked like spun honey . Below, the land rolled in green hills, dotted with vineyards and orchards. Grapes the size of apples dangled from vines, their skin purple as blood. Pomegranates split open, spilling seeds that glowed like rubies.
“Dymas,” Isolde said, her voice soft . “Prince Belphegor ’s domain.”
Aurora turned. The others stood nearby—Nyx, their form solid, though their violet eyes were narrow. Isolde hovered, her silver hair catching the light. *No footprints *, Aurora realized. She looked down, saw no marks in the grass, not even where Isolde stood.
“Excess,” Nyx said, as if reading her mind . “Hel loves to show off. Souls contract to cook, to feast, to make the Envoy *happy *.” They nodded at a figure in the distance, a tall man with a crown of leaves, stirring a pot the size of a cottage. His skin was gray, his eyes milky—Helbound, then. “You eat, you work. It’s the deal. They don’t *die * here. Just… *exist *.”
Aurora stepped closer to the nearest vine. A grape brushed her palm, and she tasted something wild on the air—cinnamon, starlight, a hint of iron. She plucked one, bit into it. Juice burst, sweet and sharp, and her pendant flared. She gasped. The grape went limp, brown, as if rotting before her eyes .
“Be careful,” Isolde said. “The Heartstone doesn’t like what’s here. It remembers.”
Aurora stared at the pendant. Its crimson stone glowed, the inner light bright as a candle. “Who gave this to me?” she asked.
Isolde’s lips pressed thin. “A question with a thousand answers. Follow the rift.” She pointed. Aurora turned. A mile away, a low wall of mist rolled toward them, soft and thick , but within it, she saw flicker of light—flame, maybe, or magic. The pendant pulsed again, louder, as if *urging * her.
Nyx shifted, their shadow stretching toward the mist. “Wardens?” they said. “Monitoring rift points. The Veil’s weak this time of year.” They glanced at the sky, amber now bleaching to pink. “Winter solstice. Fitting. The Veil’s thinnest when the world’s asleep.”
Aurora walked toward the mist. The grass grew taller, its blades silver, and she heard voices—laughter, clinking glasses, a man singing in a language that made her bones tingle. She reached the mist, pushed through. It wasn’t cold, but *thick *, like stepping into a fog that smelled of stew. Behind her, the amber sky faded. The group stood in a clearing, surrounded by stone arches, ivy tangled through the cracks. In the center, a pool of black water, the surface rippling as if alive.
“The Gate,” Isolde said. “To Evan’s realm. To… *you *.”
Aurora’s breath hitched. Evan. The name tasted like poison. She stepped closer to the pool. The water stilled, and for a moment, she saw his face—pale, twisted, the night he’d raised his hand. She flinched, and the water erupted, a wave of blackness that her Fae blade *should * have stopped, but she hadn’t drawn it. Nyx stepped in front of her, their shadow coiling into a barrier. The wave hit them, dissolved, and Nyx staggered.
“Demon,” they said, gritting their teeth . “Hel’s not just feasts. It’s hunger. You can’t fight it with mortal steel.”
Aurora drew the Fae blade—Isolde had pressed it into her hand that morning, saying *it cuts what you fear *. It was cold, colder than the grave , and when she gripped it, she felt magic hum beneath her skin. She pointed it at the wave, and it didn’t retreat, but froze mid-air, a black crystal .
“Fae magic,” Isolde said. “Cuts through wards. Even Hel’s.”
The crystal shattered . Aurora exhaled.
Nyx wandered to the pool, their shadow seeping into the water. “Stay back,” they warned. “Portals are tricky. They remember who touches them.”
Aurora followed. The water showed her again—Evan, falling, screaming, his face a mask of horror. Then, a figure behind him, tall, with horns like smoke. *Belphegor *, she realized. Evan had been a summoner. A *failure *.
“Stop,” Isolde said. Aurora looked up. The silver-haired woman was staring at the sky, her eyes wide. “The Veil’s breaking. Faster than I thought.”
Amber light flooded the clearing, not from the sky, but from the pool . The water boiled, and a portal opened—an archway of shimmering mist, through which Aurora saw a glimpse of Earth, of her flat, her boxes unopened, Eva’s voice on her answering machine: *You have to leave *.
“The solstice,” Nyx said. “It’s happening. Now.”
Aurora felt the pendant burning through her shirt. She grabbed it, and it flared, blinding. The portal swirled, and she saw Evan, not dying, but standing on the other side, a smile on his face . He mouthed *thank you *.
“Rory!”
She turned. Nyx was running toward her, their shadow stretched thin, as if afraid to touch the ground. “Come on! The Veil’s not the only thing breaking. The Fae Grove—*it’s moving *.”
Aurora looked around. The stone arches were shifting , their bases sinking into the grass. The ivy withered, turning to ash. The pool bubbled, then stilled, leaving only a wet spot.
“Isolde!” she called.
The Half-Fae was already at the edge of the clearing, her silver hair whipping in a wind that didn’t exist . “We have to go,” she said. “Before the Grove takes us with it.”
Aurora ran. She felt the Fae blade grow colder as she moved, as if it knew. Nyx reached her first, took her hand. Their skin was ice, but she didn’t flinch. They stepped into the mist, and Aurora followed.
The world blurred. One moment, she was in Dymas, with its amber sky and singing halls. The next, she was in the Richmond Park forest, the oak trees closing in, the sun dipping low. She looked at Nyx. They were pale, their violet eyes dim. “We were there for an hour,” they said. “Or a day. Time doesn’t matter here.”
Isolde stood nearby, her gaze fixed on the sky. “Winter solstice,” she murmured. “The Veil’s a thread now. One wrong move, and the whole tapestry unravels.”
Aurora touched the pendant. It was still, cool now. She thought of Evan, of the portal, of the thing behind him. “What do we do?” she asked.
Isolde turned. Her lavender eyes were stern. “You find the summoner. The one who broke the Veil. And you fix it.” She smiled, a rare, sharp thing. “Or the world burns.”
Nyx snorted. “Typical Fae optimism. ‘Burn bright, or burn.’” They nodded at Aurora. “Go. The pendant will lead you . And watch the shadows. They’re not just friends here.”
Aurora started walking. The sun set, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. She thought of her flat, of the boxes in the hallway, of Eva’s worried face. She thought of the Heartstone, pulsing, waiting.
She kept walking.