Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9XCXY73M2TMXPG2HF1V6S

Richmond Park breathed around Rory, a velvet hush wrapping the last embers of daylight. She killed the engine of the borrowed Vespa, the click echoing unnaturally loud in the gathering gloom. Every instinct screamed at her to turn around, to blame a sudden craving for takeaway and head back to Silas’ warm, smoky bar. But Eva’s voice, tight with worry, replayed in her head. *“You’re the only one who can do this, Rory. Please.”* The Fae Grove. Isolde’s grove, locals called it, though Rory doubted many even knew it existed. She’d read about it, naturally. Months spent down spiraling internet rabbit holes after Eva started talking about… things. Lost time, whispered warnings, and an increasing fear of shadows. Rory, pragmatic lawyer-in-training, had initially dismissed it as trauma. Until Eva showed her the things she couldn’t explain. Rory swung a leg over the scooter, boots hitting the damp, grassy verge. The park’s usual evening bustle—dog walkers, joggers—had vanished. The air, normally scented with horse manure and cut grass, carried a cloying sweetness, like overripe fruit. She tugged her leather jacket tighter. October bit with a damp chill. The Heartstone Pendant, cool under the collar of her shirt, didn't pulse. Not yet. It only reacted to Hel portals, and Eva hadn’t mentioned those, only a “weakening” and a sense of wrongness. Which, Rory admitted, she felt in spades. She walked, following a barely-there path between ancient oaks. Their branches, gnarled and skeletal, clawed at the darkening sky. Richmond Park felt too… still. No birdsong. No rustling in the undergrowth. Just the crunch of her boots on fallen leaves. The standing stones came into view, hulking silhouettes against the last vestiges of light. Old oaks had grown around them, half-embracing the rough-hewn rock. Beyond them, the air shimmered, a heat haze on a cold night. The Grove. “Hello?” she called, the word swallowed by the silence. Stupid. Talking to whatever was out here felt… inviting. She fished her phone from her pocket. No signal. Of course. She pushed through the shimmering distortion, and the temperature dropped. Instantly. A bone-deep cold that seeped into her marrow. The air tasted different, metallic. The Grove wasn't a clearing so much as a pocket, a small bowl of land nestled among the trees. Wildflowers bloomed in riotous colour, a defiant splash of vibrancy in the encroaching darkness. But even the flowers felt off, their petals too vivid, their stems unnaturally straight. A breeze stirred, carrying a scent that wasn’t floral sweetness. Something earthy, like turned soil and… iron? Rory’s hand instinctively went to the Heartstone. Still nothing. She walked deeper into the Grove, her gaze sweeping the perimeter. Something moved at the edge of her vision, a flicker of darkness between the trees. She stopped, heart hammering. “Just a deer,” she muttered, but the explanation felt thin, unconvincing. Another flicker. This time closer. A patch of shadow that resolved into… nothing. She scanned the trees, finding only shifting patterns of light and shadow. “Right,” she said, forcing a steadiness into her voice she didn’t feel. “Time to get this over with.” Eva had given her specific instructions. Find the oldest oak, the one with the hollow at its base. Leave the offering. A silver locket, containing a picture of Eva’s grandmother. It was supposed to… appease something. Rory still didn't understand *what*. The oldest oak wasn’t hard to find. It dominated the Grove, a colossal presence radiating a sense of ancient power. Its trunk was impossibly wide, its branches reaching towards the sky like supplicating arms. And there, at its base, was the hollow. Dark and cavernous, it seemed to absorb all light. Rory knelt, her knees sinking into the soft earth. She took the locket from her pocket, its silver cool against her palm. The air thrummed with a low, resonant frequency, barely audible, but felt in her teeth. “Okay, Eva,” she whispered. “For you.” She placed the locket in the hollow. Immediately, the air crackled. Not with energy, but with… pressure. Like a change in atmosphere before a storm. A twig snapped behind her. Rory whipped around, adrenaline spiking. Nothing. Just the trees, the flowers, the unsettling silence. She told herself it was an animal. A squirrel. A rabbit. But her gut churned with a primal fear. “It's just a park,” she breathed, but the words tasted like ash. She turned back to the oak, trying to regain control. The locket was gone. Vanished into the blackness of the hollow. A good sign, Eva had said. Absorption meant acceptance. But as Rory stood, another sound sliced through the silence. A faint, rhythmic drumming. Distant, but growing closer. It wasn’t the sound of a tool. Or machinery. It mimicked a heartbeat. A slow, deliberate pulse that resonated deep within her chest. She strained her eyes, searching the shadows. The drumming intensified, accompanied by a subtle shift in the air, a perfumed breeze that carried the scent of decay now, layered beneath the sweet floral notes. A shape coalesced at the edge of the Grove. Tall and slender, obscured by the trees. It wasn't human. Its form wavered, flickering like a faulty image on a screen. Rory’s hand clenched around the Heartstone. It began to warm, a faint throb against her skin. Not a pulse, exactly. More like a rising fever. The drumming quickened, echoing in her skull. The shape moved again, gliding towards her with an unnatural grace. It wasn’t walking. It wasn’t running. It simply… *was*, closer now, revealing glimpses of pale skin and long, dark hair. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice a strained whisper. The figure didn’t answer. It simply stopped at the edge of the Grove, its face still hidden in shadow. But Rory could feel its gaze on her, cold and assessing. A pressure that settled on her like a physical weight. Then, a voice. Not spoken aloud, but formed directly in her mind. *Lost.* Rory stumbled backward, the Heartstone burning against her chest. It wasn’t a comforting warmth now. It was a warning. A screaming alarm. *You shouldn't be here.* The figure took another step, and a sliver of moonlight caught its face. It wasn’t a face she recognised. And it wasn’t entirely… there. A subtle blurring of features, a hollowness in the eyes that seemed to swallow the light. And a smile. A slow, predatory curve of the lips that didn’t reach its eyes. The Heartstone pulsed again, brighter this time. The air around her crackled with energy. Rory needed to get out. Now.