Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA2E9DR4XJHK6FVJMQ13EK

The air tasted of rain and something else, something ancient and cloying, like overripe fruit left too long in the sun. Rory pulled her jacket tighter, the damp wool offering little comfort against the chill that seeped from the ground. Richmond Park, or what felt like Richmond Park, pressed in around her, a suffocating green bowl under a bruised, indigo sky. The standing stones, hulking and moss-slicked, marked the perimeter of The Fae Grove with an unsettling precision. She hadn’t expected this – not quite. She’d followed the insistent thrum of the Heartstone Pendant, a subtle pulse against her skin that escalated into a demanding vibration as she’d crossed the boundary. It had led her here, to this unsettling quiet, to this place where the trees seemed to watch. “Right,” she muttered, her breath misting in the cold air. “Let’s just… get this over with.” The pendant warmed, a palpable heat against her palm. It wasn’t a frantic pulse anymore, but a steady, insistent throb. It pointed deeper into the grove, towards a thicket of thorny bushes that seemed unnaturally still. She pushed through the branches, the thorns snagging at her jacket, drawing tiny beads of blood. The scent intensified – the sweetness was now edged with decay. The shadows deepened, swallowing the last vestiges of twilight. It wasn’t simply darkness; it was a pressure, a weight pressing down on her chest. A single wildflower, a vibrant violet against the deepening gloom, lay on the forest floor. She knelt, examining it, a desperate attempt to ground herself. The pendant pulsed faster. “Okay, this is weird,” she said, her voice swallowed by the stillness. “Really weird.” The sounds started subtly – a rustle in the undergrowth that couldn’t be attributed to the wind, a distant, almost imperceptible sigh. She strained her ears, trying to pinpoint the source. Nothing. Just the oppressive quiet and the growing certainty that she was being observed. She continued forward, following the unwavering pull of the pendant. The trees grew denser, their branches interlocking overhead, blotting out the last of the sky. The ground became uneven, slick with mud and something else she didn’t want to identify. A flash of movement – a flicker of white at the edge of her vision. She spun around, heart hammering against her ribs, but there was nothing. Just the trees, the shadows, and the unnerving feeling of being watched. “Just a shadow,” she told herself, her voice brittle. “It’s the light.” But the shadows seemed to lengthen and contort, taking on vaguely humanoid shapes. She focused on the pendant, on its rhythmic pulse, clinging to it as a lifeline. The air grew colder, radiating a bone-deep chill. It wasn’t just the temperature; it felt like something was actively trying to freeze her. The scent of decay intensified, overlaid with a metallic tang – blood, perhaps. She rounded a bend in the path and stopped, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach. Before her, in a small, circular clearing, was a stone altar. It was ancient, covered in lichen and moss, and stained with a dark, viscous substance that resembled dried blood. And on the altar lay a figure. It wasn’t immediately clear what it was. It resembled a man, but horribly distorted. His limbs were elongated and skeletal, his skin a sickly grey. His eyes were wide and vacant, staring up at the sky. Around his neck, a silver chain held a miniature crimson pendant – a perfect replica of her own. As she watched, the figure’s head slowly turned, its gaze fixing on hers. Its lips peeled back in a silent, grotesque smile. “Don’t…” she breathed, taking a step backward. The pendant flared, violently pulsing against her skin, a searing heat that threatened to overwhelm her. The figure on the altar shifted, its limbs contorting further, as if struggling to escape its restraints. A voice, thin and rasping, echoed in her mind. It wasn’t spoken aloud, but rather imprinted directly onto her consciousness. *“Welcome, Keeper.”* She didn’t know what ‘Keeper’ meant, but the word resonated with a chilling familiarity. A memory flickered – a brief, fragmented image of a face, a man with sharp features and cold, blue eyes. Evan. Her ex. “This isn’t –” she started, but the words died in her throat. The air shimmered, and the trees around the clearing began to sway violently, even though there was no wind. The standing stones pulsed with a faint, inner light. Time felt… wrong. She glanced at her watch, but the numbers blurred, shifting erratically. Panic constricted her chest. She turned to flee, but the path behind her had vanished, replaced by a wall of impenetrable thorns. The figure on the altar rose, a slow, agonizing movement. As it did, more figures emerged from the shadows – dozens of them, all distorted and grotesque, clad in rags of grey and crimson. They moved with a fluid, unnatural grace, surrounding her, closing in. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice shaking. *“We are echoes,”* the voice replied, closer now, a whisper in her mind. *“Remnants of a forgotten bargain. You have been chosen to fulfill it.”* She recognized the pendant on the altar – a miniature version of her own. This wasn't just a replica; it was a key. A key to something vast and terrible. She fumbled for her keys, her hands slick with sweat. She needed to get out, to break this connection, to escape the Grove. But the figures kept closing in, their empty eyes fixed on her with unnerving intensity. A thorn pierced her arm, drawing a thin line of blood. It felt insignificant, yet it amplified the creeping sense of dread. A child’s laughter, high-pitched and chilling, drifted through the air. It didn’t belong here. She raised her hand, clutching the Heartstone Pendant. It burned against her palm, a desperate plea for help. *“The bargain,”* the voice continued, *“requires a sacrifice. A heart offered willingly.”* She glanced at the altar, at the grotesque figure mimicking her own form. The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. She wasn’t here to *find* something. She was here to *become* something. The figures surged forward, their hands outstretched, skeletal fingers reaching for her. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable. The cold intensified, wrapping around her like a shroud. Then, a flicker of defiance. She focused on the pendant, channeling its energy, willing it to protect her. It pulsed wildly, bathing the clearing in a crimson glow. A single word formed in her mind, a desperate, defiant cry. “No.”