Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAQPKBX9SWX9X64W5AH118

The iron gates groaned open, protesting the intrusion. Rory gripped the Heartstone Pendant, its warmth a small comfort against the creeping chill. Richmond Park at night was never inviting, but tonight felt… different. Wrong. She tightened her jacket, the wind a whisper against her neck that didn’t feel quite natural. She’d received the pendant a week ago—a plain, unmarked package delivered to Golden Empress. No return address, no note, just the silver chain and the crimson stone. The benefactor, whoever they were, simply stated in a cryptic message tucked inside: *“It will guide you.”* Guiding her where? To this? The ancient oak standing stones, visible now through the skeletal branches of winter trees, marked the boundary. The Grove. Isolde's grove. The echoes of local folklore—a place where time twisted, where the veil between worlds thinned—had always been just stories. Until now. She stepped between the stones. The air shifted, immediate and palpable. The sharp bite of the London night vanished, replaced by a humid sweetness. Wildflowers, impossibly vibrant in the fading light, blanketed the forest floor. An hour ago, Richmond Park had been dusted with frost. Now, the air vibrated with the scent of honeysuckle and something else... something she couldn't quite name, vaguely unsettling. Rory scanned the clearing. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, painting the moss-covered ground in dappled patterns. It should have been peaceful—a secluded sanctuary. But the silence was heavy, expectant. It felt like the world was holding its breath. A twig snapped. Rory froze, heart hammering against her ribs. She spun around, searching the shadows, but saw nothing. Just trees, and flowers, and the oppressive silence. It was probably just a deer. Richmond Park was full of them. She told herself that. Repeated it like a mantra. “Just a deer,” she muttered, the sound swallowed by the stillness. She moved deeper into the Grove, following an overgrown path that snaked between ancient trees. The Heartstone pulsed against her skin, a steady, rhythmic throb. It hadn’t reacted before, not until she’d crossed the stones. Now, the warmth intensified, radiating outward in a slow, deliberate pulse. Something was close. Another snap. Closer this time. Rory stopped, her hand instinctively reaching for the small pocketknife she carried. Best to be prepared. She listened intently, straining to hear through the ringing in her ears. There it was again—a soft rustling in the undergrowth. Something was moving. Something big. "Hello?" she called out, her voice barely a whisper. It sounded alien, brittle, in the heavy air. No answer. Just the rustling, drawing nearer. She took a tentative step forward, then another. The wildflowers brushed against her boots, releasing a cloying perfume that made her head spin. The Heartstone pulsed faster, its warmth almost burning now. A shadow flickered at the edge of her vision. Rory whipped her head around, but there was nothing there. Just the trees, the flowers, the oppressive silence. She squinted, trying to make sense of what she’d seen. A trick of the light, maybe. Fatigue playing games with her eyes. She continued down the path, but her pace quickened. Every rustle, every creak of a branch sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. She felt exposed, vulnerable, like something was watching her. The path opened into a wider clearing. In the center stood a single, gnarled tree, its branches twisted and reaching like skeletal fingers. Hanging from the branches were… ribbons. Hundreds of them, in every color imaginable, fluttering in the non-existent breeze. They danced and swayed, their colors blurring into a hypnotic swirl. Rory felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. The scent of the wildflowers intensified, overwhelming her senses. She stumbled, catching herself on a nearby tree. A voice drifted through the air, soft and melodious, like wind chimes. “Lost, little bird?” Rory spun around, searching for the source of the voice. There was no one there. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice shaking. The voice chuckled, a low, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate in her bones. “Playing games, little bird. Aren’t games delightful?” Rory's eyes darted around the clearing, trying to pinpoint where it came from. The ribbons seemed to writhe and twist, the colours deepening and darkening. "Show yourself." The ribbons stilled, hanging perfectly motionless. Then, slowly, they began to shift. To coalesce. The colours swirled and blended, forming a shape. A figure. It wasn’t human. Tall and slender, with limbs too long, too graceful. Its skin shimmered with an unnatural luminescence, like moonlight on water. It had no discernible features – no nose, no mouth, just smooth, pearlescent skin and large, black eyes that seemed to absorb all light. "You came looking for something, didn't you?" The voice, still melodic, wrapped around her like a silken thread. “What… what are you?” Rory managed to stammer. The figure tilted its head, a gesture that was both curious and unsettling. “A guardian, perhaps. A caretaker. A friend.” The Heartstone flared, bathing the clearing in a crimson glow. Rory gasped, clutching the pendant tightly. “You shouldn’t have brought that,” the figure said, its voice taking on a colder tone. “It complicates things.” “What things?” Rory asked, her voice trembling. The figure glided closer, its movements fluid and silent. "The balance, little bird. The delicate balance between worlds." It paused, its black eyes fixing on her. “And you, Aurora Carter, have disrupted it.” Rory recoiled, taking a step back. "I didn't mean to…" "Intentions are irrelevant," the figure interrupted. "Actions have consequences." Another twig snapped behind her. Rory risked a glance over her shoulder, her heart leaping into her throat. Standing at the edge of the clearing, partially obscured by the shadows, was a figure. Human-shaped, but distorted, warped. It swayed slightly, as if struggling to maintain its form. And it was smiling. A wide, unnatural smile that revealed rows of needle-sharp teeth. “We've been expecting you, Rory,” the figure whispered, and the sound sent a shiver down her spine.