Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAXP9D8V7CWAHEEA3PR1HG

Aurora Carter gripped the silver chain around her neck, the Heartstone pendant's faint warmth a nagging distraction amid the chill autumn bite of Richmond Park. She scanned the treeline, boots crunching leaves. Nyx drifted at her shoulder, a humanoid silhouette of writhing shadow, violet eyes pulsing like distant stars. "Those oaks ahead. Twisted wrong." Aurora nodded toward the cluster, bark grooved into impossible arches. Nyx's form sharpened, edges bleeding into solid black. "The Veil thins. Feel the pull?" She nodded, pulse quickening. The air grew thick, laced with a scent like crushed violets and rain-soaked stone. They pushed through brambles, thorns snagging her jacket. One final step past the outermost oak, and the world flipped. Sunlight fractured into rainbows across petals the size of dinner plates. Wildflowers carpeted the ground in riots of crimson, sapphire, and gold, none matching Earth's palette. Blooms nodded without wind, releasing pollen that sparkled midair like fireflies frozen in amber. Aurora blinked hard. "Bloody hell. This ain't no clearing." Nyx flowed forward, incorporeal tendrils testing the air. "No echo from the park. Time frays here." Her boots sank into moss softer than feathers, muffling every step. No path marked the way, yet flowers parted before Nyx, reforming behind. She knelt, fingers brushing a stem. Petals unfurled under her touch, revealing dewdrops that swirled into tiny whirlpools, each droplet reflecting her face a thousand times over. "Look." She plucked one, held it up. The water inside churned faster, images flickering—Cardiff streets, her flat above Silas's bar, a shadow fleeing London alleys. Nyx's whisper cut the hum. "Echoes of your steps. Past threads woven in." She dropped it, wiped her hand on her jeans. Unease coiled in her gut. The air tasted sweeter now, coating her tongue like honeyed wine. Distant laughter bubbled, childlike and sharp, vanishing when she turned. "Keep moving. Deeper." Nyx solidified, towering at six-foot-two, hand—more claw than flesh—gesturing ahead. They wove through flower seas. Vines climbed invisible trellises, leaves broad as shields pulsing with veins of light. One vine snagged Aurora's wrist, the small crescent scar there igniting with cool fire. She yanked free, skin unmarked but tingling. "Alive. All of it." Her voice dropped. "Hear that?" A melody drifted, strings plucked by unseen fingers. Notes twisted, rising in pitch until they pierced like glass shards, then softened to sighs. Birds—feathers shimmering oil-slick—darted between branches, trails of glitter dissolving in their wake. Nyx paused at a ring of toadstools, caps broad and veined purple. "Cross with care. Circles bind." She stepped over, ginger. Inside the ring, ground heaved gentle breaths, exhaling mist that warmed her face. A toadstool stem split, birthing a fruit like polished ruby, skin taut and gleaming. "Smell it." Nyx leaned close, voice a breeze. Aurora inhaled. Spice exploded—cinnamon fire laced with ocean salt. Hunger gnawed sudden and fierce, her stomach twisting despite lunch hours ago. She reached, fingers hovering. "Don't." Nyx's claw clamped her arm. "Fae traps. Eat, and hours bleed to days." She pulled back, breath ragged. "How do you know?" "Shadows whisper old debts." Nyx released her, form flickering unease. Even they recoiled, silhouette thinning against the relentless glow. They pressed on. Trees loomed taller, trunks braided like lovers' limbs, bark etched with runes that shifted under gaze. Aurora traced one—curved like her scar—and the tree shuddered, bark peeling to reveal inner glow, pale lavender light pulsing like a heartbeat. "Runes move." She pressed palm flat. Visions slammed in: silver-haired woman weaving fates, exiled courts, groves eternal. Nyx yanked her away. "Not yours to claim." Sweat beaded her brow despite cool air. Time warped; her watch hands spun backward, then froze. Minutes inside, but park paths outside stretched eternal in memory. A stream appeared, no source in sight. Water flowed upstream, defying gravity, surface rippling with faces—hers, Nyx's fractured shadow, a crimson gem pulsing. "The pendant." Aurora clawed it free. It thrummed hotter, though no Hel stink tainted the air. "Reacting weird." Nyx's eyes narrowed. "Veil's echo. Fae bleeds into Hel's hunger." Laughter swelled again, closer. Shapes danced at periphery—will-o'-wisps? No, figures translucent, skirts swirling in frozen twirls. "Ghosts?" Aurora drew the Fae-Forged Blade from her belt, moonsilver leaf-shape gleaming cold. It hummed, tip pointing deeper. "Not ghosts. Echo-memories." Nyx flowed ahead, scouting. "Follow the blade's song." Path emerged, petals crushing underfoot into perfume clouds. Air thickened, pressing lungs. Aurora's skin prickled; hairs rose as if lightning brewed unseen. They crested a rise. A glade unfolded, heart of the grove. Central oak dwarfed kin, roots sprawling like veins, crown blotting fabricated sky. Wildflowers ringed a stone altar, etched runes matching trees. No wind stirred, yet branches swayed rhythmic. A woman stood there, silver hair cascading waist-length, pale lavender eyes fixed distant. Barefoot, she left no print on moss. Ethereal, ageless, skin luminous as pearl. "You seek what devours." Her voice lilted, riddle-wrapped silk. Aurora gripped the blade tighter. "Isolde? The Seer?" The woman turned, no surprise cracking composure. "Names chain truths. You breach boundaries, shadow and scar-bearer." Nyx solidified fully, claws flexing. "Prophecies called us. Hel stirs." Isolde's lips curved, misleading smile. "Feasts await where amber skies weep wine. But first, taste the grove's gift." She extended hand. A berry cluster dangled from her palm, skins translucent, juice beading like blood. Aurora's hunger surged anew. "No games. The pendant burns. Portals?" Isolde circled the altar, skirt whispering moss. "Warmth heralds excess. Gluttony's prince hungers for more than flesh." Nyx's form rippled, violet glow flaring. "Dymas. We cross?" "Not yet." Isolde plucked a berry, crushed it. Juice stained fingers crimson, scent intoxicating. "Grove tests first. Walk the spiral." She traced ground. Petals swirled inward, forming spiral path to altar base. Air hummed louder, melody resolving into chorus—voices layered, ancient tongues pleading, laughing, weeping. Aurora stepped onto it. Ground yielded, massaging soles through boots. Colors intensified; flowers bled hues into air, painting halos. Her scar itched fierce. Halfway, spiral buckled. Roots erupted, coiling ankles. She slashed with blade—moonsilver sheared clean, cold bite numbing vines. "Alive again!" She stomped forward. Nyx laughed, wind-rasp. "Grove plays. Push through." Isolde watched from center, lavender eyes unblinking. "What you sever, returns woven anew." Deeper in spiral, time fractured open. Aurora glimpsed herself younger—Cardiff uni, Evan's fist raised—then London rain, Eva's plea. Echoes overlapped, her voice pleading with mother's lilt. "Stop it." She lunged last steps, blade raised. Altar cool under palms. Pendant scorched now, pulsing sync with oak's glow. Nyx materialized beside, shadow bleeding into roots. Isolde closed distance, no footprints trailing. "You carry Dymas's heart, yet seek Fae steel's bite." Aurora sheathed blade—Isolde's prior gift, cold weight reassuring. "Portals weaken. Veil tears. We need your sight." The seer tilted head, silver strands catching nonexistent light. "Sight shows vines of gluttony strangling Earth's throat. Chefs stir souls in amber vats, Belphegor toasts with stolen time." Nyx leaned in, whisper fierce. "Lead us through." Isolde's hand hovered pendant. It cooled under touch, crimson gem steadying. "Not through. Around. Grove bends realms." She snapped fingers. Altar runes ignited lavender, air splitting shimmer. Beyond, not park, not Hel—pocket vista of floating isles, waterfalls arcing upward, fruits dangling ripe and singing low tones. Aurora's breath caught. Wonder drowned unease. "This... deeper still?" Isolde stepped aside, gesturing spiral's end. "Deeper devours. Choose your thread." Petals surged, path fracturing three ways: one to isles, one darkening to shadows thick as pitch, one rippling crimson like pendant's glow. Nyx's claws scraped stone. "Which binds least?" Isolde's smile deepened, riddle blooming. "The one your scars remember."