AI The Heartstone on Rory’s chest pulsed a slow, insistent warmth , a steady drum against her ribs. It had been faint when they’d first crossed the stones, barely a perceptible thrum. Now, deeper within the Fae Grove, it glowed with the intensity of a banked ember.
Beside her, Isolde moved with an unnerving grace, her silver hair shimmering in the dappled light filtering through the eternally blooming wildflowers. She hadn’t spoken since they’d passed through the standing stones, her pale lavender eyes fixed on the path ahead. Nyx, a shifting silhouette of shadow, flowed beside Rory, solid enough to brush against her arm, yet retaining an unnerving lack of substance. Rory could feel the faint chill radiating from them, a coolness that didn’t quite register as cold .
The familiar scent of Richmond Park – damp earth, woodsmoke from nearby houses – had vanished the instant they’d stepped between the stones. Here, the air smelled of ripe peaches and something deeper, something fungal and sweet, like overripe fruit left too long in the sun. It clung to the back of her throat, heavy and cloying.
The path beneath their feet wasn’t a path at all, really , but a soft bed of moss, thick and springy, that muted every footfall . Rory glanced down, expecting to see the imprint of her worn boots, but the moss swallowed them whole, leaving the surface undisturbed. Isolde hadn't left footprints either.
The wildflower meadow gave way to a grove of trees unlike any she'd ever seen. Their trunks were a deep indigo, smooth and cool to the touch when she reached out a tentative hand. Instead of leaves, they bore clusters of bioluminescent globes, casting an ethereal blue-green light that pulsed in time with the Heartstone. The combined light painted the mossy ground in shifting patterns, creating an illusion of movement.
"It… changes," Nyx murmured, their voice the whisper of wind through tall grass. Rory hadn't realized they were speaking until the words were already fading. “The light. The shadows.”
Rory nodded, her eyes tracing the twisting branches of the trees. The air thrummed with a silent energy, a vibration that tickled her skin. It was beautiful, undeniably so, but a prickle of unease ran down her spine . She was used to the predictable chaos of London, the grit and the grime. This place was too perfect , too ordered. Everything felt… watched.
They moved deeper into the grove, the trees crowding closer, the blue-green light intensifying. Rory noticed a faint, melodic hum emanating from the trees themselves. It wasn't a sound she could consciously hear, but more of a feeling that resonated deep within her bones. She imagined it would drive anyone here mad, eventually.
"What is this place?" she asked, the words feeling clumsy and loud in the otherwise silent world.
Isolde finally spoke, her voice a low, melodic murmur that seemed to weave itself into the humming of the trees . "A fold. A seam between worlds. The Veil thins here."
“Thins how?” Rory pressed, her hand instinctively reaching for the small of her back, seeking the reassuring weight of the Fae-Forged Blade that Isolde had gifted her. She hadn't drawn it yet, hesitant to disturb the delicate balance of the grove, but the blade’s familiar coldness was a comfort.
Isolde didn't answer immediately. She stopped, her lavender eyes fixed on a swirling pool of mist that shimmered between two of the indigo trees. “Time… is a river here, Rory Carter. It flows differently. It eddies and pools. What was, can be again. What is, may not be.”
Rory’s gaze followed Isolde’s. The mist wasn’t just mist; it was iridescent, shifting colors in slow, hypnotic spirals. As she stared, she thought she saw something within the swirling depths —a glimpse of a cobbled street, the gaslight glow of a London alley, the familiar , greasy smell of Yu-Fei Cheung’s Golden Empress. Then, the image vanished, swallowed by the swirling colors.
A shiver snaked down her spine . "I saw... London."
Nyx shifted, their form rippling like smoke in a breeze. “Memories bleed through. Echoes of what was, what could be. This is a place of resonance , Rory. It amplifies. Reflects.”
They continued onward, the path winding deeper into the grove. Rory felt a growing sense of disorientation, as if the landscape around her was subtly changing, recalibrating itself. One moment they were surrounded by indigo trees, the next they were walking through a field of silver ferns that unfurled and recoiled as they passed.
Ahead, the trees opened into a clearing bathed in a warm, amber light. It wasn’t sunlight; the sky above remained obscured by a dense canopy of leaves, but the light possessed a similar quality, a comforting , golden glow. In the center of the clearing, a single tree stood, taller and broader than any of the others. Its trunk was the color of polished obsidian, and its branches reached upwards like gnarled, ancient arms.
And hanging from those branches, suspended in mid-air as if held by invisible threads, were... fruits. Not the familiar apples or pears of Earth, but fruits of every imaginable shape and color. Some pulsed with inner light, others were covered in shimmering scales, and a few resembled jewels more than anything else. The air around them was intoxicatingly sweet, an aroma so potent it made Rory's head spin.
Rory found herself staring at one fruit in particular - a deep crimson sphere, the size of her fist, that pulsed with a slow, rhythmic beat. It looked remarkably like the gemstone in the Heartstone pendant, radiating the same deep, warm glow.
"Don’t touch," Isolde warned, her voice sharper than Rory had ever heard it . "This place offers much… and demands a price."
Rory obeyed, feeling a surge of instinctive caution. The temptation was almost overwhelming - to reach out, to taste. The fruit felt…familiar , like a forgotten memory struggling to surface.
Nyx drifted closer to the obsidian tree, their shadowy form extending towards the luminous fruits. “A taste of eternity," they whispered, their voice filled with a yearning Rory couldn’t comprehend. "A glimpse of what lies beyond the Veil.”
Suddenly, a sound shattered the stillness. It wasn't loud, but it vibrated in their bones - a low, guttural rumble that seemed to emanate from the very earth itself . The pulsating light of the fruits intensified, and the aroma in the air thickened, becoming almost suffocating.
Rory felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She stumbled, grabbing onto Isolde for support.
"Something is coming," Isolde said, her lavender eyes wide with an unsettling apprehension . "Something drawn to the thinning of the Veil. Something that revels in… indulgence."
The ground began to tremble. The luminous fruits pulsated faster, their glow blinding. The air crackled with an unseen energy.
Rory scanned the clearing, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of the Fae-Forged Blade. The world felt unstable, dangerous. They were intruders in a realm that operated by rules she didn’t understand, where memories bled through and the very air hummed with power. The Heartstone on her chest burned hotter now, a frantic beacon in an increasingly volatile world.
From the shadows beneath the obsidian tree, a form began to coalesce. It wasn’t a creature of flesh and blood, but a swirling vortex of darkness, slowly solidifying into a grotesque parody of a human shape. A smile, wide and unsettling, stretched across its face, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth.
"Welcome," a voice rasped, rich and decadent, like melted chocolate laced with poison. “You seem to have found my little garden.”