AI The note had been tucked inside an empty Golden Empress takeout container, pristine white against the grease stains. *Midnight. The Grove. Alone.* No signature, no other context. Just a single, jagged line beneath the words, etched with something sharp. Rory had almost dismissed it as a prank, but the name – *Rory Carter *, not just ‘Rory’ – had stopped her. Few knew her full name. And the cryptic urgency, the implied threat of ‘Alone’, had gnawed at her. So here she was , pushing through the last thicket of gorse on the edge of Richmond Park, the glowing clock on her phone stubbornly indicating 11:58 PM.
A chill, unnatural for late spring, settled over her. The air grew heavy, like a velvet curtain drawn around the world, muffling the distant city hum. No crickets, no rustling leaves, no owl’s cry. Just a profound, breathless silence that pressed in on her ears. Up ahead, the ancient oaks that marked the boundary of the Fae Grove loomed , their gnarled branches twisting like petrified lightning against the bruised indigo of the sky. Moonlight, thin and silver, spilled through the canopy, painting the path ahead in stark monochrome.
A shiver traced its way down Rory’s spine, raising gooseflesh on her arms despite her leather jacket. Her bright blue eyes scanned the clearing, taking in the impossible sight of wildflowers blooming in riotous hues: fuchsia, gold, amethyst, spilling across the forest floor like scattered jewels. It was beautiful, ethereal, and utterly wrong. She knew the Grove existed in a pocket, a seam between realms, but she’d never been here after dark. The difference was palpable; the air crackled with a static energy that made the fine hairs on her neck stand on end.
Her gaze drifted to the standing stones, ancient megaliths of rough-hewn oak, arranged in an irregular circle, their shadows long and distorted, stretching like grasping fingers. She walked towards them, her boots soft on the mossy ground. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if gravity itself shifted in this strange place. A low thrum, barely perceptible, vibrated through the soles of her feet. Her left wrist, where the small crescent-shaped scar from a childhood accident rested, began to prickle. Not a warning, not really . Just a vague sense of unease, a ghost of memory.
She stopped at the centre of the circle, the oak stones towering around her, feeling like silent, watchful sentinels . She pulled her hands from her pockets, flexing her fingers, trying to appear calm, even to herself. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
“Hello?” Her voice was barely a whisper , swallowed instantly by the oppressive silence . It sounded thin, reedy, ridiculously vulnerable.
No answer. The air was perfectly still, not even a breath of wind to stir the wildflowers. Yet, from the periphery of her hearing, a sound began to manifest. A low murmur, like water over pebbles, or dry leaves skittering across a stone path. Only there was no water, no path, and no wind. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, a disembodied whisper that teased the edges of comprehension. She strained her ears, trying to decipher words, but it remained a senseless, continuous drone.
Rory’s hand instinctively went to the silver chain around her neck. The Heartstone Pendant, a gift from an unknown benefactor, felt cool against her fingertips, then pulsed once, faintly, with a warmth that spread like a drop of heated blood beneath her skin. Its deep crimson hue seemed to deepen, a faint inner glow flickering like a deep-seated ember. A Hel portal? Here? She remembered the codex description; the pendant only reacted to Hel energy. A cold dread seeped into her bones. This wasn’t just a Fae-touched place then. Something darker lay beneath.
She rotated slowly, her bright blue eyes darting from shadow to shadow between the trees. Every twisted oak seemed to shift, to subtly alter its shape. A branch looked like an arm, grasping . A knot on a trunk resembled a gaping maw . Her mind, usually so sharp, fought the irrationality. *It’s just shadows. Just fear playing tricks.* But the air was too still, the silence too complete for such mental gymnastics to truly take hold.
The murmuring intensified, a chorus of hushed, fragmented voices. She thought she heard her name, or something like it – *Rory… Laila… Aurora…* – slipping in and out of the unintelligible chatter. It was a trick, surely. Her cool-headedness was fighting a losing battle against the mounting, visceral terror.
Then she saw it. A flicker of movement between two of the standing stones, too fast to be real, a shadow detaching itself from the deeper gloom and then dissolving back into nothing. She blinked, hard. Nothing. Just the inert oak, the silent flowers. But the image was burned into the back of her retinas. A tall, gaunt figure, dark as pitch, with an unnatural stillness.
“Show yourself,” she demanded, her voice stronger this time, albeit with a tremor she couldn’t quite hide . She regretted it immediately. The air grew perceptibly colder. The murmuring ceased. The silence that followed was even more profound , more suffocating, than before. It felt like being held underwater, the pressure building against her eardrums.
And then, a sound. The unmistakable snap of a twig, directly behind one of the distant standing stones. Not a small twig. Something thick, dry, yielding under significant weight . She spun, freezing, her breath catching in her throat. Nothing. The shadow between the stones was unbroken. But the sound had been too real, too clear, too close. And it hadn’t been human. No human could move with such silent, impossible weight .
The Heartstone pulsed again, hotter this time, a definite throb against her chest. Its crimson light became more pronounced, a ruby glow against her skin even under her jacket. It felt like a warning, a frantic heartbeat mirroring her own.
A low, guttural growl vibrated through the ground, a sound more animal than any creature she’d ever encountered. It wasn't a wolf, or a bear. It was a deeper, older sound, like the earth itself groaning in protest. It vibrated in her teeth, in her bones. The wildflowers, usually so vibrant, seemed to dim, their colours leaching away into the oppressive darkness as if swallowed by the sound.
Rory backed away slowly , her eyes wide, scanning the perimeter. She moved towards the edge of the clearing, towards the path she’d entered by. But the standing stones seemed to lean in, closer, distorting her sense of distance. The path that had brought her here suddenly looked different, darker, less defined. The trees at the exit seemed to have woven themselves more tightly together, their branches laced with deeper shadows.
*Time moves differently here.* The thought, a canonical detail she'd tucked away, surged to the forefront of her mind, sharp with new terror. An hour could be minutes, or days. How long had she been here? The sliver of moon above seemed to have shifted unnaturally fast across the sky, or perhaps not at all.
From the heart of the grove, a voice finally spoke. It wasn’t a whisper , not a growl, but a clear, resonant sound that echoed in her skull, bypassing her ears entirely. It was deep, sonorous, yet laced with something brittle, like dry ice, and utterly devoid of human warmth .
“*You came.*”
The single word solidified her fear. It wasn't just sounds and shadows; there *was * something here. Something that knew she was coming, something that had summoned her. The voice came from everywhere, vibrating in the soles of her boots, in the canopy above, in the very core of her being.
"Who are you?" Rory managed, her voice tight, a thin thread against the monstrous presence . Her intellect, her cool-headedness, were finally cracking . Fight or flight, and right now, flight felt terrifyingly impossible.
The voice chuckled, a dry, rattling sound like stones shifting in a grave . “*The reason.*”
The air around her shimmered , not with heat, but with a sudden, intense cold . The glowing Heartstone pulsed frantically now, a crimson beacon against the dark. Rory's breath plumed in the frigid air. The scent of ozone, sharp and acrid, suddenly filled her nostrils, mixing with the sickeningly sweet perfume of the year-round flowers. It was the smell of a tear in reality, an open wound. The distinct, almost metallic tang associated with Hel portals.
She took another step back, then another, trying to put distance between herself and the unseen speaker. But the Grove seemed to expand around her, the boundary becoming ever more indistinct. The ancient oaks no longer looked like trees; they looked like writhing, blackened limbs . The wild flowers seemed to wither and shrivel at the edges of her vision, their vibrant colours gone, leaving behind only desiccated husks.
Then, the voice came again, closer this time, directly behind her, so close she felt a freezing breath against her ear, though she sensed nothing physically there.
“*You cannot leave, Laila.*”
The use of ‘Laila’, a name used only by a select few, one she rarely heard, sent a fresh jolt of pure horror through her. A name she associated with her past, with vulnerability, with her life before London, before Eva, before trying to escape Evan’s shadow. This thing, whatever it was , knew intimate details of her life. It wasn't just a random spirit or Fae trick. It was personal.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a split second, trying to regain control. *Breathe. Think.* Her intelligence, her sharp wit. Use it. But her mind reeled. The oppressive atmosphere, the bone-chilling cold, the voice in her head that knew her deepest self. All of it was too much.
When she opened her eyes, something was hovering at the very edge of the clearing, just where the true darkness began. It was a shape, tall and impossibly thin, stretched and distorted like a bad memory. It didn’t have clear features, but it radiated an aura of malevolent, ancient hunger. It was watching her.
Rory tore her gaze away, her heart a drum solo in her chest. She turned and ran. Not back to the path, that felt like a trap, but deeper into the Grove, towards another cluster of trees . Blind panic, driven by the absolute certainty that if she stayed still, the thing would get her. The ground felt uneven beneath her, roots snagging at her feet. The branches whipped at her face, though there was no breeze. She pushed through, focused only on escape. The Heartstone pulsed madly, a frantic, desperate beat now, throwing its crimson light onto the shadowed ground ahead, a tiny, fragile shield against the encroaching darkness. She just had to find a way out. Before the Grove, or whatever was lurking within it, swallowed her whole.