Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95ADVXYNSEA37NFCS6GCF9

The chill seeped into Aurora’s bones the moment she stepped between the two gnarled oaks marking the Grove’s entrance. Even before the last flicker of city light vanished behind her, the air grew too quiet, too heavy. She clutched the silver chain of the Heartstone Pendant, its crimson gem a cold lump against her throat. The pendant usually offered a faint, reassuring warmth, a subtle pulse that guided her. Tonight, it remained inert, its inner glow snuffed. She came to the Grove on a cryptic message, a whispered hint of a disruption, a tear in the veil someone needed to mend. The message spoke of a power shift, a fragile balance about to shatter. She had to find the source. The path beneath her worn boots, usually soft earth, felt like packed stone tonight. The ancient oaks, reaching towards an unseen sky, appeared less like guardians and more like skeletal sentinels. Their branches, thick as torsos, tangled into a forbidding canopy, allowing only fractured slivers of moonlight to pierce the darkness. Without the moon’s direct gaze, the world bled to grayscale. The wildflowers, always in riotous bloom within Isolde’s grove no matter the season, now showed only in muted blurs of white and purple at the edges of her vision. They offered no comfort, merely a stark contrast to the encroaching gloom. A sudden, sharp snap cracked the silence from somewhere deep within the trees. Aurora froze, her breath catching. It sounded too loud for a broken twig. Her bright blue eyes darted, searching the inky depths between the tree trunks, but found nothing. The sound left no echo, only an unsettling void. She swallowed, the sound grating in her own ears. *Just a branch.* Her mind supplied the rational explanation, but a cold dread traced a path down her spine. The rational mind often stumbled in the Grove's peculiar embrace. She continued, each step a deliberate action. The path, usually a familiar friend, now seemed to twist and narrow, the trees closing in around her. The air grew colder, an unnatural cold that prickled her skin and stole what little warmth her jacket offered. The crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist throbbed, a phantom ache from a distant childhood memory. A low, drawn-out scrape echoed from her right, a sound like a heavy stone dragging over rough ground. She spun, hands instinctively rising, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Nothing. Only the towering silhouettes of the oaks, their bark like deeply furrowed skin. The sound had been too guttural, too deliberate, to be merely the wind playing tricks. The wind wasn't even blowing. The trees stood utterly still. Then she heard it again, this time closer, a slithering whisper that seemed to ooze from the very ground. It wasn't words. It was just sound, a sibilant hiss that rose and fell, punctuated by softer, wet clicks. It spoke of something alien, something not intended for human ears. She tried to discern its origin, turning her head slowly, scanning the impenetrable shadows. Her breath hitched. A movement, fleeting as a shiver, painted itself across her peripheral vision. A dark shape, longer and thinner than any animal she knew, darted behind a cluster of ferns. She immediately snapped her gaze to the spot. The ferns stood motionless, undisturbed. The shadows beneath them coiled, deeper than usual, almost tangible. She stared, unblinking, until her eyes watered, but the shape did not reappear. Her hand went to the Heartstone Pendant once more. A faint warmth, a mere ghost of its usual energy, stirred beneath her fingers. A subtle pulse, barely there, beat against her palm. It sparked, a dull ruby gleam in the pervasive dark, then faded, leaving her with the unsettling sensation of having witnessed a dying ember. The Hel portals were supposed to be the cause of its activation, but she had never felt its power so weak, so hesitant. The whispering started again, louder now, and closer. It came from all directions at once, enveloping her. It was no longer a slithering hiss, but a low, guttural murmur, a chorus of voices speaking in a language utterly devoid of human cadence. It felt like gravel grinding against bone, damp earth shifting over unseen things. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, pressing her palms against her ears, a desperate, futile attempt to block it out. When she opened them, the darkness seemed to have deepened, pressing against her very eyeballs. The movement in her periphery returned, bolder this time. Not one shape, but many, weaving through the gaps between the trees. They were thin, elongated forms, darker than the night around them, almost like ripples in the fabric of the shadows themselves. They never quite resolved into anything discernible; a branch, perhaps, swaying in a phantom breeze, or a trick of the straining darkness. Yet when she twisted her head to meet them, they dissolved, reappearing a split second later in a new spot, further into the Grove. They were herding her, she realized. Herding her deeper in. Her legs, until now moving on instinct, now felt heavy, each muscle screaming in protest. The chill in the air intensified, pulling at the exposed skin of her face, raising goosebumps along her arms. The wildflowers, which had been muted, now seemed to sag, their petals shriveled, their vibrant colors leached away. The very life appeared to drain from the Grove around her. A sound, distinct from the gravelly whispers, arose directly behind her. Not a whisper, not a scrape. It was a single, long, drawn-out *inhale*, so close she could feel the phantom pressure of its pull on the air around her. It was too deep, too slow to be human. It was the sound of something vast, something patient. She did not turn. Her body, rigid as a statue, refused the command. The certainty solidified into a cold, hard knot in her gut: she was not alone. The Grove held something else tonight, something that sought her out, something that breathed, and watched, and waited. The air grew impossibly heavy, suffocating. The whispers ceased, replaced by the profound, absolute silence of a predator finally closing in on its prey. She felt the warmth, the *heat*, of a presence directly behind her, tall and inescapable.