Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95EM35YJF4ZHCC97TS0W1J

Aurora’s boots crunched on fallen leaves, a sound far too loud in the sudden hush. The light from her phone’s torch barely pierced the oppressive darkness clinging to the edge of Richmond Park. A cold seeped into her bones, sharper than the late autumn air. The Heartstone pendant, a deep crimson gem the size of a thumbnail, lay cool against her skin, unusually quiet. Its silence had drawn her here, more than any thrum or pulse. The energy it always radiated felt… stifled, flattened, almost afraid. She reached the perimeter, the ancient oak standing stones looming like hunched giants against the faint glow of the distant city. Their rough, bark-covered surfaces felt slick with an unnatural dampness under her gloved fingers. This was it: Isolde’s grove. The Fae Grove. A place where time played tricks, where wildflowers bloomed in the dead of winter. Tonight, though, the air felt less like magic and more like something heavy, holding its breath. She flicked her torch beam across the rough stones, searching for a path that wasn't there during daylight hours. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer, like heat rising from tarmac, caught her eye between two particularly gnarled oaks. That was her way in. She stepped through the shimmering barrier. The air shifted, thick and still. The distant hum of London traffic vanished, replaced by a complete, echoing silence. This deep quiet, a void of sound, pricked at her skin. The only noise came from her own breathing, ragged and shallow. She swung her phone’s beam around, its weak light struggling to push back the inky black. Tree trunks, impossibly thick and scarred, rose into an unseen canopy. Their branches, skeletal fingers against the black sky, seemed to twist inward, closing off the world behind her. A damp, earthy scent filled her lungs, mixed with something else, metallic and faintly floral, like old blood spilled on rose petals. She moved deeper, her steps tentative, the leaves underfoot cushioning her progress. The ground grew soft, the earth giving slightly with each step. Her eyes strained, seeking form in the dark. Shapes at the edge of her vision seemed to coalesce and dissolve, like smoke. A stump became a crouched animal, a tangle of branches a contorted face, only to resolve back into wood as her torch fixed on them. A rustling broke the silence, not from the ground, but from above, faint and quick. Aurora jerked her head up, catching a flash of darker shadow against the already profound dark. Squirrel? Owl? Her rational mind offered explanations, but her pulse hammered in her throat. The pendant against her chest began to warm, a slow, gentle heat at first, then a throbbing warmth. It was subtle, unlike the frantic pulse it made near Hel portals, more like a steady, insistent hum. She took another step, then stopped. A sound, like a gentle, rhythmic scratching, came from behind a massive oak. It wasn't the natural scuttling of insects or the rustle of leaves. This was deliberate. Too even. Too close. She rotated slowly, her phone beam sweeping across the tree's thick trunk. Nothing. But the scratching continued, a low *shhhk, shhhk, shhhk*, growing louder, as if whatever made it was circling the trunk, just out of sight. She tightened her grip on her phone, her thumb hovering over the call button. Who would she call? Eva? Silas? What would she say? "Hey, I'm in a magic grove and something's scratching a tree?" She couldn't. This was her investigation. Her burden. The scratching stopped abruptly, replaced by a wet, sucking sound, like something being dragged through mud. It moved closer. Aurora froze, every muscle taut. The air grew heavy, thick with that metallic-floral scent, pressing down on her. The warmth from the pendant intensified, spreading across her chest, a burning reminder. She forced herself to move, to circle the tree in the opposite direction from the sound. Her torch beam cut through the darkness, illuminating a patch of gnarled roots, then damp earth, then more roots. Nothing. Yet the sound of dragging, wet and close, seemed to come from directly where her light fell. She spun, her eyes darting, trying to catch the source before it evaporated. Her breath caught. A flicker. Right at the edge of her peripheral vision, behind a thick curtain of ivy, something moved. Not entirely black, but a deeper void within the shadows. It was too tall, too slender. A shiver ran down her spine, raising gooseflesh on her arms despite the pendant’s heat. This wasn’t a trick of light, not the playful distortion of the Fae. This felt… predatory. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Get it together, Rory," she whispered, her voice swallowed by the vast quiet. She swung her torch back to the ivy-covered section. Nothing visible. The drag-and-suck sound had stopped. The silence returned, more profound and menacing than before. But the silence was not empty. It was filled now, with a hum, a low vibration that seemed to resonate in the very air around her. It wasn't sound, but a felt presence, like walking into a massive, unseen bell. The wildflowers, usually vibrant even at night, now looked pale and sickly in the torchlight, their colours muted, their petals almost translucent. A sharp snap echoed from behind her, a twig breaking underfoot. She whipped around, beam flashing. Nothing. Just the endless, tangled undergrowth. Yet whoever, or whatever, had done it stood there, breathing. She felt it, a cold waft of air against her cheek, laden with that cloying scent. Her scar, a small crescent on her left wrist from a childhood fall, suddenly itched, a phantom sensation. She took a step back, then another, trying to put distance between herself and the unseen presence. Her retreat was slow, careful, her eyes scanning, searching for any break in the oppressive darkness. The trees seemed to press in closer, their rough bark feeling like skin. The sense of being watched intensified, a weight on her shoulders, on her scalp. The pendant burned against her chest now, a constant, consuming heat. It pulsed in time with her frantic heartbeat. This wasn't a warning for Hel. This was something else. Someone else. A low groan, like wood settling, or bones shifting, rumbled from straight ahead, from the deep dark where her torch light couldn’t reach. It wasn't the wind. There was no wind. She began to walk faster, not running, but a hurried stride. Her phone’s light bobbed frantically, creating more unsettling shadows than it dispersed. Her breathing grew shallow, punctuated by gasps. The groan sounded again, closer this time, and another, softer one, seemed to answer it from behind her. They were surrounding her. She spun, her mind racing. Her quick wit, her cool head, felt dulled, bogged down by the sheer, unreasoning terror clutching at her. This wasn’t a puzzle to solve. This was something ancient, something that smelled of graves and blooms. The ground under her foot felt unstable, shifting. She looked down, her torch beam cutting through the gloom. The earth directly beneath her was churned, as if something had recently clawed its way out. The metallic-floral scent was overwhelming here, thick enough to taste. The pendant throbbed violently against her skin, hot as a live coal. Then, from the darkness just beyond the reach of her light, she heard it. A faint chuckle. Dry, brittle, like old leaves skittering across pavement. It wasn't human. It was too thin, too sharp. It echoed, not from a single source, but from all directions at once, enveloping her. The chuckling grew louder, joined by another, and another, all thin, reedy, utterly devoid of mirth. Aurora ripped her gaze away from the churned earth, her head whipping up into the darkness. She was no longer alone.Aurora’s boots crunched on fallen leaves, a sound far too loud in the sudden hush. The light from her phone’s torch barely pierced the oppressive darkness clinging to the edge of Richmond Park. A cold seeped into her bones, sharper than the late autumn air. The Heartstone pendant, a deep crimson gem the size of a thumbnail, lay cool against her skin, unusually quiet. Its silence had drawn her here, more than any thrum or pulse. The energy it always radiated felt… stifled, flattened, almost afraid. She reached the perimeter, the ancient oak standing stones looming like hunched giants against the faint glow of the distant city. Their rough, bark-covered surfaces felt slick with an unnatural dampness under her gloved fingers. This was it: Isolde’s grove. The Fae Grove. A place where time played tricks, where wildflowers bloomed in the dead of winter. Tonight, though, the air felt less like magic and more like something heavy, holding its breath. She flicked her torch beam across the rough stones, searching for a path that wasn't there during daylight hours. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer, like heat rising from tarmac, caught her eye between two particularly gnarled oaks. That was her way in. She stepped through the shimmering barrier. The air shifted, thick and still. The distant hum of London traffic vanished, replaced by a complete, echoing silence. This deep quiet, a void of sound, pricked at her skin. The only noise came from her own breathing, ragged and shallow. She swung her phone’s beam around, its weak light struggling to push back the inky black. Tree trunks, impossibly thick and scarred, rose into an unseen canopy. Their branches, skeletal fingers against the black sky, seemed to twist inward, closing off the world behind her. A damp, earthy scent filled her lungs, mixed with something else, metallic and faintly floral, like old blood spilled on rose petals. She moved deeper, her steps tentative, the leaves underfoot cushioning her progress. The ground grew soft, the earth giving slightly with each step. Her eyes strained, seeking form in the dark. Shapes at the edge of her vision seemed to coalesce and dissolve, like smoke. A stump became a crouched animal, a tangle of branches a contorted face, only to resolve back into wood as her torch fixed on them. A rustling broke the silence, not from the ground, but from above, faint and quick. Aurora jerked her head up, catching a flash of darker shadow against the already profound dark. Squirrel? Owl? Her rational mind offered explanations, but her pulse hammered in her throat. The pendant against her chest began to warm, a slow, gentle heat at first, then a throbbing warmth. It was subtle, unlike the frantic pulse it made near Hel portals, more like a steady, insistent hum. She took another step, then stopped. A sound, like a gentle, rhythmic scratching, came from behind a massive oak. It wasn't the natural scuttling of insects or the rustle of leaves. This was deliberate. Too even. Too close. She rotated slowly, her phone beam sweeping across the tree's thick trunk. Nothing. But the scratching continued, a low *shhhk, shhhk, shhhk*, growing louder, as if whatever made it was circling the trunk, just out of sight. She tightened her grip on her phone, her thumb hovering over the call button. Who would she call? Eva? Silas? What would she say? "Hey, I'm in a magic grove and something's scratching a tree?" She couldn't. This was her investigation. Her burden. The scratching stopped abruptly, replaced by a wet, sucking sound, like something being dragged through mud. It moved closer. Aurora froze, every muscle taut. The air grew heavy, thick with that metallic-floral scent, pressing down on her. The warmth from the pendant intensified, spreading across her chest, a burning reminder. She forced herself to move, to circle the tree in the opposite direction from the sound. Her torch beam cut through the darkness, illuminating a patch of gnarled roots, then damp earth, then more roots. Nothing. Yet the sound of dragging, wet and close, seemed to come from directly where her light fell. She spun, her eyes darting, trying to catch the source before it evaporated. Her breath caught. A flicker. Right at the edge of her peripheral vision, behind a thick curtain of ivy, something moved. Not entirely black, but a deeper void within the shadows. It was too tall, too slender. A shiver ran down her spine, raising gooseflesh on her arms despite the pendant’s heat. This wasn’t a trick of light, not the playful distortion of the Fae. This felt… predatory. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Get it together, Rory," she whispered, her voice swallowed by the vast quiet. She swung her torch back to the ivy-covered section. Nothing visible. The drag-and-suck sound had stopped. The silence returned, more profound and menacing than before. But the silence was not empty. It was filled now, with a hum, a low vibration that seemed to resonate in the very air around her. It wasn't sound, but a felt presence, like walking into a massive, unseen bell. The wildflowers, usually vibrant even at night, now looked pale and sickly in the torchlight, their colours muted, their petals almost translucent. A sharp snap echoed from behind her, a twig breaking underfoot. She whipped around, beam flashing. Nothing. Just the endless, tangled undergrowth. Yet whoever, or whatever, had done it stood there, breathing. She felt it, a cold waft of air against her cheek, laden with that cloying scent. Her scar, a small crescent on her left wrist from a childhood fall, suddenly itched, a phantom sensation. She took a step back, then another, trying to put distance between herself and the unseen presence. Her retreat was slow, careful, her eyes scanning, searching for any break in the oppressive darkness. The trees seemed to press in closer, their rough bark feeling like skin. The sense of being watched intensified, a weight on her shoulders, on her scalp. The pendant burned against her chest now, a constant, consuming heat. It pulsed in time with her frantic heartbeat. This wasn't a warning for Hel. This was something else. Someone else. A low groan, like wood settling, or bones shifting, rumbled from straight ahead, from the deep dark where her torch light couldn’t reach. It wasn't the wind. There was no wind. She began to walk faster, not running, but a hurried stride. Her phone’s light bobbed frantically, creating more unsettling shadows than it dispersed. Her breathing grew shallow, punctuated by gasps. The groan sounded again, closer this time, and another, softer one, seemed to answer it from behind her. They were surrounding her. She spun, her mind racing. Her quick wit, her cool head, felt dulled, bogged down by the sheer, unreasoning terror clutching at her. This wasn’t a puzzle to solve. This was something ancient, something that smelled of graves and blooms. The ground under her foot felt unstable, shifting. She looked down, her torch beam cutting through the gloom. The earth directly beneath her was churned, as if something had recently clawed its way out. The metallic-floral scent was overwhelming here, thick enough to taste. The pendant throbbed violently against her skin, hot as a live coal. Then, from the darkness just beyond the reach of her light, she heard it. A faint chuckle. Dry, brittle, like old leaves skittering across pavement. It wasn't human. It was too thin, too sharp. It echoed, not from a single source, but from all directions at once, enveloping her. The chuckling grew louder, joined by another, and another, all thin, reedy, utterly devoid of mirth. Aurora ripped her gaze away from the churned earth, her head whipping up into the darkness. She was no longer alone.