Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95NX4K6KQZ68P9S9XWB54X

The frost-crisp grass of Richmond Park crunched under Aurora’s boots, a rhythmic sound that felt too loud in the unnatural stillness of the evening. To her left, Nyx moved like a smear of ink dropped into clear water, their form expanding and contracting against the gnarled trunks of the ancient oaks. The air here tasted of damp earth and car exhaust, the familiar tang of London at dusk, but as they approached the circle of bone-white stones, the scent curdled into something sharper. Aurora stopped, the crescent scar on her wrist itching beneath her sleeve. The space between the two tallest standing stones didn't look like empty air. It rippled, a heat haze on a road that didn't exist, twisting the view of the trees beyond into a kaleidoscope of impossible greens. “The boundary is thin tonight.” Nyx’s voice barely carried, a sound like dry leaves skittering across a stone floor. Their violet eyes flickered with a faint, steady luminescence, reflecting in the dark glass of the distortion. Aurora reached for the Heartstone Pendant beneath her coat. The crimson gem burned through the fabric, pulsing against her skin with the frantic beat of a trapped bird’s heart. “It’s reacting. Is there a portal to Hel inside?” Nyx’s silhouette elongated, a shadow reaching toward the shimmering Veil. “Distinctions between the realms blur in this place. The Grove belongs to the Half-Fae, but the roots of this world go deep enough to touch the veins of others. Step through, Aurora Carter. Do not hesitate, or the Veil will catch you like a fly in amber.” Aurora took a breath, stepped forward, and pushed into the ripple. The sensation felt like submerged ice. The world didn't just change; it inverted. The pressure slammed against her eardrums, popping them with a sharp crack. For a heartbeat, she wasn't standing on grass or earth, but suspended in a viscous, glowing jelly that tasted of ozone and copper. Then, the resistance snapped. She stumbled forward, landing on her hands and knees. The ground beneath her palms wasn't dirt. It felt like velvet-covered iron, warm and vibrating with a low-frequency hum. Aurora looked down at her hands. Small, translucent blue flowers sprouted between her fingers, blooming from the impact of her weight. They unfurled in seconds, their petals shaped like tiny, reaching hands, before dissolving into shimmering dust that smelled of orange peel. “Get up.” Nyx stood several feet away, their form more solid here, the jagged edges of their shadow sharpening into something resembling a high-collared coat. Aurora stood, brushing the glowing dust from her trousers. She looked up and forgot to breathe. Above, the sky wasn't the bruised purple of a London twilight. It was a swirling vortex of deep indigo and shimmering gold, devoid of stars but filled with drifting, bioluminescent spores that moved like schools of fish through the air. The trees didn't grow upward; they twisted in corkscrews of silver bark, their leaves wide, flat fans of iridescent glass that chimed softly as the wind moved through them. “This isn't Richmond anymore.” Aurora’s voice sounded hollow, the acoustics of the Grove dampening the sound as if they were standing in a room lined with heavy drapes. “Time is a suggestion here, not a rule.” Nyx pointed toward a path lined with glowing toadstools the size of dinner plates. “Do not wander. The flora here has an appetite for the unwary.” They moved deeper into the woods. Every step revealed a new impossibility. A stream ran uphill to their right, the water glowing with a soft, milky light and carrying the sound of distant, echoing laughter. Aurora watched a dragonfly with four sets of gossamer wings land on a branch; it didn't fly away when they passed, but instead turned its head—a miniature, porcelain-white human face—to watch them with curiosity. The unease crawled up Aurora's spine. The beauty of the place felt predatory, like the bright colors of a poisonous snake. The Heartstone continued its frantic pulsing, the heat now intense enough to make her sweat despite the cool, honey-scented breeze. “Why is it so quiet?” Aurora’s hand drifted to her waist, searching for a weapon she didn't yet possess. “The Grove listens.” Nyx didn't turn around, but their shadow stretched toward her, a dark tether between them. “Every word spoken here is a debt. Every breath is a gift. The Seer does not tolerate noise that lacks purpose.” The path opened into a wide clearing where the silver trees stood in a perfect, silent circle. In the center, the ground dipped into a shallow bowl filled with white sand that shimmered like crushed diamonds. A woman stood there, her silver hair cascading down her back like a frozen waterfall. She wore a gown of woven mist that seemed to drift away from her body even though there was no wind in the clearing. Isolde Varga didn't turn as they approached. She stood perfectly still, her feet resting on the white sand. Aurora noticed immediately that the woman left no indentations, no footprints to mark her presence. “The daughter of the barrister brings the shadow of a dead man to my hearth.” Isolde’s voice wasn't a whisper. It was a melody played on a cracked cello, resonant and haunting. She turned, her pale lavender eyes locking onto Aurora’s blue ones. There was no warmth in her gaze, only the terrifying span of three centuries of observation. “We seek the path to Dymas.” Aurora kept her voice steady, though the shimmer of the Seer’s skin made her vision swim. “The Prince of Gluttony has something that belongs to the mortal world.” Isolde moved, her motion so fluid it looked like a series of still images stitched together. She was suddenly inches away from Aurora, the scent of lavender and ancient parchment following her. She reached out, her fingers hovering just over the Heartstone Pendant. “A gift from a devil.” Isolde’s lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. “It burns for its home. It wants to return to the amber skies and the endless feasts. You carry a beacon, little bird. The Wardens will find you if the demons do not.” “Then give me something to fight them with.” Aurora didn't flinch. She met the lavender stare with the stubbornness she’d inherited from her father. Isolde’s laughter sounded like breaking glass. She reached into the air, her hand disappearing into a fold of space that shouldn't have been there. When she pulled it back, she held a dagger. The metal was moonsilver, a slender, leaf-shaped blade that seemed to drink the bioluminescence of the grove and spit it back out as a cold, white glow. “Moonsilver for the girl who walks in the dark.” Isolde held the hilt toward Aurora. The pommel was set with a single, unblinking eye of clear quartz. “This was forged in the heart of the Winter Court. It does not know the warmth of blood, only the chill of the void. It will cut through the wards of Hel as easily as a hot wire through wax.” Aurora reached out. The moment her fingers closed around the hilt, a jolt of pure ice shot up her arm, freezing the marrow in her bones. The cold was absolute, a biting, hollow sensation that made her breath hitch in a cloud of silver vapor. “It is a burden, not just a tool.” Isolde leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. “The blade demands a price of focus. Lose your will, and it will drink the heat from your heart until you are as hollow as your shadow friend.” Nyx shifted, their violet eyes narrowing. “She has the strength for it.” “Does she?” Isolde stepped back, her form beginning to blur at the edges, dissolving into the swirling spores of the Grove. “The Prince of Gluttony is not a creature of hunger, Aurora Carter. He is a creature of excess. He will give you everything you want until you drown in it. Remember the weight of the silver in your hand. It is the only thing that is real in the realms of gold and amber.” The silver trees began to vibrate, their glass leaves chiming in a deafening crescendo. The white sand beneath Aurora’s feet swirled into the air, stinging her cheeks. The indigo sky descended, a heavy blanket of violet mist that swallowed the clearing and the Seer in a single, suffocating sweep. “Aurora!” Nyx’s voice sounded far away, as if they were shouting from the bottom of a well. Aurora gripped the hilt of the moonsilver blade, the cold reaching her chest, meeting the frantic warmth of the Heartstone. The two sensations battled for dominance, a pulse of fire and a surge of ice that made her knees buckle. She slammed the blade into the ground, using it as a literal anchor as the world around her began to spin. The shimmering flowers around her shriveled and died in the wake of the dagger’s frost. The light of the Grove flickered, the gold and indigo replaced by a sudden, jarring vision of a sky the color of a setting sun—a thick, sickly amber that smelled of roasting meat and rotting fruit. A heavy, humid heat pressed against her skin, tasting of grease. The sound of a thousand clinking forks and knives echoed in the distance, a cacophony of indulgence that threatened to drown out her own thoughts. “Don't look at the sky!” Nyx’s hand—solid and cold—clamped onto her shoulder. Aurora forced her gaze down. The white sand was gone. Beneath her was a carpet of overripe grapes, their skins bursting under her weight, the juice dark and thick like clotted blood. The trees weren't silver anymore; they were gnarled vines heavy with fruit that wept syrup.