Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2F78MY2CJQAP169DJQQKZB

The leaves overhead turned wrong. Rory noticed it first—a beech tree with bark that spiralled like a corkscrew, its leaves a shade of silver-green she'd never seen in any forest. She stopped, and Nyx halted beside her, their shadow-form rippling in the twilight. "Here," she said. It wasn't a question. The air had changed. No birdsong. No distant traffic from the park's perimeter. The only sound was her own breath and the soft whisper of Nyx's shifting form against the grass. She turned in a slow circle. The oak trees around them seemed to lean inward, their branches interlacing overhead like the ribcage of some ancient beast. Dusk had settled quickly—too quickly. They'd been walking for maybe ten minutes since leaving the main path, but the sky now held a purple hue that belonged deeper into evening. Rory touched the Heartstone pendant beneath her shirt. It pulsed warm against her collarbone, a steady heartbeat that she'd grown used to over the past week. It was beating faster now. "Where are the stones?" she asked. Nyx raised a hand—a gesture that was more suggestion than motion, their fingers dissolving into wisps of violet-edged darkness. "We're already inside." Their voice came from everywhere, a dry rustle like dead leaves skittering across pavement. "Look behind you." Rory turned. The path she'd walked was gone. In its place stood a ring of oaks so massive she could have wrapped both arms around one trunk and not touched her own fingers. Their bark was furrowed deep, slick with moss that glowed faintly in the failing light. Between two of them, a low wall of rough-hewn stone jutted from the earth, its surface carved with spirals that seemed to move when she wasn't looking directly at them. She exhaled slowly. "Richmond Park doesn't have standing stones." "It does now," Nyx said. "Or it never did. The Fae don't follow your geography." Rory stepped forward. The grass underfoot was thick and springy, studded with tiny white flowers that released a scent like honey and cardamom when her shoes brushed them. She crouched and touched one. Its petals were cold, almost icy, and they dimmed at her contact before brightening again when she pulled her hand away. "Don't pick anything," Nyx said. "Don't eat anything. Don't accept anything offered, even if it seems harmless." "Even from you?" "Especially from me. But I'm already bound to you, so that's different." Rory stood and wiped her palm on her jeans. The coolness lingered. She looked up at the canopy and noticed the stars were wrong. Not just brighter—different constellations. A cluster of three blue-white stars hung low in the east, arranged in a perfect equilateral triangle. She'd never seen them before. "Where are we exactly?" "A pocket," Nyx said. "The Fae Grove. It exists between your world and theirs, like a bubble in the mortar between bricks. Time here folds on itself. An hour can be a day out there, or a day can be an hour. The Seer chose this place for a reason." Rory walked toward the standing stones. The largest one stood waist-high, its surface smooth as glass despite the carvings. She hesitated, then placed her palm flat against it. The stone was warm—impossibly warm, like it had been sitting in direct sunlight, though the grove lay under deep shadow. A vibration hummed through her fingers, so low she felt it in her teeth. The pendant pulsed again, stronger. She pulled it out. The crimson gemstone was glowing from within, light spilling between her fingers. "She knows we're here," Nyx said. "The Seer. She felt you cross the boundary." Rory lifted the pendant and let it swing. The glow cast red ripples across the grass, and the white flowers shrank from it, their petals curling inward. "How do you know?" "Because the grove is responding. Look." Nyx gestured with a sweep of their arm, and Rory followed the motion. The space between the standing stones shimmered. For a moment, she saw a different landscape beyond—rolling hills covered in violet grass, a sky of deep amber, towers that twisted like petrified roots—and then it vanished, replaced once more by the grove's tangled oaks and silver-green leaves. "A glimpse," Nyx said. "The Veil is thin here. The Seer lives at the edge of it." Rory's mouth felt dry. She let the pendant fall back against her chest and stepped past the standing stones, deeper into the grove. The ground sloped gently downward, and the trees thickened. Vines hung in curtains, draped with flowers that opened and closed as she passed, their petals rustling like whispered secrets. A brook cut across the path, its water clear as glass but dark—a deep, mirror-like black that reflected nothing, not even the sky above. She stepped over it carefully. The moment her foot touched the far bank, the brook's surface rippled, and she could have sworn she saw a face looking up from the depths—pale, with eyes like empty sockets—before it dissolved into the current. "What was that?" She kept her voice low. "A water-wraith. Bound to the grove. It can't cross the banks, and it won't harm you as long as you don't try to take anything from the water." Rory shivered. The air had grown cooler, carrying a scent of damp earth and something floral—jasmine, maybe, but deeper and sweeter. She pushed through a curtain of vines and emerged into a clearing. It was circular, perhaps fifty feet across, ringed by the same ancient oaks. In the centre stood a single stone, taller than Rory, carved into the shape of a crescent moon set upright. Moss covered its base, but the upper half was polished, and it caught the unnatural starlight and reflected it in silver beams that crisscrossed the clearing like spider silk. Wildflowers covered the ground in a riot of colours—deep purples, blues that verged on black, whites that luminesced faintly. They grew in patterns, spirals and arcs that seemed deliberate, as if planted by an artist. In the exact centre of the clearing, beneath the crescent stone's shadow, sat a figure. She was silver-haired, dressed in grey robes that blended with the stone. Her face was ageless—smooth, with high cheekbones and pale lavender eyes that were fixed on Rory with an unnerving stillness. She did not rise. "So," the woman said, her voice carrying clearly across the clearing despite the distance. "You found the door. I had wondered if you would." Rory stopped at the edge of the flowers. She could feel Nyx behind her, a cool presence at her back. The pendant was hot now, almost uncomfortable. "Are you Isolde?" The woman smiled—a small, knowing curve. "I am. And you carry a weight I did not expect." Her gaze dropped to Rory's chest. "That pendant. May I see it?" Rory's hand went instinctively to cover it. "Nyx said not to accept anything offered." "Wise advice. But I am not offering you anything. I am asking. There is a difference." Isolde tilted her head, and her lavender eyes caught the silver light. "I cannot lie, Aurora Carter. It is not in my nature. You are safe here, for now." The use of her full name sent a prickle across Rory's scalp. She hadn't introduced herself. Slowly, she pulled the pendant over her head and held it out, the chain dangling from her fingers. Isolde rose in a single fluid motion, leaving no footprints in the moss. She crossed the clearing without a sound and stopped an arm's length away. Her fingers hovered over the gemstone, not quite touching. "Where did you get this?" Her voice had lost its lilt, gone sharp. "I don't know. It arrived in my flat. No note." Isolde's eyes narrowed. Her hand dropped. "Then the game has begun earlier than I foresaw." She looked up at the triangle of stars, then back at Rory. "You are not merely a visitor here. You are a piece on a board much older than you know. And your first move is already made."