AI The air in Richmond Park died the moment they stepped between the colossal, lightning-scarred oaks.
A hush fell, heavy and absolute, swallowing the distant hum of London’s red buses and sirens. Rory squeezed her left wrist, her thumb tracing the crescent-shaped scar there—a grounding habit when the world lost its familiar edges. Beneath her denim jacket, the Heartstone Pendant throbbed against her skin. A tiny ember of crimson heat pulsed in rhythm with her own heart.
Isolde gestured toward the shimmering distortion in the air ahead, a ripple like heat rising from a summer road.
"The threshold is always the hardest part. One step, and the pavement becomes a memory."
The half-Fae seer did not wait for an answer. She stepped into the ripple. Her silver hair, cascading down to her waist, caught a light that did not exist in the park, dissolving into the shimmer.
Rory glanced to her left.
A humanoid silhouette of living shadow detached itself from the bole of a nearby elm. Nyx’s violet eyes glowed in the gloom , two pools of cold, ancient light.
"The Veil is thin tonight." The Shade’s voice rasped like dry autumn leaves scraping across stone. "We should not linger in the doorway."
The dark form stretched and flowed over the gnarled roots without making a sound.
Rory took a deep breath, her fingers dropping to the hilt of the leaf-shaped dagger at her hip. The moonsilver hilt of the Fae blade was icy to the touch, a reassuring bite of cold that kept her focused. She stepped through the shimmering barrier.
The transition was a physical slap. Wet, petrol-tainted autumn air vanished. In its place came the thick scent of blooming jasmine and bruised nectarines. Rory stumbled, her boots sinking into a carpet of thick, violet-tinted moss.
Rory’s boots crunched against strange gravel—tiny, translucent pebbles that shimmered like crushed diamonds underfoot. With every step, a soft, bell-like chime echoed from the earth, as if the stones themselves were hollow glass.
Above them, the sky was not the bruised purple of a London twilight, but a deep, swirling indigo, dusted with constellations missing from any mortal star chart. Towering trees—scarcely recognizable as oaks, their trunks twisted like braided muscle and glowing with a faint, bioluminescent gold—stretched upward. Their canopy wove so tightly that no sky should have been visible, yet the starlight filtered through anyway.
Rory looked down at her feet.
"Where are we?"
Isolde stood a few paces ahead. Her lavender eyes caught the starlight, reflecting it like polished amethyst. Though she had just walked across the pristine moss, the delicate, star-shaped purple flowers beneath her feet stood perfectly upright. Not a single petal was crushed.
"A place where yesterday has not yet arrived, and tomorrow has already departed. You stand in the cradle of the exile, seeker."
Rory brushed a strand of straight black hair from her eyes.
"Give me a map over a riddle any day, Isolde."
She checked her wrist. The hands of her analogue watch were spinning backward, the sweep-second hand a blur of silver. She clicked her tongue and dropped her wrist.
Nyx's voice drifted from a patch of deep violet shadow beneath a weeping willow with silver leaves.
"Time is a clumsy mortal invention." The Shade’s form shifted, elongating as they merged with the darkness under the boughs. "Here, it behaves like a wild dog. Do not expect it to heel."
They walked deeper into the clearing. The ground sloped downward, leading toward a hollow where a faint mist clung to the earth. The mist did not drift. It hung in perfect, glowing spheres, hovering inches above the wildflowers like oversized pearls. The wildflowers did not sway, for there was no breeze, yet their petals curled and uncurled in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, like sea anemones reacting to an invisible tide.
Rory reached out a hand toward one of the floating spheres.
Isolde raised a slender, pale finger.
"I would not. Some dreams are trapped in glass for a reason. Break the shell, and you might find yourself sleeping for a century."
Rory yanked her hand back, her fingers flexing. A sudden, sharp prick of unease tightened her chest. The beauty of the clearing was breathtaking, but it felt predatory, like a brightly colored spider web waiting for a careless fly. Every flower petal seemed too perfect , the air too sweet, the silence too heavy.
Rory's boots squelched in the damp earth.
"How big is this place?"
Isolde turned, her long silver hair swaying as she led them along a path marked by smooth, pale river stones.
"As large as your fear, and as small as your courage."
"Right. So, endlessly massive then."
Rory glanced back at Nyx. The Shade was a patch of absolute blackness moving alongside them, slipping from the shadow of one golden-barked giant to the next. Nyx’s violet eyes remained fixed on the darker corners of the wood, where the trees grew thicker and the bioluminescent glow faded into pitch.
"There are eyes in the bark." Nyx’s whisper was barely a breath.
Rory stopped. She stared at the nearest tree. The bark was indeed patterned with knots that bore an unsettling resemblance to closed eyelids. As she watched, one of the knots twitched. A thin crack appeared, revealing a sliver of dull, yellow sap that bore a striking resemblance to an iris watching her.
A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She gripped the pommel of her Fae blade. The cold metal anchored her, cutting through the dreamy, intoxicating haze of the grove's scent.
Isolde did not look back.
"They do not bite. Not unless you carry iron."
Rory ran a mental inventory of her pockets. No keys. No loose change. She had left her brass keychain in Silas' bar before they set out. Only the silver chain of the Heartstone and the moonsilver of the Fae blade remained.
They reached the bottom of the hollow. The mist parted, revealing a circular pool of water so clear it seemed invisible, save for the way the starlight rippled across its surface. At the center of the pool sat a massive, flat-topped stone, carved with intricate , twisting runes that seemed to slowly shift and change shape like wax under heat.
Rory’s Heartstone Pendant flared. A sudden, sharp spike of heat bloomed against her chest, making her gasp. She pulled the pendant out from beneath her jacket. The crimson stone was pulsing , casting a bloody light across her fingers and the nearby moss.
Nyx’s form shivered, stretching toward the pool, then snapping back as if repelled by the water.
"The Prince's domain is close. The water tastes of salt and ash. A gate to Hel rests beneath."
Isolde stopped at the water's edge, her pale feet hovering a fraction of an inch above the damp stones of the pool's rim.
"The well of Dymas. A throat that drinks the excess of the world. But we do not seek the depths today, child of Cardiff. We seek the shadow."
Rory looked from the glowing crimson stone in her hand to the dark depths of the pool. Down there, far beneath the reflection of the alien stars, she could see a faint, warm amber glow. It looked like a city on fire, buried beneath leagues of glass. The sight filled her with a sudden, ravenous hunger—not for food, but for something she could not name . A desire to plunge her hands into the water, to drink until she drowned.
She shook her head violently, breaking the spell. Her voice caught.
"The air down there... it's thick. I can smell roasts, spices, old wine. It’s making my head spin."
A low, rasping chuckle vibrated in Nyx's chest.
"The Prince of Gluttony likes his guests well-seasoned. Step too close, and the water will swallow you whole. You would make a fine delicate morsel for the master chefs of Dymas."
"Thanks for the warning."
Rory stepped back a pace, her heart hammering against her ribs. She watched Isolde reach into her sleeve and pull out a small flower that resembled a silver rose. The half-Fae tossed the dried blossom into the water.
The moment the dried petals touched the surface, the water hissed. A thick, violet vapor bubbled up, smelling of ozone and wet stone. The amber glow beneath the pool flickered and died, replaced once more by the cold, dark reflection of the alien sky.
The heat against Rory's chest faded back to a gentle warmth .
Isolde faced them, her lavender eyes wider and darker in the twilight.
"The gate is closed. For now. But the winter solstice approaches, and the Veil grows thin. The stitches are unraveling ."
Nyx drifted closer, their purple eyes burning with an intense light.
"Then we must find the anchor before the Wardens realize we have crossed."
Rory looked deeper into the grove. Beyond the pool, the twisted golden trees gave way to an archway of black stone, half-buried in the soil. It looked like the ribcage of some colossal, forgotten beast, framing a path that wound up into the dark hills beyond. Black, thorny vines wrapped around the pillars, pulsing with a faint, sluggish dark liquid.
"Then let's move. I don't plan on being anyone's dinner tonight."
They stepped away from the pool, heading toward the ribcage-like archway. The translucent pebbles under Rory's feet began to hum, a low-frequency vibration that rattled her teeth. The air pressure plunged, popping her ears, and the sweet scent of jasmine vanished, replaced by the crisp, metallic tang of a coming storm.
As they drew closer to the archway, the pulsing dark liquid inside the vines began to glow with a sickly yellow light.
Nyx whispered, their shadow form compressing until they were little more than a thin line of darkness clinging to the side of Rory's boot.
"The path narrows ahead. And the guardians of this gate are not as polite as the trees."
Isolde stopped at the threshold of the archway, her hand hovering over a massive black thorn. She did not touch it.
"The path demands a toll. Not of blood, but of truth . To pass the rib of the world, one must leave a lie behind."
Rory stared at the dark path beyond the arch.
"I'm not in the mood for games, Isolde. We need to reach the anchor."
"The gates of the Fae do not care for your mood, Aurora." Isolde’s face reflected the pale yellow light of the vines. "A truth spoken, or the thorns will taste your heart."