Run: 2026-05-27-01KSMEXHWM64PM7SWWS6J54XAG

The ancient oaks stood like silent sentinels at the edge of the clearing, their branches intertwined to form a natural cathedral above. Moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting shifting patterns on the ground where Aurora Carter—Rory to her friends—took careful steps. The Fae Grove had always felt... different to her, not like the rest of Richmond Park. Her perk-up friends would tease her of folk tales if they ever learned of her visits, but Rory had never been one for dismissal of the unexplained. She came tonight because her Heartstone pendant, a crimson gemstone resting against her throat, had been pulsing with warmth all day—a sensation she'd learned meant she stood near a Hel portal, a doorway between realms she'd come to understand through her research. She'd come prepared: flashlight in one hand, the pendant visible beneath her coat collar. According to the old books she'd found in second-hand shops across London, this particular grove was a known entrance point, though less frequented than others. That's why she'd chosen the late hour—fewer witnesses, fewer chances of interruption. The first sign was the silence. Rory had expected the usual night sounds of the park: the rustling of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl. Instead, everything was unnaturally still. Even the wind seemed hesitant to disturb the clearing. As she moved deeper into the grove, her footsteps—usually accompanied by the crunch of autumn leaves—barely made a sound, as if the earth itself were swallowing each footfall. She glanced around, her bright blue eyes scanning the tree line. There, to her left, something moved—a flicker of shadow between two ancient oaks. Her heart jumped, but she held still, watching for nearly a full minute. Nothing. Yet unease settled into the pit of her stomach, thick and heavy as fog. She'd never experienced this before in the grove. In all her previous visits, there'd been a feeling of peace, not disquiet. "You're imagining things, Rory," she whispered to herself, the sound of her own voice jolting in the vacuum of silence. But then it came again—a sound this time, faint but unmistakable: the soft scrape of something dragging against bark. She whipped her head around, flashlight beam cutting a swath through the darkness. Only trees met her gaze. Yet her instincts screamed that she wasn't alone. The Heartstone pendant grew warmer against her skin, its faint pulsation an almost comforting rhythm against her mounting unease. The trees continued their silent watch, but Rory could feel their eyes, if not physically there, then in the collective consciousness of the forest. That's not right, she thought. Trees don't watch. Her flashlight beam trembled as she fought to steady her hand. The scraping sound came again, closer this time, from directly behind her. Slowly, she turned, the light cutting a path across the clearing until she saw it—a figure, humanoid in shape, standing between the trees. Its outline seemed indistinct, as if it were partially blended into the forest around it. "Who's there?" she called out, her voice stronger than she would have believed possible. The figure didn't answer, didn't move, merely stood watching her. The watchfulness of the forest intensified. She could feel its presence pressing in on her, the wrongness she'd noticed earlier now undeniable and pervasive. "Show yourself," she demanded, Jeffrey raising her voice. The Heartstone pendant burned with warmth, its glow seeming to intensify in the darkness. And then the forest responded. Not with words, but with a shift in the trees themselves. Branches that had been still began to move, not with the wind, but with purpose—pointed fingers reaching into the clearing. Leigh's heart hammered against her ribs as she took a step back, then another, her flashlight beam dancing wildly as she tried to track all the movements at once. "Get away from me," she whispered, backing toward the standing stones that marked the boundary of the grove. They represented safety—her escape route back to the familiar world beyond. But the standing stones too seemed to vibrate with energy, their ancient oaks pulsing with an otherworldly light she'd never seen before. The figure between the trees began to move, not walking but sliding through the forest as if the very air were carrying it. Rory stumbled backward, her heel catching on an exposed root and nearly sending her sprawling. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, and for a moment, the world seemed to snap back into focus—the sound of insects, the rustle of leaves, the gentle hum of London in the distance. She was alone. Looking around, she saw no figure, no moving trees, just the ancient oaks and the quiet grove. The Heartstone pendant had returned to its normal, gentle pulse. Had she imagined it? Her breath came in short gasps as she leaned against one of the standing stones, her fingers clutching the warm surface. The bark beneath her fingers felt slightly unnaturally smooth, as if carved from something other than oak. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing, to return her thoughts to the task at hand. She'd come to observe, to understand. But understanding seemed further away than ever. When she opened her eyes, she was no longer alone. The figure stood directly before her, now fully formed and unmistakable. It was humanoid, but wrong—its face seemed stretched, the features elongated and indistinct in the moonlight. Its eyes, wide and liquid black, fixed on hers with an intensity that made Rory's blood run cold. She should run. She knew that with a certainty that vibrated through her entire body. But her feet felt rooted to the spot, as if the standing stone at her back had burrowed its roots into her shoes. The Heartstone pendant flared with warmth, near scorching against her skin, but she couldn't bring herself to move away from whatever this was that stood before her. The figure raised a hand, slender fingers with too many joints extending toward her face. In its palm rested something that looked like a blossom, but with petals that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. "Rory Carter," it whispered, its voice like the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze, yet somehow in her mind rather than her ears. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "How do you know my name?" The figure smiled, revealing teeth that seemed too small and too perfect. "We've been waiting." "Waiting for what?" The black eyes never left hers. "For you to return." "But I've never—" Rory began, but the words died in her throat as she watched the trees around them begin to stir once again, this time moving with purpose toward the clearing. Dread pooled in her stomach as she realized what was happening.