Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD7Y5PQTZBKR8V63Q0QHP2H

The air in Richmond Park clung to Aurora’s skin like damp wool as she pushed through the final curtain of ivy. The Heartstone Pendant at her throat pulsed once—unnaturally warm against her collarbone—and she paused, fingers tightening around the silver chain. The map Silas had scribbled on a napkin last night didn’t lie. The grove was here, somewhere beyond these ancient oaks, but the path felt wrong now. Too many steps. Too much time. She’d meant to leave an hour ago. The delivery for Golden Empress was supposed to wrap up by six, but Yu-Fei had lingered over the dumplings, pressing another plate into her hands. “For your friend,” she’d said, nodding toward the bar. A gesture, not a mistake. Still, the flat above Silas’s felt like a sanctuary. Safe. Aurora had climbed those stairs a hundred times, counted them on her fingers, known every creak in the wood. But here, in the park, the trees leaned inward like spectators at a crime scene. A branch snapped behind her. She spun, heart drumming against her ribs, but the darkness beyond the trees swallowed sound. Only the wind moved, rustling through leaves that shouldn’t have been green this late in autumn. Her breath fogged in the air, though the temperature hadn’t dropped. Wrong. Everything was wrong. The pendant flared again, crimson light bleeding through the silver links. Aurora pressed a palm to her chest, feeling its steady thrum against her heartbeat. *Near a Hel portal*, Silas had whispered the night before, eyes glazed over like he was seeing something behind her. “It’s not a coincidence you found it.” But what did he know? What *were* they? She took another step forward, then another, until the path narrowed between trunks that stretched impossibly tall. Their bark was smooth, almost polished, and when she brushed a hand against one, it felt warm. Living. The wildflowers at the base of the trees—violet and gold, impossibly vibrant—twitched as she passed. Not in the wind. Never in the wind. A sound curled around her ears then. A child’s laugh. High, brittle, like glass breaking. Aurora froze. The laugh came again, closer. From *inside* the trees. She strained her ears, but no wind carried it. No bird called. Only silence, thick and waiting. She unclenched her fist from the pendant and gripped her phone instead. Battery at 12%. No signal, obviously. Of course. The laugh faded. In its place rose something else: a humming, harmonic and sweet, like a lullaby she couldn’t place. It threaded through the air, weaving between her ribs, and she realized it wasn’t coming from any direction. It was *everywhere*. The trees seemed to lean closer, their branches parting just enough to frame a clearing she hadn’t seen before. In its center stood the standing stones. They rose from the grass like teeth, ancient oaks twisted into columnar forms, their bark etched with symbols she couldn’t decipher. Runes, maybe. Or scars. The pendant grew hot, its glow intensifying until she could read the carvings on the nearest stone: *“Here, the veil thins. Tread lightly, child of two worlds.”* Her throat worked dry. She should’ve known. The map wasn’t hers—Silas must’ve copied it from somewhere. But why? Why send her here alone? The humming swelled, and the flowers in the clearing began to tilt toward her, their petals parting like mouths. Aurora stumbled backward, tripped over a root, and crashed to her knees. The pendant flared crimson, and for a heartbeat, she saw it: the space between the trees wasn’t empty. Shadows moved there, shapes that avoided the light, and when one shifted, it held the profile of a face—*a woman’s face*—with eyes like black wells. “Hello?” Her voice cracked, small and foolish. No answer. Only the humming, now threaded with whispers. Words she almost understood. *“Return. Return. Return.”* She scrambled to her feet, spinning away from the stones. The path had vanished. In its place loomed a wall of trunks, their branches interlocked so tightly that moonlight never reached the ground. The flowers here were black, their centers glowing faintly red. She could smell them now—rot and honey, something sweet and spoiled. Behind her, the trees parted. She didn’t turn around. Didn’t need to. She felt the presence there, pressing against her mind like a hand over a mouth. *Don’t look back. Don’t listen.* But the humming became a song, and the song became her mother’s voice, singing her to sleep when she was five. Aurora’s knees buckled. When she came to, the clearing was gone. The stones were gone. Only the path remained, winding ahead into darkness, and the pendant cold against her skin. She walked. Couldn’t stop. The map had led her here, but where was *home*? The flat above the bar felt like a dream. The delivery orders in her pocket crumbled to ash in her hands. All she had was the pendant, and the certainty that something had followed her out of the grove—something wearing her mother’s voice, her mother’s face, her mother’s *name*. A branch grazed her shoulder. She looked up. The moon hung full and silver, but its light felt thin, filtered through a veil of leaves. The trees stood in perfect silence. No wind. No flowers. No humming. Only the pendant, pulsing once, twice, and the slow, steady drip of something wet against the grass at her feet.