You wake up on the morning of Greenrise Day, the most important celebration in all of Iredale. You have lived in Iredale your entire life, and on Greenrise Day, the land is usually bursting with magic. Hills glow faintly at dawn. Rivers sparkle like twinkling jewels. Even ordinary things—stones, boots, door hinges—seem to work just a little better. But today, the magic feels… thin. When you sit up, the light coming through your window looks pale, as if it lost its confidence overnight. Outside, a wind chime tangles itself into knots. You watch a cat try to leap onto a fence and miss by inches. Down the road, a merchant drops a sack of flour and it hits a stack of pots that clatter to the ground. Luck is fading in Iredale. You pull on your boots and step outside. The air smells wrong, like rain that never arrives. Then you hear it—a deep bell, ringing from somewhere far below the ground.