Chapter 47
Rowe
It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve been in downtown proper, so I go for a drive through Mystic Meadows. What I see stops me cold.
The grime, the faded exteriors, the dull, lifeless film that coated Mystic Meadows foryears—gone. It’s like someone took a celestial sponge and scrubbed the town clean, swiping away every trace of decay and disappointment.
For so long, people tried to fight back against the fading magic. Pressure-washing their storefronts. Slapping on new coats of paint. Stringing up extra lights to chase away the gloom. But no matter what they did, the sparkle never stuck.
Until now.
Now the towngleams. The buildings, once faded and tired, practically glow in the sunlight, their facades vibrant and crisp. The trees seem taller, fuller, their emerald leaves rustling like they’ve finally shaken off years of exhaustion. Even the sky is bluer—not just blue, but a rich, deep sapphire that stretches endlessly overhead, the kind of sky that makes you want to believe in things you once thought impossible.
And the air . . .
It’salive.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifts from the café, richer and warmer than I’ve ever smelled it. The buttery sweetness of pastries lingers in the breeze. Even the earth beneath my boots feels different—softer, warmer, like the very land is humming beneath my feet.
And now the river sparkles.
No longer a sluggish ribbon of murky sludge, it shimmers under the afternoon sun, liquid silver threaded with flecks of iridescence. It’s the kind of water you want to touch, just to see if the magic clings to your skin.
But it’s not just about how things look.
It’s about how theyfeel.
There’s a hum in the air, a quiet, pulsing energy that vibrates through every breath I take. It’s in the wind. In the pavement beneath my boots. In the way people walk—heads higher, shoulders looser, laughter spilling from their lips like a melody the town had forgotten.
I think of what Pane said, that the starfizz berries worked with the ley lines, strengthening the magic that had been dormant for so long. It wasn’t just the town that needed them; the magic itself needed something to anchor it. A symbiotic relationship. One couldn’t exist wholly without the other.
I know this firsthand. My family’s farm has always heldsomemagic, but it was small, quiet, nearly forgotten. Nothing likethis. Nothing like the way it breathes through Mystic Meadows now.
The people are different, too.
Gone are the drab, lifeless clothes, the muted tones that once let them fade into the background. Now, colorexplodeseverywhere—bright skirts, patterned shirts, vibrant scarves fluttering in the wind. People smile freely, their movements lighter, as if some invisible weight has been lifted from their shoulders.
It’s joy, pure and unmistakable, and it’s everywhere.
“Hey, Rowe!”
I glance over to see Coleman Barrier waving at me as he opens a clapboard sign advertising discounts on hammers.
Coleman Barrier, the human splinter, is waving. At me.
I return the gesture and yell out, “Good to see you, Coleman!”
“Same here! We’re all proud of your farm.”
So am I, so much so that I can’t stop smiling as I make my way home.
By the time I reach the farm, I feel the change here, too. The land welcomes me back, buzzing with the same quiet magic that now fills the town.
I pull into the driveway, kill the engine, and step out, drinking it all in. The farm stretches before me, vibrant and alive,minein a way it hasn’t been inyears. I let out a breath and smile.
For the first time in ages, Mystic Meadows—and the people in it—feel like they’ve finally woken up.
“Have you heard?” Cristina says into the phone, her voice on supersonic speed.
