Great Sourdough Rebellion

Seven floors below the University of Caerbridge, the aetheric lanterns give out. Floating candles take their place. Dust drifts according to its own opinion of gravity. And a two-hundred-year-old brownie named Angus has firm views on tea — which he shares only by raising one eyebrow.Gwendolyn Fairhollow was not supposed to end up here. She had a plan in five colors of ink. The Brass Drawing Machine hummed for thirteen seconds and sent her down to the Subterranean Archive instead.What waits is nothing the gossip upstairs prepared her for. A chaotic brownie who eats anything not actively fleeing him. A dreamy cartographer with cinnamon buns and a glass pen that draws maps in pure light. And on the deepest shelves — untouched for two centuries — old fairy tales stirring awake.Beyond the door of one ancient scroll: cardamom, warm dough, and a kingdom of bread. A path of crumbs ready to be laid, in a story you thought you had grown out of — the kind that begins with two children, a hungry forest, and an oven that hums a little too sweetly.Come down the spiral stairs. The kettle is on. Someone has set three mugs without being asked.