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When people say "fantasy," they usually picture dragons, prophecies, great battles, magic that reshapes the world. I like those stories. But that's not the one I want to tell.

No heroes conjured out of thin air. A girl lives her life, then — bang — circumstances turn her into a chosen one and the villagers can't cook porridge without her wisdom. I don't want that. Wonder should feel rare. Or so ordinary that nobody panics anymore.

In Windfall there are memory stones. Ancient boulders at crossroads. People stop, leave small offerings, or just stand quiet for a minute before moving on. They're said to hold what shouldn't be forgotten: promises, grief, gratitude, old myths.