The chain is fitted first, tightened so it sits firm across the shoulders, the weight spread to hold against what will answer. Only then is the bell checked — turned once between finger and thumb, listening for the small, contained sound it gives when tested. Not loud. Never loud. It doesn’t need to be. At the edge of the quarry, where the stone has split open and the heat lingers even after dusk, the summoner steps forward and lets it sound. It carries differently than any other bell. Not outward, not across distance, but downward — into the ground, into whatever sleeps beneath it. The chain shifts once as something answers far below, a movement felt more than heard, a slow turning of something large enough to displace the air. The bell stills again. The chain holds. And then, from the dark below, something begins to rise.
