---
John stepped aside and let them see what he had, and what he did not have. The front shop was bare except for the counter and a few shelves that wanted an upgrade. The back room had the forge corner, the vent, the small storage, and the new crafting table that still looked too clean to trust. They need to build some furniture.
Gael, Orna, and Kel began unpacking what they had brought from the village like men and women unpacking a future. Wrapped blades. Simple tools. A dozen neat hammers. A row of tongs with different jaws. Nails bundled in waxed cloth. A stack of basic ward plates that could be sold as "safety charms" to shopkeepers who feared thieves more than gods.
Orna lifted one of the plates and whistled. "This one is clean," she said. "Bren did the tempering."
Gael grunted. "Bren never misses."
