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For a second the shop felt too small for the amount of road dust and stubborn loyalty that had just stepped inside it.
Gael’s eyes moved the way an experienced foreman’s eyes move. He checked the hinges. He checked the corners where a thief might hide. He checked the ceiling as if expecting the roof to be dishonest. Orna leaned one shoulder against the counter, arms folded, and stared at the crafting table in the back like it was a sleeping beast she wanted to wrestle awake. Kel stood near the door and listened to the street sounds with the calm of a man who had learned that cities bite differently than mines.
Edda stayed closest to John, not clingy, just placed. Like a knife sheathed at the right hip.
Fizz hovered at John’s shoulder and whispered, "Our house slls like new beginnings and slightly illegal ambition."
"It slls like wood and soot," John murmured.
"That is how ambition slls," Fizz insisted.
The knock ca again, harder this ti. Not a polite knock. Not a threat either. The kind of knock that ant, I am paid to stand here and I am not enjoying it.
John’s spine tightened. The shop had barely taken its first breath and the city was already at the door.
Gael’s hand drifted toward the hamr strapped at his belt. Orna’s eyes sharpened. Kel shifted his stance like a door that had decided it could also be a wall.
John lifted one hand, palm down. "Wait," he said, calm on purpose.
He walked to the door, opened it only a hand’s width, and found two city guards outside. A new guard had co. He was inspecting the shop surroundings. He wore the city colors and the expression of n who had seen five kinds of nonsense before breakfast.
He squinted into the shop and then fixed his gaze on John’s face. "You the new occupant?"
"Yes," John said.
"Show us the paperwork and purpose."
John did not like how the word purpose sounded in a city guard’s mouth. Purpose could beco paperwork, and paperwork could beco fees, and fees could beco threats if soone wanted them to.
He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a folded packet sealed with clean wax. The seal was not fancy, but it carried a mark that made the guards’ brows lift before they could stop themselves. A crest of Heart magic academy. A signature line. A small stamp that said, without saying, this has already been spoken for.
John held it out.
The first guard took it, broke the seal, and scanned the pages with the tired competence of a man who could read lies by sll. The second guard leaned in, eyes narrowing at the signatures.
There were several sheets. Deed transfer. Residency statent. Shop registration. A temporary trade license. A note about permitted work types, including talwork, enchanted tools, and "chanical crafting implents," which was a very careful way of not writing the word modern weapons.
At the bottom was the part that mattered. The line that made the city behave.
Headmaster Snake’s signature.
The guard’s mouth tightened, then loosened, then tightened again, like he was trying to decide whether he liked being impressed.
"You got heart academy backing," he said.
"I got paperwork," John replied.
The guard snorted once, amused despite himself. "Sa thing in this city."
He flipped another page. "You are running a proper business, you pay your taxes on ti. You miss a quarter, the city will love you. The city loves you so much it will send you letters. Then n. Then locks."
"I will pay," John said.
"Good," the guard said, and handed the packet back with unexpected care, like it had sharp edges that might cut him if he was disrespectful. His eyes slid past John, briefly catching the shapes of Gael and Orna and Kel behind him, and the floating orange spirit that looked like it had opinions about authority.
His voice lowered a fraction. "Also, this street doesn’t like noise. If you start making trouble, you will et people who don’t wear uniforms. Be careful..."
John’s tone stayed polite. "We are quiet."
The guard’s gaze flicked to the back room where the forge and the crafting table waited. "Quiet is a habit. Keep it."
He stepped back. The second guard nodded once, the nod of a man satisfied that his job today would not include blood.
They turned and left.
Fizz waited until their boots faded. Then he leaned toward John and whispered loudly, "Pay taxes. Avoid noise. Do not anger the city’s invisible grandmothers. Understood."
Orna let out a breath she had been holding and rolled her shoulders. "So we are legal."
"Legal enough," Kel said.
Gael nodded slowly. "Legal is a shield," he said. "Not armor. But it helps."
Edda’s lips curved. "The headmaster did more than help. He wrapped you in a na the city respects."
John folded the papers carefully and tucked them away again. "It is temporary," he said. "We still do the work."
"Work we can do," Gael rumbled, and the sound was comfort in a barrel.
Edda tapped the side of her head as if rembering sothing. "I should go," she said. "I need to make one more pass through the alleys and check if anyone is watching this shop with hungry eyes. I will return in the afternoon."
John nodded. "Do not take risks."
Edda smiled as if he had told her not to breathe. "I will take only the useful kind."
Fizz floated closer and sniffed her braid like it was a suspicious docunt. "Be back with information and snacks."
Edda’s smile turned sly. "Information, yes. Snacks... depends if I feel like bribing you."
"You always feel like bribing ," Fizz said with full confidence in the universe.
Edda slipped out, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
For a mont, the shop was quieter without her sharp presence.
Gael rubbed his hands together. "Now," he said, "show what you want arranged."
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