Gaspard The Blind planted his skull-topped staff in the dirt outside Puddlewick's town square. The crocodile mystic tilted his snout toward the sky, catching the scent of potential customers in the morning air. He wanted to build a proper marketplace here—a place where spirit workers could gather and trade their skills. Behind him sat his newest investment—a cart shaped like a tiny house. Purple shingles covered the roof, and the golden wood gleamed in the morning light. He'd spent his last coins on it three days ago. The cart would let him offer readings right here in the square, where people gathered each morning. If he could prove his skills worked, other mystics might join him. Word would spread. Customers would come looking for answers. Gaspard ran his claws along the cart's smooth walls. This small house on wheels was the first piece of his dream—a seed that would grow into something bigger. The cart was just the beginning. Gaspard had his eye on a decaying wooden structure at the edge of town. The old hut sat among the swamp reeds, its walls covered in moss and strange fungi. Mystical herbs grew wild around its base. It looked like it might collapse any day, but Gaspard saw its true value. That building could become the heart of his marketplace—a proper home for spirit work. He would start here in the square with his cart, build his reputation one reading at a time, and earn enough coin to claim that swamp hut. Then other mystics would come. They would see what he'd built and want to be part of it. Gaspard opened the cart's small door and stepped inside. He arranged his tools on the narrow shelf—bones for casting, dried flowers for tea, candles that smelled of sage. Everything had its place. The morning crowds would arrive soon, and he needed to be ready. Outside, he pictured the swamp hut transformed—walls repaired, a proper altar inside, and maybe a fountain where customers could leave offerings. He'd seen one in a dream last night—an alligator statue with purple water flowing down its scales, candles burning around its base. That vision felt like a message from the spirits themselves. First the cart, then the hut, then the fountain. Each piece would draw more believers until Puddlewick became known for spirit work. Gaspard stepped back outside and waited for his first customer, knowing every coin earned today brought him closer to the marketplace he'd build tomorrow.