Crystallis pushed open the glassblower's workshop door and stopped. Two voices drifted from the back room. One belonged to the glassblower he'd come to meet. The other voice was selling something. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The workshop smelled like wood smoke and hot metal. Display shelves lined the walls, each one crowded with vases and bowls that caught the afternoon light. The voices grew louder as he approached the doorway to the back room. Through the gap, he saw the glassblower standing with arms crossed. A woman in a leather apron gestured at a wooden crate on the workbench. Glass clinked as she lifted something out. "These panes won't crack in winter," the woman said. "I've treated them with a resin compound. Flexible but strong." Crystallis recognized the sales pitch. She was offering durability. The same advantage he'd planned to offer with his enchantment. He'd spent two weeks preparing this meeting. He'd chosen the glassblower carefully—someone who supplied the Silverbrook Inn and understood quality. Someone who could afford to take a chance on enchanted glass. If this buyer said yes, other druids might finally see the marketplace as real instead of a fantasy. Now someone else was already here, offering a competing solution. The glassblower nodded slowly at the woman's demonstration. "Show me the test results again." Crystallis stepped into the doorway. Both of them turned. "I'm here for our appointment," he said. The glassblower glanced at the woman, then back at him. "Right. Give me a minute to finish here." "Actually," Crystallis said, walking to the display case that dominated the center of the room. The opal frame shimmered with rainbow colors around a blown glass sculpture—a tree with delicate branches spreading wide. "I'd like to show you both something." He pulled a glass pane from his satchel and set it on the workbench. Then he picked up a hammer from the tool rack. The woman's eyes widened. The glassblower moved forward, but Crystallis had already swung. The hammer struck the pane dead center. It rang like a bell and didn't crack. "Resin wears off," Crystallis said. "Magic grows stronger with use." He turned to the glassblower. "And I can teach your apprentices to shape it themselves." The woman grabbed her crate and left without another word. The glassblower picked up the pane, turning it in the light. His marketplace had just opened its first negotiation.

The glassblower set down the enchanted pane and looked at Crystallis with a different kind of attention. Not the polite wariness from their first exchange of letters. Something sharper. He tapped the glass twice with his knuckle, listening to the ring. "I want to show this to the Silverbrook's owner," the glassblower said. "Tomorrow morning. He's been asking for new windows in the dining room." He paused, studying Crystallis. "But I've been thinking. Why do I need you at all? You just said you'd teach my apprentices. Once they know how to make this, I could supply the inn directly. Cut you out entirely." Crystallis had expected resistance from druids who thought selling was beneath them. He hadn't planned for a buyer who understood the value too well. The glassblower was right. Teaching the craft meant losing control of it. But keeping it secret meant no one would trust it enough to buy. He needed the glassblower to demonstrate the product's worth, and the glassblower needed him to make it legitimate. Neither could move forward alone. "You could," Crystallis said. "But the Silverbrook won't buy from you based on a promise. They'll want proof. Tomorrow, when you show them this pane, I'll be there to explain how the enchantment adapts to stress. How it gets stronger in winter instead of weaker. And when they ask who created it, you can say your workshop did—with a druid partner who guarantees the quality." He met the glassblower's eyes. "We go together, or the inn buys nothing." The glassblower was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded once. "Together. But I want a contract before we walk through those doors." He pointed toward the window, where the Gothic cabin of the Silverbrook Inn rose against the hillside, its stained glass windows already glowing with afternoon light. "And I want half the profit from anything they order." Crystallis had won the meeting. But the price was splitting his first real sale with someone who now saw the same opportunity he did. He'd proven the market existed. Now he had to share it.

Crystallis arrived at the Silverbrook Inn fifteen minutes early, the enchanted pane wrapped in cloth under his arm. The glassblower wasn't there yet. That was fine. He'd use the time to read the room, maybe catch the owner before the formal pitch began. But when he stepped through the carved doorway into the front hall, voices were already coming from the dining room. The owner's low rumble. And someone else—confident, rehearsed, selling something. Crystallis moved to the doorway and saw a woman standing beside the dining room's center table. A purple crystal figure sat on the table between her and the owner—a mermaid, catching the morning light in waves of violet and pink. She was mid-pitch. "The treated glass in my catalog can handle temperature shifts without cracking," she said. "And unlike experimental methods, my supplier has been producing it for eight years. Proven. Reliable." The owner nodded, interested. Crystallis stepped into the room and unwrapped his pane. "Good morning," he said. "I'm here for our meeting." The owner blinked. "You're the druid? I thought—" He gestured at the woman. "She said she had an appointment." The woman smiled thinly. "I contacted you last week about superior glass options." Crystallis set his pane on the table beside the crystal mermaid. "Then we're both here to solve the same problem. Why don't we make it a demonstration? You can see both products side by side." The owner looked between them, then at the crystal figure. He picked it up, turned it in his hands, and set it down again. "All right," he said. "Show me what you've got." The woman went first, repeating her pitch about reliability and proven suppliers. Then Crystallis explained the enchantment—how it strengthened under stress, how it filtered light to keep the room warm at any hour. The owner asked him to prove it. Crystallis picked up a fork from the table and struck the pane hard. It rang clear. No crack. The woman's face tightened. The owner leaned forward. "What about cost?" he asked. Crystallis glanced at the doorway. The glassblower still wasn't there. He could quote a price now and lock in the deal, but without the glassblower's workshop to back him up, he'd be scrambling to fill the order alone. Or he could stall and risk losing the owner's interest. He looked at the crystal mermaid again, thought about the contract he'd signed last night, and made his choice. "My partner handles pricing," Crystallis said. "But I can tell you this—we're local, we can start immediately, and the enchantment lasts decades. Not years." The owner nodded slowly. The woman started to argue, but the glassblower finally appeared in the doorway, breathless and apologetic. He took one look at the scene and stepped beside Crystallis. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "What did I miss?" The owner smiled. "A contest. And I think you two just won it."

The owner stepped behind the counter and pulled out a leather folder. He opened it, glanced at the glassblower, then at Crystallis. "I'll need pricing by end of day," he said. "And a timeline for installation." Crystallis nodded, already calculating how many panes they could produce in a week. The door opened. A woman in a traveling cloak stepped inside, shaking rain from her shoulders. She looked around the dining room—taking in the tables, the windows, the owner—and her eyes locked on Crystallis. Her face went still. "You," she said. "You're the one who tried to sell enchanted glass in Thornwick three years ago." Crystallis felt the room shift. The glassblower turned to stare. The owner looked up from his folder. "I had a stall there," the woman continued. "Right next to yours. I watched you set up for two weeks. Big display. Promises about durability. Then your partner vanished with the deposit money and the whole thing collapsed." She reached into her cloak and pulled out an onyx locket, its intricate engravings catching the light. "Someone left this behind when they cleared out your booth. I kept it, thinking maybe you'd come back for it." She set it on the counter. "But you never did." The owner's expression changed. The glassblower took a step back. Crystallis picked up the locket, turned it over in his hands. He remembered the stall, the partner, the hollow feeling when the money disappeared. He'd walked away from that failure and built a list of backup plans so he'd never depend on one person again. But here it was, following him. He looked at the owner. "That deal fell apart," Crystallis said. "This one won't. I've got a contract, a workshop, and a product that works. You want guarantees? Test the glass yourself. Break it if you can." The owner studied him for a long moment. Then he closed the folder. "Pricing by end of day," he repeated. "And I want references." Crystallis nodded. The woman picked up the locket and left without another word. The glassblower waited until she was gone, then turned to Crystallis. "You didn't tell me about Thornwick." "It wasn't relevant," Crystallis said. "It is now," the glassblower said. "We get him those references, or this deal dies too."

The glassblower left to check his workshop inventory, promising to return within the hour with a list of past clients who might serve as references. Crystallis stayed in the dining room, watching the owner arrange silverware at empty tables. The owner moved through the room with practiced efficiency, straightening chairs and checking table settings. Crystallis followed at a polite distance, noting the layout. The dining room had new glass panes in every window. The bar area had replaced cracked tumblers last season, judging by the uniformity. But when the owner opened a service door near the kitchen, Crystallis glimpsed a back parlor—smaller, older, with shuttered windows that looked original to the building. The owner closed the door quickly, but not before Crystallis saw dust on the sills and warped wood frames. He pulled out a leather-bound journal from his satchel and flipped to a blank page. The embossed cover caught the light as he sketched the inn's floor plan from memory, marking the main dining room, the bar, and now this back space. He wrote a single line beneath it: *No supplier has touched this room. Why?* When the owner returned to the counter, Crystallis closed the journal and approached. "That parlor in the back," he said. "You planning to use it?" The owner's expression shifted—not defensive, but tired. "It's been closed for years. The windows are too far gone, and I can't afford to replace them until the main room pays off." Crystallis tapped the journal against his palm. "What if I gave you a quote for that space too? Same durability, same terms. You wouldn't have to pay until after the main room proves itself." The owner stared at him. "You're offering to gamble on my business." "I'm offering to solve a problem you've been ignoring," Crystallis said. "If the main room works, you'll want more. I'm just making sure you come back to me instead of someone else." The owner considered this, then nodded slowly. "Get me those references first. Then we'll talk about the parlor." Crystallis left the inn with the journal tucked back in his satchel, the sketch of the unclaimed space already shifting his calculations. He'd come in trying to close one deal. Now he had a foothold for two.

Crystallis waited outside the glassblower's workshop, watching foot traffic move through the lane. The references would arrive soon, or they wouldn't. Either way, he'd already started thinking past the inn deal. The marketplace needed more than one buyer to prove itself. A messenger arrived before the glassblower returned, carrying word from deeper in Kettle Fen. The blade competition venue—a converted hall near the market square—had discovered something during setup. Workers clearing storage found a sealed door behind old weapon racks. Inside was a forgotten market hall, untouched for decades. Crystallis paid the messenger and walked toward the venue immediately. When he arrived, workers were hauling debris from the entrance. He stepped inside and stopped. The space stretched wider than the main competition floor, with stalls built into the walls and a raised platform at the center. Dust covered everything, but the structure held. He crossed to the platform and brushed away grime from its surface. Intricate ruby inlays gleamed through the dirt, set into aged wood carved with merchant symbols. This had been a trading floor once—a real one, not a temporary stall or seasonal tent. Someone had built this to last. Crystallis ran his hand over the inlays and calculated. The competition would draw crowds. Visitors would pass through this space if someone claimed it first. He pulled out his journal and sketched the layout, marking sight lines from the entrance and counting stall positions. The inn deal mattered, but this was leverage. If he could secure this hall before the competition ended, he wouldn't need to convince scattered buyers one at a time. He could build the marketplace here, where people were already coming to spend money. He left the hall and found the venue administrator outside, a tired-looking official with a clipboard. Crystallis offered to lease the space for the duration of the competition, paying upfront for exclusive access. The administrator hesitated, then agreed when Crystallis doubled the offer. The contract was signed within the hour. Crystallis walked back toward the glassblower's workshop with the lease papers folded in his satchel. The references still mattered—the inn deal would prove the product worked. But he didn't need it to prove the marketplace could exist. He had a hall now, and a deadline. The competition would bring the crowd. He just needed to fill the stalls before they arrived.

Crystallis stood in the center of the empty hall, watching dust settle in the afternoon light. He'd secured the lease, but that solved nothing. The space was his for the duration of the competition, which meant he had less than two weeks to make it matter. He pulled the ornate onyx sign from his satchel and carried it to the entrance, where workers had cleared the doorway that morning. The carved patterns caught the light as he positioned it against the frame—too elegant for an empty room full of cobwebs, but that was the point. Anyone walking past would see it and wonder what kind of business could afford something that expensive. He stepped back and studied the effect. The sign looked permanent, like it had been there for years instead of minutes. Good. People needed to believe this hall was already claimed before they thought to ask questions. He turned back to the ruby-inlaid platform and pulled out his journal, flipping to the list of druids who'd refused to sell their work. Most of them kept workshops within walking distance of the competition venue. If he visited each one today with a simple offer—a free stall for the week, no rent, just bring whatever glass they wanted to display—some would say yes out of curiosity alone. He didn't need all of them. Three or four filled stalls would make the hall look active when the crowds arrived. The rest would follow once they saw people buying. Crystallis folded the journal and headed for the door, leaving the sign where anyone entering would see it first.

Crystallis returned to the hall entrance just as the sun dropped behind the competition venue. The ornate sign caught the last light, throwing carved shadows across the threshold. He stepped inside and stopped. A woman stood near the ruby-inlaid platform, her back to him. She turned when his boots scraped stone. It was the woman from Thornwick. The one who'd returned the onyx locket. She watched him close the distance, her expression unreadable. "I heard you secured a lease," she said. "I also heard you're recruiting druids who won't sell." She reached into her coat and pulled out an envelope, cream-colored with a wax seal pressed into the fold. "I brought buyers. Real ones. People who've been waiting three years to see enchanted glass again." Crystallis stared at the envelope. He'd spent the afternoon planning visits to reluctant artisans, betting he could fill three or four stalls by offering free space. She was offering something faster—a network already built, buyers who remembered the Thornwick stall before it collapsed. But taking her list meant owing her something, and he'd learned in Thornwick what happened when partnerships weren't clear from the start. "What do you want for it?" he asked. She held the envelope steady. "A stall. First row. And ten percent of whatever moves through it during the competition." He considered the cost. Ten percent was steep, but the envelope represented weeks of groundwork he didn't have time to replicate. If her buyers showed up opening day, other vendors would see the crowds and want in. The hall would fill itself. He took the envelope and broke the seal. Inside were names, addresses, and notes written in careful script—innkeepers, private collectors, a theatrical supplier. Fifteen buyers, all within a day's travel of Kettle Fen. "First row," he said. "And you bring at least five of these people through the door before the competition ends, or the percentage drops to five." She smiled for the first time since Thornwick. "Deal."

Crystallis arrived at the hall the next morning to find a stranger leaning against the entrance. The man straightened when he spotted Crystallis, then pulled a folded document from his coat. He introduced himself as a vendor who'd paid for event space six months ago. Crystallis glanced past him. Inside the hall, a heavy display case sat in the first-row stall—the exact spot he'd promised the woman from Thornwick. Above it hung an ornate name plate, all scrollwork and dark metal. The vendor followed his gaze. "I leased it through the competition organizers," he said, tapping the document. "Long before you showed up." Crystallis scanned the paper. The dates checked out. The vendor had a contract, signed and stamped, predating his own lease by half a year. But the venue administrator had promised him exclusive use of the entire hall—no exceptions, no conflicts. Someone had sold the same space twice. Crystallis folded the document and handed it back. "Keep your stall," he said. "Second row. Same visibility, and I'll waive the first week's fee." The vendor frowned, clearly expecting a fight. "The contract says first row." Crystallis pulled out his own lease and held it up. "Mine says exclusive access to the hall. We can spend the next two weeks arguing with the venue, or you can set up tomorrow and start selling when the crowds arrive." The vendor studied him, then glanced at the empty hall behind them. He nodded once. "Second row. No fee." Crystallis walked past him into the hall. He'd lost the woman's stall, but he'd gained a vendor who'd be ready to open on time. He'd have to tell her the first-row spot was gone—and hope she still brought the buyers.

Crystallis walked the perimeter of the hall that afternoon, checking every support beam and running his hand along the walls. The vendor's arrival had cost him the first-row stall, but it had also reminded him that six months ago, someone else had been confident enough to sign a lease here. He found the problem behind a stack of crates the venue administrator must have shoved against the back wall. The stone showed deep cracks running from floor to ceiling, moss growing thick in the gaps. He pressed his palm against it and felt the cold draft leaking through from outside. The wall wasn't just damaged—it was failing. He traced the largest crack with his finger and watched a chunk of mortar crumble away. The venue administrator had known about this. That's why the hall had been sealed for decades. That's why Crystallis got an exclusive lease for double the price with no questions asked. He pulled his journal from his coat and sketched the damage, marking the location and the angle of the cracks. If the wall came down during the competition, it would take half the hall with it—and anyone standing inside. He closed the journal. The marketplace couldn't open here. Not like this. He'd have to pay for repairs before a single vendor moved in, or walk away from the lease entirely and start over somewhere else.

Crystallis stood in the empty hall, staring at the cracked wall. The vendor's stall wasn't the problem anymore. Neither was the woman from Thornwick or her promised buyers. The wall would cost more to fix than he'd paid for the entire lease. He walked outside to think. A stone courtyard sat behind the hall, black stones covered in thick moss. Fog drifted between the archways. He was halfway across when he saw them—a group of well-dressed buyers standing near the entrance, examining the stonework. The woman from Thornwick stood at the center, gesturing toward the hall. She spotted him and walked over. "Your partner," she said quietly. "The one who disappeared with the deposit money three years ago." She paused. "It wasn't him. The venue administrator in Thornwick took the money and paid your partner to leave town. Same man who leased you this hall." Crystallis stared at her. "He's been running the same scheme for years. Sells leases, pockets deposits, blames someone else when it falls apart." She nodded toward her buyers. "I brought fifteen. They're ready to see your marketplace. But you need to know what you're working with." Crystallis looked back at the hall, then at the buyers waiting in the courtyard. He could walk away now, or he could open the doors and prove the marketplace could work—even with a failing wall and a crooked landlord. He pulled out his journal and started writing down names.

Crystallis was still writing names when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned. The woman from Thornwick stood a few feet away, her expression unreadable. Beyond her, the buyers were moving toward the hall entrance, talking among themselves. A man stepped through the archway. He wore expensive traveling clothes and carried a leather satchel. Around his neck hung a brass pendant covered in moss, its face engraved with coordinates and dates. The woman tensed. Crystallis recognized him immediately—the venue administrator from Thornwick. The man smiled and walked toward the buyers, extending his hand to the nearest one. "Welcome to Kettle Fen," he said smoothly. "I see you've found our new marketplace." The woman grabbed Crystallis's arm. "He's here to pull the same scheme again," she whispered. "He'll pretend to support your venture, then sabotage it when the deposits come through." Crystallis closed his journal. The buyers were talking with the administrator now, nodding politely. If Crystallis confronted him, the administrator would deny everything and poison the buyers against him. If he stayed silent, the man would work his way into the operation and destroy it from within. Crystallis walked straight to the group and stopped in front of the administrator. "These buyers are here for enchanted glass," he said clearly. "Not venue management." The administrator's smile didn't waver. "Of course. I'm simply greeting our guests." He gestured toward the hall. "Though I should mention—structural concerns may delay your opening. We'll need to discuss repairs." Crystallis turned to the buyers. "The hall opens tomorrow morning at nine. First demonstration starts at half past." He looked back at the administrator. "Any structural concerns can be addressed after that." The administrator's smile tightened. He nodded once and walked away. The woman exhaled. "That won't stop him." Crystallis watched the man disappear into the fog. "No. But now the buyers know I'm running this marketplace, not him." He opened his journal again and finished writing the last name.

Crystallis arrived at the hall before dawn to check the repairs. The first buyers were scheduled for nine. He walked through the archway and stopped. The wall was gone. Not repaired—collapsed. Rubble covered the entrance in a wide pile that spilled across the threshold. He stared at the moss-covered stones scattered across the muddy ground. The administrator had warned about structural concerns yesterday. This wasn't an accident—it was sabotage timed perfectly to block opening day. Crystallis turned and walked back through the archway. The competition grounds were already stirring with early vendors. He found a crew of laborers setting up stalls near the main entrance and offered them double wages to clear the rubble before nine. They looked at each other, then nodded. Crystallis watched them head toward the hall with shovels and carts. The buyers would arrive to see workers instead of a polished entrance, but they'd also see him solving problems instead of making excuses. He opened his journal and wrote down the labor cost. The marketplace would open today, even if it opened messy.

The laborers finished clearing the rubble at half past eight. Crystallis walked back through the archway into the hall. Three druids stood near the stalls he'd promised them, glass pieces already arranged on display tables. The woman from Thornwick was there too, checking her list of buyers. One druid stood apart from the others, arms crossed. He held a wooden sign with a red hand painted palm-out against his chest. "I'm not selling," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "This is wrong. We don't trade sacred work for coin." The other druids looked at Crystallis, waiting. He could argue, but the buyers would arrive in twenty minutes and this druid had already made his choice visible to everyone. Crystallis walked past him to the remaining two druids. "Your stalls are yours," he said. "Display what you want. Price it how you want. I'll bring the buyers through." The druid with the sign turned and left through the archway. The other two stayed. Crystallis counted that as enough—two artisans willing to sell meant the marketplace existed, even if it started smaller than he'd planned.

Crystallis watched the laborers haul away the last of the broken stone. One of them called out from behind the pile, pointing at something in the gap. Crystallis walked closer. The collapsed wall had opened into darkness—a narrow passage sealed behind layers of mortared brick. He grabbed a lantern from the nearest stall and stepped through. The passage sloped down, moss thick on the walls. At the bottom sat a tomb carved from black stone, its surface covered in symbols he didn't recognize. The green moss made them hard to read, but the age was obvious—this structure predated the hall above by decades, maybe centuries. Crystallis ran his hand along the entrance. Someone had built the market hall directly over this place, sealing it off without destroying it. He turned back toward the passage. The buyers would arrive in minutes, and he had a marketplace to open. But this tomb wasn't going anywhere. He climbed back up, pulled the laborers aside, and paid them to stack crates in front of the passage entrance. Whatever lay inside that tomb, it could wait until after the competition ended.

Crystallis climbed back into the hall and checked the time. The buyers were due in twenty minutes. He walked to the entrance and looked down the corridor toward the competition grounds. Voices echoed from that direction—crowds gathering for the day's events. The market hall sat quiet behind him. Footsteps approached from the corridor. A group of well-dressed buyers appeared at the entrance, just as the woman from Thornwick had promised. Crystallis stepped forward to greet them, but movement from the far end of the hall stopped him. The administrator stood near the second-row stalls, tapping a carved wooden staff against the floor. The marsh bird head at its top caught the light as he gestured toward a rival vendor's display. "You'll find better terms over here," the administrator said to the buyers, his voice carrying across the empty space. "This section has proper oversight." Crystallis crossed the hall in ten strides. He positioned himself between the administrator and the buyers, meeting their eyes directly. "The woman who brought you knows where the enchanted glass is," he said, pointing toward the first-row stalls where the two druids waited. "Those are the artisans you came to see." The buyers hesitated, glancing between Crystallis and the administrator. The administrator opened his mouth to object, but Crystallis kept talking. "If you want treated panes or standard glasswork, there are suppliers at the competition grounds. If you want druid-crafted enchantments that won't break under hammer strikes, you'll find them at those stalls." Three of the buyers moved toward the first row without waiting for the administrator's response. The others followed. The administrator lowered his staff and stepped back, his expression unreadable. Crystallis stayed where he was until every buyer had passed, then turned toward the stalls where the druids were already pulling out their best pieces.

Crystallis watched the buyers settle at the druids' stalls, but a flash of movement at the far end of the hall pulled his eye. The administrator had not left. He stood beside a tall glass-paneled display case the vendors used as a shared showpiece, its colored panes glowing like a small greenhouse under the lamps. A buyer Crystallis did not recognize stood beside him. Crystallis crossed the floor. On a side table near the display, a delicate glass willow sculpture caught the light, and beside it lay a folded document sealed with dark wax. The administrator slid the document toward the buyer's hand. "A notice from the original leaseholder," he said. "The hall's prior claim was never cleared. Any lease signed here is void." The buyer turned the seal over. The mark pressed into the wax was the same crest Crystallis had seen on his own lease papers. Crystallis picked up the document before the buyer could open it. He broke the seal himself and read it aloud—every line, slow and clear. The claim named no court, no date, no signature beyond the administrator's own. "This is his handwriting," Crystallis said, holding it up. "He sold me the lease. Now he writes notices against it." The buyer stepped back from the administrator. Two druids and the woman from Thornwick had drifted close enough to hear. The administrator reached for the paper. Crystallis tore it in half, then in half again, and dropped the pieces beside the glass willow. "You're done here," he said. The administrator left through the corridor without his staff. Crystallis turned to the buyer and gestured toward the first-row stalls. The sale would close before noon.

Crystallis turned from the closed sale and saw a new buyer waiting near the back of the hall. The man stood beside the tall bramble-wrapped stone that rose through the floor at the marketplace's center — a marker Crystallis had treated as old decoration. The man's eyes were not on the glass. They were on the carvings half-hidden under the vines. "You can't open above this," he said. "Not here." The buyer set a small crystal lantern on a crate beside him. Its bioluminescent glow named him without words — Crystallis had seen that same light burning over the swamp sanctuary at the fen's edge, where the keepers logged every old grave. The man drew a folded sketch from his coat: an etched glass canopy shaped like a spirit tree, its branches inscribed with the very symbols sealed below. "My order keeps these maps," he said. "The stone marks a tomb. Trade above the dead and the contracts won't hold. No druid here will sign past sundown once word travels." Crystallis looked at the standing stone, then at the two druids watching from their stalls, then at the woman from Thornwick near the door. He had pivoted enough times to know a wall when he met one. He did not argue. He stepped onto a crate and raised his voice across the hall. "The trading floor moves," he said. "Above ground. Open air. Today's sales stand. Tomorrow we set stalls in the courtyard under the arch." He turned to the buyer. "Walk it with me. Mark what we can't disturb. I'll build around your map." They opened the next morning beneath the mossy stone arch, the druids' panes catching real sun for the first time. The buyer from the sanctuary signed for a full canopy of spirit-tree glass to hang above his lantern hall. The woman from Thornwick brought the rest of her list through before noon. The glassblower's contract closed clean. Crystallis stood at the new entrance and watched coin pass into druid hands — quiet, steady, the marketplace he had chased for three years finally breathing on its own. He folded his journal shut. The work was done.