When he arrived at the blacksmith’s, it was to the sound of dual hammers working away in the back. Making his way down the small alley on the side of the house, he found the dwarf working away at one anvil, while a human man was on another.

  Draden leaned against the side of the house, watching them work for a minute before stepping closer. Brock noticed him first, and after taking one final swing of his hammer, placed the item he had been working on to the side.

  “I wasn’t sure if I was going to see you today or tomorrow,” Brock said as he splashed some water on his face and wiped his hands clean. “His girl should be telling you today that they were finished, and that you needed to come in and inspect them.”

  Draden looked closer at the man still hammering away. “That’s Alice’s dad? Last I heard from her, his latest injury was better. I hadn’t realized he was already back to work though.”

  The dwarf smiled. “Yesterday was his first day. He came over after Alice left to go work for you. It went well enough that he decided to make today a full day of it.”

  Draden’s gaze softened as he looked at the man. He was several years older than himself but already looked as though he had been worn to the bone by life. He saw a reflection of what he might have become if he had never become a cultivator or if he hadn’t eventually pulled himself back together from his injuries to provide for Leah. It was an image that simultaneously filled him with pride and sadness. This was a man who did everything he could to provide for his family. Yet, the sadness was there because the man had still been punched down repeatedly, and in himself because he had simply wallowed in his own misery instead of doing what this man had done. Alice’s father was a better man, a better father than he was, but that would change.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Alice is a hard worker. She’s been a great help at the restaurant.”

  The dwarf, Brock, let out a huff that sounded like his lungs were clogged. “Aye, she’s a good lass. Takes after her father that way.” He gestured with his hammer toward the second man, who had finally stopped his work and was wiping his sweat-slicked face with a rag. “Draden, this is Aden, Alice’s father. Aden, this is the man who’s been keepin’ your girl busy and your belly full, I wager.”

  Aden stepped forward, his movements a bit stiff but without the pained slowness Draden had imagined. His hand, rough and calloused, met Draden’s in a firm grip. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Alice… she hasn’t stopped talking about the restaurant. About you.” He paused, his eyes, a clear, honest blue, searching Draden’s face. “The food she brings home… I haven’t felt this good in years. It’s not just the back; it’s… everything. I feel stronger. Clearer.”

  “I’m happy it’s helping,” Draden said, meaning it. Seeing the tangible results of his cooking, the hope it brought to people like Aden, was a powerful remedy to the pressure that the City Lord and the others were beginning to put on him. “She mentioned you were a blacksmith as well?”

  Aden nodded, a sad smile touching his lips. “I was… still am, I suppose. Did a lot of finer work, scrollwork, and filigree. Can’t manage the delicate stuff anymore. The back won’t hold steady for it. But I can still swing a hammer for Brock here. Keeps my hands busy.”

  “Nonsense,” Brock grumbled, though his eyes held a deep affection for the man. “Your hammer falls truer than any apprentice I’ve had or smith I’ve ever known. Now, about your order.” He turned and hefted two large, heavy-bottomed mixing bowls from a workbench. They were flawless, formed from a single piece of dark iron, with their surfaces smooth and even. “Bowls, like you drew. And these.” He revealed two rectangular pans, each indented with twelve perfect cups. “Mooffin tins. Had to puzzle that one out a bit. Never made cookware for a man who bakes such fancy things before.”

  Draden took one of the muffin tins, its weight substantial in his hands. The craftsmanship was impeccable. “It’s pronounced muffin, and these are perfect, Brock. Better than I imagined.” He reached into his pouch, but the dwarf waved him off.

  “Alice already paid me with a bag full of those golden rings of yours. Aden’s not the only one who is feeling a little better,” Brock said, a twinkle in his eye. “Consider this the start of a professional relationship. You need something made of metal, you come to me.”

  “That was already the plan. These were just to make sure you wouldn’t get mad when I asked you to make something simple and not befitting your status as the world’s best blacksmith.” Draden told him with a grin.

  Brock laughed, slapping his leg. “I’ve seen that with other blacksmiths, but work is work. There is no point in bringing your ego into business.”

  “Agreed,” Draden pulled out his small notebook from his pocket and ripped out the sketches he’d made for the whisk, grater, and mandolin. “Can you make these?”

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  Brock studied the drawings, his thick fingers surprisingly deft as he turned the parchment over. He let out a low whistle. “A whisk made of wire instead of bamboo… interesting. I’ll need Aden’s help to form the wires, and this second one. I’ve never seen anything like it. The third design should be relatively easy, at least. Dangerous little tool if you’re not careful though.” He nodded slowly. “Aye, we can make ’em. It’ll take some time to get the wires right and all the punch outs done and sharpened on the second one. But we can do it.”

  “Here, eat these,” Before Aden could return to his anvil, Draden stopped him. He opened the satchel he’d brought and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside were two of the biscuits he’d made. “It’s a new recipe. I’d appreciate your opinion.”

  Aden looked at the biscuit, then at Draden, his expression a mixture of gratitude and hesitation. He took one, the flaky layers already seeming to separate under his calloused fingertips. He broke it in half, crumbs bursting all over the place. He took a bite, and his eyes closed in delight.

  The taste was a revelation. It was rich and buttery, with a subtle tang from the buttermilk that cut through the richness. The texture was sublime—a delicate, crisp exterior giving way to a tender, airy interior that seemed to dissolve on his tongue in delicate, flaky layers. It was more than bread; it was a warm, comforting cloud of pure flavor.

  Then the qi hit him. It wasn’t the immediate, soothing wave he was used to from the chili or the tacos that his daughter had brought home. This was different. It was a focused, penetrating warmth that sank deep, not just into his muscles, but into the very bones of his spine. He felt it zero in on the old injury, the place where the pain always lingered, a dull, constant ache that had been his companion for years.

  The energy wasn't aggressive; it was meticulous, like a master artisan carefully mending a delicate piece of filigree. It flowed into the scarred tissue of his vertebrae, soothing the inflamed nerves, reinforcing the weakened structure from within. He felt a series of soft, internal pops, not of pain, but of release, as years of tension and misalignment began to correct themselves. The chronic stiffness that had plagued his mornings, the sharp twinges that came with a careless movement, had decreased by a small amount, replaced by a supple strength he thought he’d lost forever.

  He wasn’t healed, not fully, but that one biscuit had shown him that it was possible to be healed. That someday, he could be whole again.

  A single tear tracked a clean path through the soot on his cheek. He opened his eyes, staring at the half-eaten biscuit in his hand as if it held the secrets of the universe.

  “My back…” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He straightened up, slowly, tentatively, testing what his limits were. It was stronger already; the chances of him straining it again had decreased remarkably. He carefully twisted, only to groan a moment later. That particular action was still a problem.

  Brock stared, the biscuit in his own hand temporarily forgotten. “By my ancestors’ forge…”

  Draden simply nodded, a quiet satisfaction settling in his chest. “Both of you come by and eat at the restaurant when you have time. You might be surprised at the effect that the fresh stuff has.”

  Aden couldn’t speak. He just gripped Draden’s arm, his eyes conveying a depth of gratitude that no words could ever capture. In that moment, Draden knew he had gained more than just a skilled blacksmith. He had gained a friend.

  “Aye, boy, we’ll do that,” Brock told him, his voice unnaturally soft and rough.

  He returned to the restaurant to find Marcus and Coradine working away in the dining area. Not with spellbooks, but with measuring cords and chalk. They moved in a practiced rhythm, marking lines and symbols on the floor and walls that Draden didn’t recognize—the foundational tracings for new ward arrays. They would be scribing them all over the inside and outside of the building.

  Emilie and Alice were in the kitchen, already starting on the prep work Draden usually handled alone. Alice was meticulously washing a mountain of vegetables, while Emilie was pressing out tortillas, her movements efficient and confident.

  “Boss,” Emilie said, looking up as he entered. “We figured that since the cart plan has been finally set into motion, we’d start showing up earlier and learning what it is that we need to do.”

  “Sounds like a great idea,” Draden said, surprised and genuinely touched. “Thank you, both of you.”

  Alice gave him a shy smile. “My father is working again, already, and my little brother and sister are both looking healthier as well. This place needs to be shared with everyone.”

  He felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with qi. Marcus was right. He was building something here, and it wasn’t just a restaurant.

  After working to prepare everything for the coming day, Draden left the few miscellaneous items to them and headed to the house's kitchen to begin working on their lunch meal. They still had a little bit of time left before it was time for them to go and pick up the kids from school. There were plenty of things he could make for them, but he wanted to do something new, shake their personal menu up some, and that was the problem.

  There were so many options that his mind was just coming up blank. Even with his limited ingredients.

  Part of the problem was that a lot of what he had made on Earth was dinner, and sometimes snacks. So, those were the recipes he was naturally familiar with.

  Draden took a step back and breathed, calming his mind. He was doing it again, without even trying to, he was making the problem more complicated than it needed to be. He would need to keep an eye on that old habit of his and keep it under control. He really didn’t want it causing trouble again. There was one item that ruled lunches more than any other, the sandwich. He still had a couple of loaves of bread leftover from the night before that he could use as well.

  The best part was that there were nearly infinite varieties of them. In fact, he happened to know how to make one exceptionally delicious deli-style sandwich that also made a decent salad if you didn’t want to eat it as a sandwich.

  With that particular matter taken care of, he bustled about the kitchen gathering up all the supplies he needed for the recipe. It wasn’t complicated, nor would it take a lot of time, but there were a few items that would need to be summoned.

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