Alden stepped forward and knocked on the thick wooden door of the old workshop. The sound echoed slightly, dull against the heavy grain.
He knocked again. Once. Twice.
A moment passed.
Then the door creaked open.
Standing in the doorway was an old man with broad shoulders and a frame that still carried the strength of his youth. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms lined with scars and muscle hardened by years of labor. His hair was mostly grey, with streaks of black near the temples, and his beard was trimmed short, flecked with soot.
His sharp eyes moved between Alden and Ethan, unreadable for a second.
"What do you kids want?" he asked, voice low and gravelly. "I'm closed already."
Alden stepped forward and reached into his tunic. He pulled out a pendant, silver and etched with delicate runes, and held it up for Duran to see.
The old man's eyes narrowed. His weathered face stiffened.
