The workshop smells of oil and old paper. Somebody has been sitting in the second chair. Recently.

On the bench: a long blade wrapped in cloth, a ledger, and a note in his handwriting.

The note says the work has three parts, and you must take them in order, and you must take all three.

Act one is the blade. Act two is the rival. Act three is the house.

Under that, small: the house is where the wish was made. The house is why you exist.

The chalk circle on the floor is half rubbed out. Something has been standing in it for years, waiting for someone to finish the job.