Dawn broke over Woodhaven with predictable beauty. Soft golden light spilled across thatched rooftops, illuminating morning dew that clung to every surface. The village stirred slowly—shopkeepers opening windows, farmers leading livestock to pasture, guards changing shifts at the wooden palisade that surrounded the settlement.


    Cain awoke to the familiar sound of his father stoking the forge. Rising quickly, he splashed cold water on his face from the basin by his bed and dressed in his work clothes—a simple linen shirt, sturdy pants worn smooth at the knees, and the leather apron that protected him from sparks and heat. Every movement was practiced, efficient, the routine of his life as unquestioning as the sunrise.


    "The Herald announced a large group today," Edric remarked as Cain joined him at the forge. His father was already sweating, muscled arms glistening in the firelight as he pumped the bellows. "The shrine will be busy."


    The Adventurer''s Shrine stood at the center of Woodhaven''s main square—a circular stone platform inscribed with runes that glowed faintly blue. It was there that new Adventurers first appeared in this world, materializing in flashes of light that villagers had long since learned to ignore. Veterans called it "crossing over," one of many strange terms they used.


    "I''ll start on the sword hilts," Cain offered, moving to his workstation while Edric nodded approvingly.


    They worked in comfortable silence as the morning progressed, the familiar rhythm of the forge a meditation of sorts. Hammer and anvil, heat and metal, creation through repetition. By midday, they had assembled a respectable inventory of beginner weapons: shortswords, daggers, simple maces, and a few low-quality bows for those inclined toward ranged combat.


    The bell above the shop door chimed, signaling the official opening of business. They didn''t have to wait long for customers.


    "It''s starting," Edric observed, looking through the open door toward the village square. Flashes of blue light pulsed from the shrine, each one depositing a disoriented newcomer into Woodhaven.


    The new arrivals appeared in waves of five or six at a time. They stumbled from the shrine platform, wide-eyed and unsteady, like newborn foals learning to walk. Some spun in circles, staring at their own hands in wonder. Others immediately began running and jumping, testing the physics of this world with childish abandon.


    "Why do they always do that?" Cain asked, watching a new Adventurer repeatedly jump in place, as if testing how high he could go.


    Edric shrugged. "Not our concern. They''ll settle once the guides walk them through the basics."


    Right on cue, Cain''s mother Lydia approached the group, along with other designated guides. With gentle gestures, they began directing the newcomers, explaining customs and basic interactions. Most Adventurers listened attentively. Some, however, simply ran past, eager to explore on their own terms.


    The first customers entered the forge within the hour—a young woman with short black hair and a name floating above her head: "ShadowWhisper." She was accompanied by two others: "TankMaster" and "HexHunter." All bore the telltale level 1 indicator of fresh arrivals.


    "Welcome to Edric''s Forge," Cain''s father intoned. "Best weapons in Woodhaven for new Adventurers. How may I assist you today?"


    "Hi!" ShadowWhisper responded with enthusiasm. "We need weapons. I''m going rogue, he''s a warrior, and she''s a mage—though she''ll probably just need a staff for now."


    Edric nodded. "I have exactly what you need." He gestured to the weapon racks. "Daggers for the rogue, a one-handed sword or mace for the warrior, and yes, a simple staff for the mage. All priced affordably for beginners."


    The three Adventurers approached the display, examining the weapons with interest. TankMaster lifted a shortsword, testing its weight with exaggerated swings that made Cain step back to avoid being hit.


    "Sorry," the Adventurer said with a sheepish grin. "Still getting used to controlling my movements."


    "No harm done," Cain replied, the standard response for minor mishaps.


    As they browsed, more customers filtered in, creating a steady stream of business. Cain assisted where needed, demonstrating weapon features and explaining the basic attributes of each piece. Most interactions were pleasant enough, with new Adventurers treating him with the respect one might afford a helpful salesperson.


    Not all visitors were so courteous.


    Around midday, the shop door burst open with such force that it slammed against the wall. A group of Adventurers stormed in, laughing raucously. Unlike the newcomers, their levels ranged from 10 to 15—still low by the standards of the wider world, but veterans of the surrounding forests. Their names glowed with custom colors: "BloodFist" in aggressive red, "SlayerKing" in menacing black, "ToxicQueen" in poisonous green.


    "Check this place out," BloodFist announced loudly. "Man, I haven''t been back to the starter village since I began. Everything looks so... basic." He snorted. "And the locals are so dumb."


    SlayerKing approached the counter where Edric stood, expression unchanged. "Hit me with your sales pitch, blacksmith."


    "Welcome to Edric''s Forge," Cain''s father responded without variation. "Best weapons in Woodhaven for new Adventurers. How may I assist you today?"


    The group erupted in laughter. "Classic," ToxicQueen said, wiping an imaginary tear. "They really are just like talking statues."


    Cain continued working quietly at his station, trying to focus on fitting a leather grip to a dagger handle. The mockery was nothing new, but it still created an uncomfortable sensation in his chest.


    "What''s the forge brat doing over there?" BloodFist asked, pointing at Cain.


    "My son assists me in crafting and selling weapons," Edric explained mechanically. "He is apprenticing to become a blacksmith."


    "Hey kid!" SlayerKing called out. "What''s the saddest thing that ever happened to you?"


    The question caught Cain off-guard. There was no standard response for this. "I... don''t understand the question," he answered truthfully.


    "See? Nothing in there," SlayerKing tapped his own temple. "Just empty. Watch this." He drew his sword—a flashy blue blade that hummed with enchantment—and suddenly swung it directly at Cain''s workbench, sending tools scattering across the floor.


    Cain jumped back, surprised. "Please be careful with the equipment," he said, the closest appropriate response from his limited options.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Please be careful with the equipment," ToxicQueen mimicked in a monotonous voice, sending her companions into another fit of laughter.


    "You know what would be fun?" BloodFist mused, picking up one of Cain''s hammers from the floor. "Seeing if we could get these villagers to react differently. Like, what happens if I just do this—"


    He raised the hammer as if to strike Cain, but before he could complete the motion, another voice cut through the shop.


    "Is there a problem here?"


    A tall figure stood in the doorway—level 42, with the name "VanguardProtector" floating above him in dignified blue letters. His armor was elegant but practical, and a gleaming shield was strapped to his back.


    BloodFist lowered the hammer immediately. "Just having some fun with the locals, man. No harm done."


    "The village is a safe zone," VanguardProtector replied coolly. "That extends to all its inhabitants as well. They may be simple folk, but they''re here to enhance the experience for everyone, not serve as your personal entertainment."


    "Whatever," SlayerKing muttered. "We were just leaving anyway. This gear is trash compared to what we''ve got now."


    The group filed out, shoving past a few startled newcomers who were entering the shop. VanguardProtector watched them go, then approached the counter.


    "I apologize for their behavior," he said to Edric, then glanced at Cain. "Some Adventurers forget that treating Natives with respect is part of the proper way."


    "No apology necessary," Edric responded with his usual implacability. "How may I assist you today?"


    VanguardProtector smiled slightly. "Actually, I''m just here to check on the new arrivals. I lead a beginners'' guild that helps fresh Adventurers get started on the right foot." He looked around the shop appreciatively. "Your forge is always their first stop for equipment."


    "Thank you for your patronage," Edric replied.


    The high-level Adventurer nodded and exited, leaving Cain to clean up the scattered tools. As he worked, the shop continued to fill with new Adventurers, all eager to purchase their first weapons before venturing into the world beyond Woodhaven''s gates.


    Through the window, Cain could see the village square teeming with activity. His mother and the other guides were overwhelmed with questions from newcomers who pointed at everything, inspected buildings, and occasionally walked straight into walls as if testing boundaries. Some engaged in animated conversations with empty air—veterans had explained this as "communing with distant companions" in another realm.


    Most peculiar were their interactions with other Natives. Cain watched as a group of Adventurers repeatedly spoke to the baker, asking the same questions over and over before running off without purchasing anything. Another Adventurer stood inches from the face of an elderly villager, staring intently as if studying a painting rather than a person.


    "They see us differently," Cain murmured to himself, recalling his father''s words from the day before.


    The afternoon progressed with steady business. Cain fell into the routine of demonstration and sales, the interactions becoming almost meditative in their predictability. Most customers were courteous, if somewhat mechanical in their transactions—"I need a weapon," followed by payment and immediate departure, no pleasantries or conversation.


    Occasionally, Adventurers would attempt unusual requests.


    "Can you upgrade this sword I found in the forest?" asked a hopeful level 3 Adventurer.


    "I''m sorry, but our services are limited to selling basic equipment," Cain explained. "Weapon upgrades become available in larger towns beyond our village."


    "Can I see your inventory?" another demanded.


    "All available items are displayed on the racks," Cain gestured to the weapon displays.


    "No, I mean your personal inventory. Like, what''s in your pockets?"


    To this, Cain had no response. "I... carry only what I need for my work," he improvised, feeling strangely uncomfortable with the question.


    As evening approached, a final wave of new Adventurers entered Woodhaven. These latecomers seemed more disoriented than their predecessors, perhaps rushed through the initial guidance in the waning daylight. They stumbled into the forge in a group of ten, crowding the small shop and talking over one another.


    "This village is amazing!"


    "Did you see the chickens in the street? They''re so lively!"


    "That anvil must be incredibly old."


    "Hey, where did I put my coin pouch again?"


    "Can villagers die here? Like, permanently?"


    This last question, delivered with disturbing eagerness by a freckled Adventurer named "DoomSlayerX," caused Cain to pause in his work. The Adventurer was staring directly at him, waiting for an answer.


    "Violence against villagers is prohibited within Woodhaven''s boundaries," Cain replied carefully, using the standard response to implied threats.


    "Yeah, but what happens outside the boundaries? Can we harm Natives out there?" DoomSlayerX pressed.


    Another Adventurer—"GentleHealer," according to the text above her head—looked horrified. "Why would you even ask that? They''re here to help us!"


    DoomSlayerX shrugged. "Just wondering about the rules. For what I learned, people return after the shrine''s blessing just like we do. I was wondering if I was the same for the native"


    "This place feels different," GentleHealer insisted. "There''s something special about this village. Look at him—" she gestured to Cain. "He looks genuinely uncomfortable with your question."


    Cain realized his expression had indeed shifted, a frown forming without conscious intent. He quickly smoothed his features back to neutral, but not before noticing the keen observation from GentleHealer.


    "I assure you, I am here to assist with your blacksmithing needs," he said evenly. "If you have questions about The Divine Laws, the guides in the square would be better equipped to answer."


    The group eventually purchased their weapons and filed out, with DoomSlayerX lingering to give Cain one last, evaluating look before departing. The encounter left Cain with an unfamiliar sensation—a ripple of something that, had he the vocabulary for it, he might have called dread.


    As the day''s business concluded, Edric doused the forge fire, and they began the closing routine. The square outside had quieted somewhat, though the tavern was now alive with light and sound as new Adventurers celebrated their first day of adventure.


    "You were distracted today," Edric noted as they locked the shop door.


    "Was I?" Cain asked, surprised at his father''s observation.


    "Your hammering pattern was irregular. Your responses to customers, delayed." Edric stated this without judgment, a simple cataloging of facts. "Is there a reason?"


    Cain considered the question. How could he explain the strange feeling he''d developed while watching the new arrivals—their excitement, their casual cruelty, their utter disregard for the reality of his existence?


    "I was... noticing things," he finally said. "About the Adventurers. They see everything here as unreal."


    Edric nodded slowly. "That is their perspective. It does not change our purpose."


    They walked home in silence, the twilight deepening around Woodhaven. Lanterns were being lit along the main street, casting a warm glow that softened the village''s simple structures. In the square, Cain''s mother was finally finishing her day''s instruction, bidding farewell to the last confused newcomers.


    At dinner, Lydia shared her own experiences with the day''s arrivals. "They had many questions today. Some I''ve never heard before. One asked if I ever sleep, or if I simply stand in the square waiting for Adventurers to approach." She smiled gently. "I explained that all villagers have homes and lives, even when Adventurers are not present."


    "What did they say to that?" Cain asked.


    "They laughed," Lydia answered, her smile unchanged. "They said I was the most ''interesting local'' they''d encountered in a village like ours."


    Cain frowned. "Doesn''t that bother you? Being seen as... not real?"


    His parents exchanged another of those unreadable glances.


    "It is the nature of our existence," Edric said simply. "We serve a purpose in their journey."


    "But we''re here even when they''re not," Cain insisted, surprising himself with the emotion in his voice. "We have lives. We eat dinner. We sleep. We work. How can they not see that?"


    Lydia reached across the table and placed her hand gently on his. "They see what they understand, Cain. Their understanding is limited by their perspective."


    The answer didn''t satisfy him, but Cain nodded and returned to his meal. The conversation shifted to practical matters—tomorrow''s stock, supplies needed, expected customer volume.


    Later, as Cain prepared for bed, he found himself drawn again to the window. Woodhaven was transformed by night. Torch-lit streets created pools of golden light between deep shadows. The tavern glowed with activity, Adventurer voices raised in boisterous celebration of their first quests. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their lanterns bobbing like fireflies along the palisade.


    It was beautiful, in its way. Peaceful. The perfect starting point for an adventure.


    But as he watched, Cain noticed something unusual. A lone figure stood in the shadows across from his cottage—tall and cloaked, face hidden beneath a hood. Unlike the energetic movements of Adventurers or the predictable patterns of village Natives, this figure stood perfectly still, simply... watching.


    Watching him.


    A chill ran through Cain, though he couldn''t explain why. He blinked, and when he looked again, the figure was gone, leaving only empty shadow where it had stood.


    Must have been an Adventurer, he reasoned. Someone exploring the village at night. Nothing unusual.