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.