Two weeks after their first meeting, EmberHeart reached level 10. She arrived at the forge that afternoon with a troubled expression that Cain had never seen before.

"What's wrong?" he asked, setting aside the sword he was polishing.

"I received a message from my guild," she explained. "They're expecting me in Riverton by the end of the week. I've delayed as long as I can, but..."

"You have to go," Cain finished for her.

"There's a level cap in the tutorial areas," she said. "I can't progress beyond level 10 while remaining in Woodhaven. And my guild... they have expectations."

Cain felt a weight settle in his chest. He had known this moment would come, yet somehow had avoided truly confronting it. EmberHeart would leave, as all Adventurers eventually did. Woodhaven was just the beginning of their journey, never the destination.

"I understand," he said, though the words tasted bitter.

"Come with me," she said suddenly.

Cain blinked in confusion. "What?"

"To the edge of the village. Not now, but tonight. Meet me at the eastern gate after sunset."

"I can't leave the village," Cain protested. "Natives are bound to their designated areas."

EmberHeart's eyes gleamed with determination. "Are they? Or is that just what you've always been told? Have you ever actually tried to leave?"

The question left him stunned. Had he? The boundaries of Woodhaven had always seemed absolute, unquestionable. The thought of crossing them had never even occurred to him—or if it had, the idea had slipped away as quickly as it formed, like water through cupped hands.

"I... don't know," he admitted.

"Then let's find out," she challenged. "Tonight."

The remainder of the day passed in a blur of routine tasks that Cain performed mechanically, his mind occupied with EmberHeart's proposal. Leave the village? It seemed impossible, yet the mere suggestion had planted a seed that refused to be ignored.

As the sun set and the forge fire was banked for the night, Cain returned home with his father. Dinner was its usual quiet affair—simple food, simple conversation about the day's business. Nothing to suggest the tumult of thoughts behind Cain's carefully neutral expression.

"I think I'll walk a bit before bed," he told his parents after helping clear the dishes. "The evening is pleasant."

His mother smiled. "Don't stay out too late. Morning comes quickly."

The eastern gate was the smallest of Woodhaven's four entrances, primarily used by hunters and gatherers rather than Adventurers. A single guard stood watch, more symbolic than necessary—violence and theft were impossible within the village boundaries due to The Divine Laws.

EmberHeart was waiting in the shadows just beyond the torchlight, her red hair hidden beneath a dark hood. She put a finger to her lips as Cain approached, then beckoned him to follow her along the inside of the palisade wall.

"The guard changes position every fifteen minutes," she whispered. "We'll slip out when he walks to the northern corner."

Cain's heart hammered in his chest. What was he doing? Breaking routine, potentially breaking The Divine Laws themselves? Yet he followed without protest, staying close to the shadows as they crept along the wall.

Sure enough, the guard began his patrol circuit, moving steadily away from the gate. EmberHeart seized the opportunity, pulling Cain toward the narrow opening. The torches on either side cast long, wavering shadows that seemed to reach for them like grasping hands.

"Ready?" she asked, her hand warm around his wrist.

Cain nodded, unable to find his voice.

Together they slipped through the gate and into the darkness beyond. Each step Cain expected to feel resistance, some invisible force preventing him from leaving the village boundaries. His body tensed for punishment, for pain, for whatever consequence came from breaking such a fundamental rule.

Nothing happened.

They walked ten paces from the gate. Twenty. Fifty. The village walls receded behind them, and still Cain felt nothing but the cool night air on his face and EmberHeart's hand in his.

"I don't understand," he breathed, staring back at Woodhaven's torchlit silhouette. "We're outside the village."

"Yes," EmberHeart confirmed, her smile visible in the moonlight. "No barriers. No punishment."

"But The Divine Laws—"

"Don't actually prevent Natives from leaving," she finished. "That's just what you've been told. What you've all been told, for so long that none of you thought to question it."

Cain felt dizzy with the implications. If this boundary wasn't real, what other limitations existed only in his mind? What other "laws" were merely accepted truths rather than absolute rules?

EmberHeart led him to a small clearing a short distance from the path. The forest loomed dark around them, but the open space was bathed in moonlight. In the distance, the howls of wolves carried on the night breeze—the same wolves EmberHeart hunted each morning for experience points.

"This is where I come to think," she said, settling onto a fallen log. "Away from the usual patterns."

Cain sat beside her, still processing the simple yet profound act of stepping beyond Woodhaven's boundaries. "I never imagined..."

"That's how control works," EmberHeart said softly. "The most effective prison is one where the prisoners guard themselves, never testing the locks because they've been told escape is impossible."

They sat in silence for a time, listening to the night sounds of the forest. Woodhaven was close enough that its torches were visible through the trees, yet it felt like another world entirely.

"I still have to leave," EmberHeart said eventually. "I've pushed the limits of what's possible in the tutorial area."

"I know," Cain replied, the realization no less painful for being expected.

"But now you know something too," she continued. "The boundaries aren't absolute. The rules aren't unbreakable."

"What good does that do me?" Cain asked. "I'm still bound to the forge, to my role. I still can't leave permanently."

EmberHeart turned to face him, her expression solemn in the moonlight. "Can't you? Or haven't you tried?"

"Natives can't progress like Adventurers," Cain protested. "We don't gain levels. We don't grow stronger."

"You remembered something you shouldn't have been able to remember," she reminded him. "You've already broken one rule. Maybe you can break others."

The thought was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. Break the rules. Defy The Divine Laws themselves. It seemed blasphemous, yet the evidence of the first broken boundary lay all around them—the forest beyond Woodhaven, accessible despite everything he had been taught.

"I'll return," EmberHeart promised. "Once I've advanced enough in Riverton, I'll come back to check on you. And perhaps by then, you'll have discovered what else is possible."

"Why do you care?" Cain asked suddenly. "Why spend so much time with a Native when you could be advancing? When you could be with other Adventurers?"

EmberHeart was quiet for a long moment, her gaze rising to the stars scattered across the night sky. "Most Adventurers rush through this world, focused only on advancement, on conquering the next challenge. They miss so much beauty, so much wonder." She looked at him, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. "And they miss the chance to connect with someone like you—someone questioning their place, someone waking up. That's rarer and more valuable than any legendary equipment or level gain."

She reached out, her fingers gently touching the now-healed spot on his lip where SlayerKing had struck him. "Besides, I like you, Cain. You're different. Special."

"I'm just a blacksmith's son," he said, though the words felt hollow now, insufficient to encompass the growing complexity of his existence.

"You're more than that," she insisted. "And I think you're only beginning to discover how much more."

They remained in the clearing until the moon was high overhead, talking of small things and large—the craftsmanship of weapons, the beauty of the mountains beyond the forest, the strange hierarchies of Adventurers and their guilds. When they finally returned to the village gate, slipping past the guard's patrol with practiced ease, Cain felt both lighter and heavier than before.

Lighter, with the knowledge that at least one boundary could be crossed.

Heavier, with the certainty that EmberHeart would soon cross a boundary he could not follow.

"Three days," she told him as they prepared to part ways in the shadow of the smithy. "I'll leave for Riverton in three days. Meet me at our clearing tomorrow night?"

Cain nodded, unable to deny her anything, especially with their time now measured in such finite terms.

As he watched her disappear into the darkness, heading toward the tavern where traveling Adventurers found lodging, Cain realized something had fundamentally changed within him. The predictable rhythms of village life, the comfortable routines of the forge, the unquestioned boundaries of his existence—all had become like ill-fitting clothes, constraining and uncomfortable where once they had simply been.