Another day in Woodhaven was beginning.

"Cain! The forge needs stoking before breakfast!" His father's voice boomed from the main room of their cottage, the same call that had started Cain's day for as long as he could remember.

"Coming, Father!" he replied, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He dressed quickly in his work clothes, splashed water on his face, and headed to the main room where his parents waited. His mother stood by the hearth, stirring a pot of porridge. The morning sunlight caught in her hair, turning it to copper. She smiled as Cain entered, the gentle expression warming her features.

"Good morning, my son," Lydia said, ladling porridge into a wooden bowl. "Eat quickly. It looks to be a busy day—the Herald announced new arrivals at dawn."

Cain accepted the bowl with thanks and sat at the small family table.

"We need ten shortswords and at least six daggers ready by midday," his father announced between bites. "The last batch of Adventurers cleared our inventory yesterday."

Cain nodded, eating his porridge mechanically. Nothing about this morning felt unusual to him. No memories of the raid lingered in his mind, no awareness that just hours ago, he had watched his parents die violently. The New Dawn had reset not just the village but his consciousness as well, returning him to the same state of blissful ignorance as every other Native in Woodhaven.

After breakfast, he followed his father to the forge. The familiar building stood adjacent to their cottage, smoke already rising from the chimney where the banked coals from yesterday still glowed. Inside, the heat wrapped around him like a blanket, comforting in its consistency. This was where he belonged, learning the trade that would one day be his livelihood.

The morning passed as all mornings did in Woodhaven. Cain helped his father prepare for the day's customers, arranging displays of weapons, stoking the forge to proper temperature, organizing raw materials. Through the open door, he watched new Adventurers materializing at the shrine, their confusion and wonder a constant source of mild amusement.

By mid-morning, the shop was busy with customers. Cain assisted where needed, demonstrating proper weapon balance or explaining durability statistics. The interactions followed familiar patterns—Adventurers asked predictable questions, Cain gave rehearsed answers, transactions concluded with practiced efficiency.

He was polishing a newly forged shortsword when the door opened and a young woman entered. Her hair was the color of autumn leaves, falling in gentle waves around a face that seemed momentarily frozen with expectation. Above her head, the name "EmberHeart" floated in letters that glowed with a warm orange hue. Level 10, unlike the newcomers who typically visited the forge.

"Cain?" she said, her voice tentative.

He looked up from his work, polite but puzzled by her familiar use of his name. Most Adventurers didn't bother to address Natives directly, and fewer still knew their names before being told.

"Can I help you?" he asked with his customary courtesy.

Something in the Adventurer's expression faltered, a light dimming in her eyes. "Do you... recognize me?"

Cain studied her face more carefully. Had they met before? Some Adventurers returned to Woodhaven after advancing elsewhere, though it was uncommon. Perhaps she had purchased weapons previously.

"I apologize," he said finally. "We see many customers. If we've met, I don't recall the occasion."

The pain that flickered across her features was startling in its intensity. Adventurers rarely showed such emotion, particularly not toward village Natives.

"We spoke yesterday," EmberHeart said quietly. "And the day before. And nearly every day for the past two weeks."

Cain glanced uncertainly toward his father, who had noticed the strange interaction and was approaching from the front of the shop.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Cain replied gently. "Perhaps you're confusing me with another blacksmith from a different village."

"Is there a problem?" Edric asked, his tone professional but wary.

"No," EmberHeart said quickly, composing herself with visible effort. "No problem. I just... I was looking for a dagger. Something suitable for a rogue's off-hand."

"We have several designs," Edric replied, gesturing toward a display of shorter blades. "Though our stock is limited to beginner and intermediate equipment."

As his father began describing the available options, Cain returned to his polishing, though he couldn't help sneaking glances at the red-haired Adventurer. Something about her troubled him, not in a threatening way, but like a word on the tip of his tongue that refused to be remembered. A half-formed thought that dissolved whenever he tried to grasp it.

EmberHeart barely glanced at the weapons Edric showed her. Her attention kept returning to Cain, her expression a mixture of disbelief and increasing resignation.

"Actually," she said finally, interrupting Edric's explanation of blade materials, "I've changed my mind. I won't be needing a weapon today."

"As you wish," Edric replied with a slight bow. "We're here should you reconsider."

EmberHeart approached Cain's workbench, her movements hesitant. "The raid," she said softly. "The Crimson Grins. Your parents dying. Our talks about boundaries and memory. The clearing in the forest. You don't remember any of it?"

Cain frowned in confusion. "Raid? I don't understand what you're talking about."

"The New Dawn," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "It really did reset everything. Even you."

"I'm sorry," Cain said, genuinely unsettled by her distress. "Can I help you with something else?"

A tear formed at the corner of her eye, surprising Cain. He had never seen an Adventurer cry before—had never even considered that they could experience such sorrow.

"No," EmberHeart replied, quickly wiping away the tear. "No, it's fine. Really."

She turned to leave but paused at the door, looking back at him with an expression that seemed to contain years of unspoken words. "I was going to wait three more days," she said softly. "But I think it's better if I leave now. There's nothing for me here anymore."

"Safe travels to you," Cain offered, the standard farewell to departing Adventurers.

EmberHeart nodded once, another tear slipping down her cheek. Then she was gone, walking purposefully toward the eastern gate and the world beyond—a world of advancement and challenge that Cain, bound by the limitations of his Native status, could not follow.

"Strange one," Edric remarked, returning to his anvil. "Adventurers and their fancies."

"Yes, Father," Cain agreed, though he found himself drawn to the doorway, watching the retreating figure of the red-haired Adventurer.

Just before she reached the gate, EmberHeart turned, looking back toward the forge. Even at a distance, Cain could see the glimmer of tears on her cheeks, catching the sunlight like tiny stars. For the briefest moment, he felt an inexplicable urge to run after her, to apologize for a transgression he couldn't name, to beg her to explain why her sorrow felt like a wound in his own heart.

The moment passed. Cain returned to his work, the strange encounter already fading from his mind as he settled back into the comfortable routine of the forge. By evening, he would scarcely remember the red-haired Adventurer at all.

Yet as EmberHeart passed through the eastern gate and disappeared from view, something stirred in the depths of Cain's consciousness—not a memory, but the shadow of a memory. A feeling that something precious had been lost, something he should fight to recover.

Then that, too, was gone, washed away by The Divine Laws that governed his existence. The New Dawn had reset everything, returning him to blissful ignorance of all that had transpired.

In the distance, high above Woodhaven, a tall hooded figure watched from the shadows of the mountainside. The Observer studied the village with unreadable eyes, his attention focused on the blacksmith's son.