The next morning, Riaan packed lightly—just a waterskin, dried bread, and a small wooden knife. The village still buzzed from the changes he had introduced, but unity alone would not be enough. The AI’s second lesson pressed on his mind: *Information. Learn your neighbors. Know what they want before they come to take it.*

He had considered sending someone else, but trust was still fragile. If he asked a villager to leave their home for such a task, doubts might spread. No, this was his responsibility.

Before leaving, he told the council of elders, “I’ll be gone for a few days. Work as we agreed—rotations, meetings, shared duties. If I return and find you’ve kept it, we’ll be stronger for it.”

Elder Tarek studied him carefully. “And if danger finds you?”

Riaan gave a faint smile. “Then at least danger will look me in the eye before it looks at you.”

The old man grunted but did not argue further.

---

The road stretched long and uneven, weaving through hills and sparse forest. Riaan’s mind wandered as he walked—how strange it felt, carrying two worlds in his head. In the village, he was a teacher, showing people how to wash, store food, build clean homes. Out here, he was simply a traveler, uncertain of what lay ahead.

By the second day, he reached the outskirts of a small town. It was larger than his village, with crude wooden walls and smoke rising from multiple hearths. Traders shouted near the gate, wagons creaked under loads of grain and cloth.

Riaan slowed his steps, observing carefully. This was no place to speak of wells and soap. Here, he had to listen.

At the gate, a guard with a pockmarked face stopped him. “Stranger. From where?”

“From a small village beyond the hills,” Riaan replied calmly. “I’ve come to trade and learn the market.”

The guard studied him, then waved him in.

Inside, the town pulsed with life. Children darted between stalls, merchants haggled loudly, and smells of roasted meat mixed with sweat and mud. Riaan moved slowly, absorbing every detail—the goods on sale, the weapons carried by men, the disputes over prices.

He stopped at a stall selling pottery. The merchant eyed him. “You don’t look local. What’s your village known for?”

“Little,” Riaan admitted. “We’re small. But we have fertile soil and water.”

The merchant raised a brow. “Water, eh? Plenty would pay for that in dry months.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Careful, though. If word spreads, bigger towns might not buy—they might take.”

Riaan’s chest tightened. Even here, the warning echoed.

He spent the rest of the day blending in, trading small trinkets for bread and salt, listening more than he spoke. From the chatter, he learned which villages were allies, which towns fought over borders, and which lords demanded tribute.

By nightfall, he sat by a dim fire outside the walls, his mind racing. The AI had been right—knowledge was a shield. But it also felt like a blade pressed against his back. One careless word, and others would know of his village’s progress.

He looked at the stars, whispering to himself: *I can’t just prepare the village for survival. I must prepare it for attention. For envy.*

The road home would be harder than the one here, because now he carried more than goods—he carried warnings, secrets, and choices.