The rhythmic clanging of hammer against anvil echoed through Woodhaven village. Inside the modest blacksmith shop, smoke-stained wooden beams stretched overhead, supporting a thatched roof that had been patched and repaired countless times. Sunlight streamed through the single window, catching motes of dust and charcoal that danced in the air.

Cain wiped sweat from his brow, leaving a dark smudge across his forehead. At sixteen, he was already developing the strong arms and broad shoulders that marked a blacksmith's apprentice. His father, Edric, paused his work and examined the sword Cain had been helping to polish.

"Good enough for the new ones," Edric said with a nod, his gruff voice softened by the hint of pride. "Put it with the others."

Cain carefully placed the sword on the rack with the five others they had prepared that morning. Low-quality iron blades, simple hilts, minimal decoration—perfect for beginners. That's what Woodhaven was for, after all. The first stop for the newcomers.

"Should be another batch arriving today," Edric said, plunging a glowing red dagger back into the forge. "Herald announced it at dawn. Means we need at least ten more of these by midday."

Cain nodded, reaching for another unfinished blade. He understood the routine well enough. New arrivals meant new business. They'd come stumbling into the village, confused and excited, looking for equipment and guidance. His mother, Lydia, would help with the latter at the village square, explaining the basics alongside the other guides. His father would provide the former, selling basic weapons at prices that seemed almost charitable.

"Do you ever wonder what they're like?" Cain asked, thumbing the edge of the blade. "Before they arrive here, I mean."

Edric shrugged his massive shoulders without looking up from his work. "Not our place to wonder. Our place is to serve. To help."

That was always his father's answer. Simple, direct, limited. Sometimes Cain found himself wishing for more—more conversation, more curiosity, more... something. But that wasn't how things were in Woodhaven.

The shop door swung open, bell tinkling, and the morning light silhouetted a tall figure. Not a villager—their posture was too confident, their movements too purposeful. An Adventurer, then, but not a new one. This one moved with the assurance of experience.

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

The man approached the counter, and Cain could now make out his features. Young man, perhaps in his twenties, with elaborately styled red hair and armor that gleamed with enchantments far beyond anything they sold here. Level 32 gleamed in gold text above his head, alongside the name "FireKnight."

"Just browsing," the man said, barely glancing at Edric before his eyes roamed around the shop with the look of someone examining specimens in a collection. His gaze settled on Cain. "Is this one new? Don't remember seeing him before in the village."

The question wasn't directed at Cain, but at Edric, as if Cain couldn't respond for himself.

"My son," Edric replied mechanically. "He's apprenticing to become a blacksmith. Would you like to see our selection of intermediate blades? You've outgrown our beginner stock, but perhaps—"

"Nah," FireKnight cut him off. "Just waiting for my friends. We're meeting some newbies to help them get started." His mouth curved in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Always fun showing the fresh meat around."

"FireKnight... is that your real name?" Cain asked suddenly, surprising himself with the question.

The red-haired man laughed, exchanging amused glances with his companions. "Listen to this Native! Of course it's not my 'real' name. It's my Adventurer title. Don't you know anything?"

Cain continued working, trying to ignore the Adventurer who was now leaning against the counter, drumming his fingers on the wooden surface. He'd seen enough Adventurers to know there were different types. Some were kind, some were indifferent, and some were like this one—viewing Woodhaven and its inhabitants as objects rather than people.

"So the kid, he just stands there all day helping you?" FireKnight asked, pointing at Cain. "What happens when the shop closes?"

Edric's expression didn't change. "My son assists me during business hours and returns home with me afterward. We live in the cottage behind the forge."

"Right, right," the Adventurer nodded, then turned directly to Cain. "Hey kid, what's your name?"

"Cain," he answered, looking up from his work. "Son of Edric and Lydia."

"And what do you think about living here, Cain? Same thing day after day? Doesn't it get boring?"

Cain hesitated. The question seemed strange, almost mocking, but he answered truthfully. "I enjoy learning the blacksmith trade from my father. One day, I hope to take over the forge and serve new Adventurers as he does."

FireKnight laughed. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect response." He turned toward the door as it opened again, admitting three more Adventurers. "Hey guys, check out this one. The locals intelligence really improved in this village since the last time we passed through." 

The newcomers filed in, their levels ranging from 25 to 40. All wore gear that marked them as experienced beyond the needs of Woodhaven. One of them, a female character with glowing blue tattoos covering half her face, approached Cain directly.

"Does he have any interesting things to say?" she asked FireKnight, not bothering to lower her voice. "Or is he just like all the others?"

"Dunno, been trying to figure that out."

Cain continued working, uncomfortable with the scrutiny but unable to stop his daily routines. He needed to finish these swords. New arrivals would need them.

The blue-tattooed Adventurer leaned closer. "Hey Native, what happens if someone attacks the village?"

This question Cain could answer. "The village guards will respond to any threat. Woodhaven is a safe zone for new Adventurers, and violence against Natives or other Adventurers is prohibited within its boundaries."

"See?" FireKnight told his companions. "Nothing special." He stretched and looked out the window. "The newbies should be here soon. Let's stock up on some basic potions from the apothecary first. I want to see their reactions when they face their first goblin camp."

The group laughed and filed out, leaving behind the smell of high-level enchantments and the faint disdain that experienced Adventurers often carried when visiting starter areas.

Edric resumed hammering as if the interaction had never happened. Cain tried to do the same, but found the encounter lingering in his thoughts. The way they had spoken about him, as if he weren't there, as if he were an object...

"Father," Cain ventured, "why do some of them treat us like that?"

Edric paused, hammer midair. This question seemed to require deeper thought beyond his usual responses. "They see the world differently," he finally said. "Our purpose is to help them, regardless of how they see us."

Cain nodded, but felt unsatisfied. There was something fundamentally wrong about being treated as less than a person, even if it was his role to serve.

The morning progressed, and the blacksmith shop filled with actual new Adventurers. These were different—wide-eyed, hesitant, full of questions. Level 1 floated above each of their heads, their names a rainbow of creativity: "SwordMaiden," "Thrax_Destroyer," "HealzForDayz," and others.

Cain found these interactions more pleasant. The new Adventurers treated him and his father with earnest respect, listening carefully to advice about which weapons would suit their chosen paths.

"This shortsword is balanced for quicker strikes," Cain explained to a nervous-looking young woman calling herself "MoonlightStalker." "It's perfect for a rogue starting out."

"Thank you," she said, genuinely appreciative. "This is all so overwhelming."

Cain smiled. "You'll get used to it. Everyone does."

As the morning rush settled, Edric sent Cain to deliver a repaired hunting bow to the fletcher across the village square. Stepping outside into the sunlight, Cain took a deep breath of fresh air. The forge was stifling in summer, and these brief errands were a welcome respite.

Woodhaven bustled with activity. New Adventurers wandered about, reading signs, speaking with village guides, examining the notice board by the well. Some pointed at buildings or trees with childlike wonder, while others marched purposefully toward the village gates, eager to begin their adventures in the forest beyond.

In the center of the square, Cain spotted his mother, Lydia, surrounded by newcomers. Her chestnut hair—the same shade as his own—was pulled back in a practical braid, and her simple healer's robes marked her role clearly. She gestured gracefully as she spoke, explaining the basics of health potions to an attentive audience.

"Remember," she was saying, "your health regenerates slowly over time when you're not in combat, but potions provide immediate healing. For beginners, it's wise to carry at least three small health potions whenever venturing outside the village."

Cain smiled, watching her work. His mother had a warmth that Edric lacked, a gentle patience that made new Adventurers feel welcome. He waved as he passed, and she nodded in acknowledgment before returning to her instruction.

The fletcher's shop was smaller than the forge, but filled with the pleasant smell of wood shavings and feathers. Cain delivered the bow and exchanged brief pleasantries with old Willem, the bowyer whose fingers were permanently stained with fletching glue.

On his way back to the forge, Cain passed by the village gates. A group was gathering there—new Adventurers being led by FireKnight and his friends. The high-level Adventurers were handing out basic equipment and explaining something with exaggerated gestures. Cain slowed his pace to listen.

"First rule of the forest," FireKnight was saying, "stick together. Second rule, don't panic when you see your first monster. They're appropriate for beginners. We'll be right behind you in case anything goes wrong."

"Will it hurt?" asked a timid-looking Adventurer. "When they hit us, I mean."

One of FireKnight's companions laughed. "You'll feel a little sting, but nothing serious. This is just the beginning area. It's designed to teach you, not kill you."

Cain frowned slightly. That wasn't strictly true. Adventurers could die in the forest, though they would return to life at the village shrine. The monsters outside were indeed suitable for beginners, but they could be dangerous to the unprepared or careless.

"Shouldn't you tell them about the shrine's blessing?" Cain found himself saying before he could stop himself. All eyes turned to him.

FireKnight raised an eyebrow. "Well, look who it is. The blacksmith's boy has opinions." He turned to the new Adventurers. "Yeah, he's right actually. If you fall in battle, the shrine's blessing will return you to life in the center of the village. But trust me, with us watching over you, that won't happen."

Cain nodded and continued walking, aware he had stepped outside his usual role. It wasn't his place to interject, yet he'd felt compelled to speak up. Something about letting the new ones go into danger without full information felt wrong.

When he returned to the forge, Edric had finished another batch of weapons. The afternoon continued with a steady stream of customers, mostly new Adventurers seeking their first proper equipment. Cain settled back into the rhythm of work, but his mind kept returning to the strange feeling he'd had at the gates—that momentary urgency to speak out.

As evening approached, Edric doused the forge fire. "Good work today," he told Cain, the same words he spoke every evening. "Tomorrow will bring new Adventurers to serve."

They closed up the shop and walked the short distance to their cottage. Inside, Lydia was already preparing a simple dinner. The small home was modest but comfortable—wooden floors worn smooth by years of use, walls decorated with simple tools of their trades, a hearth that provided both warmth and cooking heat.

"How were the new arrivals today?" Lydia asked as they sat down to eat.

"Plentiful," Edric answered. "Good for business."

"Many seemed confused," Cain added. "More than usual, I think. One asked if pain here was real."

Lydia nodded thoughtfully. "They always have questions at first. It's our job to help them find their way." She passed a bowl of stew to Cain. "I saw you speaking to some by the gates. What did they ask you?"

Cain hesitated. "I... I actually spoke to them first. They weren't telling the new ones about the shrine's blessing. It seemed important."

His parents exchanged a glance that Cain couldn't quite interpret.

"It's not your designated role to instruct on the ways of The Divine Laws," Edric said carefully.

"I know," Cain replied, looking down at his stew. "It just felt necessary in the moment."

Lydia placed her hand gently on his. "Your desire to help is commendable. But remember, each of us has our purpose here. The Divine Laws works best when we all perform our assigned functions."

Cain nodded, though a small part of him wondered why it should matter. If the goal was to help new Adventurers, couldn't that help come from anyone?

After dinner, Cain sat by the window of his small bedroom, watching darkness fall over Woodhaven. Torches were being lit along the main street, casting warm pools of light. New Adventurers gathered at the tavern, sharing their first quests with excitement. Veterans strolled through, some helpful, some dismissive, all passing through this small beginning area on their way to greater challenges elsewhere.

Tomorrow would be the same. And the day after. His father would forge, his mother would heal and teach, and Cain would continue learning the trade that would become his life's work. It was a simple existence, predictable and safe.

Yet as he prepared for sleep, Cain found himself wondering about the worlds beyond Woodhaven. The high mountains visible in the distance, the sprawling cities that Adventurers spoke of, the dungeons and castles and mysteries that lay waiting beyond the tutorial forest. He would never see them, of course. His place was here, helping beginners take their first steps.

It was a good life, he told himself. A purposeful one.

But somewhere deep in his mind, in a place he himself didn't fully recognize, a small spark flickered—a curiosity, a question, a potential for something more than what he was destined to be.