God’s Perspective

After the successful completion of the Virtual Altar mission, the god of imagination made a special announcement to celebrate, much to the surprise and excitement of the villagers.

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The village was abuzz with excitement as the announcement spread. The promise of experience points and quarks thrilled many, but the Divine Intervention ticket left the people awestruck. They didn’t know its full power, but the name alone sparked speculation of something extraordinary.

The god of imagination had more in store. Two special missions were issued, one to the village head Brennan and the other to the saintess, Eliza.

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Brennan, the village head, was stunned by the special mission he had received. He glanced over at Eliza, who approached him with her book in hand.

"Grandpa, I got a special mission," Eliza said, standing beside him in the central village.

"What does it say?" Brennan asked, eyeing her book.

She showed him the page, and it was the same mission he had received.

Brennan furrowed his brow, knowing exactly who they would have to deal with. The merchant who frequented their village had a reputation for being shrewed. He was the only one brave—or greedy—enough to make the long journey from the capital to buy crops at a fraction of their worth. And instead of paying in coin, he bartered with goods. Though his wares were valuable, and often reasonably priced, it always felt like the village got the short end of the stick.

As Brennan thought over the task ahead, his eyes fell on the orb Eliza was holding.

"What is that?" Brennan asked, gesturing toward the glowing object in her hand.

"It's an orb I received from the mission," Eliza replied. It’s a ball called Orb Of Protection. I need to insert it into the socket at the base of the altar for it to take effect. But it requires quarks to activate."

Brennan nodded, contemplating how they could best use the orb and prepare for the merchants’ arrival. The success of this mission would not only enhance their village’s standing but also bring them closer to the god’s favor.

"Let’s make sure we’re ready," Brennan said, determination settling into his voice. "We can’t fail this one."

... 

The merchant caravan rumbled into the village just after dawn, its creaking wooden wheels breaking the morning silence. This was no grand procession—just a modest caravan belonging to a small-time merchant, but for the villagers, it was an event nonetheless. The wagons were laden with goods that were rare in this remote part of the world.

Barrels of salt, a commodity in high demand for preserving meats, took up the front of the first wagon. Beside them were sacks of grain and flour, essential supplies for those whose harvests had been poor. Simple iron tools—axes, hoes, and scythes—hung from the sides, catching the morning light, while a few bundles of sturdy cloth were carefully stowed inside, enough for the village seamstress to make new garments for winter.

There were other, smaller items too—hand-carved wooden combs, leather belts, and a few rough-hewn ceramic pots. The merchant had also brought a crate of wax candles, something the villagers rarely made themselves. Not far from these, a small box of dried herbs and ointments was tucked away, remedies for the village healer to barter for.

No fine silks or glittering jewels, but nestled in the back was a cask of ale, a small luxury for the foxfire village head upcoming feast, and a roll of plain linen, sturdy enough to patch worn clothes. As modest as the wares were, each item was something the villagers couldn't easily produce themselves, making the merchant's arrival a small but significant event.

Gavrin leaned back in the driver's seat of his lead wagon, a satisfied grin stretching across his face. His caravan, **The Silverroad Trading Company**, rumbled along the forested road, just 15 miles from Ravenshade Village. The trees cast long shadows in the late afternoon light, but all Gavrin could see was the gold in his future.

He was already thinking ahead, about the crops he was about to collect and the hefty profit they would fetch him in the capital. His contact in the city had promised a deal that would quadruple his earnings this season, and Gavrin had brought enough goods to ensure the villagers would part with every last sack of grain and crop they had.

His wagons were loaded—barrels of salt, sacks of flour, bundles of iron tools, and even finer items like wax candles and sturdy cloth. This time, there would be no refusing him. He had enough to tempt even the most reluctant villager into a trade. He had already crafted his strategy, rehearsing the sharp but convincing bargains he would offer.

"They won’t shy away from my wares this time," he muttered under his breath, eyes gleaming with the prospect of an easy victory. He had brought the very things they couldn't make or get for themselves. When he arrived, the villagers of Ravenshade wouldn’t have much choice. They needed what he had, and he was ready to take full advantage.

As the caravan creaked forward on the dusty path, Gavrin’s mind danced with thoughts of the piles of crops that would soon be his. He’d sell them for a fortune, and Ravenshade would have no idea just how much gold their fields were truly worth. Smiling to himself, he flicked the reins, eager to reach his destination before dusk.

***

Gavrin squinted against the afternoon sun as he steered his caravan down the winding forest road. The familiar path had served him well over the years, leading him to the villages nestled between the towering trees. Today, the air was crisp, and the scent of pine mingled with the earthy aroma of the forest floor. As his wagons rattled and creaked, he couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. 

With each mile, the anticipation grew. Ravenshade Village was known for its rich crops, and he had visions of the villagers scrambling to trade with him. It would be a fruitful season, and he would return home with more gold than he could count. The thought made him chuckle, and he glanced back at the other merchants in his caravan, their expressions reflecting his own eagerness.

“Keep your eyes sharp, boys!” he called out to his team. “The sooner we reach the village, the sooner we can start our business!”

They trudged on, the wheels of the wagons rolling over the well-trodden dirt road. As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, the trees parted, revealing a vista of rolling hills ahead. But something felt off. The air shimmered, as if the very atmosphere vibrated with a strange energy. Gavrin frowned, the thrill of profit giving way to a nagging sense of unease. 

As they drew closer, the outline of Ravenshade emerged, but it was not as he remembered. Gone were the simple wooden houses and thatched roofs he had come to know. Instead, a radiant dome enveloped the village, shimmering like a barrier of liquid light. 

“What in the name of—?” Gavrin’s voice trailed off as he pulled the reins, halting the caravan just short of the village border. His companions exchanged bewildered glances, echoing his confusion.

They had arrived at Ravenshade, but this was not the village they knew. The familiar pathways and sounds of bustling markets had been replaced by an otherworldly glow that beckoned and warned all at once.