The valley's newfound calm was anything but peaceful. Outsiders had begun trickling in—scholars, treasure hunters, merchants, and adventurers—all drawn by the rumors of Kalem's work and the valley's mysterious ruins. Their presence disrupted the rhythm of life, stirring equal parts curiosity and unease among the Ironworks.
At the communal hall one evening, Tharic leaned back in his chair, his mug sloshing slightly as he gestured toward the window. "You see them? Setting up their little camps like they own the place. Tents, wagons, even a blasted alchemical station!"
Vornar, who had been polishing a blade, glanced up with his usual calm. "We've seen travelers before, Tharic. What makes these different?"
Tharic snorted, jabbing a finger toward Kalem, who sat nearby examining one of his stabilization devices. "Him. They're here because of him."
Kalem's head snapped up, confusion flashing across his face. "Me? I didn't invite anyone."
"No, but you might as well have," Tharic grumbled. "All that tinkering of yours—it's turned this place into a beacon. Word spreads, boy. The kind of word that draws people with more ambition than sense."
Vornar set the blade down, his expression serious. "Tharic's not wrong. The valley's always been a place for hard work and quiet living. Now, it's on the map for people who think they can gain something from it."
Kalem's stomach churned at the thought. He hadn't intended for his efforts to attract attention beyond the valley. Yet, as he gazed out the window at the growing encampment near the valley's entrance, he realized the truth in their words.
The next day, Kalem's unease turned to outright suspicion when two scholars approached him at his workshop. One was a wiry man with sharp eyes and a quill tucked behind his ear, the other a soft-spoken woman with a thick tome under her arm. Both carried an air of eager determination.
"Kalem, isn't it?" the man began, his voice brisk and professional. "We've heard of your work—stabilizing residual energies, if I'm not mistaken."
Kalem set down his tools, his instincts immediately on alert. "You heard right. What do you want?"
The woman stepped forward, her tone soothing but no less probing. "We're researchers from the Grand Academy in Lintor. Your methods are groundbreaking—far ahead of what's being studied elsewhere. We'd like to learn from you."
Kalem raised an eyebrow. "Learn from me? I'm not a teacher. And I'm just trying to fix what's broken."
The man's eyes gleamed with interest as he picked up one of Kalem's tracker arrows, examining the runes etched along its shaft. "Remarkable craftsmanship. Have you considered publishing your findings? With resources like ours, you could expand this work far beyond this valley."
Kalem snatched the arrow back, his grip firm. "I'm not looking to expand anything. My priority is here."
The scholars exchanged a glance. The woman spoke again, her voice gentle but insistent. "We respect your dedication, but your talent deserves recognition. The things you're creating—these could change the field of magic entirely. Imagine what you could achieve with proper support."
Kalem's patience frayed. "I don't need recognition or support. The valley's my concern, not some academy."
Sensing his resolve, the scholars reluctantly backed off. "If you ever reconsider," the man said, pulling a slip of parchment from his coat and placing it on the workbench, "our door is always open."
After the scholars departed, Kalem found himself unsettled. Their words echoed in his mind, their offer tempting in its own way. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that their curiosity was more self-serving than genuine.
That evening, Kalem recounted the encounter to Vornar and Tharic.
"Academy types," Tharic scoffed, crossing his arms. "They want to take what you've made, slap their names on it, and leave us to clean up the mess."
"Not all of them," Vornar said, his tone measured. "But it's wise to be cautious. Their interests rarely align with those of the people they study."
Kalem nodded, grateful for their counsel. Still, the scholars' visit was only the beginning. As word of his work continued to spread, more outsiders arrived—some with questions, others with offers, and a few with intentions that were harder to read.
The influx of strangers strained the valley's resources and tested the Ironworks' patience. Merchants haggled over supplies, adventurers scoured the land for remnants of the Augury's magic, and rival scholars clashed over theories.
One evening, a heated argument broke out in the communal hall between a group of treasure hunters and local miners. It took Vornar's imposing presence to defuse the situation, his voice cutting through the chaos like steel.
"This valley isn't your playground," he warned, his gaze sweeping over the room. "Respect its people, or you'll find yourselves unwelcome."
The warning was heeded, but the tensions remained.
Amidst the unrest, Kalem threw himself deeper into his work. If he could stabilize the valley completely, perhaps the outsiders would lose interest and leave. He began refining his devices, incorporating techniques learned from the Augury and his own growing expertise.
Yet, as the days passed, Kalem couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something larger. The valley's scars were healing, but the arrival of unfamiliar faces hinted at new challenges on the horizon—challenges that would test not just his skills, but his resolve to protect the home he was slowly learning to cherish.