The False Hospitality

"This 'Liberator'—do you know exactly when he'll arrive?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

The elder hesitated, his eyes drifting away for a moment before answering, "He's already a few weeks late, but he should arrive soon enough."

His voice was steady, but I sensed the underlying worry. This so-called Liberator clearly held significant power over them, but the fact that he was late could mean many things—none of them particularly good.

The elder turned toward his tribesmen, his frail hand rising in a gesture of command. "Prepare them a place to stay. Our guests come from far away. Let us ensure they are properly hosted."

The tribe leader, still visibly shaken from earlier, nodded and stepped forward. "Please, follow me," he said, his tone more respectful than before. "I'll take you to my own place."

"Let's follow them," I said through Divine Sense to my companions. "And remember—play it cool. Like mortals."