Chapter Text
A black screen. Loading… Loading… and then… the smell of fresh air and dirt overcame Steve all at once. He opened his eyes to see a sprawling birch forest before him, and the sound of rushing water pulled his attention to a river behind him, leading into a gentle lake. He was pleasantly surprised by his luck, though he would’ve taken any world.
Wordlessly, he set to work chopping down a tree, with swift motions that come from years of experience. He split the logs into planks and hoisted them on his shoulders, relishing the familiar weight as he scouted for a spot to set up his base. He couldn’t stray too far from the forest, but he followed the stream until he found a small clearing. Flowers and blue skies stretched out before him, drawing him in. A bright tune rose over the hills, seemingly from the earth itself, welcoming him home. This was the place.
He always felt bad clearing the tall grass and flowers, but he promised himself he would hold on to them and replant them. Soon he had a decent floor plan inlaid in the dirt, and started to build walls. No need to make it fancy, not yet. He just had to make it through the first night, which was approaching fast.
He made a mental list of materials as he built: sand for glass, oak logs to break the monotony of the birch, wool for a bed, coal for torches, and wood, so much wood. Thankfully, he had enough to finish the walls and a roof, so he would be covered during the night. He knew some people would fight monsters on their first night, but that was never quite his speed; he preferred to wait until he had decent armor and weapons before he fought them.
The first night crawled on, infinitely slower than the day. The music became serene and meshed strangely with the idle sounds of zombies and skeletons, but even that eerie cacophony brought nostalgia. To pass the time, Steve fashioned a crafting table from his leftover planks and set it gingerly in a corner. He glanced through all the familiar recipes, and some he had never seen before. Not enough wood to make a door or a chest, so he settled on whittling some sticks to save for tools he would finish in the morning. Then there was nothing left to do except sit on the cold floor and wait until daybreak.
He wished for the millionth time that he could sleep without a bed.
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Finally, the morning came and promised new adventures in a new yet familiar terrain. When Steve left his house (well, more like his wooden box), he scanned the immediate area for creepers before making his way back into the forest. This time, he found some oak trees and took note of a few cows. Still no sheep, but no matter. He chopped down enough oak trees to make his wooden box look nice, and hopefully enough birch trees to add a door, chest, second story, ladder, and other tools.
As he trekked back to his home, Steve distantly wondered what could be his food, though he was in no danger of starving anytime soon. Maybe the cows he spotted earlier, or apples and bread. Another thought struck him, though he would need some string. He had sticks now and a nearby lake, and enough wood for a little boat, so he could easily go fishing. Perhaps once he finished his house, he would build a nice dock. He finished the second floor of his house with newfound vigor, glad to have more projects. As long as there was work to do, he could convince himself to stay longer, that he wasn’t aimlessly running in circles.
By the time he cut out spaces in the walls for windows and a door, the sun was just high enough on the horizon to make one last venture to collect some sand. Thankfully, the stream lay not too far, and there was plenty of sand along the bank. Sugar cane dotted the shore as well, and he spotted an exposed coal seam nearby, waiting to be mined in the morning. Steve bent to collect his sand when he heard a rustle from behind. He quickly turned, ready to fend off a creeper, but he saw nothing. He shook away his jumpiness and hurried back to his home.
The second night came and went, and when the morning arrived, Steve had some gear ready for a day of proper tasks. His house still left a lot to be desired, but finding stone, coal, and iron was more important. Besides, a home wasn’t really a home without proper windows and lighting. After checking for creepers, he made his way back to the exposed coal he had spotted the night before. The wooden pickaxe wasn’t anything special, but the weight was familiar in his hands as he struck it against the stone, and he found himself relishing the work after all these years.
Once the coal was cleared, Steve mined enough stone for a furnace and continued to dig a staircase deeper into the earth. The chances of finding iron were low, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. He put together some torches from his coal and sticks and kept searching. Each time he found granite, diorite, or andesite, he remembered when he was young and saw them for the first time, and the joy of finding something new. It was strange to think so fondly about rocks, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Each time he needed an escape, he could create a new world at the snap of his fingers, retracing the steps of mining and building until he grew content or bored. He could only hope that this world, after years of nothing, would entertain him for a while longer. He was older now, slightly out of touch, but the childlike wonder was still there, even after all this time.
Without realizing, he had dug straight into a cave. He panicked for a moment at the open space, but quickly set his mind at ease by placing a generous amount of torches on the walls. The glint of iron caught his eye, but Steve remembered at that moment that his wooden pickaxe wouldn’t work to mine it. He sighed and lowered his pickaxe. Of course he left the rest of his supplies in his house.
After climbing all the stairs in defeat, he hurried toward the light of his home in the dark. A spider jumped out at him, its red eyes like beacons against its gangling black form. It let out a hiss, and opened its pincers to attack. With not a moment to lose, Steve yanked his ax from his pocket. He swung it into the side of the spider’s head with a loud crunch . He flinched at the impact, but swung again and again until the spider stopped moving. The open dark air was closing in around him, and all he could do was snatch up fallen string from the spider’s husk before bolting inside and slamming the door. Adrenaline pounded in his head and his vision was extra sharp as he gently fell to the floor.
What did he think he was doing, fighting spiders with only wooden tools? He had no armor, no proper weapons, and he was years out of touch. All he had to show for his meager bravery was a length of string disproportionate to the man-sized spider. At least he could make a fishing rod and quench the hunger that had been creeping up on him.
The adrenaline dulled to a consistent throb, and he lay down on the floor, the cool wood soothing his head and muffling the sounds of more monsters right behind his door.
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He couldn’t take another sleepless night, but with no sheep in sight and his hunger climbing by the hour, he resigned himself to sitting on a tree stump with his makeshift fishing rod drifting in the stream. Plenty more work had to be done on his house, but it was nice to take a moment in the fresh air and watch life happen around him. The rich smell of earth blew on the breeze, gently brushing through his hair and the reeds before him. Sunlight glinted off the surface of the water, and the light bubbling of rushing water mingled with the rustling of leaves. To his surprise, a bee swayed between patches of wildflowers. He didn’t know they could exist here.
Something tugged on his line and his thoughts. Steve reeled in the line and found a cod attached to the end. One down, countless more to go. He was sad to find he couldn’t space out as he did before, but watching fish approach his bait made up for it.
On his way back up the hill, he stopped dead in his tracks. A pile of something white laid on his doorstep. Upon closer inspection, it looked to be wool. Steve looked around, almost wondering if someone else had put it there. But that was impossible; he was the only person around for miles, and there were no sheep nearby. Yet there was the wool, ready to be made into a soft bed. He was too tired to be wary of this strange gift, and instead brought it inside. After a moment, he nailed a note to his door on the slim chance a certain kind stranger would see it, then went back inside to finally have a good night’s sleep.
Thank you for the wool
-Steve