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Wind howled through the sky, the clouds blocking out any moonlight and blanketing everything in pure darkness. Torches dotted the ground with their yellow light, fighting harder than any warrior to not have their flames extinguished by the breeze.
Infront of Steve were a cold glowing white pair of eyes. Herobrines lifeless gaze fell upon him with no particular emotion, but Steve knew what kind of warmth they could behold.
It was one his earliest memories, A kind warm gaze urging him to take his first steps, A kind warm gaze crafting him his first iron sword, A kind warm gaze greeting him with breakfast every morning.
Steve knew. The man before him was An overlord, A terrorist whose hands were bathed in blood but before that he was A father, Steve's father.
Herobrine stared at him, and Steve stared back. There was A shared heartache between them, but also a mutual understanding of what had to be done. One an infamous legend and the other A prided hero.
Their fate was set in stone. Steve drew his sword, and for the last time looked into the kind warm gaze, urging him to take his first steps.