Steve looked out across the gentle rippling blue-green waters of the sea.
The calm waves gently rolled over and crashed onto the light yellow sand of the beach, carrying bubbles of white sea foam everywhere. He took in a deep breath, and smelled the sharp, salty tang of the sea spray in the air. The sky was clear as the yellow sun rapidly below the horizon. Lying back on the sandy beach, Steve admired the sky as daylight faded and as brighter blues and yellows and oranges morphed into dark reds and then deep violet, and as thousands upon thousands of little stars came out and shone and glimmered brightly, speckling the pitch-black canvas of night.
It had been many, many moons since he first set foot on the isolated island. Many moons since then and many more spent by himself looking up at the heavens. It had been many, many moons since he had begun his exile on the lonely island.
Sometimes, Steve dreamed. He dreamed of seeing the outside world once more. He dreamed of seeing the verdant forests of yore one more time, of bubbling brooks and wide, rushing rivers, of venturing across great plains of tall grass and scaling massive grey mountains that nearly blotted out the sun. Sometimes, he imagined traveling through magnificent cities, walking through grey stone castles, bustling marketplaces, and yet...
...he could not. That part of him had died long ago, and inside his mind, he had hidden away, buried away deep with what little else remained.
All thanks to the cursed prophecy. The sworn prophecy which long, long ago, had spoken of true heroes to fight against complete and utter annihilation by a great, demonic evil, the prophecy which had bound his life and soul to fate and blade. The vile prophecy that had seen him survive destruction and death while his mortal friends and mortal enemies alike had fallen. The blood-bathed prophecy which had taken from him his life, his dreams and all that had belonged to him. The ancient prophecy whose memory had long been forgotten by the world and its inhabitants, and was remembered only by him and him alone.
The prophecy, his secret, that would die with him.
Steve sighed and he closed his eyes. He wasn't spiritual, but just sometimes, when he looked up into the sky in deep reverie, he wished that somewhere, somehow Notch would send him a sign.