The boy awoken to the blurry caliginous darkness and turquoise. His arms reflexively crossing together upon his grey sleeves when he raised himself and looked around for the horizon. Only when he found nothing but the glimmeringly huge warped fungi that he saw the white gloves on his hands. Next to his white trainers were warped roots almost sprouting upon his ankles. He finally stood and his treads crunching against the warped nylium before he lethargically shambled around.

He gasped when he eventually bumped his back against a fungus stem. His body reflexively spun around to punch it but he frowned to the lack of pain in his knuckles. Then he threw his other fist. Again. And again. And again and again. A final punch shattered the stem, or rather shrunk into his right palm. The huge warped fungus crackled and crinkled with increasing frequency, its short height collapsing opposed of him. A spongy scrunch could be heard throughout its length thereafter, bouncing a few times upon impact. Warts and shroomlights rustled, some weeping stems tangling in adjacent fungi, leaving a neatly bundled pile of destruction.

A tenebrific shadow loomed overhead when the boy minced the fungus and made a crafting table and a wooden pick. It was within this timespan that he mined as much stone as possible from an adjacent ravine until his pick shattered. He made a pair of stone picks and axes before climbing out and cleaving another fungus. Darkness blanketed him if not for a nearby shroomlight overhead, but he dared naught but to stand upon his weary legs. The serene heaving in his chest occasionally escaped his ears especially over the distant lowly howling ambience. But he trudged about unto he collapsed in a squat cavern. Still awake on his left side however. There was a frigid nightly breeze, partially ignoring his grey buttoned tunic. Only once the sky began to illuminate that the boy looked around and he emerged with heavy limps holding naught but his overalls weighting him down, his tools somehow able to conjure from within himself. Clomping.

His belly ached. But there was nothing to eat or drink. No animals. Not even zombies or other monsters to hunt. Nor were there edible roots or fruits to pick. It was by the outbreak of dusk that his belly growled again and clutched it with his left palm. His eyelids were droopy but he continued trudging onward, his gaits increasingly sluggish and dragging against the rufescent nylium.

Darkness fell before his left arm clonked against something. He grunted and clamped it, his right hand sensing stone. He scowled and reached up the towering cliff face and have a few pats against it and he turned left, lowering and tracing his fingertips against the rocks when he began to walk. Only once his hand felt air he stopped a few steps later. He retraced his steps, his hand promptly feeling air thereafter again. He took a dozen steps inside until his thighs thudded against some rocks. It was upon leaning against them that he rested his right hand atop them. But he blinked repeatedly he accidentally crushed something not hard but stiffly springy. Mushrooms, he muttered upon his realisation. He promptly staggered outside and planted his crafting table and carved a small wooden bowl. Dawn illuminated overhead when he finally plopped at the foot of the cave, a bowl of mushroom stew in his palms.

His belly growled again but softly upon taking his first two sips. The broth sloshed within and his lips quietly puckered to the comforting blandness. He hummed with a faint smile, his stomach groaning after four more sips. No more stew afterwards.

This oughta do, he murmured.

He vanquished the bowl and arose with a stone axe and chopped another fungus. A wooden single storey house came together thereafter. Its featureless rectangular shape was daintily masked by nether wart hedges, the front door equally camouflaged. Naught but a crafting table and stove and chest to adorn the open floor plan.

He yawned momentarily when he plopped on his porch, deep bags and a lingering headache having formed from within. His hands were tenderly shaking when he stood and left his residence and into the warped forest again.

Nrgh, he whimpered when he suddenly tripped stomach first onto some finely carved stone bricks.

He leisurely lifted his head and a noiseless gasp left his throat. A gateway. Or what remains of all but a corner. But beside it was a chest, which he crawled immediately towards it. Only seven iron ingots and four cotton blocks and two oak blocks. He footslogged to the house and crafted a bed, placing it down with a faint smile. But he stared at it. The iron weighed in his hands and his smile slowly melted into blankness.

Water and lava, he slurred and whooshed out the door after crafting two buckets.

It was by nightfall that he unsteadily knelt, the buckets clattering before he laid on his back. But he snarled moments later and clenched the buckets and they vanquished into his consciousness. His limbs were almost numb but he used a shovel to lift himself and limped onward. It was by dawn that he stopped and began to backtrack. But it was upon rounding an unlit warped fungus that his shovel struck air. Only a tangle of warped roots and his left hand stopped his lopsided momentum.

Nrgh, he growled deeply.

But he heard a splash below.

Water, he stammered and looked down the jagged gap.

He jumped down collecting it along with some lava nearby. He shakily planted his ladders on the wall, hurrying to his house. When he was back, he sunk into the pillow, his weary panting scowl melting into a humble smile. His lavender eyes laggardly shuttered. Sleep at last.

But hidden beside his headrest was an open book and quill. There was nothing in it. But a purple cursive text slowly materialised. It read...

Welkom Thuis

Dreamwalker