In a darkened hall of what appeared to be an ancient castle stood two. Both of them wore robes, which hid their faces from view.

Their faces lifted to the pedestal, where an enormous fresco showed an etched image of the rising sun and several people standing in front of it. Their figures were obscured; features too worn out by time to be clearly distinguished. Chipped stone pieces lay beneath on the cracked, dusty stone plates.

"Only the blood of a first born or close direct heir can call to the Artifact's hidden power…" One of the cowled persons said in a thoughtful voice as if reading a passage from some manuscript.

"Sir… I think… we found him. The heir, I mean. He is no one important. Goes by the name of Steve."

"Good." The cowled figure agreed with pleased air. With a respectful bow, the other mysterious man in a robe left…

Steve closed the door of the merchant trader and grinned, pocketing several emerald credits into his pouch. With a pleased smile still on his face, he lightly stepped off toward the next stall.

Only already finished and heading out of town did he become aware of two strangers, following him. Briefly tensed up, he did his best to relax and kept walking. He even started to whistle a bit, pretending that he didn't see them.

As soon as he crossed the corner, where their view was briefly blocked by the brick wall, he took off running. Jumping into the woods, he leapt over the branches and skid upon the dry leaves as he fled. Behind him, coming around the corner, the two men startled and then leapt after him.

Half an hour later, heavily breathing, Steve stood backing away from the two, his violet eyes flicking with worry from one frowning face to the next.

"What do you want? You want my tokens? Here. Just leave me alone." Steve frowned at them and threw his token pouch to their feet. Their eyes carelessly followed it, but neither made a move to pick it up.

"We don't want your stupid tokens." One scoffed, his eyes on Steve furious for making them waste time and run after him.

"What do you want, then?" Steve raised his voice.

In answer, a potion broke at his feet, sending vapors and particles flying up. Steve's violet eyes widened at very familiar bitter taste that filled his nostrils. He just began to turn to get away when his world faded into darkness…

"Good. Just put him here for now." A voice broke through the darkness.

Steve felt his body carelessly let go. An attempt to move proved futile – his entire body felt weak and didn't respond to him, besides uselessly twitching muscles. He did manage to force open his eyes.

Drab tiles of stone floor met him, dusty and cold.

The hands that let go of him, picked him up again and resumed dragging. He could see the marks left on the dusty floor where his trousers wiped a trail. His muddy boots dragged, making a noise.

"Here." An unknown voice directed.

Steve felt his body hoisted up by his arms, leaned over what seemed to be a stone basin of some sort. A tablet with etched ruins stood right before his eyes. Two feet stepped into view. With the edge of his eyes, Steve thought that he glimpsed the edge of a sword. It gleamed in the dark, reflecting the menacing, red flicker of redstone torches. It seemed ominous.

What?...

"How much blood do we need?" A dark baritone asked. Steve's eyes flew wide and his heart picked up a beat.

Cultists!

He would struggle, but his body still refused so much as make a twitch. Seeing the guy with the sword draw closer to him, Steve tightly squeezed his eyes.

Oh, please let all of this just be a terrible dream! His body was shifted again, so his head hung lower.

"Right there. Hold him. That's good."

Steve wanted to cry. This was so unfair! He barely got a chance to live at all! He should have gone to see the ocean. He had never seen the ocean. He was always mining and telling himself, just a little more and then I'll do it. Now he wouldn't get a chance.

And Chops! He was still penned in! Who will let him out if Steve didn't come back? Steve's heart panged with pity for the poor creature.

The sword drew closer to his neck. Steve stifled a whimper, hoping that this would be quick and not hurt too much.

One of the cultists roughly pulled out his arm. Steve felt a small nick on his hand. His hand was held over the pedestal, where drops of blood slowly pooled and fell upon the runes of the ancient tablet.

"That enough?" The voice broke through Steve's panic. An affirmative grunt sounded.

Before Steve could take a breath of relief at this unexpected delay from sure death, he was unceremoniously dragged to the side and dumped like a sack of potatoes.

For a little while, he just lay there and breathed, tremendously relieved. Then, his violet eyes cautiously turned to the scene playing out before him. In his position, pulled slightly away, he could now see it more clearly.

Several men stood around a podium lit by the dim light of redstone torches, their faces hidden by their dark robes. They were in a… temple? Steve's eyes strayed to the fresco-covered walls. Images of figures of what he could only assume were the ancient gods, judging by their haughty manners, displayed long-forgotten stories of some ancient legends. Steve did not find anything familiar at first glance. It was dark. And the images on the walls were worn out. This temple was really old.

"How long is it going to take? Maybe its broken?" One of the cowled robes grumbled. "Or maybe his blood is not good enough? Are you sure you got the right guy?" He cast Steve a resentful glare, his eyes gleaming faintly red. Steve's stomach fell at the sight.

Magic. Cultists and some evil, dark ritual, where he – Steve – featured as some sort of sacrifice? They were going to bleed him to death for the sake of favor to some long-forgotten dark god?

Steve's fearful eyes flicked to the fresco directly over the pedestal and his blood grew cold. Holding his breath, he warily studied the statue of a man there. Half-embedded into the wall, the being's arms appeared chained and twisted behind him to a column, which rose to support the ceiling. And a mask of agony and anger held on his frozen stone face. The image looked so real that it gave Steve goosebumps.

"Just give it another moment." Another cultist said.

"Maybe we need more blood?" The third offered.

No, no, no. Please work! Whatever it is you are trying to do, Steve fervently wished, having no desire at all to lose any more of the precious liquid. The cut on his hand bloomed into a stinging ache that slowly increased as his dulled senses began to return. The potion effects were waning.

As if in response to his desperate thoughts, something in the wall cracked. The dull sound spread, sending dust floating into the stale air below. The cowled figures stepped back, a few of them waving the air before their faces and one broke into a dry cough.

The cracks spread, crawling up and along the walls, spidering outward somewhere in the darkness. Dim red embers appeared, glowing in their depth, slowly increasing in strength. Tiny veins snapped along the pedestal to the column, finally reaching the embedded statue.

The cowled figures and Steve looked with awed fascination as flakes began to fall off what appeared to be a living being, encased inside the stone. Chained hands shook and moved, fists clenching and unclenching, the stony chains turning to golden metal where red runes burned before fading away. A chest beneath tattered, teal shirt sharply in-drew breath. A pained groan broke out, to trail off in a cough. The figure of what Steve previously assumed to be a statue, detached from the wall and fell to the ground in much the same manner as Steve did a bit earlier.

Steve's eyes held with disbelief on it, his thoughts scattering all over the place.

"It worked! We got him!"

The cowled figure stepped toward the fallen being and roughly pulled up his head by dusty, tangled hair, evoking a common gasp from the other cultists.

"Careful!" One warned.

"Relax. His power is still bound. He is as helpless as a child." The man mistreating the being declared, his voice filled with a superior smirk. Steve's eyes remained glued to the face of the being, and he noticed the confusion and pain morph into an angry frown.

Tanned skin, dark stubble of a beard, the mysterious stranger looked a lot like Steve, himself. Just as Steve watched, the man's dazed eyes opened. Steve's breath froze once again.

"Herobrine…" He whispered through numb lips. Hushed stories burst into his mind from his childhood, when he as a little boy sat in the family library and with awe looked at the yellowed pages detailing their ancient family history.

Glowing eyes narrowed and flicked in his direction, the frown etching deeper on the man's face. A shiver went through Steve's form and he unconsciously tried to get smaller.

An ancient demigod returned to life. Murderer of thousands. A Monster.

He thought it was just a legend.

"So, you also know about this?" The cowled man turned to Steve, appearing amused. "Didn't think you would. Didn't think you were still alive. I thought you died along with all of your accursed blood."

Images of fire devouring his family home held in Steve's wide-open, violet eyes. He blinked at the cowled man, new fear rising in him.

"Do not worry. I'm glad that you didn't die. As it turned out to be, we might still have use of you, yet." The man turned back to the white-eyed figure and yanked his hair back harsher. "Definitely a family resemblance here. Don't you think?" He turned to the other, scorn slipping into his mocking tone. "Perhaps the Great Brothers shared more than mere power here."

"Don't push it, Genard. Let's just do this and then get rid of them both." The other man insisted, slight fear in his tone.

Steve gulped. Get rid…? It seemed his relief had been unfounded. He was still in deep trouble.

"Lets…" The cowled leader agreed. Suddenly scowling, a sword materialized in his hand and he viciously thrust it into the fallen man's side. The man's body arched, a grimace twisting his features with pain. Steve's heart unwillingly panged with sympathy. Murderer or not, it was obvious that his outcast family ancestor was facing an even greater predicament than Steve. Obviously, these conspirators used Steve only as a means to get their hands on him. Whatever their intent, it bode nothing good.

Leaning closer to the pinned man, the cowled man twisted the sword, evoking an unwilling groan from his victim, though the man's lips then stubbornly set into a line, his face becoming expressionless. White eyes glared at his tormentor, as if carefully memorizing every feature.

"Look while you can, you ancient freak. You remain alive only as long as you cooperate. Fail to do that and you will wish you were frozen again in stone. Your immortality will not save you from pain. And you already know just how inventive we mortals can be." The tone of the cultist's voice mocked, boldly staring the weakened demigod directly into his eerie white eyes.

"You will do as we say. Is that clear?" The mocking tone turned to an outright threat and the sword twisted again, sinking deeper.

After a moment, the demigod reluctantly nodded, the hostile glow of his eyes dimming and wide shoulders slumping a little in defeat. Satisfied, the cultist leaned back. A sword pulled out of the demigod's flesh and vanished. Fascinated despite himself, Steve stared at the torn wound, which closed and healed while he still watched.

"Contain them until you're ready." The cultist said in a clipped voice that lacked interest. He turned and walked to the temple exit, not bothering to look back to check if his orders were obeyed. They were. The other cowled men stepped uncertainly to the still fallen figure and cautiously reached to his chains, by which they hauled him up. Stumbling, they led the being to the far, right corner, where only now Steve noticed portable cages set up with heavy, iron bars. Pushing the man within, they turned and waited.

Wait…

Strong hands pulled Steve up none too gently and began dragging him in same direction. Seeing the dull white eyes that held on him, Steve tried to pull back. Only one leg responded to him. He tried to brake, scraping it against the floor. A rough jerk pulled him forward.

"Wait… Y-you cannot… Aah!" Steve cried out as he was pushed into the cage and fell face down directly upon the stone floor. Immediately, he tried to scramble to all fours. Adrenaline boost finally overcame the vanishing effects of the potion and his body obeyed. Steve lunged back, swaying, only to see the barred door lock in his face.

"Y-you cannot leave m-me with h-him." Steve pleaded, fear filling his entire body. His hands on the bars shook. All the while he felt eerie gaze of white eyes boring into his back. "P-please!"

He even dared to plea in his desperation. The scowled figures scoffed. "Be silent." One muttered. They turned around and left, heading to the far podium to rejoin others in their group. Carefully, they began to clear away the debris that Herobrine's awakening had caused. Hushed sounds of conversation reached Steve's ears, but he couldn't distinguish it.

Feeling the gaze burning his back, he spun around and blinked at the stranger. The strange, white eyes held on him, thoughtful, even though the stranger's face remained expressionless.

"I'm… I'm sorry… It's just that…" Steve stammered in awkward apology, but gave up, unable to find words. What was he supposed to say to this legendary being that was supposed to be his ancient ancestor? Until just a few moments ago, he thought it all just a fascinating story! He didn't think the guy actually ever existed!

The other remained silent. Then, white eyes wearily closed as the man leaned his head back against the bars. Steve's eyes slipped to the scars crisscrossing the being's wiry, yet muscled arms. The rest disappeared under his tattered t-shirt. The rest of his clothes were just as worn out, but more scars were visible on his bare, dusty feet.

They punished him for his crime. While he was still helpless, they chained him to a pole in their city square, and then brought forth whips fashioned from the supple vines of the wither rose, its poisonous thorns and barbs entrenched into the mesh. And then before the eyes of the common mortals, they punished him, subjecting him not to death, but to public humiliation as their crowds jeered. All of it, he bore in silence, ignoring them even as blood trailed down from his wounds, which refused to heal because of the vile poison.

Later that night, monsters attacked. Their city burnt.

Steve blinked as sudden sympathy re-emerged – same that he felt as a child when he heard this story for the first time. It didn't seem fair, even if the murderous demi-god did turn against all humans after that, destroying all who came in his path. In the very beginning, he did only try to interfere out of the sense of justice. And for that, he was punished. He repaid those treacherous mortals in full, decimating their armies and then proceeded even further, destroying their villages and towns. An entire nation ceased to exist, their survivors fleeing to other places with tales of horror and woe. And the other immortals condemned him for this act. He stood trial and his own brother, Notch, Steve's distant ancestor, sealed his power and then cast a spell to put him to sleep, sealing him away for all time as punishment.

These cultists had found the place. And they used Steve to… wake the ancient outcast. They planned to keep him imprisoned? Somehow use his power?

What was their plan?

Steve's violet eyes strayed from the weary being to the cowled figures gathered on the other side of the temple. They were busy setting something up. Some sort of structure, with glimmering blocks of crystal forming a pyramid upon a dark base. More redstone torches burned around the structure, casting the place into an ominous shade.

Whatever their plan was, it wasn't good. Steve had no doubt of that.

Peering through the iron bars, he chewed his lip, frowning.

"What do you think they are doing?" He asked absent-mindedly, for a moment forgetting who his companion in misfortune was. Glancing back, he startled badly.

The other man's blank eyes were open again and staring at him with a strange expression. A heavy feeling descended, blanketing Steve's mind. Impressions formed into words.

So, your name is Steve.

Steve blinked. The being was speaking to him, without using words. He thought that there was a strained quality to it, as if the words reached across a great distance or came through a thickness of water.

That's right. His ability to speak was sealed, so he couldn't use Words of Power and resist. The other immortals made sure of that after they defeated him. That part of the legend was true, too? Steve sheepishly smiled, not sure how to behave himself in the presence of this being.

Strangely, he felt no anger or malicious intent coming from the being's direction.

"I am… I mean, my name is Steve, yes." He hurried to say. The being wearily blinked, the oppressive feeling diffusing. White eyes flicked cautiously to the cultists, still dedicated to their activity.

Where is your home, Steve? Where do you feel safe? Do you wish to go there?

Words came again, dull. Steve's face lit up, though, as images of his small, cozy cabin vividly appeared before his eyes. Birch trees and oaks, with their rustling leaves. Tall stalks of grass, swaying a bit. And the rays of the sun overheard warmly shining upon the peaceful scene.

"Do I wish I was home? Yes… Very much so…" Steve smiled, lost in his own thoughts as he considered the image. "I…"

Steve turned his eyes to the man, only to find him next to him. He gasped as one scarred arm reached out and grasped his shoulder.

The world around him span and fell away.

Steve swallowed, fighting nausea, and dared to peek open one eye. Both his eyes then flew open in surprise.

He was home. The cabin, which he just saw in his memory, stood right before him. It was still daytime with late sunlight covering the feathery edges of clouds in vivid orange and pink. A disbelieving smile softly building on his face, Steve looked around himself at the familiar sight. Tremendous relief rushed through his entire body.

"You… You took us away. Thank…" Steve's voice trailed away when he turned to his companion, about to give him sincere thanks. His eyes held on the man's dazed face. White eyes held ahead, unseeing.

Steve barely had the time to step in and catch his legendary ancestor's body as he collapsed. Worried, Steve searched the man's face, noting the exhaustion that dwelled in shadows under his eyes, which were now closed.

His body, lighter than it should be, hung in Steve's arms.

"Um…"

Steve's eyes, lost, shifted between the unconscious form and his cabin. Then, lips settled into a determined line, he gently lowered his rescuer's form to the ground and hurried inside.

A few moments later, he emerged with several healing potions in his hands and hurriedly threw them next to the man's body. Biting his lip, he waited for the effect while particles swirled around the still form.

Did it… work?

Slight stirring of the man's fingers and then the twitch of dark eyelashes told Steve that yes, it worked. His uncertainty returning, Steve made a small step back.

A familiar feeling settled over his mind, this time lighter and easier than before.

Do not worry… I would never harm… my brother's… great-great… grandchild?

The slightly amused tone gained a question in the end. Steve nervously blinked.

"Um…" Was all he managed to say.

White eyes opened and held on his as the man slowly forced himself to sit up, his manacled hands still shaking as he did so. Golden chains with symbols faded, vanishing from site, until only twin braces remained on the man's wrists. Wincing, he rubbed them, before casting a curious look around.

For an ancient ancestor, he looked only a couple of years older than Steve, himself. They were so alike. Steve's eyes held on his relative with unwilling fascination.

"How long?... And where is this?... Where is my brother, Notch?" The being asked again, white eyes returning to consider Steve with amicable, mild expression that did not fit at all how Steve imagined him to be from stories he heard in his childhood.

He let out a slow breath, feeling the being's gaze still on him, expectant but not pressing. How was he even supposed to answer that? He didn't know where to begin. There were only legends and even those were long forgotten, only passed along in their family along with other myths and tales.

"Um… I don't know what to say… It's been a long time." Steve admitted, deciding that honesty was best. Images of his childhood returned.

Him, cuddling in a huge chair, glad that his father allowed him to stay in his study. Enormous table covered with books and his father's large hand, writing something in a report.

Him, standing on the porch of their large house, and his mother's hand tightening on his shoulder as a man in a military uniform stiffly stood before them, an envelope in his gloved hand.

Steve's mother's sobs coming from behind the closed door, as he passed by, trying to be quiet.

Steve and his mom, casting a last look at their former estate, before carriage drove them away. A for-sale sign hung on the front lawn, green and freshly cut. Their family home, now passing on to someone else.

A far away place, another country. Steve running along the fields, all his sorrows forgotten as he laughed, warding off the geese as another child with bright red hair squealed, hiding behind him. He felt brave and strong, though those enormous white birds normally terrified him.

"Steve, you'll be going to regular school tomorrow. We cannot afford private tutors, but it's a good school." His mother's apologetic voice and their distant relative's house behind her, with accurate windows in a two-story building. Not as big as their own house before but nice. Their relative nice as well. Steve could see the old man wave to him from where he sat in his wheelchair. Also, a veteran of war, but an earlier one, not one that was raging now, which took Steve's father away.

Fire, their house burning.

Steve standing on the edge of a double grave, his heart numb and filled with disbelief. This was just a bad dream. Wake up, mom. A closed casket being lowered into the ground. His own small hand grasping a bit of dirt and throwing it on top of the plain, dark, wooden box.

A car and fields passing across as the silent driver in black drove him for hours, slowing down only at the gate. And the plain, drab windows of a building that stood behind it, its walls stark and gray. A greeting sign on the gate, where Steve's dazed eyes flicked. Mistlevale Orphanage.

The images let go, leaving Steve blinking, dazed by the sudden onslaught of memories. His violet eyes turned to his relative and caught a sympathetic and slightly apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry. It was the easiest way…" The man began. Dropping his gaze, still overwhelmed, Steve silently turned away and entered his cabin. The door closed behind him.

Herobrine watched his distant relative with guilt and sighed. Then, his white eyes turned to the world around him and held on the trees, their leaves peacefully rustling as wind blew through them in gentle gusts.

So… Even more time had passed than he had thought. And the world changed beyond measure, if the young man's memories were any indication. The enemies who once condemned him were long dead and gone, or so he could hope. There were new enemies here, as his unpleasant awakening just showed, but they were nothing compared to what he had to face before.

A slight, crooked smile appeared on Herobrine's face as he regarded this strange world with rising curiosity.

In his cabin, Steve pouted as he tried to come to grips with his hurt feelings. Of course, his relative would choose the easiest way to learn about what was going on. He had to, considering the danger that they both just barely escaped. But… it still didn't feel good. By his strange, inhuman magic, he had just… taken what he wanted from Steve's mind.

It was all right though. He… could understand that.

Gathering his courage, Steve took a cup and filled it with cool water. He stepped outside the cabin. His eyes on the cup, so he wouldn't spill it, he fought against the last feelings of resent that still tried to cling.

"Herobrine? Would you like to come in?" He offered.

Looking up, Steve blinked at the empty ground where he left the man. Only the slightly pressed grass told him that he had really been there. Steve's puzzled eyes swept across the peaceful scene, a feeling that the whole thing was just some sort of strange dream becoming so strong that Steve hesitated, on the edge of accepting it as such.

Ancient legends? Beings with superpowers? A mythical hero with white eyes who could teleport in the blink of an eye and make a few hundred monsters appear from thin air? Come to think of it, Steve should not feel so scared of him. What was a single person, really, in the age of tanks and airplanes flying through the sky? Even a demigod with an enchanted sword was not as nearly frightening as a bomb that could wipe out a million lives in mere seconds.

Steve sighed, even feeling slightly disappointed. Was it really just a dream?

An ache on his hand intruded in his pensive mood. Steve lifted his left hand and stared at a small, angry cut there. He humphed, a bit encouraged.

Or maybe not a dream.

With worry, he looked out into the green trees. Despite having looked into his memories, Herobrine had no idea how this greatly changed world worked. He, Steve, should have warned him of that, instead of sulking at his confused relative's methods of obtaining information.

Steve wished that his relative would come back before he heedlessly walked into some danger or caused trouble.

"I did not go far. Do not worry." A mild thought emerged in his thoughts and the familiar figure stood once again on the path leading to the cabin, swaying a bit with weariness but this time openly smiling. Closing his eyes, the stranger leaned his face up to the sunlight and took a deep, slow breath, appearing to enjoy his freedom.

Steve unwillingly smiled, too. Instead of words, he reached out the cup of cold water.

With a small nod of gratitude, Herobrine reached his scarred hand and took it from him, still looking amused.

"Thank you, child." A voice in Steve's head sounded so clear that it might as well have been said out loud.

"Pfft. I'm not a child. And what are you really, twenty-four?" He huffed with some annoyance. His relative's lips twitched, amused.

"Bingo. I was. Now its twenty-four plus three thousand six hundred and twenty eight. Give or take a few months." The voice in Steve's head turned doubtful.

"Years of being imprisoned under some enchanted spell do not really count." Steve pointed out, encouraged by cordial attitude. This time, Herobrine laughed.

"How did that really happen, anyway?" Steve dared to prod. The elated smile lessened a bit. His relative looked away.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" Steve began to apologize but white eyes turned to him again without anger.

"Its all right. Its fair. I learned about you, so you should know about me. It would be an even exchange." Herobrine said reluctantly.

"You don't have to." Steve offered, relieved and Herobrine nodded, accepting. Again, he swayed a little on his feet. His expression turned wry.

"You don't mind letting your uncle stay a bit at your place? Until I figure things out? Its rather overwhelming."

Steve blinked for a moment, then grinned. That was true! He had family again! He wasn't alone.

And Herobrine knew this fully, considering that he had snooped around in Steve's mind. Steve was not sure how much his strange relative managed to learn, but he was already using modern words and expressions. Steve still could not help his excitement.

"Sure. You're welcome to it. Want to come in?" He hopefully offered. Another smile twitched on his young uncle's face and he patiently nodded.

Steve jumped to the door of his cabin and held it open, waiting for his relative to walk in. Herobrine did so and immediately fastened his weary eyes on an old couch. A moment later he was sinking into the worn-out cushions. A yawn broke through his face. Forgetfully, white eyes turned to the cup he still held in his hand and he drank the cool liquid down, enjoying the long-forgotten taste.

"More?" Steve smiled and stepped forward to take the cup. Herobrine nodded.

Steve went to fill it up. Only when he got back, he saw his uncle already asleep, his head leaned back against the wall. Steve watched him for a moment. It was difficult to think of his relative as his uncle, really. He looked only a couple of years older than Steve, himself.

But he really did have super-powers. This was so cool! Steve grinned, excitement once again building in his chest.

Just wait until he told his cousin Alex about this!

Wait… He probably should not.

No, he should! Alex would never rat on him.

Only how was he going to explain all this? His uncle had no documents. And his strange eyes? Well, sunglasses would help, although it might look strange around here. Maybe… he could say that his uncle was from out of town? Or even another country! A relative that he didn't know about? They would believe that for sure – they looked so alike!

Those cultists… They will be an issue. But Herobrine managed to spoil their plans just like that! Even though he barely woke up! Steve had full confidence that his legendary relative could handle a small band of crazies.

How did they find out about all this, though? And where was that strange temple?

Steve's excited eyes drew to his visitor, slumped asleep on his couch. All these questions could wait. Herobrine would tell him all about it. He promised.

He… should let him sleep. Steve admonished himself. He tip-toed to the door and then turned around.

"I'll be back. I'll be… on my farm. In the back." Steve clarified just in case. His uncle cracked open one silver eye and made a dismissive wave. Encouraged, Steve left, shutting the door behind him. Another cheerful grin appeared as he headed with bouncy step to pick up a bucket by the side of his porch. Briefly stopping, he felt at his credits belt, but found it missing. His smile lessened a bit.

That's right. He threw it to those bullies. They didn't even take it. Maybe it still was there?

Shrugging, Steve resumed his work.

Well, he could probably ask Herobrine if they could go there and look. Plus, his uncle probably could conjure up emeralds from thin air? Or even diamonds. If the legends were true. Steve couldn't help another smile blooming on his face.

This started out scary, but now it was awesome!