Light.
He opened his eyes.
A wooden house greeted him. Two unfamiliar figures stood around him, yet in this alien place, when they moved, he followed.
Something was wrong. The surroundings, the figures, his own body, something was off. And then, his confusion peaked with the creak of the door.
Golden sunlight poured into the room, momentarily blinding his eyes. And beyond that door..
-Minecraft?!
The cobblestone was rough and weather-worn. The air carried the scent of hay and baked earth. Villagers bustled about like townsfolk in a medieval fiefdom—bartering, planting, praying. Cats slipped between homes. Children played under the watchful eye of a towering iron golem, whose gaze held a warmth that didn't match its metal frame.
He turned to speak, to call out, but the two figures were gone. Lost in the crowd.
-How?
He tried moving toward a chest, but his hands wouldn't work like before. He couldn't interact. Couldn't break blocks. Couldn't punch. All he could do was wander and watch.
He found the blacksmiths, two of them, hammering in rhythm. He tried to speak, to ask anything. But they looked at him like a confused child.
No one could answer his questions. No one remembered where the village came from. Or who built the houses. Or how it all began.
They lived in loops. Breed. Trade. Repeat.
The day ended too quickly. The sun dipped below the blocky horizon.
And then, groans.
The villagers had already scrambled inside. He was the last. He darted into a random house and slammed the door shut.
He prayed not but the banging came. This was hard mode. Rotten fists threw sickening punches, the green flesh was squenching under the impacts. The door shook. Cracked. Splinters flew. And it broke.
Zombies.
He peeked through the window. The iron golem was already swinging, fists launching mobs into the sky. But there were too many. Many wore armor, some enchanted. One even rode a chicken. The golem's metal creaked, chest dented, yet its will was iron.
He ran.
He was fast, baby villagers were. But he wasn't alone. Behind him, with a screech that shook his core, came a baby zombie. As fast as him, and hungry.
He dove under a low tree, crawled under a fence. But the baby zombie was relentless.
He ran along the village and saw the carnage. The adults weren't as agile as him. Screams filled the night. Villagers falling and rising again as something else. One by one, the village was consumed.
He spotted the golem, now badly damaged, limping toward the town center, his last hope.
He reached it just in time before the horde encircled them, the last 2 survivors.
The golem could have broken the circle. It was more than strong enough for these undead but it did not. It couldnt leave him. It fought with all its might, dedicated the guard the child at his feet.
He was scared. And he was in awe. He never saw golems as so dignified, so noble. The golem transformed in his mind from a source of iron to his almighty protector.
But the zombies were relentless. With every punch, the golem also took more hits. It was not going to win this fight.
He was powerless.
He should have been faster to adapt. He knew the night was coming. He knew the threats ahead but his experience was what blinded him. He lived through countless nights, but never as a villager. He couldnt break blocks, his inventory only took food and he couldn't even use his fists to punch. He was powerless. Only if he was a..
A change occured.
Everything froze. The zombies twitched. Turned their heads.
Footsteps. Heavy. Confident.
His eyes widened. Was that.. Steve? A player.
He had no armor and a mere stone sword but his figure radiated confidence. It was easy to see he didnt see the zombies as a threat. His sword already drawn, he approached the horde.
The mobs forgot about him and the iron golem, they broke into a frenzy, drawn to the player like moths to flame.
He didn't see the expected mundane minecraft combat. The player danced among the zombies, a blur of violence. The iron golem joined in with its remaining might, hurling zombies aside like dolls.
And then it was over.
The dead lay still. The groans dissapeared. Silence.
The golem turned to him, its red eyes calm and solemn.
A player had came. He saved them, so effortlesly.
He had once been in his place. He could break and place blocks. He could use weapons. He could beat any zombie too. He was unstoppable.
But now, he was a mere villager. He wasnt the game's main character anymore. He was... a slave.
Wait.
His eyes widened. He had been in place of the player. He had the same gear and he had also found villages.
But what did he do afterwards?
The golem lowered itself to check on him. It was offering a flower to him with warmth in its eyes.
Memories from his old life. Every player did it.
-Don't... you need to run!
But it was too late.
With the golem's cracked state, the player didnt even bother to tower up. His sword plunged into the injured golem's back. Once. Twice. Three times.
The golem fell with a metallic cry. The flower tumbled from its hand. A poppy.
The player picked up the iron, looked at the flower in his inventory… and discarded it.
Then walked away. Silent. Uncaring of their actions.
The sun rose.
He stood there in the ruins. Empty houses. Rotten flesh. And silence.
The flower rested at his feet.
He couldn't even pick it up.
For a long moment, he simply stared at it.
The player hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. He would have done the same if he was at the player's place.
But he was not. He was now an utterly powerless villager, with no village and no iron golem. He was perhaps the weakest existence in this minecraft world.
His kin had been slain by the zombies. His protector was slain by the player. He had nothing left in this world.
No, that was not right.
He was still alive. He was the only one left alive in the village, he was grateful that he survived the night.
He also had years of Minecraft experience. He knew everything about this world.
And he had resolve.
He was not going to be thrown around by some zombies. He was not going to need the player's help to survive. He wasn't going let his kin die.
His body changed, the ground got further away. He became a grown villager.
Alone. But not broken.
"I won't bow down to anyone just because I am not a player. I will build something better," he whispered in his mind. "Something stronger. Something perfect. A village that can never be destroyed. A village free from the undead. A village where even the players wont dare strike."
As the rotten flesh dissapeared around him, he observed the sunrise.
"This is my own, an insignificant villager's resolve"