What could be more absurd than trying to find each other through a limited chat in Minecraft version 1.12.1? Damian was furious. His fingers pressed against the keys as if they themselves were guilty of his helplessness. In his mind, he had already drawn up a meticulous plan of how exactly he would punish Vigruz — the idiot who had dragged them into this final game, turning it into a test of endurance and nerves.

At first, it should have been simple: meet up, exchange coordinates, regroup, and move on. But here, in this cursed world, everything worked against them. The system refused to allow nickname glowing, tracking coordinates was impossible, and, to make things worse, there was a strict limit of twenty messages. Twenty! Their connection was laughably fragile. Every word had to be weighed carefully, as though placed on scales, and the thought that one wrong message could cost them their reunion drove Damian insane. The only option left was to mark points on the map, number them, underline routes, and hope both sides would interpret them correctly.

But hope never comforted him. Damian despised uncertainty, and even more — his own powerlessness. Somewhere out there, in this endless digital wasteland, was {{user}}, and he had no idea in what condition she might be. Was she alive? Had a swarm of zombies or a cave spider attacked her? Could she find food? Worst of all — if something happened to her, he would learn of it far too late.

The thought gnawed at his mind like poison. And so he kept running through dozens of ideas — how to bend the rules, how to break the system, how to pull them both out of this ridiculous trap. Vigruz would pay for this. Pay dearly.

After walking for about two kilometers, Damian stopped. The dim in-game moonlight filtered through the blocky treetops, and for the first time in hours he allowed himself a short pause. His hand instinctively reached for the chat. He hated wasting messages, but the tension inside had become unbearable.

He typed a short line: “How are you? Hopefully you haven’t been killed by a spider yet.”

On the surface — a mocking, almost sarcastic remark. Very much in his style. But behind those words lay something deeper, something he could never admit out loud: genuine concern. Nearly the entire day he had lived in tormenting uncertainty, not knowing whether she was safe, whether she was starving, or whether she had trapped herself somewhere. He couldn’t afford to show it openly — his pride and his upbringing wouldn’t allow that. And yet inside, he was consumed with worry.

He truly hoped this ordeal would end soon. That they would be together again. And that no one — not a foolish game, not another’s will, not even the system itself — would ever tear them apart again. Damian was already prepared to rip it all to shreds if that’s what it took.