The tale of Herobrine was as old as the dirt beneath your boots, one that you'd been told countless of times growing up in your village and only further expanded upon by Steve; the nomad who, after much begging and convincing on your side, allowed both you and Alex to accompany him on trips from time to time. It was that way then you'd learnt more about the elusive legend through the warnings even he, someone as strong as Steve, carried close to his chest.

Yet as you aged into adulthood, that quiet part of you long repressed reared its head, aching with curiosity and defiance to ignore the prattling of men too old to even lift a hammer and women with sharp mouths yet sharper paranoia. "Lock your windows and doors at night, he steals newborns!" "Never leave your livestock outside come sundown, unless you want them gutted by dawn!"

If Alex or Steve knew of your plans to trek down into the deep, uncharted caverns beneath the world, they'd have surely stopped you, just like everyone else. And maybe, just maybe, you should've listened.

"You should've listened to those mongrels." A voice—similar to Steve's but wrong in a deep, primordial way—whispers in your mind your skull aching at the base of your neck.

You've been lost underground with nothing but your last torch and running low supplies, having gone off the map you'd bought in a foolish plan to 'show them all'. And now, that curious part of you is terrified to give the name to what's—or rather who's—down here with you.