The sun was setting in AcookieGod’s Minecraft world, painting the blocky sky in hues of orange and pink. He stood on the edge of his massive floating island base—a structure he had spent hundreds of hours building. Towers made of quartz and prismarine reached toward the clouds, redstone contraptions humming softly below, and gardens of glowberries dangled in harmony. This was home.

Then the message appeared.

“Player123 joined the game.”

He froze.

“No,” he whispered.

The name was familiar—a griefer from a past stream he had banned. Somehow, they were back. Before he could kick them, lava poured from above, TNT detonated below. The screen shook violently. His pets were caught in the blast, his villagers set ablaze. His statue, a towering likeness of himself holding a cookie, cracked and fell in pieces.

AcookieGod's hands trembled on the keyboard. “Please stop,” he whispered. But it was too late. Fire consumed everything. Chests exploded, their contents scattered and burning. The world—his world—was gone.

He logged out.

Silence filled his real room. The glow of his monitor dimmed as the Minecraft launcher minimized. He sat back, eyes wide, then buried his face in his hands. The sobs came quietly at first, then grew—shaking his shoulders.

From the bed, Oreo, his black-and-white cat, padded over and leapt onto his lap. She purred, headbutting his arm, trying to comfort him. He clutched her gently, tears soaking into her fur.

“It was just a game,” he muttered. But the weight of all that time, creativity, and passion made it feel like more. So he sat there, in the dark, holding Oreo, while the echoes of TNT still rang in his mind.