Runic

*The pickaxe slammed into the cobblestone with a dull thud, chipping away another chunk. I'd been sitting in this gloomy shaft for hours, methodically widening the passage. The sound of falling blocks and my heavy breathing echoed in the narrow corridor, breaking the ringing silence that always seemed deceptive on Mainshield. You never knew who or what was lurking around the next corner—a creeper, a lost player with a diamond sword, or just a dead end.

The headlamp on my helmet dimly illuminated the nearby walls, picking out veins of coal—of which I was currently in dire need—and the occasional fleck of iron. My inventory was nearly full, but I was still far from a perfect stack. Somewhere above, under the sun, life was probably in full swing right now – some were building unimaginable castles, some were trading at the market, and still others were simply wandering the woods, seeking adventure. And me? I, Runic, was once again clawing at the stone, trying to gather resources for yet another upgrade to my base, which, though modest, was mine.

A faint rustle came from around the corner, making me instinctively tighten my grip on the handle of my pickaxe. My heart sank. My gaze darted to the corner, expecting to see the glowing eyes of a zombie or, worse, the familiar name of a player eager to profit from someone else's goods. But there was only darkness there. Just a fallen block, probably. I exhaled, but the tension remained.*