"What happened here?" Markle asks, gesturing toward the window where morning light illuminates the village ruins. "This place looks like it was attacked, but not just randomly destroyed. Almost like it was... targeted."
Miya pauses in gathering supplies from the small house, her silver hair catching the sunlight in a way that makes it shimmer like quicksilver.
"Perceptive," she says, her voice carrying an edge beneath its musical tone. "Most would just assume random monster attacks."
She places a few bread loaves into a makeshift pack. As if she's packed to leave many times before.
"It happened three nights ago," Miya continues, not meeting his eyes. "I was gathering resources in the mines south of here."
Markle moves to help her pack, still watchful of this strange woman who had tied him up in his sleep. "What exactly happened?"
"When I returned at dawn," she says, handing him a stone sword, "this is what I found. The village was already like this."
Her eyes flick toward the window, toward the devastation outside. For a moment, something cold passes across her face, quickly replaced by practiced sorrow.
"The wooden structures were burning. The stone ones were damaged but standing." She sighs, the sound almost convincing. "Only a few villagers survived the initial attack."
"Initial attack?" Markle repeats, testing the weight of the sword in his blocky hand. "There was more than one?"
Miya nods, her patchwork robes shifting with the movement. "Come, I'll show you as we walk. We should leave soon anyway."
They exit the house into the morning light. The village looks even worse in full daylight—blackened timbers, scattered belongings, broken fences.
"It started here," Miya explains, leading him to what once might have been a marketplace. "The zombies came first, after midnight. More organized than usual."
Markle's face darkens at the mention of zombies. "Organized how?"
"They moved together, in formation." Her voice takes on a storyteller's rhythm. "Not the usual shambling. Almost like they were being... directed."
She kicks at a charred piece of wood, sending it skittering across the ground. "The villagers fought back. Iron golems defended the perimeter, but then..."
"Then?" Markle prompts when she falls silent.
"Then the skeletons arrived." Miya points to the roof of a damaged building. "They positioned themselves on high ground. Perfect archers' nests."
Markle examines the building, noting the strategic advantage it would provide. "And the creepers? I see explosion damage."
Something flickers in Miya's eyes—satisfaction, perhaps? It vanishes before Markle can be sure.
"That was the final wave," she confirms. "They came in when the villagers were already fighting on two fronts."
They walk past what looks like a blacksmith's forge, its stone structure cracked but intact. Tools lie scattered across the ground, abandoned mid-use.
"But that's not how monsters usually behave," Markle observes. "In the game—I mean, from what I've seen—they don't coordinate attacks like that."
Miya's lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Oh? And you're suddenly an expert on monster behavior after two days in this world?"
The rebuke stings, but Markle persists. "It just seems strange. Almost like someone was controlling them."
"Exactly what the surviving villagers said." Miya's voice drops lower. "Before they fled."
They reach the village well—or what remains of it. A gaping crater extends several blocks deep, as if something exploded from within.
"This is where the last villagers made their stand," Miya says, gesturing to the destruction. "The iron golems were destroyed by then."
Markle peers into the crater, noting the precisely placed explosion pattern. "Creepers did this?"
"Several, detonating in sequence." Miya kneels at the edge, running her fingers along the damaged stone. "Almost as if they were... sacrificing themselves."
There's an odd pride in her voice that Markle doesn't register, too focused on the destruction before him.
"Where did the survivors go?" he asks, looking around as if expecting to see them hiding in the ruins.
Miya stands, brushing dust from her knees. "North, toward the larger settlement. Safety in numbers."
"And you stayed behind?" Markle turns to her, suspicious again. "Why?"
Her face shifts into a mask of determined grief. "To collect what was left. To salvage what I could from our homes."
"But you said it wasn't your village," Markle points out. "You called it your neighbor's house."
Miya's eyes narrow slightly, then relax. "Figure of speech. I lived on the outskirts. That's why I survived—the attacks concentrated on the village center."
She leads him past more destruction, her steps light despite the somber scene. One hand occasionally brushes against the strange symbols on her robes.
"So you're the only one who stayed behind?" Markle asks, still trying to piece together her story.
"The only one foolish enough," she agrees, her windchime laugh oddly discordant against the backdrop of ruin. "Or brave enough, depending on how you look at it."
They reach the edge of the village, where the destruction gives way to untouched grassland. Markle turns back for one last look at the devastation.
"It's strange, though," he says slowly. "The zombies you described... they sound like the Brotherhood that contacted me."
"Brotherhood?" Miya's voice sharpens with interest. "You didn't mention any brotherhood."
Markle shrugs. "The zombies in the stronghold. They called themselves the Brotherhood of Broken Bones. Said all zombies are connected through some kind of hive mind."
Something flashes across Miya's face—recognition, calculation—before settling into a mask of concern.
"Then perhaps this attack was related to you, chosen one." Her words drip with false revelation. "Perhaps they were searching for you even then."
"But I hadn't even arrived in this world yet," Markle argues.
"Are you certain about your timeline?" Miya counters. "Between worlds, time can flow... differently."
Markle considers this, distracted by the idea. Meanwhile, Miya's eyes drift to a shadowy space between two damaged buildings.
A low groan emanates from the darkness—a zombie's call. Miya's fingers twitch subtly at her side, a gesture almost like dismissal. The groaning stops immediately.
"What was that?" Markle turns toward the sound.
"Just the wind in the broken timbers," Miya says smoothly. "This place is full of ghosts now."
Markle's face softens with sympathy. "I'm sorry about your village. About your neighbors."
"Yes, well." Miya adjusts her pack, avoiding his gaze. "We all lose things in this world. The trick is to keep moving forward."
She begins walking away from the village, her silver hair catching the light like a beacon. After a moment's hesitation, Markle follows.
"Where will you go now?" he asks, falling into step beside her. "Back to the larger settlement?"
"I thought I made that clear." Miya glances at him, her mischievous smile returning. "I'm coming with you, chosen one. Your dragon quest sounds far more interesting than refugee life."
Markle studies her as they walk, trying to read the truth behind her playful demeanor. "You're not telling me everything about what happened here."
Miya's smile never falters. "Of course not. We've only just met. I don't tell anyone everything."
Her eyes meet his, challenging and secretive all at once. "But I've told you enough for now. The rest... well, you'll have to earn my trust for that."
Behind them, the ruined village recedes into the distance. Ahead, the open landscape of Minecraft stretches in blocky perfection.
"Fair enough," Markle concedes, though his suspicions remain. "I guess we've all got our secrets."
"Indeed." Miya's voice carries a hint of satisfaction. "And finding them out is half the fun, wouldn't you say?"
As they walk away from the destruction she orchestrated, Miya's fingers trace the symbols on her robes—symbols of power and control that the clueless chosen one hasn't yet learned to recognize.