The morning light filtering through the gaps in the cabin walls painted stripes across Neil's face. He awoke feeling surprisingly refreshed, the lingering chill from his fall finally banished. The memories of Elias were still present, but they no longer felt like a jumbled intrusion. They were integrated now, a strange but undeniable part of his being.
The familiar sounds of his family preparing breakfast – the clatter of wooden bowls, the murmur of voices, the sizzle of food over the fire – filled the cabin. He sat up, his muscles feeling less leaden than the day before.
During the simple breakfast of roasted roots and dried berries, Neil felt a sense of normalcy return to the cabin. His near-drowning was still a recent memory, but the immediate crisis had passed. Soon, the adults began to prepare for their day's tasks. His uncles and grandfather gathered their hunting gear and axes, ready to venture into the forest. His aunts and grandmother busied themselves with food preservation and tending to the small, sheltered garden near the cabins. Even his older cousins had their chores.
"You rest today, Neil," his mother said firmly, her eyes still holding a hint of worry as she watched him eat. "No more adventures by the lake."
Neil didn't argue. A part of him was still processing the whirlwind of the past day. As the cabin emptied, leaving him alone, a new curiosity began to bubble within him. The fleeting understanding he'd had of the Artifact was still a faint whisper in his mind. He closed his eyes, focusing inwards, trying to recapture that strange sense of connection.
Slowly, tentatively, it returned. It was like tuning into a faint radio signal, the static gradually giving way to a clear broadcast. He felt the presence of the energy core within him, not as a physical object, but as a wellspring of potential. And then, the interfaces flickered into existence within his mind's eye.
The holographic inventory shimmered before him, an endless grid of empty slots. He instinctively understood its function – a limitless storage space. He focused, and the image shifted to a different visual representation, a vast, mental expanse where items could be organized in a way that felt more natural to him, the "Dream Space."
Then came the crafting table, a familiar 3x3 grid floating in his vision. Recipes he hadn't consciously known in this life surfaced in his mind, triggered by the layout of the grid. Wood could become planks, planks could become sticks… the logic of Minecraft unfolded within him.
He explored further, and another interface materialized, this one displaying information about himself. At the top, in blocky, pixelated letters, he saw the name "Neil" appear, followed by the number "10." Below that, a row of ten vibrant red hearts materialized, each pulsing with a steady beat – his health bar. Next to it, ten stylized chicken drumsticks appeared, some full, others empty – his hunger bar. Beneath the hunger bar, a long, green bar stretched across his vision, currently empty – his experience bar. To the left of the health and hunger bars, arranged vertically, were the outlines of armor slots: a blocky helmet, chestplate, leggings, and boots, waiting to be filled. Finally, in a corner, a small, blank space pulsed gently, indicating where future potion effects would appear.
This internal HUD felt intuitive, a direct link to his physical and magical state, presented in the familiar visual language of Minecraft. It was like having a constant readout of his vitals and potential, a subtle but powerful connection to his past life woven into the fabric of his present.
A thrill of excitement mixed with a sense of the surreal coursed through him. He wanted to do something, to test these newfound abilities. He imagined reaching out to the wooden wall of the cabin, the instinct to "mine" it surfacing.
But his mother's stern warning echoed in his ears. He knew he needed to rest, to fully recover. Impatience warred with caution.
As the day waned, the family began to return to the cabin, the sounds of their day's labor filling the air. The aroma of the evening meal – a hearty stew of root vegetables and foraged greens – drew them together.
During dinner, as the family recounted their day, Neil felt a persistent urge to talk about what had happened, about the strange memories and the even stranger understanding that had followed. But the words caught in his throat. How could he explain something so unbelievable?
"Can I… can I go out tomorrow?" he finally asked, his voice tentative. "I feel much better."
His mother's gaze sharpened. "Absolutely not, young man. You need more rest."
Neil's shoulders slumped slightly. He understood her concern, but the confinement was starting to chafe.
His father, Anil, however, looked at him thoughtfully. "Perhaps… perhaps a short walk. Just to get some fresh air. I need to collect some more wood from the south clearing tomorrow. Neil can come with me, just to carry a few small branches. He'll stay close."
Maya hesitated, her eyes flickering between her husband and her son. Finally, with a sigh, she relented. "Alright. But you stay right beside your father, Neil. And if you feel tired at all, you tell him immediately."
A small spark of excitement flickered within Neil. He would finally have a chance to venture out again, and perhaps… perhaps even begin to understand how his strange new reality could interact with the world around him.
As the day ended and the family settled down for the night, Neil lay in his bed, the image of his internal HUD still vivid in his mind. Tomorrow, he would step back into the frozen forest, not just as Neil Frostwood, but as someone… more. He closed his eyes, a new day and new possibilities beckoning.