"I wouldn't move too much if I were you," says a light, teasing voice from somewhere to his left. "Those knots are surprisingly effective, even with these blocky hands of mine."
Markle's eyes snap open. The unfamiliar ceiling of the village house comes into focus, along with the realization that he can't move his arms or legs.
"What the—" He jerks against his restraints, confirming the voice's warning. Rope binds his wrists and ankles to the bed frame, tight enough to restrict movement without cutting into his pixelated skin.
"Good morning, chosen one." The voice carries an amused lilt. "Sleep well in someone else's bed?"
Markle twists his head toward the sound. A woman sits in a chair by the window, her silvery hair catching the morning light in a way that makes it seem to float around her face.
"Who are you?" he demands, tugging again at the ropes. "And why am I tied up?"
She leans forward, revealing bright eyes that sparkle with unmistakable mischief. Her patchwork robes shift with the movement, revealing strange symbols that occasionally flicker with soft light.
"You're tied up because I don't know you," she says simply. "And you were sleeping in my neighbor's house."
"Your neighbor's?" Markle tries to process this information. "You live in this village?"
The woman laughs, a sound like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "Not exactly. Let's say I'm a temporary resident, like yourself."
She stands and approaches the bed. Her movements have an unusual fluidity, as though the blocky limitations of this world don't quite apply to her.
"The more interesting question is who you are," she continues, studying him with unnerving intensity. "And why you were chatting with zombies in the birch forest two nights ago."
Markle's blood runs cold. "You were watching me?"
"I've been watching you since you stumbled out of that forest, looking like someone who'd just seen a ghost." She perches on the edge of the bed. "Or should I say, a bunch of talking zombies?"
"How—" Markle swallows hard. "How long have you been following me?"
"Long enough to see your impressive magical demonstrations." A smile plays at her lips. "Hadouken? Kamehameha? Very creative, if ineffective."
Heat rises to Markle's blocky face. The thought of someone witnessing his failed attempts at magic makes him want to sink through the bed and disappear.
"Who are you?" he asks again, more forcefully.
"I'll ask the questions first." She pokes his chest with a slender finger. "Starting with: what exactly are you? Because you're not a normal player, and you're definitely not an NPC."
Markle blinks, surprised by her terminology. "Player? You know this is a game?"
"A game?" She tilts her head, suddenly looking more interested. "What do you mean by that?"
He hesitates, unsure how much to reveal. But tied up as he is, honesty seems the safest approach.
"This world—Minecraft. Where I come from, it's a video game. People play it on computers." He watches her face carefully. "I was... I think I was electrocuted in my bathtub and somehow ended up here."
"Fascinating." She taps her chin thoughtfully. "And the zombies? They seemed quite interested in you."
"They think I'm some kind of chosen one," Markle admits. "They want me to resurrect their dragon god or something. Say I have magic from the lightning that brought me here."
"Do you?" Her eyes narrow, assessing him. "Have magic, I mean?"
Markle lets out a bitter laugh. "If I do, I can't figure out how to use it. You saw my attempts."
"I did." She nods, a smile tugging at her lips again. "Very entertaining. But why would they think you have magic in the first place?"
He shrugs as much as his restraints allow. "Something about the storm that brought me here. Lightning magic. They said only someone with powerful magic could cross between worlds."
The woman stands abruptly and paces the small room. Her silver hair seems to defy gravity, floating slightly as she moves.
"And you just happened to end up in this specific world?" She stops and fixes him with a penetrating stare. "In this specific area?"
"I didn't exactly plan it," Markle points out. "One minute I was taking a bath, the next I was waking up on a stone table surrounded by blocky zombies."
She studies him for a long moment, then seems to come to a decision. Her posture relaxes slightly.
"My name is Miya," she says, returning to sit in the chair. "And I think, chosen one, that your arrival is more interesting than I initially thought."
"Markle," he corrects. "My name is Markle Voig."
"Markle." She tests the name, her head tilted. "Strange name for a strange man."
"Says the woman who tied up a stranger while he was sleeping," he retorts.
Miya laughs, that windchime sound again. "Fair point. But in my defense, you were trespassing."
"In an abandoned house in a half-destroyed village," Markle counters. "Not exactly high security."
Her smile fades slightly. "Yes, well, recent events have made me cautious about unexpected visitors."
She leans forward, elbows on her knees. "So, Markle Voig from another world, what's your plan? Going to resurrect this dragon for your zombie friends?"
"They're not my friends," he says quickly. "More like blackmailers. They gave me thirty days to help them, or they'll hunt me down. Something about a zombie hive mind."
"Interesting." Miya's eyes glint with curiosity. "I didn't know zombies could organize like that. Or think that clearly."
Markle shifts uncomfortably against his restraints. "Look, I've answered your questions. Mind untying me now?"
Miya ignores his request, instead moving closer to examine his robes. "These symbols—they're unfamiliar to me. Where did you get these clothes?"
"They came with the new body," Markle explains. "I was wearing a bathrobe when I died, but woke up here in these."
Her fingers brush against the fabric of his sleeve, tracing one of the glowing runes. Her touch sends an odd tingling sensation up his arm, like static but warmer.
"Definitely magical," she murmurs, more to herself than to him. "But dormant, it seems."
Markle tries to pull away from her touch, the strange sensation unsettling him. "Great. Magical clothes and no instruction manual."
Miya stands back, regarding him with newfound interest. "I've decided," she announces.
"Decided what?" Markle asks warily.
"I'm going to accompany you on this journey of yours." She says it as if granting him a great favor. "Help you figure out these magical abilities and deal with your zombie problem."
Suspicion floods through him. "Why would you do that? You don't know me."
"True." Miya shrugs, her patchwork robes shifting with the movement. "But you're the most interesting thing that's happened in this world for quite some time."
She leans in, her face suddenly serious. "Besides, if you're really meant to resurrect some ancient dragon, I want to see it. Or stop it, depending on how things go."
Markle narrows his eyes. "There's something you're not telling me."
Miya's smile returns, enigmatic and slightly mischievous. "There are many things I'm not telling you, Markle Voig. Just as I'm sure there are things you're not telling me."
She moves to the foot of the bed and begins untying his ankles. "But for now, let's start with a temporary alliance. You need help, and I need... entertainment."
As the pressure on his ankles releases, Markle flexes his feet gratefully. "Not sure I like being someone's entertainment."
Miya works on his wrist restraints next, her fingers deft despite their cubic nature. "Would you prefer being zombie food? Or wandering alone, trying to punch trees into submission with anime attacks?"
"When you put it that way," Markle concedes, rubbing his freed wrists. "But how do I know I can trust you?"
She finishes the last knot and steps back, arms crossed. "You don't. Just as I don't know if I can trust you. That's what makes this fun."
Markle sits up slowly, eyeing her with caution. Despite her slight build, something about Miya suggests danger—a predator's grace disguised by playful mannerisms.
"That doesn't sound fun to me," he says honestly. "It sounds risky."
"All the best things are." She grins, extending a hand to help him up. "So, chosen one, shall we resurrect a dragon together? Or at least find out if you actually have these magical powers?"
Markle hesitates, then takes her hand. Her grip is surprisingly strong, her skin warm against his.
"I guess having company is better than talking to sheep," he admits. "Even suspicious company that ties people up in their sleep."
Miya pulls him to his feet with a laugh. "That's the spirit! And don't worry—I only tie up people I'm interested in."
Something in her tone makes Markle's digital heart beat faster. He's not sure if it's fear or something else entirely.
"Lucky me," he mutters, and Miya's windchime laugh fills the room once more.