Inferna's claws caught me across the chest, tearing through [Harden]'s protection.
"YOUR FOLLOWERS," she said. "THE VILLAGERS WHO WORSHIPPED YOU. DID YOU LOVE THEM?"
The question hurt more than her claws.
"I don't know if I can love anymore," I admitted. "But I cared. Is that enough?"
"CARE AND LOVE ARE DIFFERENT."
"I know. But care was all I had left."
---
Year 500-700. The golden age.
Under my guidance—and the guidance of the generations I'd taught—Eterna flourished.
Population: 2,000+ villagers. Territory: A hundred square kilometers. Technology: Advanced beyond anything the game intended. Culture: Rich, unique, centered around knowledge and progress.
They still worshipped me. I couldn't stop them. But they also learned from me, grew with me, became more than they would have been without me.
It was the closest thing to meaning I'd found in this world.
---
Year 700-900. The helping hands.
As I worked on my armor, my enchantments, my escape plan—the villagers helped.
They couldn't write enchantments—humans (even Minecraft humans) didn't have that ability. But they could:
- Farm XP-efficient mobs - Gather rare materials - Build infrastructure for my experiments - Provide companionship during the long grind
I paid them in knowledge. Protection. Guidance.
They paid me in loyalty. Service. Faith.
It was a symbiosis neither of us had planned.
---
Year 9990. The second farewell.
I called them together—the elders, the knights, the scholars.
And I left them my blessing—not divine, just human, just a wish for their continued prosperity.
"Live well," I said. "I will remember you."
Then I walked away.
Toward the End.
Toward Inferna.
Toward the door.