➤ Chapter 2: "I'm Not in a Rush to Escape"
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The faint glow of morning crept through the cracks in Ehsan's makeshift dirt shelter. Light seeped through the uneven blocks like the fingers of dawn reaching out to brush his face. His eyes fluttered open—not groggy, not confused, just... present. As if he had always belonged to this world of angles and shadows.
There was no jarring alarm. No phone buzzing. No traffic noise outside a window. Only the faint, ambient hum of Minecraft's world—the soft shuffle of mobs moving in the distance, the chirp of birds, and the ever-present, ambient wind brushing over pixelated grass.
He sat up in bed and stared at the ceiling of his one-block-high room.
"So... it wasn't a dream," he murmured.
He could still feel the slight warmth from the cooked mutton he'd eaten last night, still smell the char from the furnace. A strange comfort rested in his chest. This wasn't the panic he thought would come with being dropped into a video game world. This was... calm. Gentle, almost.
Ehsan stood and stretched. His joints didn't ache. His muscles didn't tense. Just a smooth, almost floaty feeling, like his body had been optimized for simplicity. Not that he minded. He stepped outside.
The world greeted him with quiet grace. The pond beside his shelter glimmered under the early sun, reflections breaking into soft blocks of light. A pig snorted in the distance, bouncing awkwardly across the plains. A chicken clucked, pecking mindlessly at the dirt. It was all very... alive.
He took a deep breath.
"I'm not in a rush to escape," he said aloud.
The words hung in the air longer than expected. It wasn't a declaration—it was a realization. This world, for all its simplicity and surreal edges, felt more peaceful than the one he came from.
There were no texts to reply to.
No urgent deadlines.
No constant scrolling, no noise.
Just survival.
Just creation.
Just... being.
The first goal of the day: expansion.
Ehsan surveyed the area. His dirt mound would not cut it for long. It wasn't about safety—it was about pride. If this was his world now, then he wanted to make something better. Not a mega-base, not a flashy build, but a proper home. Something small and clean. A cabin, maybe. Or a hobbit hole in the hill.
He cleared out the land beside the pond using a stone shovel. The soil crumbled in neat, satisfying chunks. Grass blocks popped, leaving trails of brown beneath. As he worked, he fell into a rhythm—dig, dig, flatten. Plant a torch. Step back. Rethink. Adjust.
There was an odd joy in it.
Minecraft had always been therapeutic for him. The methodical, hands-on flow of building and mining had helped him through countless bad days in the real world. And now, here he was—living in it. Every block he placed was deliberate. Every wall, a promise.
He laid the foundation for a 5x7 structure, using oak logs at the corners and planks in between. A classic beginner build, but sturdy. Familiar. A front porch would come later, maybe even flower boxes under the windows. For now, it was enough to raise the walls, place a temporary roof of dirt, and move his bed inside.
By the time the sun climbed to its peak, he had a basic home.
He stood in front of it, hands on his hips, and tilted his head. "Not bad."
Then he chuckled.
"This is exactly how I played when I was fifteen."
Next task: resources.
Tools were breaking. Stone was fine, but iron would be better. He needed to start mining seriously. No strip mines yet—just a good staircase down, starting from a corner near his house. He grabbed his pickaxe, torches, and a loaf of bread cooked from the wheat he found near a wild village path yesterday. A memory flickered—was there a village nearby? He made a mental note to explore it later.
He started digging down, block by block. He placed torches every few levels, the light chasing away the darkness creeping in behind him.
Thunk.
Crack.
Plop.
The sounds echoed in the shaft, rhythmic and oddly soothing. He passed through dirt, then gravel. Then stone. He gathered every piece of coal he came across, storing it in a small chest at the top of the staircase. Even though it was a game world, he treated resources with the same respect as in real life—waste nothing.
At level 52, he found iron.
He knelt in front of it. "There you are."
He mined it carefully, revealing a decent vein—eight blocks. Enough for a pickaxe, a sword, maybe even a bucket or two. He returned to the surface, smelted the iron in his furnace, and watched the ingots form one by one.
It felt satisfying in a quiet, primal way—this was how progress worked in this world. You earned it. You felt it. There was no shortcut, no cheat, just work and patience.
Afternoon gave way to evening.
The sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape. His house looked warmer now, the oak logs glowing softly in the fading light. Smoke puffed gently from the furnace chimney. He sat on a dirt block outside, watching the sky shift from orange to purple.
"I wonder if time flows the same here," he said. "Or if I'll ever meet anyone else."
The silence answered him.
And still—it didn't feel empty.
He placed his new iron pickaxe in a chest beside the bed. He wasn't in a hurry to use it. Not until he really needed it. He still had his stone tools, after all.
Before turning in for the night, he stepped to the edge of the pond. The water was still. Peaceful. He stared at his reflection—simple and square. Yet something deeper stared back at him: a person who didn't feel trapped, but quietly... chosen.
Maybe this world didn't need saving.
Maybe it just needed someone to appreciate it.
That night, he made a journal.
He crafted a book and quill using the materials he had gathered and opened the blank page.
Day 1
Location: Plains biome by a pond.
Progress: Basic shelter built, small cabin underway.
Resources: Stone tools, eight iron ingots, food stable.
Feelings: Calm. Curious. At peace.
Goals: Explore nearby forest, locate village if possible, begin proper mining operation.
The moon rose once more, casting silver light over the hills. A skeleton rattled somewhere in the distance, but Ehsan didn't worry. His walls were strong. His torches were lit. His bed was warm.
And his heart, for the first time in a long while, was full.
He crawled under the covers and whispered:
"Goodnight, blocky world."
Sleep took him.
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➤ To be continued...
Next Chapter: "Every Block Has a Purpose"
Thanks for reading!