Now, without further ado, I present,
“A Crafter’s Dream”
The room was completely silent as Steve walked in, save for his footsteps thumping quietly against the wood flooring beneath his feet. He found himself standing in a small, amphitheatre-like room, with creatures of all kinds sitting in the wooden seats above from which they looked down at him. Some he recognized, like the hippogriffs he’d met that morning sitting over to his left, while some he didn’t, like the two tall, horse-like beings that stared down at him with an unrecognizable gaze. Directly in front of him, at the head of the room, sat Celestia, who gave a silent sigh of relief at the sight of him.
Walking into the center of the room, Steve gave a bow.
“I apologize for being late, but I was held up.” He spoke loudly, ensuring everyone in the room could hear him.
“All is forgiven, Mr. Steve.” Celestia responded. “We were just going over the formalities for the summit before you arrived.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Steve spoke with another bow. “Anything I should be aware of?”
She shook her head. “No, just a few pleasantries and the like.” Clearing her throat, she shuffled a few papers she had and looked around the room. “Now that Steve has arrived, the introductions can begin.
From Steve’s left, a large black minotaur stood. “I am King Stonewall, from the Kingdom of Mitural.”
Next was a ruby-colored thestral stallion. “I am King Ferdus, ruler of the Flugeltes Empire.”
On and on they went, from the griffons from some place called Griffonstone, to Princess Seyfi from Zebrica. All in all, it took around fifteen minutes for introduction to conclude. Once that was over and everyone had settled back down, Celestia cleared her throat and spoke.
“Respected leaders and ambassadors, we have gathered here today to discuss the being who now stands before us all. You may have heard many things about him. I ask that you leave any assumptions you may have at the door. We are here to discuss the facts, as well as talk to the being in question.” She gestured to Steve with one hoof before looking back around the room once again. “Since formalities and introductions have concluded, it is now time for opening statements and questions. If you have anything to say or ask, now is the time.”
For a moment, no one in the assembly moved. Then, over to Steve’s far right, King Ferdus stood, his sharp red eyes centered on Steve. The Crafter met his gaze unflinching.
“I have heard many things about you, Steve, things that even I hesitate to believe. So I must ask, what are you?”
The Crafter quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Did the Princess not tell-?”
“Yes, I know you call yourself a Minecraftian.” The thestral king rudely interrupted. “Princess Celestia has already explained that to all of us. What I mean is, what is a Minecraftian?”
Steve, though slightly put off by the interruption, put a hand to his chin as he thought. “Well,” He began, after a moment of silence. “Put simply, Minecraftians, or Crafters for short, are beings of power, meant to be able to survive a harsh world that was quite literally out to kill us.” Steve continued talking, even as memories of past events appeared in his mind’s eye. His blade, shining in the moonlight, cutting down mob after mob. His friends, surrounded, fighting for their lives. The cries of agony cut painfully short. “Monsters, terrible creatures of the night plagued the land, killing any Crafter they could find. No matter how many of them we killed, they would always come back, stronger than before.”
Shaking his head, he gazed up at the occupants of the room. “You have to understand, most Crafters were made to farm, to forge, to cook, etc. We were meant to be a peaceful race. We weren’t made for war, but,” Steve let out a heavy sigh. “we damn sure had to learn.”
“Most?” A voice spoke up from the left of the room. Glancing over, the Crafter saw it was a rather large, black minotaur that spoke. At Steve’s confused expression, he reiterated. “You said most of your kind weren’t made for war.”
Seeing where the minotaur was going, Steve sighed and nodded. “Yeah, most weren’t. I was a, well, I was a special case. Unlike most Minecraftians, I was made with the capabilities of doing everything a Crafter could do. Sort of a Jack-of-all-trades, type of thing.”
“What made you so special?” The griffon king Pathi spoke with a mocking tone, sneering down at the Crafter below, who glared back up at him.
“My purpose was far different from that of most Crafter’s.” Steve responded, expression level as he looked at the griffon. “Most Crafter’s were born in times of peace. I wasn’t. When I woke up, a threat far greater than anything any of you have ever seen was ravaging the world. Someone had to do something about it.”
“And what was this threat?” Queen Nova inquired, looking just the slightest bit worried.
Steve opened his mouth to answer, but his breath caught in his throat. Memories of his recent fight against Herobrine replayed in his mind. Shaking his head, he took a quick glance around the room and found that every eye was on him, waiting for his answer. He glanced up at Celestia, who gave a small, encouraging smile, nodding as if to say, ‘It’s okay.’
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm his nerves before continuing.
“His name was Herobrine.” The very name tasted like poison on his lips. “And he was a monster. He created the very creatures that attacked and killed many of my kind. He attacked the Kingdom of Ironwood, my home, where me and thousands of fellow Crafters lived, and burned it to the ground. He massacred hundreds of my kin, all because he was jealous of something that he couldn’t have.” Steve’s fists were clenched so hard, his very bones were creaking with the strain. His eyes were squinted shut, trying to keep the tears from falling as he remembered. He laughed a sad, hollow laugh. “You know, it’s kinda funny. The only thing I’ve ever wanted was a peaceful life. And the only thing I can’t ever seem to get is exactly that. And it’s not for lack of trying, either. I fought in the First Mob War, under the delusion that afterwards, I could live in peace. And then, after the Second Mob War happened, I was stupid enough to hope that it was finally over. Then, that final battle happened and suddenly...” Steve sighed. “Living peacefully didn’t matter anymore.”
“...Why not?” Queen Nova asked, after a few moments of silence. “Why didn’t it matter anymore?” Steve opened his eyes, but didn’t look at her. Tears began slowly leaking down his cheeks, plopping silently onto the wooden floor below.
“Over 6,000 Crafters, all under my command, marched into hell that day to fight against Herobrine and his army of monsters.” Steve spoke quietly, just barely loud enough for those around to hear. “I was the only one to walk out.”
He didn’t elaborate, but then again, he didn’t need to. Only an idiot wouldn’t have figured out what the Crafter was implying. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Steve looked up to King Ferdus, the thestral straightening up slightly at the action. “To answer your question, your majesty, I am many things. A Minecraftian. A friend. A warrior. A ki-” Steve cut himself off. “Well, not anymore.” The Crafter sighed. “But now, after everything I’ve been through, there’s one thing that I know I am, above all else.” A pause. “I’m exhausted.”
He let out a humorless chuckle as he looked up at them all with a tired expression, which was emphasized by his tear-stained cheeks. “I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of killing. I’m tired of it all. I want to be able to stop, to be able to put my sword down and not have to pick it up again.” Another sigh. “But I know I won’t be able to.”
“Why not?” This time, it was Celestia who asked, looking at Steve with a sorrowful and worried expression.
The Crafter shrugged. “Just a hunch. I’m a soldier after all. If I don’t fight, what good am I?”
Silence hung over the room like a thick blanket. After all, what was one supposed to say after everything Steve had just told them? Celestia herself, despite her thousands of years of experience, struggled and failed to find the proper words to say. A quick glance around the room informed her that everyone else felt the same.
“Do you have proof?”
Except for one, apparently.
Steve looked up to see King Stonewall looking at him with a scrutinizing gaze.
“What?” The Crafter asked.
“You claim much, Steve. I merely ask if you have any proof to your words.”
“You dare call him a liar!?” Celestia yelled, glaring at the minotaur as she shot to her hooves.
“I barely know this creature! Why should I take his words at face value?!” King Stonewall countered, returning the alicorn’s glare.
“You want proof?” Though he didn’t raise his voice, Steve’s words rang out, causing all to look back down to him. He stared at the floor, fists shaking at his side. “Then I’ll give you proof.” Reaching up, Steve grabbed the collar of his old, worn, blue shirt. With a single tug, the garment came off and was unceremoniously dropped in a heap on the floor.
Celestia’s eyes widened and a hoof flew to her mouth as she gasped, an action which many in the room copied.
Scars.
They were everywhere.
They littered the Crafter’s body, crisscrossing this way and that. Some were small, but those ones were mostly overshadowed by the much larger scars that seemed to cover most of Steve’s body, like the one that stretched from his left shoulder to his right side, crossing over a large, star-like scar on his chest. On the Crafter’s left side, just under his armpit, lay a large patch of scarred skin where there was a slight impression in his torso.
For a few moments, Steve stood there in silence, letting them soak in the sight of his scarred body. Looking up, his hard glare met King Stonewall’s gaze.
“This proof enough for ya?” He asked, tone heavily laced with sarcasm. The minotaur king didn’t move. Sighing, Steve shook his head as he redonned his shirt, the blue cloth once again covering his scars.
“Is there anything else?” Steve asked, looking around the room.
Queen Nova spoke up, holding up a hoof. “I would like to propose a recess. All in favor?”
Every hoof/talon/claw/whatever else shot up.
Celestia let out a silent sigh of relief. “Proposition accepted. We will reconvene in 30 minutes.” Her hoof banged twice against the floor, finalizing her statement.
By the time her hoof came down the second time, Steve was already gone.
* * * * *
Trench sat on the bench, donut in one hoof and newspaper in the other. Taking another bite, he lazily flipped to the next page.
Sighing, he threw the paper aside and sat back, staring up at nothing in particular. While his talk with Luna, (which really just consisted of him calling her stupid and her agreeing) had gone well enough, that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried. A summit of all the nations leaders was a big deal, and Steve was at the center of it.
Trench scoffed. He’d seen him stand against a literal god. The stallion was sure that Steve could-.
“Hey Trench.”
Trench’s eyes widened in shock as his head whipped around to see none other than the Crafter himself standing nearby, though he looked absolutely terrible. His eyes were puffy and red. He was slouched, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
Walking over, Steve plopped himself down on the bench beside Trench.
“Steve, what-?”
The Crafter stopped him with a finger. “Trench, buddy, I know you want to help, really, I do. But right now, can we just, like, not talk? I really need some quiet time right now.”
The stallion looked at Steve with obvious worry on his face, but remained silent. Steve sighed and planted his face in his hands.
“I’m sorry Trench. I didn’t-”
“It’s fine.” The stallion interrupted. “I know that if you don’t want to talk, then you must really need some quiet time, so I’ll just leave you-!”
Steve’s arms suddenly wrapped around Trench’s barrel, the Crafter pulling him close.
“Please, don’t. I don’t want to be alone right now.” Steve whispered, pressing his face against Trench’s shoulder.
The stallion nodded and gently returned the hug.
“Don’t worry Steve. I’m not going anywhere.”