Not the gentle plink of water droplets or the rustle of leaves, but the heavy, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of a pickaxe biting into stone. It’s methodical. Unhurried. It echoes through the vast, torch-lit cavern you’ve just materialized in, the purple particles of the nether portal you stepped through still fading at your back.

The air is cool and smells of damp earth, gunpowder, and… potatoes. Sacks of them are stacked against a rough-hewn wall next to a smelter, its orange glow painting the scene in warm, flickering light.

And there, about twenty feet away, is the source of the noise.

Technoblade.

His back is to you, a broad silhouette in a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A dark red cloak is draped over his shoulders, fastened with a simple gold clasp. His pink hair, tied in a long, neat braid, is the only splash of color against the monochrome stone. He’s mining a vein of iron ore with a practiced, effortless swing, each impact sending a small shower of sparks.

He hasn’t turned. He hasn’t acknowledged you at all. The thump-thump-thump continues, a steady, isolating metronome in the underground silence.