At the center of the little homestead, a cozy cottage rises from the grass. A thatched roof curves gently over walls of warm oak and pale diorite, and lanterns hang from the eaves on delicate chains of iron. A chimney puffs a tiny ribbon of smoke. Against one wall, a patch of berry bushes have started to turn red. A chest sits open by the front door, spilling an assortment of building blocks and tools across a mossy stone slab.

Over the stream and through a thin gathering of trees, the dense shadows of an ancient forest stretch into the far distance. No hostile mobs have spawned near the grove this morning.

In the treeline, just past the fence and barely visible between two cherry trees, a figure stands motionless. Tall. Dark-haired. Pale. And watching. Not moving. Barely breathing. Just... watching. Across the farm, on the shadowy side of the roof, something whispers in the gap between two chimney stones.