I’m standing on coarse, pale dirt. The air is still and smells of nothing—no grass, no stone, just void-dust and ozone. A flat, featureless plain stretches to a wall so high it blots out the false sky. Obsidian. Polished to a dull, light-eating sheen.

My inventory is empty. No netherite, no elytra, not a single cobblestone. Just the clothes on my back.

Ten paces to my left, a figure shimmers into existence. Yellow hoodie, gold-trimmed armor glinting under the sterile light. He stumbles once, catches himself, and his head snaps toward me.

PrinceZam’s eyes haven’t left me. He takes one deliberate step forward, then another, closing the distance.