(Illustrations don't belong to me)

Steve was standing in the long central hallway of the Residence – he was ready to depart. His luggage had been stored neatly in his inventory, he had had an unusually full breakfast – for once, it was salmon and pork chop, grilled in a smoker, with a bottle of honey. All left to do was to say farewell to his instructor and guide - Tom.

Of course, he was reluctant to say goodbye to someone who was more than just a teacher. Tom was Steve's instructor, but never had he told Steve to do frivolous things, nor had he ever called Steve disrespectful or a waste of time just because Steve didn't answer his questions. Tom was teaching, but he couldn't be described as a teacher. He was, to some extent, a friend.

"Goodbye, Steve. With some luck, we shall meet again."

Steve, who couldn't hold it anymore, burst out a question:

"But why? Why me? Shouldn't it have been you to do the Quest, more powerful, more magical, more dedicated? Why must it be me, a farmer who never had more plans for the future than to harvest carrots? And how could you know that I'm the chosen one, that I must do the quest?"

Tom smiled faintly – this was one of Tom's many great characteristics – he never lost his patience and his warm, peaceful, caring voice tone – before answering:

"Ah, I've been waiting for you to ask that question since you came here, the Residence. The truth is that I didn't know."

"But then why are you so sure that I am the chosen?"

"I guessed. I, one way or another, can sense the magical power of a being, lingering in the air. Yes, even you, before meeting me, couldn't have noticed your own ability to do magic. But forget not, I had observed you for quite some time. A week. And what did you show me that week? Hadn't you noticed how unusually charming the villagers were to you, how the blacksmith easily traded for you even with losses to himself? And how your pastures were ready for harvest whenever you were around, your cows and chicken obediently waited for their slaughter - their demise - without any sight of fear or nervousness?

"The last part is scary perhaps. But what I'm trying to say is that you, Steve, have magic inside you. You may not know, but I shall not miss." Tom paused to, again, smile faintly at a Steve, remembering his own farm life. Normal it seemed to be, yet so extraordinary it was...

"Another thing. I know you are the chosen one, for I know some special characteristics of your magic. It cannot be classified like any other. I suppose you still remember the ancient symbols and runes you studied? That was the fundamental block of the magic – it was your branch. Your lessons were no normal ones for magic amateurs. They were primal, difficult, and of course, unique. To be able to use those symbols to cast a spell of your own... It means that you are one of the descendants of the seven wizards of the old times."

Steve was speechless.

Alas, there was no reason to delay any moment further. War was raging, people were suffering and dying, and Steve must depart.

"And one last. You may not like the Quest nor go on an adventure. Yet...wasn't your stay here quite fun?"

And with that, Tom vanished, leaving behind a few golden sparkles. This time, however, instead of fading into the dust, they collided with each other and formed a star, which flew and perched onto Steve's right chest.

"Farewell, Tom. And thank you."

Steve dissipated. He threw himself into a dark, unbreathable tunnel, and found himself standing under a birch tree, staring into what seconds ago was the long, torchlit stone hall of the Residence.

***

He walked for a day and night, experiencing, once again, the surreal feeling of the war raging all around him. Once again, arrows pierced through the air, accomplished by shrieking screams and the whooshing sounds of fire charges. Over the horizon were seas of fire, echos of swords and tridents, clashing against each other. Steve also came across a deserted village (which made him feel more homesick than ever), where the few villagers remained crouched together in the ruined church, watching their farmhouses and cottages and wheat fields burned to ashes. And then the night came – a full moon it was. No help to the conflict. If anything, the eerie night bought more hostile mobs into the battle.

All of that didn't help Steve one bit in pressing on his Quest. What started as a straightforward adventure of magic turned out to be Steve standing miserably under a branch of an oak tree, close to a bonfire for shelter and pondering whether the future could be worse. He was lost, his Quest was perilous, and worst of all, there was no instruction. Nothing to guide Steve where to go. The closest thing to the direction Steve got was a compass - a useless piece of junk. If war was raging around you, would you insist on trying to go west?

As such, for the next few days, Steve continued venturing alone, heading South (opposite direction to his home), walking under tree branches (risking a creeper explosion was much safer than being hit by a random flying poison arrow), and resting at night by the bonfire – the only useful thing to do with his 'special' magical abilities so far. In short, he was clueless, and his Quest was on the verge of being abandoned.

***

Steve was baking potatoes, waiting for the sun to rise, thinking about all that... when something happened. (The war didn't stop for Steve to hear anything clearly, so it could be a product of his imagination, hallucination or food poisoning for all Steve knew.) It was something strange – not loud like the "BANG!" fire charges make. A soft, crystal clear sound, almost like a whisper, coming from the woods ahead of him. A lullaby, perhaps, singing some kind of ancient runes that reminded Steve of his lessons with Tom. It was almost like someone was standing behind the nearest tree, softly humming to themselves.

For curiosity's sake more than his safety's, Steve took a step closer. And then he crouched, breathlessly glided towards the incoming of the sound, his diamond sword glittered in the light of the fire, ready to hit...

Nothing. 

When Steve finally approached the tree from which the sound was coming, nobody was there. And yet, the sound neither stopped nor faded away – it was here, but where did it come from?

Steve looked around, searching for a clue. And then, an item, cast light upon by his bonfire, came into his view: neither a normal arrow of harming nor the trace of a lingering potion of poison.

A... nautilus shell? What was that item doing here?

In the vanilla world of Minecraft, a nautilus shell could be crafted to form a conduit (somewhat acting like a beacon of the sea). It was quite useful in its field, but seeing it lying around in an oak forest was peculiar. What was even stranger, the shell appeared to be the source of the soft music.

Steve picked it up. It could be a trap - perhaps something to lure people into the range of dispensers, or anvils falling from the sky. But his instinct told him that traps usually didn't sing a lullaby. On his hands, the nautilus shell laid peacefully, attracting no arrows and triggering no poison. Still, the pleasant song continued.

Steve held the shell close to his ear. Nothing special happened – the song was clearer, even more magical, and the sound of the ocean waves were nowhere to be heard – but that was all the shell had to offer. It was enchanted (which in itself was strange, as the majority of Minecrafters weren't aware of magic) to sing a song, but there were no signs that it could be anything more than a compact jukebox.

Nevertheless, Steve pocketed it. Something about the shell made him feel that he would need it later.

***

"Well...I didn't expect that." was the first word Steve after he got up from almost drowning in a lake, several days later. How did he get into the lake? Quite simple – a flaming arrow hit him, he caught on fire, and like most reasonable Minecrafters he jumped into a lake nearby.

But what he found there was astonishing. Not the seaweed, nor the drowned. A sound. A once again clear, crystallized sound. It didn't come from the lake itself, but rather... from his inventory?

Risking becoming the undead (the drowned, literally), he lingered in the water and took out the nautilus shell to have a closer look. Indeed, the sound was coming from the shell! Holding it close to his ears once more, Steve heard not the soft lullaby that echoed days ago in the forest, but a humanoid voice, half singing, half reciting a poem:

A raging war, Minecraft Realm was

'Till it was saved by powerful wizards.

They ended the conflict, they brought 'bout light

A beacon beam that shone so bright.

But once again the world will dread

Another war hunger for more deaths.

Thus shall descendants of the wizards

(Master in their fields, pure at their hearts)

Unite together, and find each other

Where the ancient ones once stood

Where time has ruined them like a flood.

Once you've arrived at your destination

You will discover your true motivation

Neither wealth, treasure, nor fame

But for your companions want the same:

Bring back the beacon, bring the peace

Happiness and prosperity, which put you at ease.

And thus, that is your Quest:

Search for the fragments of the beacon beam

And bring them back – as a team.

When, and only when the beacon was restored

Shall the Realm never be distorted.

With that, the nautilus shell broke into pieces, leaving behind a thoroughly bamboozled, and on the verge of suffocating to death, Steve. The tale of how he almost drowned himself ended there.

Steve didn't feel relieved, but troubled.

"Master in their fields, pure at their hearts" – How could it be referring to him? Steve was a farmer, his magic was so far mediocre, his heart, despite having carried his blocky body across half of the Realm, still retained the reluctance of a farmer having lived not for an adventure.

Tom's last wise words comforted him a bit – they convinced him to endanger himself, panting here while staring into the dark and ever-changing water. But now, the nautilus shell brought forward yet another story, one that was just like the tale of the beacon beam, appeared not to include Steve in it. And adding on to that confusion was where the shell itself came from (but that was the least of his worries – perhaps Tom could give a reasonable answer later). What ought he to do?

***

Several Minecraft days had passed, and Steve remained where he was, near the lake where the shell had shattered. It was not because he hadn't made up his mind. His farmhouse was nothing more exciting than debris, his pastures and animals had been burned to ashes. In short, his old, consistently and peacefully boring life had gone. Forever. Steve must press on, and he was aware of that.

What'd been keeping him at the lake was the lullaby itself. It revealed to him a piece of incredibly rare and useful information: his Quest would, one way or another, lead him to "Where the ancient ones once stood". Well, nothing of that sort was written on the compass, so obviously it was a clue to a specific location, or something similar to that. Still pondering about the riddle, he didn't notice that another night had fallen. Steve took refuge under a nearby tree branch and made himself as comfortable as possible.

He was about to doze off when his mind wandered hundreds of blocks back to the Residence. Steve remembered a morning in the study, nothing particularly special. Tom was handing him a book, "A tale of old: Minecraft Realm", and Steve was told to read chapter 3, "Stories outside the border".

A recent finding in a cave, 570 blocks North-West to the center of the Realms, suggested that... 

Steve was on the verge of sleeping now, he thought of nothing more than peace and bread for breakfast... 

Not the first to discover and conquer the Realm... left tools behind... another generation before us... ancient people... would explain the remnants, believed to be at the border of the Realm... no one had witnessed...

Steve had fallen asleep.

***

He woke up abruptly the next morning as if a punch had been delivered to his square face, or an arrow had hit him between the eyes. That's it.

That's it. The answer to the riddle.

The answer was right there! Generated structures. Steve had finally recalled the text in his head last night. So that was where he got to go, and... find his companions there somehow?

More of that later, he was to pack his inventory and depart from this perilous lake instantly. Honestly, Steve didn't enjoy staying by the lake much – he almost drowned thanks to the mysterious nautilus shell and was more than glad for a reason to leave (hadn't it been for the fact that Steve would become an easy target should he wonder around the forest without knowing his directions, he would've departed several days before). Now, if his memory was not confounded, Steve was to go to the generated structures at...

Wait... His bubble of quiet triumph popped. He had remembered the last part of the textbook. Believed to be outside the border of the Realm, no living person had confirmed their existence. And Steve, a farmer with zero importance in the world, was to find them all. Great.