As soon as the swirling purple particles clear, I know something is different. The thick heavy rush of smoke-filled air that I have come to recognize never comes. The harsh, charred landscape I had expect is gone, replaced by a rich blue forest of strange mushrooms. The grainy teal ground is speckled by small patches of red grass, waving in the cool breeze. A gravel path trails through the abnormal trees, lined with flickering torches. Dumbfounded, I step down from the portal’s speckled black frame and take my first step in this new world. The dry ground crunches underneath my diamond-encrusted boot, mingling with the sounds of the portal behind me. I turn to scrutinize it, wondering if I should have brought some flint and steel, just in case. As I stand pondering this, the purple surface of the portal shimmers, pulsing in magenta waves. Someone else is coming through. Within seconds of this thought, the portal spits out a screaming figure, colliding with me at break-neck speed. I grunt heavily as he lands on top of me, and angrily dump him onto the ground beside me.

“What the--!” I shout angrily, staggering to my feet.

“Torin! What are you doing here!” Torin, panting on the ground, turns his clear blue eyes on my glaring face. “I’m gonna throw up…” he pants. I stare at him, incredulously, then soften.

“You’re not used to traveling through portals, so you’ve probably got teleportation sickness. Take it easy and breathe. It’ll pass in a couple of minutes.” I sit down, crossing my legs, and watch him. Then the anger returns. “Why did you follow me? You know that I was chosen by the counsel, not you.” Torin starts to sit up, then promptly changes his mind and falls back.

“I thought you might want help.” I roll my eyes and ponder this.

“Did your brother get angry at you again?” He looks away. I sigh. Torin’s parents died protecting him during a nightly zombie raid, and his older brother had taken charge. The brother was volatile and short-tempered, blaming Torin for their parents’ death. Torin didn’t spend much time inside, preferring to tag along on my travels. I stare at Torin for a long while, taking in his short red hair, thin face, and skinny frame.

“Alright,” I relent, “You can come with me. But stay 5 blocks behind me at all times. I don’t want to have to explain to your brother that you were vaporized by a fireball because I dodged.”

Torin sits up slowly, testing his balance.

“Thank you!” He says, his square eyes brimming with gratitude.

“I assume you brought a sword, right?” I say, eying his worn backpack.

“Yeah, sure I did!” He says, pulling out a stone sword.

I stare at it for a while, then shake my head.

“That’ll do in a pinch, I guess…” I say. “But for next time, and I’m not saying there’ll even be a next time, you should probably bring something a little more… durable. And some armor, if it’ll fit you.”

He frowns, then nods. I stand up, grabbing his arm and pulling him up with me. He sways slightly but steadies as he glances at his surroundings.

“So, this is the Nether, huh?” He says, falling into step beside me. “Doesn’t seem so bad. I thought it’d be worse.”

“Behind.” I remind him firmly. Turning red, he slows his pace and ends up 5 blocks behind me.

“And this isn’t the normal Nether. I think something’s happened to it. It’s supposed to be much hotter. Keep an eye out for anything dangerous.”

I follow the gravel path, nervously searching for any sign of movement. The nether has changed; there’s no denying that. All I can do is be cautious and prepared. I suddenly feel the weight of responsibility as I glance back at Torin. His faded green shirt and leather trousers are covered with a light layer of blue dust, kicked up by his hand-me-down boots. I always felt like he was a younger brother. He spent so much time around me, it was almost inevitable that he followed me through. Now I have to keep him safe. Just what I need-- more responsibility. He notices my gaze and cocks his head.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing. Just… thinking.”

Torin looks back at the strange mushrooms.

“So, what d’you think these things are? Mushrooms, or trees? Or mushroom trees?”

I pause, annoyed that I hadn’t thought to examine them earlier. Walking up to one, I put my hand on it. Its cool surface is rough, bark-like. I pull out my stone axe and take a swing.

“Look who’s using stone tools!” Torin calls tauntingly, and I shake my head.

“This is different. Swords and pickaxes are essential. Axes are fine to make out of stone.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

“Whatever.”

I break the first block and catch it in one hand. I instantly know its name: warped stem.

“It’s a warped stem!” I say, turning it over in my hand.

“Very creative!” He calls back. “You deserve a Pulitzer.”

I roll my eyes and bring up my crafting window.

“I can make planks out of it. But… they’re blue!”

“What?? I wanna try!”

Torin runs eagerly up to me and breaks another block.

“Wow!” He says. “I want to build a house out of this stuff!”

I look at him quizzically.

“Why?”

“Because… well… nevermind.”

I shake my head and return to the gravel path.

“Hey,” Torin asks, “Why are we following this path anyway?”

“Because gravel doesn’t occur naturally in the nether. Whatever’s causing this strange cold could be at the end of this path.”

“Oh.”

Torin is silent for the next half hour. The blue forest slowly fades away, replaced by the familiar wasteland I’ve come to recognize and name as the Nether. The gravel path leads through the torn landscape, weaving through reddish brown stone and cascading falls of lava. The air warms instantly as I leave the last blue block.

“Phew!” Torin gasps, wiping his brow. “Man, it’s hot. I see what you were talking about.”

“Stay close.” I say. “I don’t know what’s changed.”

Torin nods and walks several blocks closer. I begin to sweat in my heavy armor and find myself thinking of the cool ponds and rivers in the overworld. A sound like some demented baby brings me back to reality.

“Ghast!” I hiss. “Take cover!”

I run and duck behind a pillar of charred netherrack as Torin jerks and looks rapidly for a place to hide. Finally, he places a 3x2 cobblestone wall and crouches. I look at him, bemused. I silently scold myself for not staying on task and peer around the corner of my cover. The ghostly pale ghast floats leisurely above the scorched terrain, whimpering periodically. I pull out my bow, feeling pride as I notch an arrow to the string. This enchanted weapon is probably the most expensive thing in the village. Drawing the string taut, I peer out from my hiding place and take careful aim. The ghast turns, as if to look its demise in the face. Its sad eyes swell, filling with red. In the split second of reaction I’m granted, I let loose my arrow and dive to my left. The ghast’s scorching fireball whizzes past me and explodes into ash on Torin’s cobblestone wall. Judging from its continued whimpering, my arrow missed. Crouching behind his fortifications, Torin’s expression betrays his inward fear.

“Don’t worry,” I say, reassuring him. “Ghasts are slow and stupid. The only thing you need to worry about is their fireballs, which are easy to send back at them.”

Torin shakily draws a loaded crossbow. I nod appreciatively.

“Now, stay close to me, but if I shout scatter, scatter immediately. Understand?”

Nodding, he charges after me as I roll out from behind my cover and release an enchanted arrow. It whizzes through the air, just missing one of the ghast’s many dangling tentacles. Its eyes flare a shade of blood red, and it releases another fireball.

“Scatter!” I shout, and dive to the left. Pausing for half a second, Torin raises his crossbow and fires, hitting the fire charge square in the center. It sails back toward the ghast, exploding into a sheet of napalm on impact. The ghast screeches as it’s consumed like a burning ship’s sail, dropping a small white item and three glowing green orbs. Torin is loading his crossbow and doing his best to not look too proud as I walk toward him. He turns and I see the hopeful look on his face.

“You disobeyed me.” I say, calm and quiet. His hopeful look dies instantly. “That was brave of you, but stupid. Keep making choices like that, and you end up dead.” I resume following the gravel path, and Torin sets his pace behind me.

“Nice shot, though.” I say, and I hear him let out a breath.

The path ends at the foot of a small soul sand hill, but I can hear foreign noises from behind it. I draw my sword, signal for Torin to do the same, and climb the hill in a crouch. My field of vision expands as I reach the top, and I duck slightly lower as I take in what I’m seeing. Sprawled out before me is a camp made with red tinted wood and densely populated with strange hog-like monsters. Torin’s head pops up to my right, just a tad too high, and I gasp and push it down.

“Ouch!” He whispers, then his mouth falls open. “Wow. What are these things?” I shake my head.

“I have no idea. But they don’t look friendly!” I add as I see two of them break out in a fight over a small patch of nether wart growing in a corner. They fight ugly, kicking and scratching and biting. Finally, one of them pulls out a golden sword and slashes the other. It drops to the ground with a pig-like moan and disappears in a cloud of smoke. The remaining beast grunts in triumph and gathers up the nether wart.

“They’re coming!” Torin hisses, and I drag him to the side of the hill as a group of the creatures leaves through the gate of the camp carrying, of all things, a block of ice.

“What the…” I mutter, watching them from my vantage point. Torin glances back at the camp.

“Looks like they have a stockpile of ice. How are they keeping it from melting? I thought you couldn’t place ice in the nether?” I shake my head, thinking. The group outside the camp continues down the path, chanting in some rough rocky language.

“I have no idea how they’re doing it, but I think they must have something to do with why our portal has stopped giving warmth.” An idea springs into my head. “Hey.. where did you see that stockpile?” Torin points to a small hut with stairs leading into a dark cave.

“They sent someone down with a torch. The walls are covered with ice.”

“Then that’s our target.”

“What?”

“The ice is obviously what’s causing this chill. We destroy the ice, that’s it. Problem solved.”

Torin looks at me, incredulous.

“But these creatures seem intelligent. Shouldn’t we at least try to talk to them?”

I pause, considering this. These creatures looked dangerous to me, but Torin had a point. We might start a war with another intelligent species, and that’s not what the council wanted. I nod.

“Alright. How do you propose we talk to them?” Torin looks thoughtful for a couple seconds.

“Maybe—no. How about, we draw pictures?” I blink.

“On what?” Torin rummages in his backpack and pulls out a leather-bound book and a white quill.

“Perfect!” I say. “Let’s go.”

With Torin close at my heels, I slide down the hill and walk toward the gate, slinging my bow over my shoulders. As I come closer, the name of these creatures is supplied for me in the same way that I knew what the warped stems were called. Piglins. A sentry keeping watch at the gate howls, bringing a group of about eight of them to the entrance. I motion for Torin to put away his crossbow, and I take a peaceful stance, arms open and well visible. One of the Piglins shoulders his way through the others, revealing his large, well-muscled chest and padded leather gauntlets. He grunts at me in a rhythmic language, gesturing wildly at his comrades and pointing at us. Pausing, he inspects us for a long while, waiting for our response. I give Torin a nudge, prompting the tensing of the lead Piglin. Torin jerks, then pulls out his book and quill. A murmur of excitement rises from the Piglins as Torin makes smooth strokes with his quill. Finishing, he holds up the book for them to see.

“Peace.” He says, gesturing at the paper, then us. “We come in peace.” The large Piglin grunts, then flexes his bulging arms and nods. They step aside to let us pass. I pause, wondering if they fully understood what we tried to communicate.

“Come on!” Torin says, walking past me. I shake my head and follow, keeping my hand close to my bow. The lead Piglin gestures for us to follow, then takes us to a weathered hut near the base of the wooden palisades. He holds aside a tattered banner to let us pass. I walk inside cautiously, eyes adjusting to the light of a single torch. The musty smell of old, damp earth is heavy here. In the dim light a pair of milky eyes glint back at me. I jerk slightly as I realize I’m looking at a severely deformed Piglin. His wrinkled head has a flattened look, as if it was soaked in water and crushed by a piston. His heavily misshapen body rests on a creaking wooden bed covered in thick shiny patches, making me shudder. The large Piglin sticks his head inside the doorway, being quite unable to fit inside himself, and gestures at us, then points at the mutilated creature next to me. I squint, confused, but Torin’s eyes widen in comprehension.

“I think it’s his son. I think we’re supposed to heal him.”

“What gave him that idea?” I say incredulously. “How are we supposed to heal this thing? It looks like he can barely see, let alone walk. Food can’t fix this.” Torin walks slowly to the bed.

“No, it can’t. But this can.” Out of his backpack he pulls a smooth glass bottle filled with shimmering pink liquid.

“What’s that?” I ask. I know it’s not regeneration because of the thickness, and it’s too pink to be healing. Torin looks at me.

“This is something I made myself. I’ve tested earlier versions, but… it didn’t turn out well. This time I’m certain it will work, though. I’ve added lilac and mushroom to counteract its poisonous tendency.” I shake my head.

“This doesn’t sound like a good idea. What if we kill him?” Torin glances up at me, annoyed.

“I think I’ve been labeled enough of an incompetent for one day. Besides, you never brew anything yourself. You always buy it from the enchanter.” I lower my gaze, regretful at how I’ve been treating him during the trip. Torin bends over the sickly Piglin, popping the cork out of the bottle in his hand.

“Alright,” He grimaces. “Here it goes.” He puts the bottle to the Piglin’s lips and tilts it back. I watch the bright lavender liquid leave the bottle with a feeling of mounting dread. The Piglin lets out a feeble oink, jerks slightly, and looks at us with a peaceful smile. I watch in horror as the light in its eyes fades. Torin gasps and puts his back to me, covering his face. The bottle falls from his hands and shatters on the netherrack floor of the hut.

“He… He’s dead.” I say, feeling for a pulse on the feeble body. At the tinkle of shattering glass, the large Piglin pokes his head into the shelter and takes in the scene: Torin letting loose shuddering sobs in the corner, me kneeling beside the bed, and the small, unmoving figure of his son. He lets out a loud, gut-wrenching howl, then tears the front wall apart and falls to his knees at the foot of the bed. I stumble back, worried that I might be the object of his rage soon. The Piglin’s retching sobs mingle with Torin’s, and they join each other in grief. I stand on the sidelines, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of sorrow and curiosity. After several slow minutes of this, the player and the Piglin slowly rise together, the Piglin leaning heavily on Torin, and they shamble outside, with me following. I feel like an intruder on their grief, not quite present but wholly unwelcome as I don’t feel what they feel. The large Piglin, seeing himself outside, stands up and wipes his face. He gestures to us, and shouts at a small group of Piglins loitering near the gate. The jump and scurry to the ice-filled hut, returning moments later carrying a strange block I have never seen before. The moment it leaves the shed, the ice begins to melt, sending a trickle of warm water onto the floor. As they hand me the item, I feel the power of this command block tingling through my blocky arms. The Piglin Chief bows low to us, picks Torin up in a large bear hug, and ushers us outside the camp. Bewildered, we set off down the gravel road, the grunts and whistles of Piglins following us. I’m still not quite sure what happened, but I can be sure of one thing: I never could have done this without Torin along. I’m glad he came, and regardless of what his brother says, he’ll be coming along many, many more of my adventures from now on.