Seventh Moon of 284 AC/July 2 AB, Craftson Village:
I'm still mad that September isn't the seventh month
pov Alex Craftson
Steve and Alex had known each other their entire lives.
Not in the way most people did—not with cradles and parents and warm childhood memories—but in a different, stranger sense. First, they had not been. Then, suddenly, they were. Whole, complete, and fully aware. No memories of a before, only the now and the other.
They had always been as they were now—neither child nor adult, never aging, never growing. And yet they spoke of years and months, of hours and minutes, as if they'd lived them. They both immediately knew the months' names and which season they represented... in a world where no seasons existed.
They knew what iron was, and gold, and diamond, long before they had seen such things in the shafts they dug. They knew what a "year" meant, and how a day broke into twenty-four parts. They knew that two-year-olds were not supposed to build working farms or barter with traders. But they knew because they were meant to know.
The world they lived in was cubic and bright, filled with life and monsters and silence. And in that world, Steve and Alex were different. The numerous villagers who wandered through their town were dim in thought and strange in habit, their speech hollow, their routines repetitive. Steve and Alex often wondered aloud if the others were passengers in a story written for someone else—or maybe by them. It was a thought that neither liked to linger on too long.
In the beginning, survival had taken up their days—trial and error, learning which foods sustained and which plants harmed, how tools functioned, how to build a home and light a fire. That had been a long time ago, in the way they counted it. Now they had more than a home. They had a town, nestled into a forested valley, its walls lit by lanterns and rimmed with redstone-powered defenses that blinked and hummed through the night. Not perfect—never perfect—but it kept the mobs away. Eventually they had decided to give themselves the surname Craftson, it made them feel more like family.
They wore full sets of diamond armor now, carefully enchanted and repaired over time though it took them a very long time to figure out that tools and armor could even be enchanted. Their weapons were sharp, their bows quick. They had chests of resources, even a few golden apples stored in the central vault in the basement. Peace had come—not because the world was safe, but because they had earned safety through caution and cleverness.
And in that peace, they explored. Built. Crafted. Grew crops. Raised livestock. Studied redstone. Alex especially liked redstone, even if she hadn't made much that worked the way she wanted yet. Machines were tricky. Sometimes they worked but more often than not their experiments didn't.
Today had started like any other. Alex had gone looking for apples in the woods, hoping to trade some gold for new saplings from the farmer near the east gate. The trees beyond the northern slope had been growing well, and she thought she might find what she needed there.
But then she'd seen her.
A figure, standing on a far hill just beyond the tree line. For a heartbeat, Alex had thought it was Steve, but no—this girl was different. She stood straighter, wore different armor. Her hair was longer, looser in the wind. But most of all—most shockingly of all—she looked like Alex.
Not like the villagers. Not like the mobs. Like Steve and Alex.
Alex had stared, stunned, until the figure turned and fled.
She had given chase, of course. But she was too far, too slow, too late. By the time she reached the top of the hill, the girl was gone. No sign of her anywhere.
That night, in the glow of the fire within the central house, she told Steve everything.
He listened carefully, as he always did. Sceptical, yes, but not dismissive. They didn't lie to each other. Not about things like this. And when she told him how the girl had stood or rather how she walked, how she had watched their home as if it meant something, Steve grew quiet.
Then he said, "If there's another one of us... we need to know why."
So they agreed. They would watch the hill. They would wait.
And if the girl came back, they would be ready, hoping that they could make a new friend.
Because today had not been like other days.
Something important had happened.
**Scene Break**
Lyarra ran until her lungs burned.
Down from the ridge. Across the windswept valley. Through the fog that clung low to the earth like a secret begging to be uncovered. Only when the walls of the manor rose into view—black deepslate against the grey sky—did Lyarra allow herself to slow, her hand gripping the rough stone of the gatehouse as she caught her breath.
There had been something there. A village that was not only a lot larger than it normally would have but it had walls and at the center a house stood that was clearly built by human hands.
When when she found Torrhen he was in the mine again, half-distracted and likely halfway through another iron pickaxe. He didn't look up when the she walked to him. He didn't need to.
"You're back early," he said, smirking slightly. "Lose your horse again or just missed me?"
"No, idiot," Lyarra replied, breathless, boots thudding on the stone floor. "I found something. Something weird."
That got his attention.
"What kind of weird?"
"A village. North-northeast of where the birch forest thins out. About two days out if you follow the river and cut through the mesa."
"You've seen villages before—"
"Not like this," she interrupted, pacing. "It's too big. Far too big. Like—twice the size of the biggest Minecraft village we've ever seen. And the layout's... wrong."
Torrhen raised an eyebrow. "Wrong how?"
"Symmetrical. Planned. The houses are spaced evenly, no weird slants in the paths or floating doorframes. The farms are fenced properly. There are even lamp posts."
He frowned. "That could be one of the rare generation quirks. I've seen screenshots—"
"Let me finish." She leaned forward, voice low now. "At the far end of the village, past the last farm, there's a house. Not a villager house. A real house. Two stories. With bookshelves and a working chimney. A fireplace, Torrhen."
He stared at her.
"You're sure it didn't spawn?"
"There was cobblestone under the foundation," she said. "Like someone cleared dirt and built a proper floor first. The roof's spruce, but there's oak inside. And there's a little porch with slabs used as supports. I know that trick. I use that trick. No villager ever built that even if they could."
Torrhen exhaled slowly, a cold ripple tightening across his skin.
"You think it was built by someone like us."
"I know it was," Lyarra said. "I can feel it."
He winced at the memory.
A long silence stretched between them. The forge crackled, its flame steady but distant.
"Well we can't rule out another portal has appeared somewhere in Planetos... Are you scared?" he asked with a slight grin.
She considered that for a moment. Then shook her head.
"No," she said. "But I'm not calm either. If someone built that house, then they either left... or they're still here. And if they are, I want to know who they are. Or what they became."
Torrhen stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Then we'll find them," he said quietly. "Together."
She gave him a small, crooked grin.
"Of course. Like always."
**Scene Break**
Lyarra was already packing when Torrhen returned from the storage.
"You're really going through with this?" he asked, though he didn't bother pretending he wasn't going too.
She shot him a look. "You're the one who said 'together,' remember?"
He nodded, heading to the chest near the stairs. Their best tools were stashed in the bottom—an iron pickaxe enchanted with Efficiency II, a sword with Sharpness, and three water buckets. He handed one to her without a word.
"We can't walk through the front gate," Lyarra said, tightening her leather bracers. "They'll see us coming and I want to do something stylish."
"So we don't walk," Torrhen said. "We build."
Her eyes gleamed with understanding.
"A tower?"
He nodded. "One tall enough to get a good view. Then we bridge toward the center house."
Lyarra smirked. "You really think we can pull off a water bucket mlg from a significant height?"
"We'll know in about an hour."
**Scene Break**
POV: Steve Craftson
Steve was outside the central house when he noticed something in the distance.
He looked up. Past the rooftops. Towards the south.
At first, it was only a silhouette: a line of cobblestone and wood extending slowly, impossibly, across the sky. Steve narrowed his eyes.
"No way…"
From the far ridge, a tower had risen in the time between breakfast and sunset. Now, a sky-bridge stretched toward them, a straight path across the air itself. Two figures were moving along it. Not mobs. Not villagers.
Alex rushed up beside him, gaze locked on the same impossible line.
"They're coming here," she whispered.
Steve's grip tightened on the enchanted axe at his side, but he didn't move. Not yet. He watched. Measured. Waited.
Then one of them—taller, armor glinting iron-silver in the light—placed a final block. He stepped to the edge. Looked down.
And jumped.
For a heartbeat, Steve's instincts screamed. That fall would kill him.
But then—splash.
The figure hit the ground perfectly, shielded by the flash of water from the bucket he'd placed a split-second before impact. A second later, the other followed, landing just as smoothly.
They stood now at the edge of the central square, unharmed, weapons in their hand.
Steve stepped forward, motioning Alex to flank him. His voice was low, steady, curious.
"Who the hell are you?"
The male figure raised both hands in a mock gesture of peace.
"I'm Torrhen," he said. "This is my sister, Lyarra. We come from an island called Skane though we are really from Westeros."
"... is that a name we should know?," Alex said.
The girl—Lyarra—shrugged. "If you would originally be from any place near where we were born then yeah."
There was a long pause. No hostility yet. But a hundred questions boiled just beneath the surface.
Torrhen looked around. Not just scanning—studying.
"You built this?" he asked.
Steve nodded. "We did."
Lyarra's expression softened, just slightly. "It's… impressive."
Another beat of silence passed. Then Torrhen said, "We need to talk."
Steve nodded once.
"So do we."
They gathered in the living room of the house and sat down on wooden stairs that had been placed and functioned as seats.
"So where are you originally from?" asked Torrhen, his voice filled with intrigue, "Is it somewhere on eastern Essos? Does Asshai ring a bell? Maybe the Shadow Lands or the Golden Empire of Yi-Ti?"
"I have never heard of any of these places and why should we be from anywhere? Steve and I have always been around here as far as we can remember" said Alex.
"But... how... wait did you just say his name is Steve?? What are your names again??" asked Lyarra.
"Steve and Alex Craftson, why?"
"By the old gods" said Lyarra softly. Two true gamer legends stood in front of her, "And you have been here your entire lives?"
"Yes, why?... You haven't?" asked Steve.
"No, the place where we came from, Skane Island, is on another world. We came here through a portal roughly 3 months ago" said Lyarra.
Steve and Alex were deeply impressed. If that claim was true then considering that both duos roughly had the equipment then Torrhen and Lyarra had made progress a lot faster than Steve and Alex... still the more pressing issue was their claim they stemmed from another world... could that be true?
"Another world" Alex said softly before Steve could, "Are there more people like you there?"
The twins looked at eachother before nodding, "Aye, we come from a continent called Westeros which holds a population of what, 20 million? Though that is only a rough estimate as there has never been a census in our homeland"
Steve and Alex held their breath... 20 million more like them??? That was utterly inconceivable for the two. They looked at eachother for a moment before deciding together that they would abandon their home in a heartbeat for such a place. They were very close but spending your entire time with just one person became tiresome in the long run, it was a miracle the pair had never had any kind of bigger squabble so far.
"Just who are you guys?" Alex asked.
"I am Lyarra Snow and this idiot next to me is my twin brother Torrhen Snow, we are members of House Stark which rules one of the Seven Kingdoms in Westeros"
"Would you take us with you? You may consider us your supporters in all your endeavors.. within reason of course" Steve said diplomatically. The best friends had all their important stuff here and even all their construction material could be abandoned here if it meant they could create a new life in the homeland of their new friends.
"Once we return to Westeros that should be no problem. You should know however that there is a set social hierarchy with the royal family at the top, most people only care about themselves and their family.Famine, disease and war are not unusual and banditry is all too common. I am not sure how hard you have worked to survive here but we found it quite easy beyond the initial weeks which you cannot say for Westerosi people bar the few born into noble houses. Beyond that there are so many differences to your current life that it is better to show you than tell you."
This gave pause to Steve's and Alex' eagerness to return with Torrhen and Lyarra to their homeland but after a minute of careful consideration they decided it didn't matter. Steve and Alex knew that they had enough precious ores stored that they could live a comfortable life anywhere.
"Soooo... why not show us the portal and let us through?" asked Alex with what she hoped was a charming smile but the twins merely smiled sadly.
"We fear that the portal is going to close after someone crosses it a second time. Don't worry though we only want to get full Netherite gear before returning to our home."
"What is netherite?" Steve and Alex asked innocently which prompted another whole discussion.
Tenth Moon of 284 AC, Fort Craster:
pov Jason Rivers
Jason Rivers was a veteran of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, the Siege of Duskendale (though that was merly waiting in boredom until Barristan the Bolt managed to sneak in and himself and the Mad King out) and lastly the Usurper's Rebellion.
Though tales of the Aerys' madness had reached him long before the rebellion broke out, he had remained a Targaryen loyalist at heart and initially had great hopes for the future when he saw his Silver Prince at Harrenhal.
Jason who had studied at the Citadel for a few years before deciding that the life of a maester was too boring for him and returning home was no fool, he knew that the Silver Prince would only lure all the Great Lords and their vassals to a tourney for a good reason, a reason which Jason supported greatly. Unfortunately it seemed as if his future king had been betrayed since the Mad King had come personally to attend the tourney which interfered with Prince Rhaegar's plans.
It had all gone downhill from there on with the Targaryen Madness manifesting it in Rhaegar in it's own way with the Prince abducting Lady Lyanna of House Stark and taking her only the gods knew. When the tales of the Mad King burning Lord Stark alive and letting the heir strange himself reached Jason's ears he finally broke faith with the crown and gladly answered his trueborn kin's call to war.
After the war he was disheartened to see that all of his trueborn kin had perished in a short time and became the captain of Harrenhal's household guard after his late brother's wife had asked him to take the empty position. His disdain for the Targaryens had become a hindernis however when Ser Oswell Whent was removed as kingsguard following the ascendance of Robert Baratheon as the new king. Oswell Whent was clearly still loyal to the Targaryens, especially the precious Rhaegar and quickly the relationship between Jason and his cousin became so bad that he was relieved of his position.
After that Jason had enough of the Seven Kingdoms and their politics and quietly decided to go North to see if he could make a fortune in his latter years in the Land of the Wildlings.
So here he was at the newlybuilt Fort Craster, trashing wildlings and Westerosi peasents and hedge knights alike with his formidable sword skills. He hadn't managed to get a set of gold armor so far but his skills and his chainmail armor got the attention of the chieftain of the Snowbunnies who after a round of negotiations had given him the position of First Sword. How a term from Braavos had made it's way to the wildlings he had no idea but he didn't complain and took the position.
There wasn't a noticeable pay but all his needs were taken care of and he enjoyed training a militia for the wildling clan. Recently a few smaller clans had joined the Snowbunnies and now over 2000 warriors and their families and 5500 freemen and -women lived at Fort Craster and the surrounding (fortified) settlements. However more people meant that they naturally needed more food to feed said people and that was slowly becoming a problem. Sure hunting parties had become more organised and efficient and there were even a few daring merchants now coming from south of the wall exchanging grain for furs and other things found in the far north but it was not enough.
Conflicts with neighbouring tribes were already on the horizon and he had heard that some of them had even abandoned their ancestral lands to settle near one of the three still manned forts of the Night's Watch or generally near the coast where fishing could help with food shortages.
He had at some point inquired about the name of his new home and had been disgusted that the name of a rapist and incestous childfucker was now remembered forever with this townname but he had no real power to change it and it seemed like the now dead bastard had enjoyed good relations with the neighbouring wildling clans despite his... customs.
**Scene Break**