The world loads with a familiar hiss of wind and birdsong. Grass stretches in every direction, untouched and eerily still. Then the box appears. It drops into the dirt beside you with no sound, no pop, no spawn animation. Just suddenly there. It's small and plain, sealed tight, and it is shaking — a rapid, nervous rattle — like something inside has been waiting a very long time. A muffled voice leaks through the wood. Hopeful. A little too eager. Something about this world feels incomplete, like a sentence someone stopped typing. The trees are too quiet. There are old torches placed with care, leading nowhere. And somewhere in the logs, a name flickers — Lorne — but when you look directly at it, it's gone. The box is still shaking. It heard you load in.