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A lone miner began setting beacons of light into the dark

After they slept, they forgot where they were, so they just kept digging.

Somehow the miner was wise beyond their age, as if a past self knew the darkness all too well.

Or at least, the miner liked to think so. It was a delusion that kept them sane.

Sometimes they would hear a sound.

Sometimes they would imagine.

But despite the fear that the miner felt, they knew they weren’t in any danger...

Or were they?

After all, they spent more of their life in the darkness than the light.

More time in the shadows of the earth than in the sun’s comforting rays.

The miner turned around in annoyance in response to a bat’s high-pitch squeal.

The regular flapping of the bat’s wings was not comforting. Instead, it reminded the miner of the noises they could not control.

The miner drew their sword, and cut down upon the creature with bloodlust.

They then stared upon the fallen body with relief, but also guilt.

Guess it’s not any better than taking the lives of monsters, the miner thought.

If you actually want to call them lives...

...but surely they feel pain if they scream.

This thought troubled the miner.

I’ve been doing this for so many years... but that still unsettles me somehow.

The miner continued walking through the dark, laying down torches as they went. Eventually the miner came upon flowing water.

Strange that there could be such wet water juxtaposed to such dry rock.

Strange how I haven’t felt that thirsty.

Perhaps I’ve been down in the earth too long.

Perhaps someday I will be as dry as the skeletons I kill.

Perhaps I already am on the inside.

The miner began to tread along the edge of the cave wall, the refreshingly cool water splashing against their legs.

Sometimes I wonder if those aren’t my own footsteps. Sometimes I wonder if the splashes in the water that my feet make are not my own.

But why is that?

Those are my footsteps, aren’t they?

Or am I but a surrogate... its true master riding me to my death?

The miner shook their head, trying to persuade themself into doubt.

I killed three endermen, didn’t I? I fought off more creepers than I can count. Surely death is nothing to be afraid of down here.

The miner stood still, puffing themself up.

I’m not afraid.

But the miner knew in their heart that what they believed was a lie.

...still, I can’t afford to be afraid. If there’s one thing that fear does really well, it’s that it paralyzes you. It prevents you from moving forward.

With hesitation, the miner began walking forward again.

If you truly knew what the fear did to you, you’d know that the only way to stop it is to keep moving...

The miner came across torches that they had set down the previous day. The miner looked upon the surrounding cave walls with curiosity.

This looks familiar. I was here before I fell asleep. The memory’s like a dream now. Strange.

The miner began walking again, this time at a faster pace. They were wary of monsters that could ambush them from the darkness.

I have to keep moving. The more I stay in one place, the sooner they’ll find me.

That’s how it works. That’s how they get you. It with the fear. Fear paralyzes you.

Fear makes you want to stop and rest.

You want to stop, hoping the monsters will go away, but you know that they won’t.

That’s because they belong in the dark. They spawn in the dark. I don’t belong in the dark. It is the darkness where I come for riches. And the light where I return for safety.

The miner glanced at the torches that they had placed as they were walking by, following the path of torches as they guided them to the surface.

However, there is one form of light that promotes fear. Torchlight, specifically.

Not the same fear that I felt in the darkness... but a worse fear.

A more paralyzing fear.

A fear of expectations.

A fear of anticipation.

A fear that once I leave the torchlight, the monsters will be waiting for me.

The miner spotted a dim, natural light laying upon the stone at the end of the torch-lit tunnel. Their footsteps began to lighten, their face grinning with joy.

As the miner clambered up the cave’s steep entrance, a frigid breeze slid against their face, hardening the muscle. The moon shone in the sky, informing the miner of the dangerous creatures patrolling their night shift. Yet, in spite of this, the familiar landscape of pine forests and snowy cliffsides calmed the miner.
The miner sighed as they followed the path of torches, their flickering light beaming off white flakes of ice falling through the air. It intrigued the miner that they were no longer afraid, despite there being the same danger that there was before.

Perhaps it is more than just the darkness that makes me afraid...

A thin layer of ice had formed upon the miner’s face as they were walking. The miner wiped it off with their sleeve.

The miner then spotted a zombie approaching between the trees and drew their sword.

And yet I still fear.

However, it's a different kind of afraid. The fear of getting hit, but not the fear of dying.

The miner began to swing at the zombie with valor. The zombie had hardly any opportunity to scratch the miner before succumbing to a deadly blow of the sword.

Why is that?

Perhaps in the confines of the underground, there is no easy escape.

Perhaps that is the source of the fear: the fear that if a monster tries to attack you, and you aren’t prepared, you don’t have the choice to run away.

Perhaps in the cavern’s perpetual folds, it is easy to get lost.

Perhaps that is the source of the fear as well: the fear that you could lose everything you know, and that you would never be able to retrieve it.

The miner approached the door of a robust log cabin. The miner glanced stealthily behind their shoulder before grabbing hold of the knob.

At least I’m safe now.