Steve opened his inventory. Arjun watched, paralyzed, as the character began to delete items. Not drop them—delete them from the save file's memory in real time. The copper shortsword vanished. The shackle. The 47 dirt blocks. The only thing left was the newly spawned Zenith.

Arjun had never beaten the Wall of Flesh. He’d never seen the shimmering halls of the Hallow or felt the dread of a Solar Eclipse. He was, by his own admission, a perpetually early-game player. Not from lack of skill, but from a peculiar, crippling sentimentality. Steve was his . Every broken helmet, every humble clay pot, every death by a Slime King—it was a memory. Moving to Hardmode felt like erasing a diary.

[Stevius] Analyze.