Two elements have made immense contributions to the advancement of civilization: fire and magic. Fire is so ubiquitous that it’s almost strange to find a place where it’s not used. Magic, meanwhile, has extended beyond personal training to deeply permeate everyday life. For instance, there are power plants equipped with heat-to-magic conversion magic circles. However, a new force has emerged to rival these two pillars of civilization: the labyrinth.

A hundred years have passed since the first labyrinth was discovered. The transformation over this century has been more rapid and dazzling than in the thousands or even tens of thousands of years before it.

***

Freight trains laden with natural resources continued to run through the night, their winds rattling the rows of shanties lining the tracks. It seemed the houses might be blown away, yet no one stepped outside. To the residents here, it was a familiar occurrence.

The boy lying on a patchwork quilt was no exception. Using the moonlight and starlight as his reading lamp, he pored over a book titled ‘What Is Magitech?’

Its tattered cover revealed how old the book was and how often the boy had read it.

Tap, tap, tap.

The boy quickly shoved the book under his blanket and closed his eyes at the sound of approaching footsteps. He mimicked the slow, steady breaths of someone asleep. The door creaked open, and a man and a woman stepped inside. Their worn-out clothes and tired expressions told of the grueling day they had endured. As the man hung his coat on a line by the door, the woman reached for a round orb hanging from the ceiling.

Click!

A crudely made magic stone lamp lit up, illuminating the cramped interior of the tiny house. The woman’s gaze quickly fell on one thing—or rather, one person. Her weary face lit up like a blooming flower.

“Dear, Alan is sleeping. He might wake up from the light.”

“Do you still not know your son? You silly man.”

The woman playfully patted her husband’s backside and walked over to the boy. Her shadow, cast by the lamp, covered Alan’s face like a second blanket, causing his brow to twitch involuntarily.

“You little rascal.”

The woman gently stroked her son’s dark brown hair. Realizing his act was up, Alan slowly opened his eyes, revealing a pair of bright hazel irises.

“You’re home.”

“Alan, what did Mom tell you?”

Despite her son’s greeting, the woman’s expression remained stern. The silence stretched as she tapped the book peeking out from under the blanket.

Alan pouted. He thought he had hidden it well, but somehow she always found it.

“You told me not to save on the magic lamp.”

“Exactly. No matter how poor we are, your mom and dad can afford to keep the magic lamp on. So don’t strain your eyes reading by moonlight. Promise?”

“Mary, let’s wash up first.”

“Yes, yes. But you’d better keep your promise.”

Mary patted Alan’s head one last time before heading to the corner where a wooden tub sat. She pulled a yellowed towel from the laundry line, soaked it in water, and began wiping her face. While his wife washed up, the man approached Alan.

“The water in the tub is clean and plentiful.”

“I went far to fetch it since the nearby river and pump water were too dirty. It wasn’t too hard, really.”

“Alan, being frail isn’t your fault. You can take it easy.”

“I’m really fine. Look at this!”

Alan pointed to a contraption leaning against the wall near his bed. He pulled away the rags covering it, revealing a small cart with two wheels.

“A folding cart? Did you make this yourself?”

“Yes! I found usable scraps at the junkyard and…”

“Robinson! Mary! Are you home?”

A voice outside interrupted Alan’s explanation. Robinson gently laid his son back down.

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“We’ll continue this later. Get some rest for now.”

After his parents stepped out, the house fell silent. The magic lamp’s light faded, and moonlight once again spilled into the room. Alan turned onto his side to avoid the light tickling his face. His eyes fell on the folding cart he had built. Though too frail to work like his peers, he could now bring clean water home for his parents. Feeling his trembling arms, Alan closed his eyes.

***

Lanka, a poor island nation, forced its elderly, adults, and children to labor all day for a loaf of bread. Its abundant natural resources did not belong to its impoverished people. Skyscrapers piercing the clouds, news of research bases on the moon, and flying cars were all stories from another world. The people of Lanka, too busy surviving, had no time to care about such marvels. No matter how wondrous the news, it didn’t help them survive.

At least Alan’s parents were relatively well-off, working as mana battery chargers. Their wages weren’t abundant, but they were enough to stave off hunger. Thanks to this, 10-year-old Alan could eat without working and use his remaining energy and time for other pursuits. Even with his frail body, he could still turn the pages of a book.

Alan’s insatiable curiosity found an outlet in the books he occasionally discovered at the junkyard. To him, they were treasures.

The next morning, after seeing his parents off to work, Alan made his way to the junkyard. Careful to avoid injuries that might worry his parents, he moved cautiously.

“A book! …Oh, I can’t read this.”

Disappointment surged as he realized the book was written in a language he couldn’t understand. There was no one to teach him foreign languages, and the book lacked pictures to help him decipher its content. Alan reluctantly put the book down and ventured deeper into the junkyard. His friends, loaded with scrap metal and discarded materials, waved at him.

“Weakling!”

“Hey!”

“What if you collapse again? Do you know how hard it was to carry you home last time?”

“Sorry about that, and thanks. But I’ve got this now!”

When Alan pointed to the cart, his friend’s eyes widened. This was because any useful tools were usually monopolized by adults.

“Where did you get this? Don’t tell me you made it?”

“Since that incident last time, if I find the materials, I’ll make one for you too.”

“Really? You promise! You’re always so frail, but you’re surprisingly good at... what’s that word? The one for being skilled at making things?”

“Handy.”

“Right! You’re really handy.”

The friends chatted as they headed toward the entrance of the junkyard. To eat, they had to haul trash back and forth multiple times, so they couldn’t afford to talk for long.

Alan ventured deeper into the junkyard. His true purpose today wasn’t merely to collect scrap. As he reached his destination, an aged voice echoed loudly nearby.

“Damn dictators! Filthy invaders!”

An elderly man was rummaging through the piles of trash, shouting at the top of his lungs. He was known as the “madman.”

“This is our land! Ours! Why do they dump their trash here? We need to clean it up!”

With his bony arms, the old man sifted through the garbage. It was his version of cleaning, but to others, it looked like he was just moving things around.

“Well, this ‘is’ a junkyard.”

The surroundings were nothing but waste. Calling it a “mountain” of trash would be an understatement.

Alan had never witnessed it himself, but he had heard rumors. Massive ships, larger than trains, would dump trash here, with the higher-ups pocketing money in return. Recalling the grumbles of adults, Alan refocused on the old man. The elder, who had once worked in foreign factories, was known to understand foreign languages and could read the yellowed newspapers.

Just like now.

“They say those bastards made a tree that can break down plastic? Then why’s there so much trash here? Is it because we’re poor? Discrimination, that’s what it is!”

“Orc air raiders bombed the dictator’s palace? Revolution! Yes, revolution means bombs and blood!”

As was typical of erratic individuals, the old man’s thoughts quickly jumped from one topic to another. But even brief snippets of news were a treasure trove for Alan. The more he learned about the outside world, the more his curiosity flourished, like a sprout basking in the rain. And above all, imagination was free. No one demanded payment for it.

After rambling for a while, the old man leaned against an abandoned refrigerator. He looked exhausted, drained of energy to even speak.

Alan wrapped a piece of bread in a relatively clean plastic bag and tossed it at the old man’s feet. Following his mother’s teachings, he was paying for the old man’s stories. When the elder opened the bag and found the bread, he didn’t wolf it down immediately. Instead, he knelt, looked up at the sky, and muttered.

“Are you watching me from above? Is this food from heaven for your starving father? I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I should’ve listened to you and escaped this hell sooner...”

It seemed the rumors were true that the old man had lost his child in a civil war and gone mad.

Leaving the elder behind, Alan exited the junkyard. Then came a turning point for Alan.

“You’re Robinson and Mary’s son?”

“Yes.”

The guard looked at the lunch bundle in Alan’s hand, scratched his head, and spoke into his radio. A few moments later, his parents came walking toward the entrance.

“You didn’t have to go out of your way to bring this... Are you okay, son?”

“I’m fine. What’s that?”

Alan’s gaze was fixed on a rectangular silver-gray object attached to Mary’s vest.

“That’s a mana battery?”

“Yes, it is... Oh my, look at all this sweat.”

Mary stopped mid-sentence, wiping Alan’s forehead with her sleeve. She didn’t care if her clothes got soaked as she moved.

Ding!

The mana battery emitted a clear sound. Startled by the sudden noise, Alan quickly hid his fingers behind his back.

“Did something go wrong? It’s not broken, is it?”

Mary looked back and forth between her son and the battery before shaking her head.

“This means it’s fully charged. Strange... Normally, it takes about 30 more minutes of effort to finish charging. Why did it happen so suddenly?”

While Mary pondered, Robinson placed a hand on Alan’s shoulder.

“Are you feeling unwell at all?”

“Not at all.”

“Don’t lie. Be honest. Charging a mana battery is hard even for adults with magic. But it charged as soon as you touched it.”

“I did feel like something drained out of me. Oh? Come to think of it, breathing feels easier now.”

It was an incomprehensible phenomenon. Then again, mana itself was a mysterious energy beyond the understanding of ordinary laborers like Robinson. Robinson didn’t directly charge the batteries either. The device extracted mana from his body, like a needle drawing blood. Proof of this could be seen in the many needle marks on the couple’s arms.