Perils of the Sea Dragon Strait
Allen pushed himself upright. The scorching sunlight stabbed at his eyes, making it impossible to sleep any longer.
"Ugh..."
He could never get used to the hard deck. Every muscle in his body throbbed like he'd been pummeled by a boxer.
As he stretched languidly and gazed at the horizon, Robinson, who was gripping the helm, called out to him.
"You're awake. How was the bed?"
"I'm getting used to it as I sleep. I could live on this boat forever."
Of course, it was a lie. His parents already worried about his frail body—how could he say, 'It hurts so much I'm dying'? White lies existed for times like these.
Robinson nodded. Whether he took his son's words at face value or simply accepted the unavoidable, only he knew.
Allen softened the rock-hard, tasteless ration—or nutrient lump—with saliva and stepped into the wheelhouse.
"I'll take the helm. Lean against the wall and rest, Dad."
"Alright."
Robinson stepped aside immediately. The sea was so calm it felt like the heavens were helping; anyone could handle the helm.
That didn't mean Robinson truly relaxed or rested easy. He sat beside his wife and jabbed a needle connected to the mana battery into his forearm.
The fact that both spouses possessed mana was one reason they'd dared to escape. Even without enough fossil fuel, mana would keep the engine running somehow.
If it had just been the two of them, the journey would have taken far longer. But thanks to Allen, who poured out the power of five or six mana workers without breaking a sweat, they'd cut the time dramatically.
Allen steered as his father had taught him, checking the compass and the sun. They had an old map, but with no land in sight, it was useless.
The vast ocean stretched before him. The curiosity and sense of adventure that had swelled at the unfamiliar sight had long since ebbed. The same scenery day after day held no novelty now.
Still, a flicker of anticipation stirred in one corner of his heart.
I can finally experience the world myself, not just through books, newspapers, and others' stories.
If Ranka was a narrow well overgrown with moss, the outside world was a blue sky and blazing sun.
Allen refused to settle for the well. He wanted to climb out, see the wider sky, and touch the world beyond with his own hands.
The magitech in the dump was all broken junk. Now I can see how it works, where it's made—with my own eyes.
Of course, that presupposed setting foot on land, but imagination was free. And with his optimism growing, his body brimmed with energy too.
Steering with a joyful heart, Allen finally switched places with his mother at noon and left the wheelhouse.
On deck, Robinson was desalinating seawater into drinking water. The device, their hardest-to-obtain gear, sucked in endless seawater.
Allen tilted his head at the sight.
"You're making more than usual?"
"We've been lucky so far."
"The wind barely blew, and the waves were so weak. Yeah, it was really easy to handle. Uncle—you know, the one who fished when he was young—said the sea's a monster that eats people, but it doesn't seem that way."
"No. He's right."
Robinson straightened his back, wiping sweat from his brow. He ducked into the wheelhouse briefly and returned with the old map.
"Right now, this spot I'm pointing to is roughly our position. They call it the Sea Dragon Strait."
"I heard a strait is sea between landmasses, but I don't see any land."
"It's still a strait if it's between land, even hundreds of kilometers apart. You asked why I'm making so much fresh water earlier?"
"Yes."
"We've had good luck avoiding storms so far, but things change now. We're stocking up while we can, for emergencies. Can't make water if the waves are trying to flip the boat."
Robinson was spot on. The Sea Dragon Strait was far rougher and fiercer than the seas they'd crossed. He took over the helm almost entirely.
Allen sat inside the wheelhouse with Mary, charging the mana battery. Even as seasickness churned his guts in real time, curiosity sprouted. He wondered about his father's steering skills.
"You seem like a real veteran, Dad."
"I was a fisherman when I was young."
Robinson caught Mary's gaze and nodded slightly.
"Our family were fishermen for generations. My father—your grandfather—was too."
"You've never mentioned Grandpa before."
"The sea took everything. My father, brothers—all of them. Mother grieved herself to death."
Even in famine-plagued Ranka, an entire family vanishing at once was rare outside of war.
Allen's heart grew heavy. Just imagining losing his parents made his pulse race. He quickly changed the subject to shake off the ominous thoughts.
"Where are we headed again?"
"I told you before..."
Mary gazed fondly at her son, then nodded.
"The Saldos Federation's territory."
"Saldos..."
Ranka's de facto overlord, the superpower that sparked the civil war. Heading there filled his mind with unease.
"Saldos is a land of opportunity. Even the lowliest can sprout dragon wings. Why? Because of the labyrinths."
Great powers shared more than military and economic might: labyrinths within their borders.
Resources and tech from the labyrinths made nations prosperous automatically. Cities springing up near them became prime tax sources.
"Endless resources mean overwhelming development over other countries."
"Can we go there too?"
"Labyrinths are dangerous. For ordinary folk like us, settling in a peaceful city or village is better. Especially the southwestern ones—sunny weather, gentle people. Plenty of room to chase dreams there. Now, the sea's rough—let's focus."
Mary cut in at the right moment. No need to dwell on negatives when positives were scarce enough.
Saldos was called a "land of opportunity," but that applied to the few. How many illegal immigrants arrived empty-handed and struck it rich?
Even sneaking past surveillance was trouble. Overcoming education gaps and cultural differences took years, and without legal status, bold action was impossible.
Problems abounded, but Mary held her tongue. No sense burdening her struggling son with more worries.
"Ugh..."
The fierce currents paled Allen's face. Mary wished she could hurt in his place, but it was impossible. She could only pray they passed this trial safely.
Allen met her eyes and forced a smile. Mary smiled back.
Don't bring it up here.
Smart Allen knew. He'd have known at ten; at sixteen, no question. Factory life and reading had taught him about the outside world.
But he pretended ignorance to spare his mother's worry. With hope ahead, no need to dwell on misfortune.
Whoosh!
Allen's head snapped up instinctively. The pitch-black night sky scattered fat raindrops everywhere. Winds howled, waves raged, and his stomach flipped.
Still, he endured. He steadily infused mana to keep the engine alive, soothing his queasy gut.
It was almost instinct. He'd doze off, wake, and the situation would shift wildly. Rain stopped, moon peeked through clouds.
Finally, the sun rose. And land appeared.
"Phew..."
Robinson, at the helm all night, exhaled deeply. Tension and fear fled on the out-breath; relief and calm rode in on the in-breath.
"We passed the worst. You and Mary did great. Shivering all night must've left you sore and nauseous, but to endure the journey, eat something."
Robinson dissolved a nutrient lump in water, ate, and unrolled the map.
"See the land? They call it the Sea Serpent Archipelago."
"Everything around here's named after sea creatures."
"Not sure if it's true, but legend says a sea dragon nested here long ago. Fitting, since it commands sea life. Reefs everywhere near the islands, fierce currents—approach carelessly and..."
Robinson paused mid-explanation, brushing off fatigue. He grabbed the wall-mounted telescope and peered into the distance.
A ship appeared. Fast, crewed by many. Too far for faces, but their menace was palpable.
Life at sea hardened men, but this was extreme. Morning sun glinted off something: long-barreled, unmistakably a gun.
Pirates.
"Damn it!"
Robinson thrust the telescope at Allen and seized the helm. Ignoring mana efficiency, he maxed the engine.
Vroom!
Full throttle tired humans fast. Engines screamed too.
Allen scoped the pirates. Their ship dwarfed the fishing boat—like a dump truck vs. a compact car.
One ram and we'd split in half.
And they were fast. For every step the boat gained, they closed three.
Robinson realized it too. Running full-tilt would end in capture.
"No. Please."
Pirates were pirates for a reason. Sold as slaves or servants was lucky. Bad luck meant target practice.
After escaping Ranka, with land in sight, just skirt the coast—no way they'd get caught now.
Robinson spun the helm. The bow veered toward the archipelago. Better gamble on slim hope than certain enslavement or death.
The waters around the Sea Serpent Archipelago were dubbed "the Sea Dragon's Whim." True to name, currents surged wildly.
Currents had set paths, but these ignored them, twisting every moment. The small boat staggered like a drunk in veins.
"Allen! Distance?"
Allen extended his arm, thumb up, as taught. Compared ship to thumbnail.
"500 meters!"
Hope lived. A bit farther, into the islands—reefs would force the bigger pirate ship to turn.
Time crawled slowest ever. Robinson gripped the sweaty helm tight.
Please. Please.
Suddenly, the boat lifted high. A massive wave hoisted it.
Allen clutched the wall. Chaos. The boat plunged, stomach dropping like a sinking heart.
No capsize—miracle. The archipelago loomed closer; Allen could almost count the leaves.
Bang!
Shock whitened his mind. Brain blanked—no time to think.
Cause: reef. The wave impaled the boat on it—like a backbreaker wrestling move shattering spine.
The fishing boat splintered, spewing passengers into the sea. Allen flailed in the saltwater.