The Dungeon Child

Dillon's eyes are massive as he holds a minuscule ball of flame in his hand, licks of fire trickling up the sides and sparking off the top. Gingerly, he moves the ball to his other hand and lets it rest there, floating above his palm. Looking up at me with a strange spark in his eyes, he breathes gently, "I have so many questions."

Well.

Cark.

His words start to tumble over each other as he leans forward, tripping on himself. "How does that work? I don't have the slightest idea of how to convert mana into fire, to say nothing of the combustion fuel - is the mana specifically the generator for the fire or is it the fuel? Or - whoa, is it both!?"

Rubbing my aching forehead, I grumble, "Dillon, I have no idea how it works. There should be quite a lot more difficulty and skill being used, but instead you and Charlie are capable of casting spells easily."

Dillon looks confused and a little curious. "Wait, spells? Is that what this is? I mean, I'm not saying anything, I'm just wanting some fire."

I nod tiredly, going over to my bed and flopping in it on my back. "Yes, it's what Charlie does too. I don't know why - something to do with this world, I'd guess."

Dillon promptly shakes his head. "There's no way that's the reason. I mean, sorry, but that's stupid. I know basically nothing about magic at the moment, but if you had to do it like a spell in your world, there's no way it would change so drastically in here. It doesn't make sense."

I frown, sitting up and bouncing lightly. I can sense Charlie and Theory playing some variation of the slapping game I'd invented, and she seems to be doing a lot better than I had been. Shaking my attention away, I focus with some effort on Dillon. "Well, what's your theory?"

He starts pacing around my room, picking up a small stuffed bear that I'd considered animating into life, but had proved too difficult to do. Absent-mindedly tossing it from hand to hand, he points at me with it. "You were a dungeon, right?"

Before I can answer, he continues blithely. Evidently he was just talking out loud. I can only assume he has no allies to dump his ideas on, and with a sudden stab of horror, I realize that I am now considered his ally. "Could you resurrect your pets, or your minions, or whatever you call them?"

I nod, falling back to my bed. "Of course. I would run out of defenses rather quickly if I couldn't."

Agreeing silently, he keeps pacing, squeezing the stuffed bear rather hard. "So... how did that work?"

I squint at him. Where's he going with this? "I infuse them with mana and permanently create a sort of... mana memory, I suppose."

He indicates me with the bear again. "Okay, and what do you mean by that?"

To be honest, I still dislike Dillon somewhat, but I got him on board because he has ideas, some of which are more accurate than others. It's only because of that potentially valuable opinion that I answer. "It's a mana signature specific to me. Once I have a full, detailed map of their biology, I can rebuild any of the necessary bits."

He nods, slightly perturbed. "All right, that's super creepy, but continuing on: did you do that to me?" He pauses suddenly, staring off into blank space. "Wait, am I technically immortal now!?"

Tapping at the side of my bed, I suddenly realize that my old bed - called a 'crib' as far as I could tell - was replaced by a normal bed at some point. It's a little unnerving to realize that something I use so often could be swapped out without my noticing. I almost miss his questions, but return to my focus in a moment. "Yes, I did it to you. It's the only way I know of to give magic to others. And no, you're not immortal."

Shrugging, he continues on his thought process, ignoring the worrying fact that he isn't immortal. "So, what you're saying is, you know how magic works, and I don't, but I can cast flames and you..?"

He ends the sentence in yet another question, and I shake my head with a sigh. "No, I can't do it. I don't know why, but I can't. I know exactly how the flames work - I can literally see how they operate, including the part where you redirect the heat away from your hand. But I can't do it myself."

His eyes widen. "So, what you're saying is, you can infuse people with your mana - a mana memory, you said - you can see how magic works, but can't do it yourself, and that bringing people back to life means your memory essentially recreates your knowledge of how they're built?"

My own eyes widen in response. "Then that would mean-"

He finishes in excitement. "That we're doing magic based off of how you understand it works! We're not the ones actually doing the magic and the structuring and all that, we're just fueling it! Like the fire and stuff, it's, uhhh..." Unexpectedly, he comes to a stop, gesturing wildly as he tries to expand on it.

His shoulders slump, and he tosses the bear onto my bed, collapsing into a cross-legged position with a huff. "Darn. Was on a roll there."

I nod in agreement. "You definitely thought of a good theory, but it's hard to prove."

His head snaps up. "Did you - did you just compliment me!?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Don't expect me to give you any more. But you might be right."

More importantly, I've just thought of something potentially worrying.

Richter is presumably not a dungeon. Having a title like 'Plague of Winnetka' tends to indicate a good amount of movement, similar to a sweeping pestilence.

Assuming that Dillon's theory of magic is correct... how is Richter doing magic?

Frowning, I look up to Dillon. "What do you know about Richter?"

He raises an eyebrow quizzically. "Who?"

I squint at him. "The man who came to your house a few nights ago? You gave him a device?"

He blinks in confusion. "The laptop? I've never talked to the guy before then. At least, not in person. Actually, how did you know his name was Richter?"

Well. It was worth a shot.