Emmet Laghaz loved puzzles.

All day, all night, puzzles. Ever since he was a child, Emmet could turn anything into a puzzle.

Plowing the field was a puzzle. What was the best possible way to plow the entire field while travelling the least distance? How about when you took a person’s stamina and speed into account, and the breaks they took every few hours? What routes would allow someone to re-cross the least amount of area when plowing?

Harvesting the crop was a puzzle. How could a group of five people harvest the most amount of wheat in the least time? Which paths should each take to maximize their total output while not overworking themselves? What order of people swapping in and out, taking into account their stamina, would ensure the maximum efficiency?

One by one, Emmet tackled every puzzle he saw. Even when people thought there wasn’t any puzzle there, Emmet would find a puzzle. For example, when welling water, considering a person’s height and strength, what was the optimal rate to decrease a person’s strain but increase production?

By the time Emmet turned ten, he had moved on to bigger and better things. Instead of merely calculating the best routes with what he had and what was there, he was creating his own contraptions to optimize those routes.

In welling stations, he had created and installed his own pulley bucket system, nearly a third more efficient and significantly easier to use than the previous.

In the fields, he had created his own interactive scarecrows, using specially prepared sunstones in a circuit to absorb sunlight to light up and scare away a bird when one happened to land near it.

He had even painstakingly created a design for his own specially shaped orestone shovel, designed specifically according to his height and strength to maximize the output force to torque put in - after a month of begging, the tribe blacksmith finally acquiesed and forged it for him, specially according to his design.

By this time, his originally plain personal bedroom inside his family cabin had been completely transformed. Instead of what you would expect from any other preteen farm boy’s room, a plain shack with maybe a few blunt tools, from head to toe, the entire space was mechanized and optimized. On the door, there was a little mechanized doorbell for anyone to ring when they needed him (using a piece of blue jadestone he had found in the fields). Inside the door was a little latch that funneled straight into a receiving basket next to his desk (he was proud to announce that this little trapdoor did not decrease the structural integrity of the door even a bit). Inside the room itself, his desk and bed was specially shaped to allow for the least constricted movement, and there was unfinished contraption after unfinished contraption lying all over the place, spare materials scattered all about.

At that moment, a young boy arrived at the front of this bedroom door, sporting green hair and a lively face. In his hand he carried a wooden stick, which he used to knock on the door, creating a loud bang.

“Emmet! Come out, let’s duel! I know you’re in there, lil’ dummy! Let’s fight it out!”

“Geh…”

The door opened, a small, skinny black-haired child appearing within the doorway. He had clear blue eyes and a tiny physique, clearly not someone with any kind of special physical prowess, and appeared to be slightly older than ten years old.

“What do you want, Yorick? I told you to use the doorbell!”

“Hehehe… what doorbell?” The green-haired boy named Yorick sneered sinisterly. “Dodging away from another challenge? Too scared to duel me?” He waved his stick around provokingly.

“Screw you, Yorick!” Emmet made an ugly face. “You already know I’m weaker than you. How many times have we fought already? You always beat me.”

“Kekeke! Looks like you know your place!” Yorick laughed heartily. “Even still, fight me! I haven’t had a tussle in a good while!”

“Go away. I’m working on a project,” Emmet shook his head. “What’s the point? It’s not like it’s anything special to beat me. Everyone knows I’m the runt of the tribe.”

“You underestimate yourself!” Yorick insisted. “Everyone can improve. It just takes practice… Now let’s fight!” He threw himself forward.

“No-” Emmet had just enough time to let out a little yelp before - bam! - he was hit by Yorick and tackled to the ground. He landed with a thud. “You battle-crazed maniac! I said I wasn’t fighting!” He managed to spit out.

“Hehe! This is good sparring practice for you!” Yorick chuckled sinisterly, pressing his larger body over Emmet and shoving his head unceremoniously to the floor. “I won’t always be around to protect you! You need to be able to fend for yourself.”

“Pah! Fend for myself? You’re the one who’s bullying me!” Emmet ragefully screamed out, but since his face was pressed against the floor, it came out muffled. Like a little worm, he tried to struggle out of Yorick’s grasp, but to no avail. Yorick was much too strong. Or rather, Emmet was much too weak.

Just at that moment - Pa! Pa! Pa!

Three little shooting sounds sounded out. A contraption on the ground next to the two grappling boys had suddenly came to life. Mechanizing and shifting, it shot out three little rocks, directly toward Yorick!

“Gah!” Yorick brought his hands up to defend. The rocks hit him in his arms, causing some stings, before falling to the ground. “What the hell! What is that?”

“Kekeke!” Emmet cackled. “That’s what I’ve been working on! I call it the Emmet Defense System 3000! Feel the wrath of my rocks!”

“Your rocks?!” Yorick brought his intense gaze back to Emmet, who was still struggling on the floor. “You little shit! I’ll get you!” With revitalized energy, he once again grappled down and tackled Emmet, thoroughly pinning him to the floor.

“Ah! Ah! It hurts!”

“Boys! What are you doing?!” A loud feminine voice rang out.

The two boys stopped grappling and turned their heads. Or rather, Emmet tried to, but from his angle, he could only shift his head a few inches.

A woman with brown hair around 30 years of age had appeared at the doorway, her hands on her hips and frowning disapprovingly. Upon closer inspection, her features seemed similar to Emmet’s.

“Yorick, let go of him!” She chided out, unceremoniously striding forward and kicking Yorick in the butt.

“Ow!” Yorick yelped out and quickly hopped up, holding onto his tush sensitively. “Mom… so violent!”

“Oh, shut up,” the woman scowled and slightly shook her head. “Always fighting… boys, boys, always so full of energy. If you have so much energy, then go help plow the fields! It’s peak tilling season!”

“We already did!” Both boys chanted at once.

Emmet dusted himself off and got back up, meeting his mother’s eyes. “Mom, we already till for like 8 hours a day! It’s already getting dark, we should at least have some time to ourselves!”

“Yeah!” Yorick nodded in agreement. “Besides, if I’m always just doing farmwork, how will I ever become a great warrior?”

“You little shits!” The woman brought her palm up and chopped down on both the boys’ heads, causing them to wince. “You think farmwork is something to take lightly? This is our heritage, our way of life! Don’t you know-”

“Yeah yeah…” Emmet interrupted with a groan, holding his head tenderly. “We’re a migrant farming tribe… going back hundreds of years… yada yada… we know already!”

“Then that’s good!” The woman shouted out chidingly. She shook her head exasperatedly, as if she was dealing with a chronic pain. “Anyway, supper’s in ten minutes! Make sure to come in time! Tonight’s meatloaf day.”

“Meatloaf day?!” Yorick’s eyes lit up.

“Yes! So make sure to come down. Bring your brother,” the woman clicked her tongue before turning and exiting the room.

Yorick turned toward Emmet, a mischievous smile on his face.

“AHHH!!!” A moment later, a shrieking scream rang out.