Bricks of Gold

In the shimmering haze of a world beyond our own, Maxwell Kane, a tech billionaire with a penchant for the extraordinary, stumbled through a portal hidden in the depths of his private laboratory. He had been chasing whispers of ancient magic, a power that could turn the mundane into the miraculous. What he found was Oz—a land of emerald spires, talking scarecrows, and a wizard whose reputation had faded into myth. But it wasn’t the wizard who greeted him. It was the land itself, pulsing with an energy that felt alive, ancient, and untamed.


Maxwell, with his tailored suit and calculating eyes, stood before a council of Oz’s strangest inhabitants: a lion with a crown of courage, a tin man polished to a mirror sheen, and a scarecrow stuffed with wisdom. They spoke in unison, their voices a chorus of wind and rust: “You seek power, mortal. The land of Oz grants it, but beware—its gifts are not tame.”


“I want wealth beyond measure,” Maxwell declared, his voice steady. “The kind that bends the world to my will.”


The ground beneath him trembled, and a golden light seeped from the soil, coiling up his legs like vines. It sank into his skin, and his fingertips tingled with a warmth that felt like molten metal. “Touch, and it shall become gold,” the council intoned. “But every gift has its weight.”


Maxwell grinned, a modern-day Midas reborn. He needed to test it. Nearby stood a weathered brick wall, its stones mossy and gray, a relic of some forgotten Ozian structure. He reached out, pressing his palm against the rough surface. Instantly, the bricks shimmered, their dull gray morphing into a radiant, gleaming gold. The wall glowed like a sunrise, each brick now a fortune unto itself. But then came the groan—a deep, metallic creak. Gold, for all its beauty, was softer and heavier than stone. The wall swayed, then collapsed with a thunderous crash, bricks tumbling into a glittering heap.


Maxwell laughed, brushing dust from his suit. “Perfect,” he muttered. He didn’t linger to see the aftermath. With a nod to the council, he stepped back through the portal, returning to Earth, his mind already racing with plans. Skyscrapers of gold. Cars of gold. Entire cities remade in his gleaming image.


Back in Oz, the council watched him go, their expressions unreadable. The lion rumbled, “He leaves a mess.” The tin man tilted his head toward the pile of golden bricks, glinting under the Ozian sun. “Heavy, but useful,” he creaked. The scarecrow scratched his burlap chin. “The road could use some shine.”


And so, the inhabitants of Oz set to work. The golden bricks, too cumbersome for a wall, were perfect for paving. They hauled them across the land, laying them end to end, a path winding through fields and forests. The Yellow Brick Road, once a humble trail of painted stone, was reborn—brighter, bolder, and heavier than ever. Travelers marveled at its luster, though some complained of sore feet from the unyielding metal. “A gift from a fool,” the scarecrow chuckled, “but a road worth walking.”


Meanwhile, on Earth, Maxwell’s ambitions grew wilder with every touch. A lamppost turned to gold buckled under its own weight. A steel bridge collapsed into a river, its golden beams sinking to the bottom. He didn’t care—he was rich beyond dreams, a king in a world of chaos. But late at night, he’d feel a faint tremor in his hands, a whisper from Oz: Every gift has its weight. He ignored it, chasing the next gleam.


In Oz, the road stretched on, a monument to Maxwell’s fleeting visit. And somewhere along its golden curve, the land waited, patient and knowing, for the day its power might call him back.