May wiped her hands and opened her arms as they approached. She ruffled Jacob's hair and kissed Arthur's cheek in one smooth motion, gathering them both in with her usual quiet fierceness. The smell of stew, the warmth of the hearth, and the feel of her hands on his shoulders wrapped around Jacob, and for a moment, the salted fields and distant gates felt very far away.
Dinner passed the way Jacob liked it best, with bowls filled twice and the talk bouncing lazily from one small thing to another. May scolded Arthur for tracking straw onto her clean floor, Arthur blamed the mule, and Caleb tried to sneak an extra hunk of bread until May tapped his knuckles with a spoon.
Jacob let the warmth soak in while he ate, listening more than he spoke. It felt normal, in a way that made his chest ache.
"How are the chickens handling the cold," Jacob asked once he pushed his bowl away.
Caleb straightened immediately. "Great," he said. "We packed extra straw in the coop, and I checked their feet like Father showed me. They hate the wind, so they keep trying to crowd into the corners like a pile of feathery idiots, but they are fine. Eggs are a little smaller, though."
"That happens in winter," Arthur said. "You did well."
Caleb beamed, which made Jacob smile too.
Later, wrapped in his blankets, Jacob stared at the shadows on the ceiling while the house settled around him.
The strange nonflat rune for the dagger hovered in his thoughts. He peeled pieces away and wondered what a proper warming pattern would look like if it wrapped a coat or a pair of boots. Heat held close to the skin, strength laced along seams, and comfort threaded through pressure points so nothing chafed. Each idea wanted its own layer. Each layer wanted to twist around the others instead of lying flat.
He fell asleep tracing those shapes in his head, chasing lines through directions he did not have names for.
He was unable to hear it yet, but a soft robotic voice sounded in that space in his mind that he would grow when he turned 12.
The System is Watching
Morning arrived as a weight.
A literal weight as something pounced on his mattress, then bounced again.
"Jacob, wake up," Caleb shouted, landing near his feet. "Come on, you have to see this."
Jacob groaned and pushed himself upright. "What are you doing. It is early."
"It snowed," Caleb said, eyes shining. "Not just a little. Father says more than a foot fell. One of the watch hands woke him in the night when it started piling up, and since this is my first year old enough, he brought me to help with final preparations."
He barely paused for breath. "We checked the barn roof, cleared the paths to the well, made sure the animals had enough feed and water. You should have seen the drifts by the east fence. Come outside and play with me before we have to shovel anything."
The snow came up to Jacob's shins when he stepped off the porch.
The world had turned soft and bright overnight, every fence post capped, every branch outlined. Caleb whooped and immediately flopped backward to make an angel, arms and legs thrashing. Jacob laughed, scooped a handful of snow, and packed it until it squeaked between his gloves.
They started with a snowman near the house, rolling lopsided balls until they were heavy enough to strain both of them. Caleb insisted on using crooked sticks for arms and a bent old nail for a nose. The result looked like it had seen things, which made them both snicker.
After that, it became war.
They claimed opposite sides of the yard and started shoving snow into the walls. Jacob packed his into low, thick ridges, thinking about angles and cover. Caleb went for height, building a proud, uneven tower that listed to one side.
Before long, icy missiles were flying. A well-aimed throw from Caleb caught Jacob in the back of the neck and sent a trickle of freezing slush down his collar. Jacob answered with a volley that exploded across Caleb's chest, leaving him spluttering and laughing.
They chased each other around the half-built forts until their lungs burned and their fingers started to ache in that sharp way that warned of real cold. Noses ran, cheeks stung, and the thrill drained into shivers.
"Truce," Jacob said, breathless. "Let's get inside before our hands fall off."
Caleb agreed without argument.
They stomped back into the house, shedding clumps of snow by the door. May was already waiting with a towel draped over one arm and two steaming mugs on the table. The rich smell of chocolate hit Jacob's nose and made his stomach growl.
"Boots off, coats on the peg," she said. "Then warm your hands before you touch anything else."
Arthur sat by the hearth in his rocking chair, one of the old family journals open on his lap. He glanced up as they came in, a small smile tugging at his mouth at the sight of their red faces and dripping hair, then lowered his eyes back to the neat, faded lines of ink that tied their present to something much older.
The boys crowded in close to the hearth, socks steaming gently while they wrapped cold fingers around the mugs. The first sip of chocolate nearly hurt, the heat chasing the sting from their throats and sending a slow, pleasant burn into their bellies. For a while, they did not talk much. They just sat there with dripping hair and pink faces, letting the fire and the drink fight over who got to thaw them first.
When Jacob could feel his toes again, he drained the last of his mug and set it carefully on the table. Caleb lingered a little longer, already eyeing the window for another round outside, but Jacob's thoughts had drifted elsewhere.
"I am going to work on something in my room," Jacob said. "If you go back out, do not eat the snow near the coop."
Caleb made a face. "I am not stupid."
Jacob snorted and slipped down the hall.