In his room, the air felt cooler without the fire, but not biting. He dug through his small stack of clothes until he found an older, sturdy shirt and his thickest pair of socks. Both were clean and still sound enough to be worth the risk. He laid them flat on the bed and sat beside them with his etching tool in hand.
The shapes from the night before rose easily now. A warming layer that hugged close to the skin. A reinforcement mesh that would keep the fabric from wearing thin at elbows and knees. A comfort pattern that eased pressure and kept seams from biting. Individually, they were simple. Together, they wanted to twist around each other the way the sword rune had, folding through more space than the cloth seemed to have.
He worked slowly, starting at the cuffs and hems, anchoring each aspect in passes rather than trying to force everything at once. Magic seeped into the weave, tugging faintly at his awareness with each completed segment. After a few false starts that refused to settle, the pattern finally snapped into place around the shirt and socks, forming a layered shell of warmth that felt nicely confident rather than showy. He fed a little more power into the enchantments, just enough to make sure it held through real cold.
Jacob pulled the shirt over his head and tugged the socks on. Heat bloomed along his arms and legs, steady and even, like standing in sunlight without the glare.
"If I am going to chase answers in winter," he thought, flexing his toes inside their new cocoon, "I am not doing it shivering."
The warmth settled into him so nicely that he decided walking around with only half his body comfortable would feel wrong.
He dug out his sturdiest trousers, the pair he used for fieldwork, and spread them beside the shirt. The pattern adjusted itself in his head, wrapping around knees and hips instead of elbows and wrists. He traced the layers in stages, letting the etching tool guide the magic into the weave. Reinforcement along the seams first, then the deeper heat that pooled around joints, then the softer touch that eased chafing where fabric rubbed.
By the time he pulled them on, the cold drafts sneaking under the door felt like suggestions instead of threats.
It occurred to him, while he stretched and felt the enchantment flex, that going out dressed like this while his family shivered would be the fastest way to earn a lecture. He gathered another stack of clothes, sorting by size and wear. May's thickest dress. Arthur's work shirt and heavy trousers. Caleb's patched coat and a pair of mittens that had seen better days.
He had just finished laying the first pattern into Arthur's shirt when his father stepped into the doorway, journal still in one hand.
Arthur watched for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as he followed the invisible route of the etching tool. "That is not the usual sequence," he said. "You are twisting something together. What are you doing there, Jacob?"
Jacob froze, then slapped his forehead with the heel of his palm. "I completely forgot," he groaned. "I figured out a new way to merge runes into one whole enchantment, and I never showed you the pattern."
Arthur leaned against the frame, interest pushing past his fatigue. "Then you had better fix that, boy," he said. "Before you enchant the entire house without telling your old man how you did it."
His voice was warm, carrying that curious, fatherly note that sounded more like a man asking about a new toy his child had discovered than someone clawing after power. There was no hunger in Arthur's eyes, only interest and pride, and Jacob felt some tight little knot in his chest loosen.
He smiled despite himself. "It is not just a new pattern," Jacob said. "It is a new way to think about them."
Arthur stepped fully into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to wrinkle the clothes Jacob had laid out. "Show me," he said. "From the start."
Jacob sat cross-legged on the floor and picked up the shirt he had finished for himself. "You know how we usually treat runes like drawings that lie flat," he said. "Edge here, strength there, separate pieces that stack on top of each other. When I worked on the sword, I tried to push three into one. Sharpness, reinforcement, and self-repair. When I forced them together on a single face, the enchantment kept falling apart."
Arthur nodded slowly.
"So I stopped trying to flatten it," Jacob continued. "I let the pattern stay twisted in my head instead. It wrapped around the whole blade like a knot that moved in more than just two directions. Then I anchored each part on a different surface until everything snapped together and held. These clothes are the same idea, just gentler."
Arthur looked at the shirt as if it might answer him. "Nonflat runes," he said softly. "Trust you to start writing things that do not fit on a page."
Jacob ducked his head, but he could not hide the pleased twist in his mouth.
Arthur reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "You are going to need to write in your own journal before long," he said. "Not just for what you learned from us, but for what you are already adding."
Jacob swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried to act like his eyes were not stinging a little. "Maybe," he said. "If I do not mess everything up first."
Arthur snorted. "You already have," he said. "You messed up the part where a farmer's son is supposed to be normal. Too late to fix that now."
Jacob laughed, which broke the last of the tension.
Arthur stood, took the warmed shirt from Jacob's hands, and pulled it on over his own. He rolled his shoulders once, then twice, and a slow, honest smile spread across his face. "Feels like spring snuck inside my clothes," he said. "Comfortable, too. You keep this up, your old father might survive winter without complaining."
"Do not promise anything you cannot keep," May called from the other room, amusement clear in her voice.
Arthur rolled his eyes and raised his voice. "Woman, I will have you know, I am becoming a man of refinement. Our son is dressing me in luxury."
Caleb poked his head around the doorframe, hair still wild from the snow. "Can he dress me in luxury too?" he asked. "Because luxury sounds warm."
Jacob laughed again, the sound lighter this time. "One at a time," he said. "But yes. All of you. I want everyone to be warm before the next storm hits."
May appeared behind Caleb and wrapped an arm around him, her gaze lingering on Jacob in a way that made his cheeks heat for a different reason. Pride, soft and shining, sat plain on her face.
The house felt very small in that moment. Small, and full, and his.
Salted fields waited. Old Thom's hint waited. The dungeon gate waited in the distance. All of that would still be there tomorrow.
Tonight, he had a crackling fire, a family crowding his doorway, and clothes that held his warmth like an embrace. As he set his etching tool down and reached for the next shirt, Jacob let himself enjoy it, just for a while.