The sun rose slowly, painting the eastern horizon in cold shades of gray and pink. By the time Jacob woke, the warmth radiating from the stone path he had laid the previous evening had already stabilized the air around the nascent greenhouse.
He could see a faint, shimmering field of heat rising from the ground, visible only in the chill morning light. It was passive, perfect, and sustained by the simple, curving circuits he had drawn.
He ate breakfast quickly and rushed back out. Arthur and Caleb were already at the site, pulling the large, heavy planks into position for the walls. Ellis and Tom, bundled in thick wool, were mixing a meager supply of mortar to seal the gaps between the posts.
"Morning, Mage," Caleb greeted, straining as he lifted a long pine plank. "Ready to make the walls warm, too?"
"That's the goal," Jacob confirmed, setting his toolbox down. He had brought his mithril engraving tool and a handful of specialized nails made from high-iron ore, necessary for anchoring complex enchantments. He also had the large bolt of thatch membrane that worried him the most.
Arthur paused his work, leaning on a post. "The foundation is remarkable, son. The ground is warmer than standing near the hearth fire. But the walls are simple wood. They'll bleed heat in this winter."
Jacob knew this was true. The wood was common pine, cheap and plentiful, but porous. To stabilize the internal temperature, he needed to make the walls essentially non-conductive to heat loss.
He pulled his chalk out. His previous methods would have demanded a complex three-dimensional inscription across the entire wall surface, a task that would take days and drain his mana completely. He decided to trust his new methodology.
He chose one side wall, a space about twelve feet long. He didn't draw a dense network of runes. Instead, he drew three simple, large symbols spaced far apart. They were crude outlines of a Strengthening rune, a Healing rune, and a Warmth rune. They were deliberately ugly, drawn for flow, not perfection.
Jacob placed his hand on the wood near the first symbol. He closed his eyes, ignoring the cold air and the noise of his family working around him. He didn't visualize formula or logic.
I want this wall to keep the warmth inside. Not stop the heat, but gently turn it around, folding in on itself, making the interior air feel like a perfectly sealed box. The warmth stays here. It does not leave.
He pushed mana into the Strengthening symbol. It flared briefly, a soft green, and then the light vanished, sinking into the pine. He repeated the process for the other two symbols, each one a single, clear intention of magic. He felt no mana drain, only a smooth, satisfying click as the magic obeyed.
When he opened his eyes, he couldn't see anything, but he instinctively knew the wall was finished.
"Done," he announced.
Arthur stopped hammering a nail. "Done? You spent ten minutes and drew three squiggles, Jacob."
"Try it, Father," Jacob invited.
Arthur, skeptical but trusting, climbed off the post and walked over. He placed his hand on the pine wall. The side facing the outside air was frigid, the wood numbingly cold. Arthur then reached his arm inside the half-finished skeletal structure, pressing his palm against the inner surface of the newly enchanted plank.
"By the gods," Arthur breathed. "It's warm. It's like the wood has a fever."
It wasn't a fever; it was the magic fulfilling the request. The wall wasn't radiating heat, it was simply preventing the interior warmth from passing through.
Jacob spent the next two hours repeating the process on the remaining three walls. As the morning progressed, the atmosphere inside the framework transformed.
The air within the greenhouse slowly grew denser and warmer, an oasis of mild weather shielded by three simple runes filled with intent per wall. Sera, who had been sitting quietly on a stump humming, stood up and walked into the center.
"It feels like spring in here," she said, her voice echoing softly in the enclosed space. "Even though the roof isn't on yet."
"The roof is next," Jacob said, looking up. That was the real challenge.
Arthur, Ellis, and Tom had finished assembling the high-peaked roof frame. Jacob was unable to get glass, which would have required an impossible trip to the distant city of Thornhold and possibly depleted the farm's capital.
Instead, they unrolled the thick bolt of material from the wagon. It was a sturdy, translucent woven thatch, cheap and resilient, but entirely opaque to optimal light spectrums and easily penetrated by heavy rains.
"We need two things from this roof," Jacob told the team, pulling the heavy membrane over the wooden ribs of the frame. "It has to be waterproof, and it has to let the right light in. Not just bright light, but the kind of light the salt-grass needs to thrive."
This required a level of magical sophistication that Jacob couldn't achieve with any conventional runic pattern. His rigid, three-dimensional geometric theory was useless here. He couldn't force wood and weave to act like glass and a light filter. He had to truly ask for the magic to perform a miracle.
Hopefully, Jacob thought, magic is more than just a name. For this to work, it will have to actually be magical.
He found the highest point of the peaked roof, the very center beam. This would be the single anchoring point. He didn't draw a rune; he placed his mithril engraving tool directly on the wood and inscribed a simple, small circle. It was a representation of the Sky... the source of light and rain.
He sat on the beam, the wind biting at his exposed hands, and closed his eyes. Sera, sensing the intensity of the moment, moved to the base of the framework and began a different kind of song, a slow and measured melody that felt like a shield, insulating his mind against distraction.
Jacob channeled his mana into the circular anchor point. He visualized the thatch membrane absorbing water and allowing wind through, and he hated it. He pushed the thought away.
He focused on his intent.
This membrane should be impermeable to liquid water, strong against the wind, and self-repairing against puncture.
This membrane, woven of simple plant fiber, should let through the sun's energy, but specifically filter the light to a wavelength that nourishes the salt-grass roots below, creating an ideal, endless growing season. Let the light flow into the space, feeding the magic.
He pushed a large surge of mana. Not an efficient flow, but an overwhelming, visualization-backed torrent.
The small circle on the beam glowed bright blue for a split second, and then the glow raced across the entire expanse of the membrane. The thatch didn't turn to glass, nor did it become a magical shield. Instead, the material itself seemed to tighten. It lost its dusty, woven texture and took on a perfectly smooth, slightly shimmering surface, like still water.
A tiny, high-pitched ringing sound emanated from the roof, too quiet for the hands to hear, but clear to Jacob's mana-sight. It was the sound of a satisfied enchantment.
He looked down. The material was still thatch, but the light filtering through to the floor was no longer dim and yellowish. It was a clear, warm gold, perfect for photosynthesis.
"It's finished," Jacob said, sliding down the beam. He looked at Sera, whose breath was coming in small, quick gasps.
"That was a beautiful process . . . and I can actually see some magic now," She said.
Arthur stood in awe, looking at the roof. "It looks . . . different. I don't think thatch is usually able to look like that." He picked up a rock and hurled it at the roof membrane. The rock struck the weave and bounced straight back, falling harmlessly to the ground. The membrane was utterly unmarked.
"It holds," Jacob said, a wide grin breaking his fatigue. He knew he had just proved his thesis. The magic obeyed the clarity of his visualization, not the complexity of his formula. The Monster Core failure was no longer an indication of his lack of skill, but a symbol of his lack of imagination.
He looked at the farmhands, who were now rubbing their chilled hands together, watching the miraculous roof. It was time for the final, critical step of this project by securing his labor and proving the versatility of his new method.