The morning sun was now moving over the East field, casting long shadows across the broken bodies of the goblins. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the metallic tang of blood.
Jacob stood at the edge of the clearing, watching his father and Caleb move with practiced, grim efficiency to clear the farmyard. Every time a pitchfork struck the ground, it felt like a violation of the peace they had worked so hard to build with the seeding mechanism.
Jacob looked at Elis, who was effortlessly hoisting a heavy goblin carcass with one hand. The farmhand's movements were fluid and possessed a new, almost terrifying, grace.
He could see the faint shimmer of the system's lingering influence around Elis's muscles, a silver-gold lattice that seemed to reinforce his very bones.
It looks like the system just etched a high-level enchantment, or something similar, directly onto his soul, Jacob thought as he watched Elis move.
It made him a better tool for the farm, but the enchantment seems like a rigid set of rules forced into his flesh. I have no idea how I could accomplish that, not yet, at least.
Oren sat nearby on a stump, cleaning the dark ichor from his short sword with a rag. He looked healthier than he had any right to be after such a battle, thanks to Jacob's healing. He watched Jacob with a curious gaze.
"You are staring at the mana again," Oren said, his voice regaining its youthful confidence. "I can see it in your eyes. You aren't looking at the field, you are looking at the way the mana shimmers."
"I'm trying to understand the difference," Jacob admitted, sitting on the grass opposite the young warrior. "Your Aura was red and fierce. It felt like you created an entirely different type of energy that obeys your commands. Whatever Elis's upgrade is feels like a perfect machine. My magic, though, it feels like I am asking a friend for a favor."
Oren laughed at Jacobs' musings. "My master said that the world is a cruel place and you have to beat it into submission before it beats you. Aura is just the ultimate expression of that. It is the 'I am' that refuses to break. Your way sounds much more pleasant, but I wonder if a 'suggestion' can stop a dragon's fire or a king's army."
Maybe the suggestion is only as weak as the one making it, Jacob mused. Oren's power is a scream of will. He forces his own power to be more. But that kind of power must come at a hefty cost. If I can persuade the world that its natural state is to move with me, then the world isn't obeying a master. It is simply following its own heart. If I can convince the world that I am meant to be its sovereign, perhaps the world will simply choose to agree.
Jacob signaled to Bran, and the two of them walked back toward the seeding mechanism that Bran had stashed in the Barn, leaving the rest of the cleanup to everyone else. Oren decided to tag along, interested in seeing what Jacob would do next.
Once they got to the Barn, Bran knelt in the dirt next to the mechanism, his hands moving over the primary drive gear with a frantic sort of reverence.
He checked the alignment of the timing plate and ran his fingers along the silver-soldered joints to ensure the excessive vibration of the hasty move hadn't shaken the assembly loose.
"It held," Bran whispered, his voice thick with relief.
"The tolerances are exactly where I set them. I thought for sure the impact of those rough bumps would have stripped a tooth or bent an axle with how fast Bramble was hoofing it to this Barn."
Satisfied that the seeder was functional, the two young men turned toward the farmhouse, bringing their tagalong with them.
Knowing that it would be locked tight, Jacob knocked in a specific rhythm, and a moment later, heavy timber could be heard sliding back.
They stepped into the kitchen, which had been transformed into a makeshift infirmary.
The air was thick with the scent of boiled vinegar, dried lavender, and the tang of iron.
May moved to the large wooden table, her sleeves rolled up as she worked on a fresh bandage. Lila stood beside her, holding a basin of clean water and a bundle of clean linen strips, her face was pale, but her movements were adequate.
Sera was sitting in a chair by the hearth, a cup of herbal tea clutched in her hands. She looked exhausted, her cloak stained with the dirt of the field and a bit of blood from Mira, but she looked up with a relieved gaze when she saw Jacob and Bran enter with Oren behind them.
"The boys are back," Lila said, with a quiet voice.
Jacob walked over to where Mira lay on a narrow cot near the window. The scout's breathing was deeper and more rhythmic than it had been in the field.
May had already cleaned the jagged wound on her shoulder, and while it lacked the instantaneous perfection of Jacob's magic, the flesh looked calm and well-tended.
My mother's hands move with a different kind of certainty, Jacob observed as he watched May tuck the blanket around Mira's chin.
"She will sleep for most of the day," May said, finally turning to look at her son.
She reached out and wiped a smudge of soot from Jacob's cheek, her eyes searching his face while her hands patted him down for any hidden injuries.
"Are you alright? Sera said goblins were invading the farm."
"I am alright, Mother, all thanks to Elis and Oren," Jacob replied softly, gesturing to the newcomer.
Oren stepped up to give a word.
"Your son was incredible out there, shooting all sorts of magic right over our heads. We wouldn't have made it without him. And, he healed me right afterward. It was a miracle I stumbled onto the farm here when I did."
"You did well," May said, her voice dropping to a low, serious tone as she turned back to Jacob when Oren was done talking.
"But do not forget that a body needs time to understand that it is healed. Magic can close the skin, but the spirit still remembers the injury. Make sure Oren gets some rest, even if he feels like he could jump over the moon."
Lila set the basin down and moved to Jacob's side, leaning her head against his arm for a brief second.
The tension in the room began to dissipate, replaced by the sounds of the kettle beginning to whistle and the soft crackle of the fire.
"I suppose it would be a good idea to heal Mira, then. It seems that you have done well to stabilize her, but I think it would be best if I used some magic."
May nodded for him to get to work.
He knelt by the narrow cot where Mira lay. The jagged tear on her shoulder was still weeping despite May's best efforts with the boiled linen and lavender wash.
The scout's face was the color of weathered parchment, her brow furrowed in a deep, unconscious grimace of pain.
"She is strong, but the blade was filthy," May whispered, stepping back to give Jacob room. "Redness and swelling are already starting to take hold."
Jacob hovered his hands just above the blood-soaked bandages, closing his eyes to find the rhythmic pulse of the world and how it responded with her body.
He didn't reach for the magic with a command. Instead, he opened his mind and invited the ambient mana to look at Mira with him.
He projected a vivid visualization of the scout as he had seen her only days ago, moving through the forest with effortless grace.
He whispered to the air, to the mana, and to the very cells of Mira's body. He suggested that the heat of the infection was a guest that had overstayed its welcome.
He encouraged the torn muscle to remember the shape of its own wholeness. The magic responded with a silvery resonance that felt like a mountain spring flowing through the room.
I am not just fixing a broken machine, Jacob thought as he felt the mana begin to swirl around the wound. I am reminding her body of its own history, and asking the world to help her return to the person she was before the blade found her.
Lila gasped as the dark, angry redness around the wound began to recede. Beneath the layers of linen, the skin began to crawl as it stitched itself back together.
Mira's breathing shifted instantly. The ragged, shallow gasps smoothed into a deep, restorative rhythm. The tension left her jaw, and her face regained a healthy flush.
Jacob pulled his hands away, feeling a strange mixture of exhaustion and clarity. He looked at his palms, which were still tingling from the interaction.
If I can rewrite the physical state of a person through a simple suggestion, what happens when I start suggesting things to the world on a larger scale?
May reached out and touched the now-pristine skin of Mira's shoulder. She looked at Jacob with a mixture of pride and flickering concern. She recognized that her son was no longer just a boy who played with runes in a barn.
"You saved her a week of agony, Jacob," May said softly. She moved to the hearth to pull the kettle from the hook. "But don't let the ease of it make you think the life behind the wound is any less fragile. Magic can fix the skin, but it is the rest that keeps a person whole."
Jacob nodded, already thinking about the new powers and revelations that were made in this one battle, and he knew the world was growing smaller and more dangerous with every passing day.
He stepped back from Mira's bedside and looked at Oren, who was still leaning heavily against the kitchen doorframe. The boy's face was pale, and his eyes had a glazed, distant quality that suggested his body was finally crashing from the strain of manifesting his aura.
"You look like you're about to fall over," Jacob said, walking over to the young warrior. "My room is at the end of the hall. Take the bed. It's yours for as long as you need to sleep."
Oren started to protest, his hand moving toward the hilt of his short sword by habit, but a sudden, deep yawn cut him off. He looked at Jacob with a weary, appreciative nod.
He didn't have the energy for a polite refusal. He simply turned and shuffled toward the hallway, his boots dragging slightly on the wooden floor.