Arlo sat cross-legged on the rug in the center of his chamber, his back against the bed frame, the dim light of the lantern casting nervous shadows across the walls.
He had spent the better part of an hour fidgeting, pacing, trying to decide where to begin.
Now, with nothing but his own heartbeat and the faint crackle of the wick for company, he muttered under his breath and summoned the system once more.
A faint shimmer rippled in front of his eyes. The translucent interface unfolded like a sheet of glass, its pale glyphs hovering weightless in the air.
[System Active]
Available Commands: Design | Scan | Blueprint | Build
"Alright," Arlo exhaled, rubbing his hands together. "Round two. No more panicking like a headless chicken. We figure this out the scientific way."
He tapped Design.
A faint grid appeared, like an architect's canvas. A little prompt blinked at the top:
Input Concept.
"Easy enough." He thought quickly, picturing a simple hammer. Wooden handle, iron head, nothing fancy. The sort of tool any blacksmith could craft in his sleep.
The system pulsed once, then spat out a response.
[Blueprint Available: Basic Hammer]
Required Materials: 1x Hardwood, 1x Iron Ingot
Scanning...
Status: Materials Not Found.
Arlo's jaw clenched. "Figures."
He tried again.
A crude spade. Same result.
A kitchen pot. Same result.
Each time, the system scanned the room, its faint lines sweeping the walls, the floor, the ceiling like an invisible radar. And each time, the answer was the same:
Status: Materials Not Found.
Arlo leaned back until his head thunked against the wooden frame. "So that's how it is, huh? You're not a magic vending machine. You don't conjure stuff out of thin air."
It was both frustrating and oddly reassuring.
The system wasn't broken. It was consistent.
If the blueprint needed a thing, that thing had to exist nearby, or be stored properly somewhere it could access. Which meant…
"Materials first," Arlo muttered, rubbing at his temples. "A workshop. Storage. An actual place to feed this thing raw resources. Then we can start building."
His mind drifted, inevitably, to the nonsense those old men had been shouting about earlier in the throne room.
The trade blockade.
The winter freeze.
Their supply lines choked off by snow and ice, their markets starving.
Arlo sat up straighter, his engineer's instincts flickering to life. Problems were just puzzles with stakes attached, and this one had been practically dumped in his lap.
"Alright… what's the simplest fix?" he whispered, dragging the grid back into view.
He thought of roads first.
Clear the snow? Salt the paths? No — they'd freeze again overnight, and salt wasn't exactly growing on trees.
He pictured caravans stuck in drifts, oxen straining against frozen ruts.
Heavy wagons weren't made for this climate.
What if… lighter sleds? Something designed to glide across snow, not sink into it.
Simple runners. Pulling power redistributed. Less weight per section.
Arlo's fingers moved unconsciously, sketching in the air.
[Blueprint Available: Modular Cargo Sled]
Required Materials: 12x Hardwood, 4x Iron Bolts, 1x Animal Harness
Status: Materials Not Found.
Arlo let out a breathy laugh. "That… could actually work."
Those old bastards had spent all morning bickering about lost merchants and empty markets.
Here it was: an answer simple enough to build, scalable enough to matter. Not a miracle, not a revolution — just clever engineering repurposed for survival.
He flipped to another idea, half-formed but tantalizing.
What if goods could be insulated?
Heat trapped and preserved for longer hauls? A box layered with insulating materials. Straw, cloth, even clay linings.
A thermal crate, basically.
He drafted quickly.
[Blueprint Available: Insulated Cargo Crate]
Required Materials: 4x Hardwood Panels, 2x Cloth Liners, 1x Resin Coating
Status: Materials Not Found.
His pulse quickened. Two designs in minutes. Both potentially lifesaving. Both impossible to construct without supplies.
Arlo dragged his hands down his face. "So close. And yet…"
He stared at the floating words Materials Not Found until they burned into his eyelids.
That meant only one thing.
If he wanted these ideas to matter, he couldn't keep them secret.
He'd have to go public.
Offer designs, maybe even beg for a workshop.
Because his life depended on it.
The thought made his stomach churn.
He rubbed his arms as if the temperature had dropped.
'How do I even approach her? Just… walk in and say, 'Hi, I have sleds'? She'll probably freeze me on the spot.'
He pictured her icy glare, that cutting voice that seemed to slice through the air itself.
If he blurted out his half-baked ideas wrong, he'd be laughed at by nobles, dismissed by ministers, and probably punished for wasting royal time.
Arlo dropped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Think, idiot, think. Maybe I could frame it as… an experiment? Or… no, too weak. A proposal? Too bold. Maybe if I—"
He trailed off. His thoughts spiraled. One moment he was planning an eloquent pitch, the next he was imagining his own head rolling down palace steps while courtiers clapped politely.
His lips twisted in a nervous grin. "If I play this right, I might live long enough to die of old age. If I screw it up, I'll be a popsicle by sunrise."
The joke didn't make him feel better.
He was still muttering to himself when it happened.
The lantern flame flickered.
The air thinned.
A chill crept under the door, so sharp it burned his lungs on the inhale.
Arlo blinked, sat upright. His breath fogged.
The door creaked open. Slowly. Soundlessly.
And there she was.
The Queen.
Standing framed in frost and silence, her presence seemed to leech the warmth from the chamber itself.
The shadows bent around her as if even light was cautious.
Her eyes — cold, glacial, unblinking — fixed on him like a predator sighting prey.
Arlo's heart plummeted.
All his frantic daydreaming, all his careful plotting, meant nothing now.