The morning sun cast long shadows across what had once been my home, its golden rays doing little to warm the chill that had settled deep in my bones. I stood there, motionless, staring at the blackened skeleton of timber beams that jutted from the ground like the ribs of some great, fallen beast. The acrid smell of smoke still lingered in the air three days later.
My cottage—our cottage—had been reduced to nothing more than charcoal and ash. Where vibrant flower boxes once adorned the windowsills, only twisted metal frames remained.
And the person responsible for this devastation?
My beloved big sister, Rosaluna.
I closed my eyes, remembering that terrible night,. The way the flames had erupted from her sleeping form like a living creature, hungry and wild. How the wooden beams had groaned and cracked as the fire consumed them with supernatural speed. The terrified screams of our mother as I'd dragged her from the inferno, my own magic barely sufficient to create a protective barrier of water around us.
Rosaluna's fire magic had been growing stronger by the day—stronger than anyone had anticipated. At fifteen, she should have been learning basic flame manipulation techniques at the local magic academy. Instead, her power had transcended normal boundaries, reaching what Isadora whispered was "realm-breaking strength." The kind of magic that legends spoke of, but that no one was prepared to handle in reality.
I unconsciously rubbed my forearms, feeling the raised, angry skin beneath my cotton sleeves. The burn scars were still tender, scars I had obtained when I'd wrapped my arms around Rosaluna's unconscious form, using every ounce of my water magic to cool her blazing skin. The water had turned to steam instantly, scalding my flesh, but I hadn't let go. I couldn't let go.
The morning after the fire. I'd sent them away—both Mother and Rosaluna.
Someone needed to handle the aftermath, and more than that, I had a plan—one I couldn't execute with them watching, worrying, trying to stop me. Rosaluna had barely spoken that morning, her usual vibrant pink eyes dulled with self-loathing after seeing the state of my arms.
Now, standing in the aftermath of their departure, I stared.
The earth walls I'd erected around the property rose twelve feet high, seamlessly smooth and imposing. I'd spent hours perfecting them, ensuring they were thick enough to muffle sound and tall enough to block prying eyes. Already, I could hear the whispers of curious neighbors gathered beyond my earthen barrier.
"What's that boy doing in there?"
"Think he's lost his mind with grief?"
"Should we call the village elder?"
I ignored their murmurs. They wouldn't understand what I was about to attempt. Hell, I wasn't entirely sure I understood it myself. But I'd been studying, preparing, dreaming of this moment for years. The knowledge accumulated from countless hours spent in Henrik's workshop, watching him craft and build. The theoretical understanding gained from every magical books I could get my hands on. The practical experience of three years working alongside the village's master craftsmen during harvest seasons.
All of it had led to this moment.
I placed my right hand flat against the scorched earth, feeling the familiar tingle of magic flowing through my palm. The ground responded to my call, trembling slightly as I gathered my power.
CRACK!
The sound echoed off my earthen walls like thunder. A perfect fissure split the ground before me, yawning open to reveal a chasm deep enough to swallow all the debris. Every piece of charred wood, every fragment of broken pottery, every twisted nail and melted fixture—all of it tumbled into the void with a satisfying rumble. Then, with a gesture that felt as natural as breathing, I sealed the earth once more, leaving behind nothing but pristine, sandy soil.
The clearing before me was now perfect—a blank canvas waiting for creation.
I allowed myself a small smile. The first phase was complete, but what came next would test every limit of my magical abilities.
Opening my status window with practiced ease, I examined my current capabilities:
Skill: Water MagicCurrent Mastery: Rank 8Progress to Rank 9: 8%
Skill: Earth MagicCurrent Mastery: Rank 6Progress to Rank 7: 4%
Skill: Fire MagicCurrent Mastery: Rank 5Progress to Rank 6: 34%
Skill: Wind MagicCurrent Mastery: Rank 3Progress to Rank 4: 78%
Four elements under my command. Not perfect mastery, but sufficient for what I had planned. Combined with everything I'd learned about construction materials, architectural principles. I could do this. I could build something better than what we'd lost.
But first, the foundation.
I dropped to my knees, pressing both palms against the earth. The soil here was good—rich and varied, containing everything I needed if I could just separate it properly. Closing my eyes, I extended my consciousness downward, feeling through layers of sediment, identifying each component by its magical signature.
Clay. That's what I needed first. Not the rough, impure clay found near the surface, but the deep, ancient deposits that had been compressed and refined by centuries of geological pressure. Using my earth magic like surgical instruments, I began the delicate process of extraction and purification.
The clay rose from the depths in ribbons of grey and brown, but it was contaminated with sand particles, organic matter, and mineral impurities. This was where my water magic came into play. I summoned moisture from the air and deep soil, creating a complex web of liquid threads that penetrated the clay, dissolving and carrying away the unwanted elements.
The process was exhausting. Each manipulation required precise control, perfect timing, and enormous magical output. Sweat began to bead on my forehead as I kneaded the clay with invisible hands of magic, ensuring every bubble of air was expelled, every impurity removed.
But I wasn't finished. Not even close.
Still maintaining my hold on the purified clay, I sent my earth magic deeper, searching for the mineral veins that would provide natural pigments. Iron oxide for deep reds and warm browns. Cobalt deposits for brilliant blues. Chromium compounds for forest greens. Carbon deposits for true blacks. Titanium oxide for pristine whites.
The extraction was like mining with my bare soul, each vein requiring different magical frequencies to tap and extract cleanly. The pigments rose through the earth like veins of liquid color, ready to be blended with separate batches of clay.
"Ahh!" The sound escaped my lips involuntarily as I felt my magical essence draining away like water through a sieve. My vision blurred momentarily, and my hands trembled against the earth. This level of simultaneous multi-elemental manipulation was beyond anything I'd attempted before—beyond what most adult mages could sustain.
But I'd prepared for this moment.
With one hand still maintaining the magical working, I reached with the other for the leather satchel I'd placed nearby. Inside were three crystal vials filled with shimmering blue liquid—concentrated magical essence recovery potions.
I uncorked the first vial and drained it in one gulp. The liquid burned going down, tasting of lightning and bitter herbs, but almost immediately I felt the familiar warmth spreading through my chest as my magical reserves began to replenish.
Now for the real work.
After I finishing pressing clay into rectangular, hexagonal, or diamond-shaped molds, I stomped the ground compacting the ground into a flat and very solid ground in which I also added sand extracted from Earth.
Then next comes…
I turned the page of a book about architecture, I wrote down notes just in case I don't forget a step.
"Mortar," I muttered.
This one going to be tough as well.
I gathered a huge amount of lime and sand I had gathered with Earth Magic then I mixed the whole with my water magic on a huge bowl I created. Then I used my fire magic as binding agent mixing it for speeds curing and prevent moisture damages as explained. Then I spread evenly the mortar ready.
The foundation complete, I stood and surveyed the expansive space before me, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. The morning sun had climbed higher, its rays beating down mercilessly on my unprotected workspace. I'd deliberately left the top of my earthen enclosure open—the last thing I needed was to suffocate myself in this magical undertaking.
But now came the part I'd been most excited about: the tile work.
This wasn't going to be just any house. This was going to be our sanctuary—larger, stronger, and more beautiful than anything our family had ever called home. Three proper bedrooms, so I could finally have my own space. A real kitchen where Mother could work without bumping her elbows against the walls.
I closed my eyes and let my mind map out the dimensions, calculating square footage and load distribution with the mathematical precision I had drilled myself especially in my past life and also this one. Twenty-four feet by thirty-two feet—nearly three times the size of our old cottage. The numbers danced in my head as I factored in wall thickness, doorway placements, and the optimal flow between rooms.
When I opened my eyes, I was ready.
The tiles I'd crafted lay in neat stacks beside me, sorted by color and size. For the flooring, I'd chosen the pure white that would reflect light and make the interior feel even more spacious. Each tile was exactly eight inches square, crafted with mathematical precision and imbued with just enough earth magic to make them incredibly durable.
I raised my hands, feeling the familiar tingle of wind magic flowing through my fingertips. This was going to be different from the raw power required for earth manipulation—wind magic demanded finesse, delicacy, like conducting an invisible orchestra.
The first tile rose gracefully into the air, spinning slowly as I guided it to the northeastern corner of the foundation. With microscopic adjustments, I lowered it into place, the satisfying click of perfect alignment sending a small thrill through me. But one tile was nothing—I had over three hundred to place.
I fell into a rhythm that was almost meditative. Lift, guide, lower, align. Lift, guide, lower, align. The wind magic flowed through me like a gentle breeze, far less taxing than the brutal earth work I'd just completed. Each tile found its home with precision that would have made the village's master mason weep with envy.
But placing the tiles was only half the work. Between each one, I had to fill the gaps with mortar—not the simple mixture I'd used for the foundation, but something special I'd been perfecting in my mind for months. I summoned small amounts of my prepared clay, mixed it with precisely the right amount of water, and then did something no ordinary builder could do: I infused it with a tiny thread of earth magic that would make it cure harder than natural stone.
"Perfect," I murmured as I stepped back to admire the first completed section. The white tiles gleamed like fresh snow, their edges so perfectly aligned they seemed to form one continuous surface.
But as I moved on to the next section, exhaustion began to creep in again. The constant use of wind magic, while less draining than earth magic, still required sustained concentration. My movements became more deliberate, each tile placement requiring just a moment longer than the last.
Two hours later, I surveyed the completed floor of what would be our new home. The white surface stretched before me, immaculate and gleaming. But it still wasn't smooth enough for my standards.
I knelt and placed both hands on the tiles, channeling earth magic one more time. The surface responded to my touch, microscopic imperfections flowing away like water until the entire floor was mirror-smooth. A person could dance barefoot across this surface without fear of catching a toe on an uneven edge.
I allowed myself a moment of pride as I looked at my work, but the sun's position reminded me that I was burning daylight. The floor was done, but the real challenge lay ahead.
I reached for my second magic essence vial, downing it quickly. The bitter taste was becoming familiar, almost comforting in its reliability. As the magical energy flooded back into my system, I turned my attention to the neat stacks of bricks I'd prepared earlier.
These weren't ordinary bricks. Each one had been formed with earth magic, then fired with controlled flame until they were harder than granite. But for the walls, I needed something even stronger—mortar that would outlast centuries.
I summoned my prepared clay once more, but this time I did something different. As I mixed it with water, I began threading tiny filaments of fire magic through the mixture, not enough to cure it instantly, but enough to accelerate the drying process once it was in place. Then came the earth magic, woven through the mixture like reinforcing steel, increasing its durability beyond anything nature could produce alone.
The result was a mortar that glowed faintly with residual magical energy—beautiful and incredibly strong.
Now for the walls themselves.
I lifted the first brick with wind magic, guiding it to the southwestern corner where I'd begin building. As I set it in place, I applied a perfect bead of my enhanced mortar, then lifted the second brick. But instead of placing another long brick, I chose a shorter one—half the length of the first.
This pattern had been described in one of Father's oldest construction manuals, something about distributing stress and creating interlocking strength. I didn't fully understand the physics behind it, but the book had been adamant that alternating long and short bricks in each course would create walls that could withstand earthquakes and the test of time.
Long brick, short brick, long brick, short brick. The pattern became almost hypnotic as I worked my way around the perimeter. The wind magic made the work surprisingly efficient—I could lift multiple bricks at once, positioning them with millimeter precision while my other hand guided streams of mortar into place.
As the walls rose, I began carving out the spaces that would define our new life. The kitchen would be along the eastern wall, where Mother could catch the morning light as she prepared breakfast. I created built-in shelves using the same clay and mortar, perfect alcoves where she could store her collection of spices, preserved vegetables, and the ceramic jars she'd inherited from Grandmother.
The bathroom took shape in the northwestern corner—not much more than a private space with a drain that I carefully connected to the village's underground waste system using earth magic to bore a precise tunnel. It wasn't glamorous, but it would give us privacy, something our old cottage had severely lacked.
For the restroom, I crafted something that made me particularly proud: a stone bench that curved perfectly to the human form, wide enough to sit comfortably and smooth as silk. No more balancing on that torture device we'd called a seat in the old house—this was furniture worthy of a noble's manor.
The living room stretched across the center of the house, spacious enough for our small dining table and chairs, with room left over for guests. But it was the bedrooms that made me smile as I worked. Three rooms of equal size, each with its own window that I carefully framed as I built.
Creating the glass for those windows pushed my fire magic to its absolute limits. I'd never attempted glasswork before, but the theory was simple enough: heat sand to its melting point, shape it while molten, then cool it slowly to prevent cracking. The execution, however, was brutally difficult with my limited fire magic skills.
I started with the purest sand I could extract from deep underground, free of impurities that might cause bubbles or weakness. Then came the delicate process of heating it evenly, maintaining precise temperature control while shaping it into smooth, clear panes. Each window required three attempts before I achieved something worthy of installation, and by the time I finished all six windows, I was dizzy with magical exhaustion.
But the result was worth it. Clear glass windows that would let in natural light while keeping out wind and rain—a luxury most village homes couldn't afford.
The beds would have to wait. Oren the carpenter had a reputation for sturdy furniture, and I'd rather support his craftsmanship than exhaust myself further trying to create beds from scratch.
With the walls complete and windows installed, only one major task remained: the roof.
After everything I'd accomplished today, the roof work felt almost anticlimactic. The principles were the same, just scaled up and enhanced with magic.
I began with earth magic, shaping self-supporting stone arches that spanned the width of the house. These weren't simple beams—they were architectural masterpieces that distributed weight evenly while creating the high, vaulted ceiling I'd always dreamed of. Each arch was reinforced with threads of magical energy that would keep them strong long after I was gone.
The vaulted ceiling took shape like something from a cathedral, graceful curves that drew the eye upward and made the interior feel even more spacious than its generous dimensions suggested. I covered the entire structure with overlapping stone shingles, each one sealed magically against weather and time.
As I placed the final shingle, a profound silence settled over my workspace. I looked up at what I'd created—a pristine white ceiling that curved overhead like the inside of a giant seashell, beautiful enough to take your breath away.
"Oh, right," I muttered, remembering one crucial detail.
The chimney for the kitchen was a simple addition, really. A straight stone column that would draw smoke safely away from the cooking area, topped with a small roof to keep rain out. After everything else I'd accomplished, it took me less than ten minutes to complete.
I stepped back and looked around at what I'd built. The walls stood strong and true, their alternating brick pattern creating subtle visual texture. The windows gleamed like crystals, perfectly fitted into their frames. The white tile floor reflected the afternoon sunlight filtering down from above, making the entire interior glow with warm, welcoming light.
All that remained was doors and furniture—things we could purchase from the village craftsmen.
I walked a slow circuit around the interior, my footsteps echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Every corner was perfect, every surface smooth, every detail crafted with more care than any building in our village had ever received.
"I am really a genius," I whispered, and smiled, my whole body soaked in sweat.
That's when my body finally betrayed me.
The exhaustion hit like a physical blow, dropping me to my knees on the beautiful white floor I'd just finished. My hands slapped against the stone as I tried to catch myself, and suddenly I was coughing—not just coughing, but retching up blood that splattered crimson across my perfect white tiles.
"Dammit," I gasped between spasms.
The headache came next, a splitting pain that felt like someone driving railroad spikes through my skull. I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to contain the agony, and desperately reached for the healing magic.
Warm golden light flowed from my hands, easing the worst of the pain, but I knew I'd pushed myself far beyond safe limits. This level of magical exhaustion could kill a person if they weren't careful.
[Omni-Essence Assimilation ACTIVATED!]
Suddenly it rang in my head;
[NEW SKILLS OBTAINED!]
[Skill: Architectural Plan Synthesis obtained!]
[Skill: Glassforge Mastery obtained!]
[Skill: Alchemic Transmutation obtained!]
[Skill: Sound Magic obtained!]
"Hahaa," I let out light chuckle as I laid on the ground blood trickling down my mouth.
It wasn't that bad after all, I guess?