CHAPTER 14: WHEN HOPE TOOK ROOT

[Leif’s POV – On the Black Horse of Doom]

Okay. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Pretend this isn’t happening. Pretend this ice-sculpture-turned-human isn’t sitting behind me with one arm clamped around my waist like I’m his personal seatbelt.

. . .

. . .

...Yeah, that’s not working.

Because every time the horse jolted forward, his chest brushed against my back. Firm. Unyielding. Freaking distracting.

Me, panicking internally: Do not think about the kiss. Do not think about the kiss. Do NOT—

And then he leaned slightly closer, his breath grazing my ear. "Relax."

RELAX??? Sir, how exactly do you expect me to relax when you’re basically the Hero in every tragic romance novel I’ve ever read, except hotter and ten times more likely to cause me emotional trauma?!

I gulped. Out loud. Like an idiot.

He probably heard it too, because his arm tightened—subtle, but noticeable. And then, like the most normal thing in the world, he said, "The greenhouses are ahead."

Greenhouses? Right. Plants. Nature. Oxygen. Yes. Let’s think about plants.

My brain: photosynthesis, photosynthesis, photosynthesis—

FUCKKKK!!!! NOTHING IS HELPING ME!!!!

Then—oh. People. Lots of people.

"Huh?" I blurted out. "Why... why are there so many people here?"

Alvar’s voice rumbled low from behind me, calm as ever. "The villagers heard. They somehow found out... their lord was building something for them. Something that might let them grow grains even in winter." A pause. "Maybe that’s why they came."

I blinked. My heart stuttered.

And as we rode closer, the faces became clear. Dozens of villagers stood waiting, their breaths visible in the frosty air. They weren’t cheering. They weren’t smiling. No festival banners, no clapping. Just... watching. Silent. Eyes fixed on us like we carried the weight of their future.

I swallowed hard. They looked nervous. Too nervous. Because this wasn’t just curiosity—it was hope.

Hope wrapped in fear.

Because if this project worked, they would live.And if it failed... I would be the one who destroyed their last chance.

I clenched my fist inside my sleeve. "I... I hope it works."

Out of the corner of my eye, Alvar glanced at me. His voice was steady, sure. "The Archmages are here. The best ones. It will work."

I nodded nervously.

And that’s when I noticed them—my crimson packs, standing tall and proud, with Sir Haldor among them. Baron Sigurd, The Archmages, my other knights. Except... they weren’t looking at the greenhouse. They were looking at us.

Correction: staring.

Because apparently the sight of their two lords riding together on one horse was enough to freeze their brains. Half of them looked like they’d seen a ghost. The other half looked confused.

Great. Just what I needed—gossip fuel for the next decade.

I quickly tore my gaze away, locking instead on the massive glass-and-steel structure rising from the snow—the greenhouse. My greenhouse.

Alvar swung down from the horse first, landing with his usual effortless grace. Then he turned to me, extending his hand. "Come."

I blinked at his hand. His very large, very gloved hand.

"Nope," I said quickly, plastering on my brightest smile. "No need. I am—" I leapt off the horse—"independent!"

My boots hit the snow with a dramatic crunch. I straightened proudly, brushing off my coat like I’d just slain a dragon with my bare hands. "See? Totally fine. No help required."

Alvar just stared at me.

Sir Haldor stepped forward, his crimson cape trailing lightly over the snow. He bowed deeply, his voice carrying both pride and gravity. "My lords, the Archmages have arrived. They await inside."

Alvar gave a small nod. I followed his lead, and together we walked toward the greenhouse.

But I paused. The villagers hovered hesitantly at the threshold, fear and hope clashing in their eyes. Their feet shuffled in the snow, like they weren’t sure if they even belonged here.

I turned back to my knights, my voice firmer than usual. "Let the villagers come. Let them witness it... after all, it’s for them."

The knights exchanged quick looks before nodding. Slowly, the villagers filed in behind us, hushed and tense.

The moment the greenhouse doors opened, a wave of air washed over us. Not hot—just different. The kind of warmth that felt unnatural in this land of endless snow. The cold couldn’t bite through it.

Inside, the structure stretched high above like the ribcage of some divine creature—glass and steel gleaming, sunlight fractured into prisms across the floor. Neat rows of soil beds lay waiting, dark and barren, like empty promises.

And there—at the heart of it—stood the Archmages.

Three of them, draped in sapphire and silver robes, each carrying an aura so heavy the air itself vibrated. Power rolled off them in waves, sharp and electric, making my skin prickle. Their eyes glowed faintly, not human anymore, but something beyond.

Even I—self-proclaimed master of panic and sarcasm—felt the hair on the back of my neck rise.

One stepped forward, staff in hand. His voice rang like a bell, crisp and commanding. "We have set the stones in place, my lord. Now... we shall demonstrate."

We nodded. The air grew heavy. Everyone fell silent.

I swallowed hard. I wasn’t a greenhouse expert. I only ever read about them in books. What if... what if this failed? What if the hope in these people’s eyes shattered right here, in front of me?

The Archmage raised his hand. A crystal sphere—one of the magic stones—rose slowly above the central soil bed.

And then—

BOOM.

Not an explosion, but it felt like one. Power rippled outward, humming through the very walls. The stone pulsed with golden light, bathing the chamber in warmth. The villagers gasped, leaning forward as the frost on the soil began to melt. Steam rose, curling like whispers into the air.

The Archmage’s staff struck the ground. His voice thundered, absolute. "Grow."

The soil quivered.

And then—life.

A fragile sprout pierced the dirt, trembling, then reaching upward with desperate hunger. Leaves unfurled, one after another, glowing in the golden light. In moments, a stalk stood proud, impossibly alive in the middle of winter.

The villagers leaned closer, some rubbing their eyes as if they couldn’t trust what they saw. Some covered their mouths. A child let out a tiny gasp, echoed by his mother’s sob.

My chest tightened. This wasn’t just a plant. This was survival.

The Archmage lowered his staff, bowing deeply. "It is a success, my lord."

A ripple moved through the villagers. Murmurs, rising, cracking into joy. Smiles spread like wildfire. Some laughed. Some wept. Some simply stood there, trembling with relief.

Another Archmage stepped forward, lifting the glowing stone in his hand.

"This growth you see was forced by our power. But these stones—when placed properly—will release steady warmth equal to the sun’s rays. They will sustain the crops, not rush them. A slower pace. Natural. Reliable."

The second added, his voice deep and grounding, "They will grant warmth, light, and air. Enough to mimic a growing season... even here, where snow once meant starvation."

The third Archmage’s gaze swept across the villagers, his words heavy with meaning. "This is one of the greatest successes of our history, my lord. With this... not only your people, but also the people who live in barren land, no longer have to suffer."

The murmurs swelled into voices.

"It worked."

"Our lord made it work."

"So now... we can plant? We can grow?"

"Yes. Yes, we can."

"We...don’t have to beg for food anymore."

Tears. Laughter. Smiles so bright they outshone the golden glow of the stones.

And me?

I just stood there, staring at that fragile stalk. My throat tightened, words clawing their way out until they finally slipped free, trembling and quiet.

"...It worked."

Behind me, Alvar’s voice rumbled low. "It really did."

I turned. His eyes weren’t on me. They were fixed on the plant, unblinking, sharp with a rare intensity. His usual icy mask was gone, replaced by something raw. Something... reverent.

And in that moment, the weight of it all sank in.

This wasn’t just survival for the villagers. This was survival for us all.

***

[Later—Continuation]

Later, when the villagers were finally guided out—still buzzing with relief and laughter—we stepped back into the snow. The cold felt sharper now after the warmth of the greenhouse, as if the world was reminding us that nothing here came without cost.

Alvar turned to Sir Haldor and Baron Sigurd, his tone calm but firm. "We’ll need more of these greenhouses. As many as possible."

Then his gaze shifted to Baron Sigurd. "Baron. I’m entrusting this project to you. Work with Haldor. Use whatever resources you require."

The baron’s weathered face broke into a proud smile as he bowed. "Right away, my lord."

He departed quickly, cloak trailing over the snow.

Then one of the Archmages followed us outside, staff gleaming faintly under the pale light. He bowed deeply, his voice solemn.

"Congratulations, my lord, for this great success."

Alvar shook his head, the faintest curve of a smile ghosting his lips. "Congratulate Lief Archmage. It was Leif’s idea."

My head snapped toward him. "Wait—what? Don’t go throwing the credit like that! I was just... thinking aloud!"

The Archmage inclined his head at me, calm, unshaken. "Even so. Without the vision, there would be nothing to bring to life."

For a fleeting second, pride curled in my chest. Then his expression shifted—serious, heavy.

"But there is something you must know, my lords."

"...What is it?"

"The magic stones. A single stone does not contain much mana. They will last only ten days before exhausting themselves. After that, they must be replaced."

The words dropped like stones into the snow.

Sir Haldor’s brows furrowed deeply. "Ten days...? Then for every greenhouse, we’ll need a steady supply." His voice sharpened. "Which means—more mana stones. A great many more."

The Archmage gave a single, grave nod. "Yes, my lord. Without replenishment, the greenhouses will wither."

A cold silence stretched. The joy that had filled the air earlier seemed fragile now, as if one wrong word could shatter it.

Haldor exhaled slowly, his gaze steady on Alvar."My lord... at this rate, the expense will be immense."

The Archmage’s robes whispered as he stepped forward, his voice lowering into something heavy, almost secretive.

"But... there is one mana stone," he said, "that could last... not ten days, but two years."

My head snapped toward him. "Which one?"

His eyes glimmered as though the very word carried weight. "The Trivium Core—but it is exceedingly rare. And worse still... the only supply is controlled by the Crown Prince’s company."

The breeze hissed against the greenhouse glass. For a moment, no one moved.

And in that silence, I realized... our problems had only just begun.