Morning didn't so much arrive as it crept in, sheepish and quiet. A dull gold glow stretched across the horizon like someone had smeared buttery light on the edge of the sky. Birds—well, things that sounded kind of like birds—chirped nervously in the tall grass. Some wore feathers. Some had antennae. Arlen didn't question it anymore. He just sipped from his chipped mug filled with… probably tea. Possibly compost. There were leaves in it. That counted.
Sleep had not been kind. The vine outside his window had grown faster than expected. Overnight, it had climbed the wall, peeked through the shutters, and started humming somewhere around 3:12 a.m. When he didn't respond, it began humming louder. When he still ignored it, it knocked on the wall with its vines like a very polite ghost.
He gave it a name.
"Murphy," he said to the vine now, gently patting one of its glowing crystal buds. "You're needier than a toddler with separation anxiety."
Murphy responded with a light pulse of lavender light. Arlen sighed.
Today, he'd build. Or at least, try. His farm—if you could call it that—was evolving. And with it, so was his vision.
He rolled out the blueprint scrolls across the stone slab he'd started using as a planning table. The ink shimmered faintly in the morning light, enchanted against smudges and stupidity. Good thing, because Gourd had already knocked over two mugs of "not-tea" nearby.
"Gourd," Arlen said without looking up, "if that third cup lands on the blueprint, I'm going to plant you."
Gourd, busy trying to carry a plank twice his height, muttered, "Joke's on you. I am biodegradable."
The blueprints looked like madness—an organized sort of madness. Arlen's Barnshedhouse wasn't just a shed. It was a workshop, forge, greenhouse, storage depot, and emergency goat shelter (pending goats).
He'd measured the slope of the land, calculated optimal rain flow, and even included a space for solar herbs—plants that bloomed in moonlight but brewed best under indirect starlight. Yes, it sounded fake. No, he didn't care.
[New Quest Unlocked: Build "Barnshedhouse Alpha"] [Objectives: Collect rare materials. Construct within 7 days. Maintain resource efficiency above 70%. Bonus rewards for aesthetic symmetry.]
[Rewards: Skill: Precision Crafting Lv.1, Craft EXP +500, Custom Workbench]
The materials list glared at him.
Spiritwood Planks x20
Living Clay x30
Screaming Nails x50 (???)
Echo Crystal Shards x12
Monsterhide Sheets x10
"Screaming nails…" Arlen muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "That's either literal or a warning."
Hours passed in a blur. Spiritwood trees were not easy to chop down. Not because they were hard, but because they talked. Loudly. About taxes.
"Don't cut me down unless you've filed a forestry permit in triplicate!" one had shouted.
Arlen apologized, then bribed it with compost. It reluctantly agreed.
He crafted Spiritwood Planks with his upgraded hoe. The thing worked like a magic swiss army knife. Carving, shaving, sealing—it hummed as it worked, enjoying itself far more than Arlen did.
The Living Clay came from a deep pit near the new dimensional orchard. The clay moved. It burbled and shaped itself into cubes when Arlen spoke to it.
Gourd helped shape bricks by dancing on them barefoot while singing off-key lullabies.
Blorp helped by trying to eat a hammer. Twice.
By late afternoon, the framework was up. Beams in place. Clay brick walls half-set. Echo Crystal shards lined the roof like little beacons.
Murphy the vine grew along the outer walls without being asked. It liked the structure. It purred.
Arlen stood, staring at it all, chest heaving.
He hadn't realized how much he missed this. Not just farming. Not just surviving. Creating. Making something real with his hands.
"I built this," he whispered.
He was dirty, bruised, and probably mildly concussed, but none of it mattered.
He looked around the dimensional field—his dimensional home. A land without limits. Trees in the distance glowed. Lakes shimmered. Birds—or maybe lizards with wings—flew in uneven V-formations.
And here he was.
Building a dream out of blueprints and beetles.
---
That night, he cooked a meal with dimension-grown potatoes and roasted iron squash. Gourd passed out halfway through eating. Blorp stared at the moon for forty minutes before sleeping in a wheelbarrow.
Arlen sat under a lantern vine, staring at the stars.
He thought of his family. Their sneers. Their mockery. His father's voice saying "You'll never build anything worth remembering."
He took another bite of squash.
Look at me now.
Tomorrow? He'd track down Screaming Nails. And maybe start planning irrigation. And a monster stable. And a bakery.
One day at a time.