The road to Mivvy was, as expected, was nothing but dusty yellow and brown. The drought had sucked the color from the landscape, leaving behind cracked earth and withered scrub. The air was still nothing but dry heat.
The only color was the occasional glimpse of the distant, dark forests was a reminder of the few places the drought couldn't touch, places protected by the dryads' fierce, ancient magic, and swarmed by magical beasts.
The ride was quiet, save for the rhythmic clip-clop of Capper and Shiori's hooves and the children's murmuring. After a few hours, as the carriage rounded a low hill, the town appeared.
Mivvy was a small, unassuming town by the standards of the kingdom, yet large enough to house nearly fifty thousand humans and a minority of other species. It sat nestled in a shallow, natural bowl, protected slightly from the worst of the regional winds.
It was a town made of wood and locally quarried fieldstone. There were no walls as this place was far from any significant location or located on the borders. There were only homes, shops, and small churches.
The first thing that hit Rowan was the sound, a warm, constant hum of human activity that had been entirely absent on the empty road. It was a far cry from the quiet village and farm where they just came from.
The second was the color, a welcome break from the parched earth. Though the land immediately surrounding the town looked dry, Mivvy itself was a defiant island of dark brown wood, green, overgrown vines, and gray stone.
The main street, which the carriage now approached, was paved with uneven cobblestones worn smooth by generations of carts and feet. Buildings lined the street, their roofs pitched steeply against rain that hadn't come.
There were tall, three-story structures painted in fading, friendly shades of blue, ochre, and green, housing shops and businesses, interspersed with smaller, dark-wood homes. Window boxes, though sparsely planted due to the cost of watering, still held clusters of hardy, bright purple petunias and tough, climbing ivy.
A wooden sign, faded but still legible, hung slightly askew above the slightly busy entrance: Welcome to Mivvy. Home of Honest Trade and Strong Ale.
Mivvy was a local trades hub, with the closest bigger town being over 50 miles away and the closest city being nearly 100 miles away. Given that most people here were just trying to live in peace, the goods they traded were often fair in price.
The air was a casual collision of smells. The fresh, yeasty scent of a nearby baker, the sharp tang of a blacksmith's forge, and the heavy, earthy odor of livestock from the market square ahead. Despite the widespread hardship of the drought, life here felt grounded and stubbornly resilient.
Rowan felt the energy shift in the carriage behind him. Lilly and Lucia were pressing their faces to the windows, taking in the spectacle of people, carts, and buildings. Alexia was simply observing the flow of goods and people. It was a different sight compared to her mother's grim witch tower,
"The town," Rowan announced softly, pulling Capper and Shiori to a slow down as the roads were slightly busy, "It's not the capital, but it's where we get things done." He smiled, inhaling the honest, unmagical smell of ordinary life. "Welcome to Mivvy."
The townsfolk gave subtle glances at the obviously ostentatious and out-of-place carriage, but no one's gaze lingered long. Most adults in Mivvy knew of the retired imperial commander who hailed from one of the nearby villages.
Rowan Blacksun was a legend in the region, a well known local who had made a name for himself during his teenage years in the military, slaughtering countless demons in the northern Hells Mouth Mountains.
He was always the role model to look up to, a respectable man to adore, but few dared to follow his path, as he was one of the few not swallowed by the Mountains' desire for blood and glory.
The town's children, however, were not so reserved. A wave of excited energy rippled through the nearest cluster of kids, a group of boys kicking a worn leather ball, and a gaggle of girls gathered around a cart selling bright ribbons.
They pointed, whispered, and then, spurred on by the sheer awe of the gleaming white and silver behemoth, they began to cheer.
They surged forward, not quite daring to touch the wheels, but running alongside the massive horses, captivated by Capper and Shiori's immense size and perfect gait.
Their shouts of "Look at the big horse!" and "Is that a General's cart?" cut through the market noise, injecting a burst of unadulterated joy into the dusty square.
Rowan waved down at them, a big, easy smile on his face, the sight of the adoring, noisy children a welcome tonic.
He might have been a former war hero, but in Mivvy, he was simply the local boy who had made himself big, now returning in a fashion befitting the legend, much to the delight of the next generation.
It didn't take them long to get to their town square while being distracted by the sights.
Capper, with a final, smooth, and impressively quiet clop of his massive hooves, brought the carriage to a stop on the south side of the market square. This section of Mivvy was markedly different from the general market chaos. It was the Artisan's Row.
The buildings here were not painted in faded blues and greens; they were constructed of deep, rich, polished mahogany and dark, age-smoothed oak.
The windows were of thick, leaded glass, and the few signs were carved in intricate, tasteful scripts. The air smelled not of livestock and ale, but of fresh cedar, lavender, and the faint, sweet scent of burnt sugar from a nearby confectioner.
Tucked between a national chain jeweler and a famous local leatherworker stood Rowan's parents' shop. It was named simply, yet elegantly: "Blacksun's Hearty Handcrafts"
The storefront itself was a masterpiece of silent class and craftsmanship. The entire façade was clad in beautifully maintained, dark cherry wood, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the golden afternoon light.
Flanking the double oak doors were two large display windows, framed not in cheap metal, but in intricately carved mahogany featuring motifs of flourishing vines and stylized wheat stalks. It was nod to the family's farm roots.
Inside the left window, only a few items were displayed, each placed with the reverence due an artifact. A small, perfect desk of pale-birch wood sat alone, its surface so smooth it looked like liquid, adorned only by a single, simple, yet expertly carved wooden peregrine falcon.
In the right window, the focus was on the soft arts: several bars of exquisitely wrapped, rose-colored soap sat on a bed of dried lavender, beside a simple, heavy woolen shawl, the yarn clearly hand-dyed in muted sunset shades.
The entire shop front radiated an aura of welcoming. The sound of the horses and the carriage's magical suspension stopping had been detected by someone familiar to them. Heavy clip-clops of Capper and Shiori's final steps, a sound Rowan's mother, Clara Blacksun, knew better than any alarm.
The polished oak door of the shop swung inward, and a woman stepped out, her expression a mix of immediate relief and feigned annoyance.
Clara Blacksun looked, impossibly, like a woman in her mid-thirties, not a mother to 3 grown kids and definitely not a grandmother to five little ones.
Her beauty was soft, gentle, and profoundly grounding. She wore a simple, expertly tailored tunic of forest green linen over dark trousers. Her dark hair was wound into a neat, practical braid that nonetheless emphasized her elegant neck. She possessed a homely, motherly aura, and her amber eyes held a faint, knowing twinkle.
Alexia, the moment her gaze landed on her grandmother, subtly stiffened. Her natural senses, already attuned to the mana signatures of powerful individuals, registered a familiar signature.
It wasn't the chaotic, explosive mana of her mother, Nexia, but something older, deeper, and infinitely more disciplined. The arcane aura around Clara was so subtle it was less a pulse and more a constant, gentle pressure, like the air inside a perfectly preserved tomb.
It was the mana signature of someone who was not only powerful but had achieved an unshakeable, profound state of control. Control of their strength to an impossibly precise degree.
Clara ignored the spectacular carriage for a moment, her focus entirely on her son, who was descending from the driver's box.
"Rowan Blacksun! It is about time you arrived, you troublesome boy!" Clara's voice was warm, a low, melodic alto that held the faintest hint of a scolding. She marched straight up to him, her hands going immediately to his cheeks, framing his face.
"Look at you! You're nothing but skin and bones, my little giant. You're working too hard on that farm, aren't you? I told you, my boar stew is the only thing that puts proper weight on a man your size.
Are you sure you're eating enough of the bread you make? You look thinner than the last time you were here, and that was just before the drought started!"
Rowan laughed, a deep, easy sound of a man completely comfortable with his fate. He was used to this routine. "Mother, I eat more than my giant like father! I'm fine. I'm just tall, remember?"
"Nonsense! A tall man needs more surface area to fill!" she retorted, then pulled him into a hug that was, to any observer, perfectly normal.
To Rowan, however, it was a moment of absolute confusion. His mother, a woman who looked light enough to be lifted with one hand, always embraced him with an unnatural, rock-solid grip that bordered on bone-crushing.
His own enhanced physique barely noticed it, but the sudden, intense pressure felt wrong, like being squeezed by a pro wrestler. He'd never been able to explain it…he just chalked it up to strange maternal strength.
What he didn't realize was that in that deep, motherly hug, Clara was conducting a full body physical scan. She was checking the stability of his mana core, the resilience of his muscles, and the general state of his enhanced body.
She had to ensure the former Magic Knight was in perfect fighting trim, despite his 'farmer' facade. The strong grip was simply to anchor the high level spell.
Finally, she pulled back, giving him one last critical look, then the true purpose of their visit dawned on her. She turned her head slightly, her gaze drifting past Rowan's shoulder to the massive, stationary white carriage.
"Capper and Shiori! They look wonderful. But… why on earth have you parked the equivalent of a military fortress in front of my little shop?" she questioned.
Rowan would usually run to town as his personal speed could make the trip in just a couple minutes. There was never any need for the fancy carriage that the royal family had gifted him.
She then peered into the slightly open carriage door and gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
Five sets of eyes, ranging from bright emerald to dark ruby, stared back at her. Five children, each dressed in clean farm clothes, sat perched in the velvet seats.
Lilly, always the most expressive, beamed. "Hello! Are you Grandma? Daddy said he will give me a sword!"
Lucia, curled up and still blinking from the sudden stop, gave a small, sleepy wave. "Grandma. Pretty."
Darius, sat straight up and delivered a crisp, military-style greeting. "Madam, I am Darius."
Alex, looking up from his ledger, nodded courteously. "Hello, grandmother."
Alexia didn't speak. She simply observed her grandmother, the subtle mana signature, the impossibly youthful appearance, and the immediate, powerful aura of motherly affection.
She made a mental note: Clara Blacksun: Apparent mid 30s. Actual age: I dont know. Mana signature: High, passive, balanced, enchanting, far subtler than Mother's. Threat level: Grandma.
Clara's sophisticated façade crumbled entirely. A playful mother was replaced by a genuinely overwhelmed grandmother.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she let out a small, choked sob of pure joy, covering her face with her hands.
"Rowan!" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, turning to her son with a look of half awe and half terror. "What have you done? Who… who are all these beautiful children?"
"Rowan!" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, turning to her son with a look of half awe and half terror. "What have you done? Who… who are all these beautiful children?"
Rowan, scratching the back of his neck, looked deeply content. "Well, Mother," he said, gesturing toward the carriage with a wide, proud smile. "Looks like I finally decided to give you the one thing you always wanted. A full house.
Meet your five grandchildren. We're here to buy supplies, and I need you and Dad to sell my goods. And maybe look after the kids for an hour while I talk business."
Clara didn't move. She just stared at the five faces, her eyes tracing the lineage in each one. Lilly's emerald eyes, Lucia's silver hair, Alexia's ice-blue intensity, Darius's proud stance, and Alex's thoughtful brow. The five women who had broken her son's heart had finally delivered their best work, and it was sitting right there, in a stupidly large carriage.
She took a slow, deliberate breath, the emotion turning into an unshakeable resolve. She was a grandmother now. And grandmothers had work to do.
"Rowan Blacksun," she finally said, her voice regaining its strength but now laced with a fierce, protective edge.
"Bring them inside. Immediately. And you are going to explain everything, starting with why you let them travel in a carriage without an enchanted bassinet for the little one. Now, come here and give your mother another hug, because I suddenly feel like I need to check your spine again!"
She swept back into the store, leaving the carriage door wide open. The children looked at Rowan, their eyes filled with excited curiosity.
"Well, Blacksun Brigade," Rowan announced, climbing down. "Looks like Grandma's store is officially our first stop."