The first hints of dawn were just beginning to paint the eastern sky when Rowan Blacksun's internal alarm woke him up. He got up instantly, his feet hitting the wooden floor of his bedroom with a soft touch. He couldn't wake the kids sleeping next to him. He quickly dressed in his usual comfortable tunic and trousers and headed to the kitchen.
He already had an idea for today's breakfast so he got started. First, he pulled the chicken sausage links from the fridge. He'd prepared this weeks ago, a savory blend of ground chicken, a herb mix, and a small pinch of the farm's chili powder.
He placed the necessary portions in a big, iron skillet, adding just a light coating of water and covering them with a lid to steam gently and warm through before they'd be ready to sear.
Next, he took out the potatoes. He scrubbed four large ones under the tap, then began peeling them with his knife. The peels dropped into the compost bin he used for all organic waste; he couldn't waste any of this precious future fertilizer.
Using the largest grate he could find, Rowan shredded the potatoes into a clean white bowl of cold water, swirling them to remove the excess starch. This was an important step to make the hash browns crispy.
He then drained the potatoes thoroughly, pressing them between two thick linen cloths to soak away every drop of moisture. After letting them dry for a bit, he seasoned the shreds simply with salt, pepper, and a small spoonful of rendered fat he kept jarred in the fridge.
In a smaller skillet, he melted a generous slab of butter until it formed foam and doused it in some olive oil, but not too much.
After it was fully heated, he placed the potato shreds into the pan to form two large, flat cakes. They would cook slowly over a medium heat until they formed a deep, golden crust.
He realised that by now, the sausages were ready to be sizzled on a hot pan and it was a good thing he had one ready on the side already. Rowan took the steamed sausages and placed them on another pan that was already sizzling with oil.
When placed, the sausages sizzled just perfectly with a low hiss. With a knife, Rowan cut some flaps so the inside could sear a bit and form the criss-cross pattern that made them look more rustic.
With the potatoes and sausage sizzling contentedly, Rowan turned his attention to the eggs. He cracked seven eggs from his hens, which were a vibrant, sunset orange as always. He placed them into a bowl. Rowan then added a splash of milk from Betsy, a pinch of salt and black pepper.
He whisked the mixture with a spoon until it was light and frothy. He poured the mixture into a third skillet, kept the heat low, and began to gently push the cooking egg from the edges toward the center with a wooden spatula.
With all three pieces of the dish coming together, the house was filled with the scent of an English breakfast. The other inhabitants were slowly stirring awake as their nostrils absorbed the delicious air.
It didn't take long for everything to come together. Once everything was done, Rowan took them off their pans and onto plates. He turned off the stove and put some water in the pans to cool them down and make it easier to clean later.
He then set out seven plates on the dinner table. He portioned the food neatly, separating the servings. There were 7 plates, 2 portions bigger than the other 5 as that was for the adults.
The children were the first to come out as always as the timing and routine were basically memorized after living with their father for over a month.
This man would get u at the same time every day and churn out breakfast like it was his job. Though, as a currently single but engaged father of 5, this was basically his job.
Rowan had already placed five very small towels next to the kids' plates and a big bowl of cold water in the middle of the table.
The kids, except Lucia, all got into their chairs on their own, while as usual, Rowan helped his youngest into her seat, which now had an extra purple cushion for the elevation of the small one.
The towels were all different colors too. Darius had a black one as he thought it matched the Blacksun name well. Lilly had a yellow one to remind herself of her mom and it also matched the sun part of Blacksun.
Alex chose brown since that was the color of his mother and himself. Lucia's favorite color was purple so her towel matched her cushion. Lastly, Alexia had a blue one to match her and her mother's eyes.
She also said that her favorite color of potions was blue. To her, blue potions just looked the most potion-like and appealing. It was kind of judging a book by its cover but that was fine since this daughter was usually the most mature.
As usual, Rowan helped all the kids wash their face himself as they had gotten used to their father's affection.
"Good morning, little ones. You all look well rested as usual. As a prelude to our trip today, I made one of my favorite breakfasts. It is called the English Breakfast!. Don't ask where the na,e comes froim but as you can see, it is quite the spread."
Rowan quickly greeted his kids and wasted no time explaining the meal, with his excitement visible. It had been a while since he had made such a decadent breakfast but the kids were going to need the energy today.
The children, scrubbed clean and bright, took their seats with excited murmurs. Their eyes widened when they saw the spread.
"Wow, Father," Darius breathed, his gaze sweeping over the golden-crusted hash browns and the neatly arranged sausages. "This is…a lot of food."
Lilly looked at the mountain of scrambled eggs. "Are you trying to fatten us up before the trip, Daddy? This is the biggest breakfast we've had yet." A glint of suspicion, quickly replaced by hunger, entered her eyes. The unspoken rule of the Blacksun farm was that a massive meal meant a massive amount of labor or training later.
Alexia simply nodded her thanks. Alex, however, couldn't help but add, "It's a beautiful meal, Father. Thank you."
Little Lucia, nestled in her purple cushion, just clapped her hands with a bright giggle. "Yummy! Thank you, Daddy!"
Rowan chuckled, pushing the large bowl of water toward the children. "Eat up, my little adventurers. We all need a full tank for the day ahead."
They began to eat, and all you could hear was the clinking of forks and the sounds of satisfied chewing.
Just as the kids ate, a shadow fell across the dining room entrance. Selene sauntered in all disheveled. Her blue hair was a tangled mess of bed head, sticking out at odd angles, and her tunic was wrinkled from sleep. She was groggy, her eyes squinting against the morning light, and she rubbed her stomach with a low grumble.
She took one look at the five children and their father happily consuming the feast, and a dramatic gasp escaped her lips.
"I see," she declared, her voice rough with sleep. "I see how it is. You forgot your poor, dusty aunt, who journeyed for days across treacherous seas, all alone." She feigned a sniffle, her voice shaking with mock hurt. "Heartless children! And you, Lilly, my future disciple! To abandon your master on her first morning on the farm!"
Lilly's face instantly flushed crimson. She dropped her fork and stammered, completely flustered. "Aunty Selene! I…I didn't! I thought…well, I didn't think!"
Rowan roared with laughter, a deep, warm sound that filled the room. The other children giggled, watching their intense elder sister dissolve into a state of embarrassed confusion.
Selene shook her head in theatrical disappointment. She crossed the room and pulled out the empty chair between Darius and Alex. The seating arrangement was that the girls, Lucia, Alexia, and Lilly, were lined up on Rowan's left.
And the boys, Darius and Alex, were on the other side of the table. It was a subtle show of his fatherly favoritism towards his daughters that everyone was aware of but never commented on. A father was always doting of his daughters, that was undisputed.
Selene sat down and immediately reached for the platter of hash browns, taking a huge scoop onto her plate. She then leveled a direct, appreciative gaze at Rowan.
"Honestly, Rowan," she said, her voice turning into a playful tone. "Sausages, perfect hash browns, eggs, and bread. You really went all out for this first breakfast. Those women…they were absolute fools to let this go. A man who can cook like this is rarer than a master alchemist."
Rowan gave her a relaxed, genuine smile. "Thank you, Selene. I appreciate the compliment. I'll make sure to make even bigger meals during your stay. No one is left hungry at the Blacksun farm."
Selene listened, but she didn't wait. She dug into the food with a total lack of ceremony.
Breakfast was finished quickly as the meal was enjoyable and easy to eat. After cleaning up their face and hands with their towels, the kids, as always, did their part.
They took the trays and slowly washed the plates and utensils and put them on the counter. Rowan did his thing by washing the kids' towels. Selene enjoyed the sight of watching the family harmoniously bustle about.
Soon, Rowan shooed the kids and Selene off to get changed and grab their things, making sure they used the smaller, travel-sized packs.
He looked at Selene. "Go on, get out of those pajamas, lieutenant. You ought to look professional for your first monster hunt with your new trainee."
Selene, wiping a bit of food residue from her mouth, gave a lazy salute. "Got it, Commander. Just gotta find my other uniform."
With the house quiet for a moment, Rowan went to his own room to change. He ditched the comfortable farm clothes for a plain, dark-gray military undershirt and sturdy, protective trousers.
Then he carefully made his way down the rickety old wooden stairs to the basement.
It was cool and dry down there, with just a single, sputtering lamp casting shadows in the far corner where his little armory sat. This was the one space dedicated to the life he'd walked away from.
Right in the middle of it, on a heavy iron stand, was the full suit of armor. Obsidian black, polished to a perfect sheen. A cape, the color bright red, hung over one shoulder. On a side table, the matching helmet sat waiting, completely enclosed, with those grim, narrow slits for eyes.
Next to the armor was his greatsword perched on a wall stand. It was laughably huge, more than a foot taller than even Rowan's tall body, pitch black from hilt to tip.
Rowan stood there, hands on his hips, taking it all in. He hadn't put this gear on, hadn't even touched it, in nearly eight years.
It was the signature gear of the Rowan Blacksun who was the Commander of the Seventh Legion, a man who dealt with hordes of demons at Hell's Mouth Mountain. It was his past staring back at him.
He reached out, his calloused fingers running over the cold, smooth breastplate. He appreciated the brutal craftsmanship.
He moved past the armor, focusing on the sword. The sheer weight of the Demon Splitter was enough to make most people fall flat on their faces.
This thing was meant to cleave through demons and the mountains behind them. It would be disrespectful to the local dryad to bring it into the forest. No need to antagonize the being more than necessary.
He sighed and went to a smaller wooden rack. He picked out a simple, well-balanced, heavy greatsword that wasn't as big, just about 70 percent of his own size. This was far more reasonable. He clipped it to his back with the sheath that came with a brace.
He gave the greatsword a final glance. Soon, he thought. Maybe not today but I'll probably need it again someday.
He turned and headed back up the stairs, trying to clear all the grim memories from his mind before facing his kids again.