The scent of grilled chicken, sharp cheese, and creamy dressing filled the dining room. Rowan watched with satisfaction as the children, energized by the meal's smell, piled into their seats.
Dante, having been lured in by the aroma, had materialized silently inside the doorway and managed to pull up a chair and tuck a cloth napkin into his mask.
He accepted his large plate from Rowan and immediately dove in. Selene sat opposite Rowan, her rapier now sheathed. She took her first bite, and her entire posture relaxed. A sigh of pure contentment escaped her.
"Rowan, you cooking genius," she declared, leaning back slightly. "This dressing…it has that perfect bite. This is sharp, salty, and tasty. And the chicken is cooked perfectly. Moist inside, that beautiful char on the outside. You could win a cooking tournament in the capital with this."
Rowan merely shrugged, a faint blush touching his cheeks. "It's just simple ingredients, Selene. Good lettuce, good lemons, and a bit of technique. We needed something light but protein heavy after the morning's adventure."
The children were equally impressed. Alexia, carefully dissecting a piece of chicken, said, "The cutlets are evenly sliced, Father. That ensures the seasoning permeates the whole thing. It's a perfect cut. Excellent."
Darius chewed slowly, savoring the crunch of the croutons. "The croutons, Father," he said. "They are made from your sourdough, aren't they? They hold the butter and garlic flavor without being too oily. It's a very tasty meal."
Rowan beamed, appreciating the sincere compliments. "Thank you, Darius. "
Even Lucia, distracted by her own plate, pointed a tiny finger at the croutons. "Crunchy bread, Daddy. Good, tasty bread."
The lunch proceeded quickly, a mixture of clinking forks and cheerful chatter. Selene, between bites, laid out her preliminary training plan for Lilly, discussing footwork and minimal movement. Dante, having finished his own plate in record time, was soon bartering with Alexia for more cookies, promising to teleport them to the highest mountain peaks for their next snack.
Once the meal was over, the flurry of post-lunch chores began. The children, as was their habit, efficiently cleared the plates, and Rowan quickly cleaned the pans, leaving everything spotless.
…
The sun was high and warm as the family moved out into the afternoon air.
"Alright, my little pickers," Rowan said while heading toward the orchard. "We need to harvest the last of the apples. They'll be perfect for pie crusts, sweets and maybe even some preserves."
Selene took Lilly directly to continue the rapier lesson. Dante, after accepting a final, solemn pledge of cookies, materialized away with a small pop, probably to report Alistair's return and maybe to grab a quick nap.
Rowan led Darius and Alex into the orchard. "Darius, you're on the lower branches. Alex, you're in charge of quality control. Make sure we only pick the ones without blemishes. No need to waste any of our valuable fruit. I'll use the blemished ones for feed later."
Lucia, always preferring to be close to her father, was easily persuaded to perch on his broad shoulders. Her purple familiar fluttered up to her, nesting comfortably in her hair like a strange, furry bow.
Lucia, however, was focused entirely on her own snack, a bowl of the farm's large, red strawberries. She munched happily, occasionally dropping a piece down for Rowan to catch in his mouth.
"Higher, Daddy! Pick that one!" Lucia commanded, directing her father with a strawberry-stained finger.
Rowan chuckled, reaching up effortlessly. He was a colossal figure next to the two boys, his hand easily plucking apples from branches the children couldn't even reach with a jump.
Darius worked diligently on the lower rungs while on a small wooden ladder, his hands carefully twisting the perfect fruit from the branch.
"Father," Darius asked, pausing his work to look at the massive apple in his hand. "When you cut wood, how do you decide what to keep and what to discard? It's hard to let go of a piece, even if it has a flaw."
Rowan paused, holding up a perfect green apple. "Ask your grandpa when he comes by again. I can't really explain that stuff. I suck at carving." he said honestly. The two made random small talk while working,
Meanwhile, Alex moved with a small basket, inspecting the apples before placing them into the main collection crate. He took his task seriously, turning each apple in the light and making small notes in his ledger about the quality and quantity of the fruit.
"Father, based on this current amount, we should be able to create six full boxes of preserves, plus five gallons of fresh-pressed cider," Alex reported. He had Rowan earlier on how much each of those things takes to make so the math was easy.
"Excellent work, Alex. " Rowan praised him.
A few yards away, near the gentle water of the irrigation streams, Alexia had set up her own small workstation. Her wooden case was open, displaying an array of vials and tiny funnels. She had changed into a protective, white apron and was now engrossed in her own world.
She was performing a preliminary test on the luminescent moss she had gathered from the forest, testing its interaction with a common solvent. She carefully dropped a tiny snippet of the green moss into a clear, bubbling blue liquid.
The moss, instead of dissolving, instantly flared with an intense blue light before stabilizing, now floating on the surface like a miniature, glowing island.
"The mana retention is remarkable," Alexia murmured to herself, tapping her pencil against her notebook. "It's a perfect stabilizer for water-element potions. I wonder if it could be used to prolong the effect?"
She looked up, watching her father and brothers work, then glanced toward the area where Selene was forcing Lilly through a series of quick, tight parries. Everyone has a job, Alexia thought, and mine is to figure out how to make sure we're safe.
She picked up the tiny sapling Flaris had given her, placing it gently into a small, rich pot of farm soil. The sapling immediately began to glow with a faint, protective gold light.
Rowan and his boys had filled three large crates when the sun began to dip toward the western horizon. The orchard was now bathed in a soft, orange-pink light.
"That's it for today, boys," Rowan said, lifting the last crate effortlessly. Lucia, having finished her strawberries, was leaning down from his shoulder, gently playing with his hair.
It was just as Rowan was turning to head back to the farmhouse that the distant sound reached them. It wasn't the usual sound of the wind or the nearby village; it was a rhythmic, collective hiss and a strange, heavy slither.
The sound grew quickly, drawing closer to the main road that passed just beyond their front fields.
Lilly and Selene immediately stopped sparring. Selene's hand instinctively went to her rapier, her head snapping up to the north.
"Rowan, what is that?" Selene called out, her voice tight with alarm.
Rowan put the crate down, his simple smile instantly replaced by a grim scowl. He carefully lifted Lucia down and set her on the ground next to Alexia, who was already gathering her vials with speed.
"Stay behind the fence line, all of you," Rowan commanded. He took two long strides and positioned himself near the outer fence of the farm, his eyes fixed on the distant road.
A massive, slow-moving caravan was approaching the village. It wasn't a standard trade carcan.
It was a group of Lamias, the serpent people.
They moved with the unsettling grace of their kind, their powerful, scaled serpent lower bodies shimmering in the setting sun. Their human upper bodies wore soft cotton clothing. There were hundreds, perhaps a thousand or more, a vast migration moving slowly. The sight of a Lamia settlement was rare enough, but a massive caravan like this was unheard of.
The front of the column was led by a trio of imposing figures: two immense Lamia warriors, their lower bodies thick with mottled black and green scales, carrying massive, bronze-tipped spears, flanking a stately female figure.
This figure was clearly the leader, regal and intimidating. Her scales were a pale, beautiful silver and pink, and her upper body was clad in heavy, carved leather armor. Her pink hair was braided with bone and stone, and her face held an expression of weary resolve. Her gaze was not hostile, just focused on the terrain ahead.
Rowan stepped fully into view, folding his massive arms across his chest. He was the most visible figure in the area, the farmer whose magical fields were a vibrant oasis in the drought-stricken landscape.
The lead Lamia matriarch immediately spotted him. The entire caravan stopped, their heavy, slithering silence falling over the fields.
The matriarch, her serpentine tail dragging lightly across the dust, glided forward until she was just beyond the fence line, her two guards standing like statues behind her.
Her voice, when she spoke, was a low, resonant purr.
"You are the Blacksun," she stated, her large, golden eyes fixed on Rowan. Her accent and pronunciation were a little off. It was obvious that her standard language wasn't the same as theirs. It reminded him of the dialect of the southern desert warriors he had fought alongside before.
"I am Rowan Blacksun," he replied, his own voice calm but carrying the quiet thunder of his mana. "And this is my land. You are far north of the usual territories. Is there a problem?"
The Matriarch's gaze swept over the lush fields, the thriving orchard, and the distant bushes, a sight of impossible fertility in a land ravaged by drought.
"My name is Tassia. I am of the Great Sand Lamia race. We come from the Southern Peaks. The drought has claimed all our fertile lands. Our people are starving. We are moving north, seeking new soil to settle, land where our young will not wither and die."
Tassia shifted, the movement of her powerful tail sending dust motes dancing in the air.
"We heard whispers of this place. Of the impossible farmer who could grow life where nothing else survives. We do not seek conflict, Blacksun. We only seek land to farm and survive."
She paused, and her golden eyes locked on his. "We are over a thousand souls. We will not take your land, but we must pass through your region, and we must find a place to settle, perhaps in the northern plains. Will you let us pass? And can you tell us if the rumors of the drought are true to the north as well?"
The atmosphere was filled with tension. A thousand starving Lamias were a potential disaster waiting to happen. Rowan looked at the line of silent, weary faces, and then back at his children watching from the porch.
He let out a slow breath. This was a refugee crisis spreading across the continent. He knew, better than anyone, what it felt like to watch those you cared about wither and die.
He had seen so many comrades slowly succumb to poisons and injuries he couldn't save them from. But maybe, just maybe, he could save these people.