Ser Kaelen dismounted from his white charger at the edge of Oakhaven, the first hints of dawn painting the eastern sky in shades of grey and lavender. The village was silent, sleeping. His knightly senses, honed by years of training and a dozen campaigns, told him that the atmosphere here was… odd. It was peaceful, yet underneath was a current of nervous energy, like the air after a lightning strike.
He had passed two men on the road a mile back, running as if a demon were on their heels. One was a known local informant, Silas. They had babbled about a "demon-cat of the night" and refused to say more. It was another piece of the strange puzzle.
His mission was to investigate, not to alarm. He tethered his horse to a post and proceeded on foot, his armored boots making soft, deliberate thuds on the dirt path. He followed the source of the lingering life energy he could now feel on his skin, a gentle, warm pulse that drew him towards a small farm on a hill overlooking the village.
As he neared the plot of land, the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. A field of plants, laden with fruit that glowed with a soft, crimson light, bathed the clearing in an ethereal dawn. The vitality emanating from them was staggering, pure and potent. He could feel it soothing the weariness of his long ride. The Archmage's reports had not been an exaggeration.
His gaze swept the area, his analytical mind taking in every detail. A small, recently repaired shack. A plot of freshly tilled earth, with new seedlings already sprouting. And, at the edge of the clearing, two men, tied back-to-back around a tree, unconscious. He recognized their gear—they were low-grade mercenaries, vultures who preyed on the weak.
And then he saw her.
She emerged from the shadows of a large oak tree as if she were a part of it, stepping into the dim light. The notorious Shadowcat, Lyra. She wasn't armed, at least not visibly, but she moved with a predatory grace that made his hand rest instinctively on the pommel of his longsword. She was regarding him not with fear, but with a cool, calculating assessment.
"Knight-Errant of Eldoria," Lyra stated, her voice calm and even. She had recognized his armor and what it represented. "You are a long way from the capital."
"Lyra the Shadowcat," Ser Kaelen returned, his own voice a deep, steady baritone. "The Silent Fang Guild has placed a high price on your head. By their account, you are a deserter. By the Crown's, you are a person of interest."
"My business with the Guild is my own," she said, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly. "This is private land. State your purpose."
"My purpose is to investigate an anomalous energy signature on behalf of the Crown. An anomaly that seems to originate from this very field," he said, gesturing to the glowing tomatoes. "And to ascertain why a loyal agent of the Fang would abandon her mission here."
Before Lyra could retort, the door to the shack creaked open again. Ren stepped out, stretching and yawning. He wore the same simple farm clothes, his black hair a messy halo in the growing light. He saw Ser Kaelen, a towering figure in gleaming plate mail, and blinked.
"Oh, good morning!" Ren said cheerfully. "Another traveler? You're up early. My, that's very shiny armor you have."
Ser Kaelen's gaze shifted to Ren. This was the farmer? This… boy? He looked utterly harmless, with a guileless, friendly face and an aura of placid calm. There was no hint of the immense power the Archmage suspected, only a simple, rustic charm.
"Sir," Ser Kaelen said, his tone formal and polite as he gave a slight, crisp bow. "I am Ser Kaelen, a Knight-Errant in service to the Kingdom. I hope I am not intruding."
"Not at all!" Ren said with a wave of his hand. "Always nice to have visitors, though it's been a busy couple of days." He then noticed the two men tied to the tree. "Oh! Lyra, did your friends stay the night?"
Lyra's ear twitched in irritation. "They are not my friends, Ren. They are… poachers. I apprehended them trying to steal your crop."
"Steal my tomatoes?" Ren looked genuinely puzzled. "Why would they do that? They could have just asked. I would have given them some." He looked at the unconscious men with pity. "Did you have to tie them up so tight?"
Ser Kaelen listened to this exchange, his mind working furiously. The legendary Shadowcat was acting as a farmhand and guard. The 'harmless' farmer spoke of his world-altering crops as if they were common vegetables. And he seemed completely unconcerned by the presence of a fully-armed Knight-Errant or captured mercenaries on his property.
"These men are known brigands," Ser Kaelen interjected, his voice firm. "They will be delivered to the King's justice. Your guard has done the local province a service." He looked at Lyra with new understanding. She wasn't a deserter. She was protecting something she deemed more important than her guild or her life. She was protecting him.
"Well, that's good, I suppose," Ren said. He felt his stomach rumble. "I was just about to make some breakfast. Would you two care to join me? I was going to try making porridge. And I have plenty of tomatoes."
The invitation was so earnest, so mundane, that it completely disarmed Ser Kaelen. Here he was, prepared for a tense confrontation with a rogue agent and a potentially dangerous anomaly, and he was being offered breakfast.
"I…" he began, but found himself at a loss for words.
"Please," Ren insisted. "You've ridden a long way, I'm sure. And Lyra, you were up all night. You both must be hungry." He walked over to one of the 'Sun's Fury' plants and plucked a particularly radiant specimen. He tossed it to the knight. "Here. A morning snack."
Ser Kaelen caught the fruit on pure instinct. It felt warm, vibrant, and alive in his gauntlet. The aroma was intoxicating. He looked at the tomato, then at the friendly, expectant face of the farmer. His mission protocols had no contingency for this.
He was a knight. He was disciplined. But he was also exhausted and hungry, and the rumors about this fruit...
With a mental sigh that bordered on surrender, he removed his helmet, revealing a handsome, stoic face with short-cropped blond hair and serious blue eyes. He took a bite of the tomato.
The effect was instantaneous and profound. The weariness in his bones didn't just fade; it was obliterated. The dull aches from days in the saddle vanished. A wave of pure, clean energy surged through him, sharpening his mind and invigorating his body more effectively than a full night's sleep or an alchemist's potion. The taste was, as the Diviners had so unhelpfully reported, simply divine.
He stood there, frozen, the juice of the tomato glistening on his lips, his stoic composure shattered. His mind, which was a fortress of discipline and logic, was suddenly wrestling with a single, overwhelming thought.
The Archmage needs to try one of these.
Lyra watched him, a faint smirk on her lips. Another one had fallen under the spell of the Farmer's inexplicable hospitality.
"So," Ren said, breaking the knight's stupor. "Porridge?"
Ser Kaelen looked at Ren, no longer seeing a simple boy, but an enigma of terrifying proportions who wielded kindness and agriculture like weapons of mass satisfaction.
"Yes," the Knight-Errant heard himself say, his voice filled with a reverence he hadn't used since he swore his oath to the king. "Yes, I believe I will."
His mission had just changed. It was no longer about investigating an anomaly. It was about understanding—and protecting—the source.