Rowan gave the newly cleaned dining room a final once over. The Mothers' Feast menu was secured in the wooden chest, and the children were buzzing with a restless, post breakfast energy. It was a beautiful day, albeit a scorching one, and a warrior's spirit needs conditioning. A farmer's work is never done, not even during a drought.
As for the problem of finding the mothers of his children, he knew just the guy to hire. An old friend of his from the military's intelligence department. The guy was a genuine pro and should be high up in the department by now. All he had to do was pay a price.
A price that might be expensive for others but abundant for him. That abundance was purely because of his abundant farm. It was time to show the kids some other parts of his farm.
"Alright, my little ones, it's time to see more of your new home!" Rowan announced, strapping a simple, woven basket onto his back. Inside, the massive glass pitcher of Bombastic Berry Lemonade clinked softly against five small wooden cups. "I'm thinking about your lunch, but first, we need to earn our appetite. Who wants to see how a real farm runs?"
"I do, I do!" Lilly was the first to bounce up, her emerald eyes shining with anticipation.
Darius, already trying to march in place, saluted. "Darius Blacksun, ready for field instruction, Father!"
Rowan laughed, a deep, satisfied rumble. "No saluting indoors, son. This is a home, not a barracks. Let's go, everyone. We're taking the scenic route to the tomato patch."
He really would have to teach this kid how to behave at home.
The six of them stepped out. Rowan led them toward the fields, first stopping at the edge of the sprawling golden wheat.
He reached down and plucked a single, plump kernel, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger until the dry, outer husk flaked away. "From this, we get the best flour in the kingdom. And from that flour, the best bread."
He glanced at Lilly and Lucia. "The kind of fresh, chewy bread that goes perfectly with a thick, juicy Shepherd's Pie, and the kind of rustic loaves that can hold up all the beautiful cheeses for a princess."
Lilly nodded seriously, committing the information to memory. Lucia just mumbled, "Bread good."
Next, Rowan walked to the edge of the field and placed the picnic basket down. He faced the endless rows of wheat and closed his eyes. The children watched, quiet and attentive.
"Wide area water jet." he chanted, his voice low and firm.
A faint blue-green light pulsed from his palms. The light didn't turn into a beam or a concentrated jet; instead, it rippled outward like a heat haze over the fields. The air grew suddenly humid, and the children watched in amazement as a fine mist rained down, sinking deep into the dry topsoil. Where the mist landed, the ground darkened slightly, a tell-tale sign of moisture.
"Whoa," whispered Alexia, leaning in to observe. Rowan stood on his spot with his hands up, keeping the spell active, making sure the wheat got enough water.
"That's my favorite water spell." Rowan explained, opening his eyes and wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "I have to do this three times a day to keep all these fields going. Without the Two Rivers, it's a full-time job. When the rivers were full, I would actually bring the water directly from them."
"Is that why you're so strong, Daddy?" Lilly asked, poking his thick bicep. "So you can do big spells?"
"Precisely, my little swordswoman," Rowan chuckled, flexing for her. "Magic is like a sword: if you don't train your body, you can't swing the biggest weapon."
He led them past the barley. The young, light green stalks still coming up. "I have several types of barley here. Some for the animal feed, some for my homemade brews."
"Beer!" Darius's eyes lit up. "My mother's entire barracks runs on beer! The ladies, they drink it all the time after their tactical drills. They say it is the only thing that can kill the taste of field rations!"
"Beer is a powerful thing for morale," Rowan agreed, patting Darius on the head. "It's wholesome and has a low alcohol content. Very popular with the common folk and the barracks. I have a large shed next to the house, near the well, that's set up just for brewing. I have a copper still and dozens of aging barrels down there."
He stopped and looked at the children with a serious expression. "However, the Blacksun family does not consume alcohol. My parents, siblings, myself, and you children will only have water and juice."
"Why not, Father?" Alexia asked, genuinely curious.
"Alcohol, particularly wine and spirits, is known to dull the senses and cloud the mind," Rowan explained, adjusting the basket on his back. "We Blacksun are practitioners of magic, and a dulled mind is a weak mind. We must always be sharp."
"My mommy drinks lots of wine," Lucia stated quietly, her ruby eyes gazing at him with an innocent, factual air. "It's red. She says it helps her remember all the old kings."
Rowan froze for a half-second, then regained his composure. *Of course, the vampire heiress drinks wine. Probably something thick, old, and highly alcoholic. It's probably the only thing that doesn't taste like water to her.*
"Well, some people have different needs," Rowan said diplomatically, avoiding the vampire subject for now. He knew Cheryl had inherited her parents' liking for rare wines. It's also part of general vampire tradition to show off special wines.
There is nothing he can do about it now but he does have some plans. I need to figure out how to make non-alcoholic wine.
"My mother hates it," Lilly declared with a decisive shake of her head. "She says it slows her sword arm. She only drinks water, and sometimes, a little bit of tea, Daddy."
Rowan beamed at Lilly. "See, Lilly understands the philosophy! Now, speaking of wine…"
He led them toward a towering, beautifully maintained trellis. The vines were thick and woody, twisting up the framework, covered in a bounty of grapes. There were clusters of rich purple-black grapes, pale green-white ones, and a few patches of bright red ones that shimmered almost unnaturally.
"We make wine for my friends, not for ourselves," Rowan explained, "but I keep the best grapes here. They're excellent for jams, jellies, and desserts."
Alexia, the witch's daughter, immediately zeroed in on a vine with grapes that had a faint, pulsing, silver glow to them. She reached out and touched one gingerly.
"Father," she said, her voice dropping into a tone of pure academic fascination. "These… these are mana-infused grapes. My mother's entire library, which has books from five continents, never cataloged a strain with this type of luminescence. They must hold an incredible amount of latent magical energy." She looked at him with an expression of stunned awe.
"Father," she said, her voice dropping into a tone of pure academic fascination. "These… these are mana-infused grapes. My mother's entire library, which has books from five continents, never cataloged a strain with this type of luminescence. They must hold an incredible amount of latent magical energy." She looked at him with an expression of stunned awe.
She had just realised that a lot of the stuff growing was things that were either not found in this part of the continent, from other continents or completely unknown to her.
"Where do you get all these magic plants? The wheat, the berries, the glow… None of these are common or even known variants."
Rowan paused, leaning against the trellis and letting a slow, mischievous smile spread across his face. He plucked a magically glowing grape and ate it with a casual pop. He knew that this girl would recognize this aspect of his farm.
Nexia had the same question and expression when she first came here too. He had never gotten to tell Nexia the origin of the farm's crops before she left. When they do get married, he will tell her.
"That, my darling Alexia, is a trade secret. I'll let you in on it when you invent a mana boosting potion that has a better and longer effect than your mother's." He winked. "But you're correct. The plants are special. They are what gave my farm its unique advantage."
Rowan then waters the grapes just like he did with the wheat and barley. "Alright, let's get the star of our lunch plan! The tomato patch!"
He walked them to the field next to the grape trellis, a dense patch of large, leafy green bushes heavy with fruit. The ground was covered in straw to hold the moisture, and the scent of sun-warmed tomato vine was thick and summery.
"Here they are! The key to a proper, fresh meal on a hot day." Rowan pointed to the vibrant red and orange globes. "These are the beauties that go into your scrambled eggs, your mother Lina's risotto, and the base for Artemis's Shepherd's Pie."
"Can we pick them, Daddy?" Lilly asked, already kneeling down.
"You bet," Rowan said. "But only the ones that are perfect. They need to be firm, plump, and deeply colored. We're only taking what we need for today's lunch, as tomatoes are best eaten fresh."
He settled down on a small stool he had magically summoned, pulled out the lemonade, and poured a cup for himself and each of the children.
"Now, hydrate up, little farmers," he said. "Lunchtime is in an hour, and I'm making tomato soup with fresh-baked bread."
The children, their mouths staining pink from the lemonade, happily began their new task under the watchful, proud eye of their father.
Picking the tomatoes was a careful, meditative task, unlike the bustling energy of the berry patch. The children spread out between the rows, their small hands reaching in to examine the fruit.
Lilly, remembering her father's instruction to pick only the perfect ones, gently rotated a large, sun-warmed tomato. "Perfect means no squishies," she declared to Lucia, who was crouched beside her, her silvery hair catching the light. Lucia nodded, her small fingers lightly pressing a fruit before shaking her head in rejection. "Too soft," she whispered, already developing an eye for quality.
Darius, still applying his military logic, was scanning the rows with sharp intensity. "Target acquired," he muttered, seizing a deep-red globe with the firmness of a small cannonball. "High-density payload for the commander's stew."
Alexia, as always, was more concerned with the subtle variations in color. She meticulously chose three fruits: one perfectly red, one an intense orange, and one with a hint of green near the stem. "The spectrum of ripeness," she explained to no one in particular. "We need all the flavor notes for optimal magical reaction."
Rowan remembered that Nexia also had the same habit of murmuring to herself.
Alex, however, was focused on practicality. He checked the underside of each leaf, looking for tiny blemishes or signs of pest damage, calculating the yield per plant. He only picked four, all of immaculate quality, handling them with the care of gold coins. Maximum quality for minimal risk, his mind concluded.
Rowan watched from his stool, sipping his lemonade, a deep sense of contentment washing over him. The heat was fierce, but here, surrounded by the vibrant green and red of his labor, with the sound of his children's earnest chatter filling the air, the drought felt distant. This small, perfect moment of domestic peace was the true harvest.
When they had collected a full basket of ripe, fresh tomatoes, Rowan clapped his hands. "Excellent work, Blacksun family. The main ingredient for our soup looks plump and round." He stood up, towering over the children, and stretched, his eyes casually scanning the landscape.
To the west, across the barren, cracked fields of his neighbors and the dry riverbeds, the small cluster of village homes was visible under the hazy sun.
And there, clustered in the deep shade of the largest oak tree, were the villagers. The two old men, the gossiping women, and the playing children, all doing their best to survive the heat.
For five years, they had seen only one figure on this farm: Rowan Blacksun, the aloof magic knight who kept his abundance to himself, except for when his family visited. But today, they saw six.
The villagers had gathered to share their misery and watch the usual sight of the wealthy magic knight performing his incomprehensible spells. But now, they all paused, their straw fans motionless.
The old man with the wrinkled face, the one who envied Rowan, squinted. "Are those... children?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
The kind old man next to him leaned forward, shading his eyes. "Good heavens, those are five small children. Where did the Blacksun get five children from?"
They watched as the tall, muscular knight effortlessly scooped up one of the girls, the small, silver-haired one, and began walking toward his enormous, comfortable farmhouse, the 4 little figures trailing after him, clutching their baskets of red tomatoes. The children had appeared from nowhere. And with them, a deep, new mystery had bloomed in the heart of the villagers.