The junior officer's panting breath filled the sudden, shocked silence of the war room. General Stonehard snatched the emergency Whisperstone, a large, obsidian-black crystal kept under a glass dome, from the console.
"Blacksun," he barked into the stone, his voice a tense mixture of anger and disbelief. "This is Stonehard. What in the hell is going on at your farm? Report!"
Miles away, Rowan, his hands still dusted with flour from setting the dough to rise, grinned into his own communication stone. He had summoned it from his wrist guard, a standard piece of Magic Knight equipment that doubled as a powerful communicator.
His was a custom piece from his military days. His entire weapon and armor set had to be made custom as his strength broke most normal ones. He still has the entire set stored somewhere in the house.
"General! Good to hear your booming voice," Rowan's voice was warm and maddeningly casual. "Nothing to worry about. I just wanted to preemptively inform the military that I have achieved total domestic security."
Stonehand gripped the stone so hard his knuckles were white. "Domestic… security? You mean the five children? Blacksun, who authorized--"
"Oh, those little cuties? They're mine, General. All five of them," Rowan interrupted cheerfully.
"A pleasant surprise this morning. They're helping me with lunch right now. I just wanted to let the MID know that if any… 'unauthorized personnel' attempt to enter my property, they will be met with the full force of my current defensive circles. I won't tolerate any spies or nosy neighbors disturbing my family time. Just thought I'd let my old commander know, out of professional courtesy."
General Stonehard sputtered, utterly blindsided. "You… you warded your property against MID surveillance!?"
"Against 'all' surveillance, General," Rowan corrected. "My privacy and my family's safety are a top priority. I just wanted to make sure your department didn't waste any resources sending out a ridiculous 'reconnaissance' team. I'm a farmer now. I deal with pests, not military or politicians."
Rowan paused, and his tone suddenly became serious, almost threatening. "General, you know I've kept my word for these last 8 years. I'm retired. But if you push me, you will find that this Magic Knight is far more dangerous when protecting his children than he ever was protecting a political border. Do we understand each other?"
A heavy, defeated silence fell on the war room. Stonehard knew Rowan well enough to know the threat was absolute. He looked at Elara, whose face remained a mask of controlled fury.
He sighed, the tension draining out of his body like air from a punctured tire. "Understood, kid. We will maintain distance. Keep us…informed of any 'personnel' changes on your property. Stonehard out."
Rowan ended the call with a satisfied nod and placed the Whisperstone back into its dock on his workbench.
"Daddy," Lilly asked, her small face tilted up in confusion. "Did you just yell at the General who taught you to fight?"
Rowan winked. "Just reminding him that a farmer's best crop is peace and quiet, Lilly. Now, less talk about old, angry men, and more talk about delicious, hot bread!"
Unknown to Rowan, his little threat was useless against a determined female Major who wasn't going to hide and spy. She would walk straight into his home like she had nothing to hide.
.....
Rowan turned back to the kitchen countertop. The energy of the war room confrontation, a necessary task, had now been replaced by the comforting, grounded ritual of baking. The kitchen was already filled with the heavy, sweet scent of yeast and fresh grain.
Rowan had prepared the initial dough, called the leaven, while the children watched. He had used his own enchanted wheat, ground into the finest, golden flour, and mixed it with yeast cultivated in his brewing shed.
He placed the massive ceramic bowl containing the dough onto the table. It had expanded to twice its original size, a testament to the potency of his yeast and the warmth of the day.
"The greatest meals sometimes start with the most table of foods," Rowan announced, punching the risen dough hard in the center.
Whumph! The dough deflated instantly, a quiet, satisfying sound.
Lilly, who was watching closely, gasped. "Daddy! You hurt it!"
"Nonsense, Lilly," Rowan chuckled, kneading the sticky mass with powerful, practiced hands. "This is the key, I call it the second rise. We must wake it up again. It must be strong and ready to hold its shape when it goes into the heat."
He divided the dough into two large, equal-sized loaves and set them gently into two heavy iron baking pans.
"Okay, children, your turn for the final touch," he said, pulling a small cup of olive oil, pressed from his own small grove, from the cabinet. "Alexia, I believe you have the lightest touch. Can you gently brush the top of the loaves with this oil? It'll give them a beautiful, golden crust."
As a potioneer, Rowan was sure his talented daughter could easily perform such a delicate task as mixing potions required equal dexterity.
Alexia, intrigued by the delicate process, carefully took the pastry brush. She approached the task with the precision of a chemist, applying a thin, even coat of oil to both loaves, ensuring the surface was uniformly glistening.
Rowan then handed a small, sharp knife to Alex. "Alex, I need you to make three quick, straight cuts across the top of each loaf. Not too deep, just enough to let the bread breathe in the oven. This is not only for presentation, but also for equal bake time."
Alex, his tired eyes sharpening with the focus of a surgeon, made the required incisions with calm efficiency, each cut a twin of the last. He had proven his prowess earlier in the day by cutting the lemons. Now he did the same again.
"Perfect, son. That's how a proper baker marks his trade," Rowan praised, gently lifting the pans.
He led the children over to the massive, stone and brick oven set into the wall. It was a hearth that looked like a permanent fixture of the house's history. It was already roaring hot, the heat contained by a heavy iron door.
"This, children, is my oven. Handcrafted by me and your grandfather," Rowan explained, opening the door just enough for the heat to wash over them. "We are using oak wood for a smoky flavor. The magic in the hearth concentrates the heat, ensuring an even bake."
He slid the two pans into the oven with a long, wooden paddle. "Forty minutes. While the bread works its magic, we'll make our soup."
Rowan quickly returned to the counter, where the large basket of freshly picked tomatoes now sat alongside onions, garlic, and basil. All of it harvested from his farm.
As for whether garlic is harmful to a vampire, that is just something that vampires said to have people make more food with garlic. Vampires used to secretly own many garlic farms. At least, that's why Cheryl had told him.
He had fed her plenty of food with garlic in it and sometimes even helped pick the garlic as it reminded her of her clan owned garlic farms.
"Tomato Soup, from the ground up," Rowan declared, taking a large, heavy-bottomed cast iron pot and placing it on the stovetop. "The perfect midday meal. Simple, yet deeply flavorful, and incredibly nutritious."
He turned to Darius. "Darius, your job is to prepare the foundation. The aromatics. I need three of the best onions and six cloves of garlic. Your mother, Yue Ling, taught me that a good defense starts with a strong core. These are the core flavors."
Darius, thrilled with a job, was handed a small but sharp, kitchen knife. He was instructed to peel the onions and garlic, which he did with intense focus, treating the papery skins like enemy camouflage.
Though it took the boy some time to get used to and perform, they had plenty of time till the bread was done. As Darius worked, Rowan quickly chopped the herbs.
"Lucia, my little princess," Rowan said, scooping up the smallest child and placing her on a secured, high stool. "You have the most important job: the basil. You need to tear up these green leaves. We don't cut basil; we tear it. The metal of a knife ruins the flavor. Use your little fingers to tear them into small bits."
Rowan had to give the easiest task to the youngest. It required no strength or energy. Just tearing some already soft leaves was fun and engaging for the little princess of his heart.
Lucia, delighted by the nature of the task and the warm smell of the basil, worked quietly and carefully, her ruby eyes focused on the leaves.
Rowan then started the cooking process, pouring a generous amount of farm-made butter into the hot pot. The moment it melted, he added the chopped onions and garlic.
Sizzzzzzz…
The sound and smell of the fat and aromatics hitting the heat immediately filled the kitchen with a savory perfume. Rowan stirred the mixture, careful not to burn it.
"Smell that, kids? That's the smell of what's going to be in your tummys," he said.
When the onions were translucent and the garlic fragrant, he turned to the main ingredient: the tomatoes.
"Lilly, Alexia, step up. Your job is to crush these tomatoes. We need the juice and the pulp. No fancy tools, just the power of your hands. We want to crush them, not liquefy them."
He placed the large bowl of tomatoes on the sturdy counter and let the two girls take turns kneading and squeezing the firm, ripe fruit. He even handed them a stone bowl and pestle since the tomatoes were a bit firm.
But it didn't seem like they wanted to use the tools.
Lilly dove into the task with gusto, her hands red with juice and pulp, giggling as she felt the texture squish between her fingers. Alexia was more reserved, carefully applying pressure to rupture the skin and release the seeds, observing the mechanics of the breakdown.
Rowan added a few pinches of salt, pepper, and a small, magical pinch of dried bay leaf into the pot. Then, he poured in the entire bowl of crushed tomatoes and juice, along with a small amount of magically chilled water to thin the consistency.
He gave the mixture a final, slow stir.
"Now, we wait. It simmers for thirty minutes. The long, slow heat is what brings out the sweetness of the tomato and marries all the flavors," Rowan explained, turning down the heat with a gentle use of mana.
He took a quick glance at the oven. The bread was already rising again, and the kitchen was now a warm, wholesome collision of yeasty bread and savory tomato.
"In forty minutes, we will have the perfect lunch. Fresh, hot bread and soup made with our own hands, from our own farm," Rowan said, lifting Lucia down and wiping a smear of tomato juice from Lilly's cheek. "And that, my children, is how we build the strength of our fortress."
With that said, he took the girls and boys to the sink and helped them wash their hands with a rose scented soap that his mother had made.
"Make sure to scrub your hands well kids, let's say 25 seconds. I'll count for you. By the way, this soap was hand made by your grandma. It's scented from her own flower garden."
"Wow, it smells so good, Daddy!" Lilly exclaimed, holding her hands up to her nose. "It smells like Grandma's garden. It's so much better than the weird, plain soap mom uses."
Alexia inhaled deeply, her eyes closing momentarily. "The rose essence is expertly distilled. The floral notes are perfectly balanced. I detect traces of geranium and possibly a hint of verbena for stability." She looked up at her father with scientific approval. "It's surprisingly complex for a simple hand soap."
Rowan smiles and nods at her. Who doesn't love a genius daughter?
Lucia, her tiny hands covered in a rich, white lather, simply cooed in delight. "Flower smell, Daddy. Pretty."
Rowan smiled, pleased that his mother's simple creations were such a hit. "Grandma will be happy to hear that, girls. She's a master gardener and her soap is pure magic, without any fancy spells."
The children finished scrubbing their hands, the fragrant rose soap leaving a clean, fresh scent. Rowan handed them all a clean linen towel to dry their hands. They then moved back to the dining table, drawn to the promise of food and the comfortable hum of the cooking kitchen.
Rowan returned to the stovetop, lifting the lid off the cast iron pot to release a cloud of savory steam. He gave the simmering tomato soup a slow, deliberate stir, his back to the children.
Lilly, who had been delighted by the soap, leaned toward Alexia. "Your mother's potions must smell so much worse than Grandma's soap, right?"
Alexia smoothed down the collar of her dress with a delicate, practiced gesture. "Mother's creations are not about aroma, Lilly. They are about efficacy. You wouldn't judge a powerful sword by its scent. They often smell of ozone, burnt sugar, or occasionally, a perfectly neutral ether."
She paused and blushed." But yes, the accidental ones… they tend to smell like stale sulfur and unspeakable horrors."
Darius interjected, "My mother's rations don't smell like anything. They just taste like sand and dust! This soup, though, Father, it smells like a perfect field banquet the ladies used to have after victories!"
Alex, sitting next to Darius, sighed, the sound barely audible. "Rations are not good for anything but caloric value, Darius.
I estimate this soup, paired with the bread, will have a good protein to fiber ratio, and the natural sugars from the tomatoes will provide a sustained source of energy. It's not more efficient than dried rations but definitely healthier…and tastier."
Lucia, meanwhile, was carefully arranging the small pile of torn basil leaves in the center of the table. Rowan let her keep some since she found it fun to play with.
"My mommy likes things that smell like old wood, shiny rocks, gold, and silver. Like her castle." She pointed one small finger at the simmering pot. "But this smell…it's warm. Like the sun."
Lilly leaned over and touched the basil leaves. "It's a sun smell, sister. Daddy's farm is always warm, even when he yells at the General."
A new, comfortable silence settled over them, broken only by the gentle bubbling of the soup and the quiet crackle of the wood in the oven. They were five different children from five different worlds, yet for the first time, they were simply five siblings, waiting for their father to feed them.