The air in the deep woods, miles from the quiet fields of the Two Rivers Town and further still from Rowan Blacksun's warded farm, was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine needles.
The night was moonless, a curtain of oppressive black broken only by a small, fiercely burning campfire. Five women, each a legend in her own right, were gathered around the flickering flames.
This meeting was not by chance; it was a necessary truce between rivals. A gathering discussing the high-stakes variable in their lives: Rowan and the children they had entrusted to him.
Two large, rough-hewn pots simmered over the flames. One, a hearty, thick stew filled with chunks of wild boar and foraged roots, was the creation of Yue Ling, the master of the Shuhua Black Lotus Order. The other, a leaner, more simply seasoned broth of venison and clean water, was the work of Artemis Minos, the nomadic swordswoman.
Artemis sat closest to the fire, her imposing figure a contradiction of warmth and cold steel. She was clad in her full, magnificent armor: polished silver and pristine white plate with bronze accents at the joints and shoulders.
A thick, emerald-green cape, the same color as her daughter Lilly's eyes, was draped over her shoulders. Her golden-blond hair, as vibrant and flowing as a captured sunbeam, cascaded over her pauldrons. Her emerald eyes, usually fixed on some distant, invisible enemy, were currently focused on turning a spit of roasted meat.
"The venison is ready," Artemis announced, her voice possessing the clear, unwavering quality of a struck bell. "Lean protein. Best for a campfire meal."
Yue Ling, seated cross-legged on a woven mat, nodded in approval. Her attire was a sharp contrast to Artemis's Western armor: a set of traditional, ancient asian style martial arts clothes, simple dark-blue silk, that nonetheless showcased her slender, muscular build and ample curves. Her simple Asian beauty was one of quiet discipline, but her movements were precise and quick.
"Your efficiency remains unparalleled, Artemis," Yue said, stirring her stew. "My boar is dense, a complete field ration. Good for sustained effort and troop morale. But I admit, it is not a delicate palate cleanser."
Across the fire, wrapped in shadows that seemed to respect her presence, sat Nexia Lunecroft, the volatile Master of Ravenhold Tower. Her gown was a dramatic, expensive black and purple gothic dress, cinched tightly to emphasize her smoky, seductive body and heavy, academic curves.
A black and purple hat, tall and pointy, sat slightly askew on her dark hair. A single, dark beauty mark graced the corner of her chin, drawing attention to her intense, thoughtful face. She had the look of fine wine, older, richer, and more intoxicatingly potent.
"The scent of actual, non-chemically-simulated food is... a profound relief," Nexia sighed, holding a carved wooden bowl of Yue's stew, sniffing it before taking a small, appreciative sip. "My current research batch smells distinctly of fermented swamp gas and burnt sulfur. My appetite has been... suppressed."
Next to her, Lina Gray looked utterly exhausted. She was dressed in a pristine, yet clearly wrinkled, women's suit, a charcoal gray ensemble with a white silk blouse, the uniform of the tireless, upwardly mobile accountant.
Her beauty was cool and icy, even in the humid night air, a sharp, clean elegance that never quite softened. She ate slowly, methodically, focusing on the sheer caloric value of the food. She remained mostly silent, her expression one of perpetual, weary calculation.
"Lina, you must eat more," Artemis instructed, placing a generous slab of venison onto Lina's plate. "You look as though you haven't slept in three days. Efficiency is meaningless if the body's core systems fail."
Lina flinched slightly at the unsolicited advice. "The Q3 reports were due. My projections had a 0.73% variance. I had to audit every transaction to find the error. I don't have the luxury of a robust constitution, Artemis. I eat whatever sustains me."
The most out of place figure, however, was Cheryl Ichor Von Bloodsworth. She sat a short distance from the fire, the light catching the rich burgundy, black, and white colors of her elegant, long dress.
A silk ribbon tied her long, silver hair, the same ethereal shade as her daughter Lucia's, in a cascade that fell over one shoulder, adorned with matching gem jewelry that winked in the darkness.
She was a vampire beauty of ethereal mystery and perfection, her ruby eyes, twin mirrors to her daughter's, watching the group with a quiet, aristocratic detachment.
She held a crystal wine glass filled with a deep, dark red liquid. A black suit and tie-wearing old butler, Sebastian, stood patiently behind her, occasionally leaning in to top up her glass from a silver carafe.
"Sebastian, the temperature," Cheryl instructed quietly.
"Perfectly chilled, my lady. Exactly 13 degrees Celsius," the butler murmured, his voice the epitome of subservient professionalism.
Cheryl took a delicate sip, the red liquid the only thing she truly consumed. "This Bordeaux is from 1600 years ago," she noted, her voice a low, melodic purr. "It has the scent of aged wood and history. It's perfectly extravagant. It helps maintain the illusion that I am sufficiently... distracted."
Yue looked at the vampire heiress with a mixture of respect and faint annoyance. "Distracted, Lady Bloodsworth? You mean distracted from our real concern. Have the children been fed properly?"
The question cut through the small talk, bringing a serious focus to the gathering. Five heads turned toward the fire, the shared concern for their offspring uniting the diverse group.
Artemis was the first to speak, her tone softening almost imperceptibly. "Lilly is a warrior's daughter, and she is disciplined. But she is still just a child. She needs simple, clean, whole food. We've seen the quality of the soil and crops at Rowan's farm.
Even during this unprecedented drought, he'll be using his magic to keep the crops thriving. He wouldn't risk giving our children anything less than the best."
"He never risked giving us anything less than the best," Yue mused, the corner of her mouth lifting in a faint, bittersweet smile. "I remember when I first arrived, fresh off a particularly grueling two-month expedition. All I wanted was field rations. Simple, efficient fuel.
He made me a bowl of hot, bone broth noodle soup. The broth was simmered for twenty-four hours, and the noodles were hand pulled from his own enchanted wheat. It was completely unnecessary, took an enormous amount of time, and... it was the most restorative thing I have ever tasted."
Nexia's eyes took on a far-off, dreamy glaze. "The man is a menace," she declared, but her tone lacked any true malice. "He completely disrupted my metabolic analysis. I was attempting to live on a diet of highly condensed nutrient paste.
Three weeks of research, entirely wasted when he presented me with a single, perfectly baked loaf of sourdough bread. It was so fluffy, so subtly sour, so intensely flavorful. It broke my diet. He doesn't just feed the body; he feeds the soul."
Lina stopped chewing and lowered her plate, her icy facade cracking for a moment. She didn't speak of a specific dish, but her gaze was fixed on the fire, a rare vulnerability in her cool eyes. "His finances were catastrophic," she finally whispered, the words sounding like an internal confession. "
The cost of his ingredients, the time investment per meal... it was utterly illogical. But the Shepherd's Pie he made... the lamb, the perfect potatoes... the profit margin was zero, but the... the return on investment in emotional satisfaction was... boundless." The last two words echoed the very phrase her son, Alex, had used to describe the truffles.
Cheryl, the ethereal vampire, finally entered the conversation, her ruby eyes reflecting the firelight. She lowered her wine glass slowly, watching the bubbles rise.
"My chefs," she said, her voice a melodic sigh. "They are the finest in the Ironsong Empire. They can produce an aesthetic masterpiece, a culinary marvel of ice and color. This evening, they prepared me a tower of smoked salmon mousse, served on ice sculpted into a glacial peak. It was beautiful, technically perfect, and perfectly... cold."
She sighed, a dramatic gesture that seemed to cost her little effort. "I can resist the longing to return to Rowan's side because I am surrounded by such extravagance. But their food is cold, Major Voss," she added, an unexpected shift, as if speaking to the absent Elara Voss.
"It only satisfies the aristocratic eye. Rowan's food... it was always warm. It warmed my cold heart. A single, humble bowl of his fresh tomato soup, or a piece of his home-baked bread smeared with butter.
It didn't taste of age and status; it tasted of sun, earth, and effort. It tasted like home, a feeling my family hasn't cultivated in two thousand years."
Yue clenched her jaw slightly. "Sentimentality is a weakness, Lady Bloodsworth. But you are correct. The man's culinary skill is a powerful weapon. He will be feeding Darius well. My son will be getting the protein and the energy he needs to grow up strong.
Rowan understands the need for high-energy fuel better than any field cook I know."
Artemis took a piece of roasted venison and tore it with her teeth, a primal movement that was still somehow graceful. "Lilly's body will be honed. Rowan will be teaching them the value of the earth and the skill of the hunt, even if it is just a tomato hunt in his fields. His farm is a fortress of nutrition."
Nexia adjusted her hat, a calculating glint returning to her eyes. "Alexia is, I suspect, analyzing the flavor profiles of everything she consumes. Rowan's unique, magically charged produce will be an intellectual feast for her.
The sheer complexity of the mana-infused grapes and the magically accelerated berries will challenge her mind. I am simply tired of my own concoctions. They are efficient for my research, providing the necessary arcane energy boost, but I miss flavor. I miss the sweet distraction that pulls me away from the endless calculation of reagent toxicity."
Her eyes hardened, a look of profound, self-imposed duty settling in. "But I cannot be distracted. My research is too vital. Rowan's domesticity is an anchor, and I must be adrift to chart these new courses in arcane science. I will not compromise my duty for a comfortable meal."
"Nor will I," Artemis agreed, her voice hard again. "My sword arm has never been stronger. My ambition demands I constantly seek a greater challenge, a higher level of mastery. Rowan's farm is peaceful. Peace is stasis.
I can only return when I have achieved my own personal pinnacle, and then, perhaps, I can teach my daughter what true, disciplined strength is. I trust Rowan to keep her safe until then."
Yue looked out into the darkness, her muscular shoulders straightening. "The drought and the trade negotiations require my full, undivided attention. I must ensure the stability of the entire region.
My place is not on a quiet farm, but in the war room, securing the supply lines that will feed millions. Darius's future is best served by me being a high-ranking officer, not lying down as a contented wife. When the route is secure, then perhaps I can allow myself the indulgence of Rowan's kitchen."
Lina finally spoke again, her voice barely a breath. "I have just secured a major investment for my firm. I need to push for the partner track. It's the only way to guarantee Alex a life free from the poverty I grew up in.
Rowan's life... it requires no ledger, no plan. It's too... free. I need to build a fortress of financial security for my son. I can't stop now, not even for truffles."
Cheryl smiled, a cold, perfect expression. "I, on the other hand, am already at the pinnacle. My duty is to my clan's legacy and its political machinations. My presence on a farm would be an insult to my station. I need to be here, in the shadows, sipping my centuries-old wine and manipulating the flow of power.
My only indulgence is that I have allowed Sebastian to send weekly updates on Lucia's emotional state, her contentment, her happiness. So long as Rowan keeps that small, perfect fire lit, I can continue my great, boring work."
Underneath all this bravado, all these women were silently in fear of what the future held. Though their kids would be safest with that man, the world was entering a dangerous era.
They could all either feel by instinct or had deep connections informing them of dark mechanisms awakening all over the continent. In one way or another, each of them was directly involved in the coming tumultuous times.
They could not guarantee the safety of their children beside them, so they had to let that troublesome yet undeniably strong and steady man accompany them.
Cheryl raised her glass, the ruby wine shimmering. "To Rowan Blacksun," she toasted softly. "The man who cooks the only food worth abandoning your duty for, and yet the only man whose domesticity forces us all to uphold it."
The four other women raised their bowls and chunks of meat in a silent, complicated salute to the man who was currently using the strongest magic in the kingdom to ensure his tomato patch was properly hydrated.
Yue took a final, deep draught of her stew. "We have established the children are being fed, well. We have maintained our positions. The ceasefire holds. Until next time, ladies. May your ambitions be realized, so that we may finally afford the luxury of defeat."
She stood up, her martial arts clothes blending into the shadows, a soldier disappearing back to her post. In the distance was another vampire with other female martial artists waiting on a horses for her. They gave Yue a horse and then rode off into the dark.
Artemis finished her meat and began to methodically pack away her cooking gear, the silver armor flashing once before she too melted into the night. Lina simply vanished, presumably back to a mountain of ledgers.
Nexia watched them go, then turned to Cheryl's butler.
"Sebastian," she murmured, a flicker of genuine longing in her eyes. "Can you find me a recipe for a classic Shepherd's Pie. For academic purposes only, of course."
Sebastian, ever the professional, bowed deeply. "Of course, Lady Lunecroft. But may I suggest, for your own health, a small, non-nutritive tea to wash away the scent of that boar stew? It is terribly rustic."
Cheryl finished her wine and handed the glass back to her butler. "Sebastian, have the carriage brought around. And next week, instead of the salmon mousse, tell the chef I desire something 'warm'.
Perhaps a perfectly aged cheese. Something that smells of my father's library. And a side of the most intensely sweet, fresh raspberry coulis he can conjure. It is for... research."
"Understood, my lady," the butler replied, his expression unchanging. He followed her into the dark, leaving only the dying embers of the campfire to mark the spot where the region's five most dangerous women had momentarily gathered, their greatest ambition currently sitting on a farm, sleeping beside his kids.