The Persona: Lady Lyra Thorne, Rare Goods Broker
Her first attempt was too sharp, too immediate. She walked toward the mirror with the confident, hip-swinging stride of a noblewoman accustomed to demanding attention.
"Rowan Blacksun," she said, her voice dropping into a low, compelling contralto, too close to the one she used when giving tactical commands. "I represent the Phoenix Trading Company. Your magically grown produce is a matter of strategic importance to the capital's nobility. We will negotiate a full, exclusive procurement contract."
She watched her reflection. The eyes were too cold. The posture, too rigid. Her shoulders, accustomed to the weight of plate armor and the command of a regiment, were too square.
"Failure," she murmured to her reflection, shaking her head. Rowan Blacksun is not impressed by power. He rejects power. A military approach will only trigger his wards and his paranoia. He is a farmer protecting his harvest.
...
The Second Attempt: The Analyst
She adjusted her stance, softening the military precision. She forced a faint, intellectual frown onto her brow, mimicking the look of someone perpetually analyzing a ledger. She tried to project the image of a meticulous, slightly weary businesswoman, a persona meant to appeal to the 'logic' she knew he appreciated in his farming methods.
"Mr. Blacksun," she tried again, her voice slightly higher, tinged with forced respect. "The data on your yield is exceptional, a statistical anomaly. I'm here to offer you a price point that maximizes your yield. This is pure commerce, a simple transaction."
She watched her hands. They were resting on her hips, a posture of control. Still too defensive. Too much like Lina Gray, which is boring and fails to engage. He needs a challenge, an intellectual hook to draw him out of his shell.
She suddenly remembered a file from eight years ago, a transcript of an interview where Rowan had described his ideal customer: "Someone who appreciates the honest labor of the earth, not just the gold it produces."
...
The Final Iteration: The Appreciator
Elara took a deep, centering breath, relaxing her chest and letting her shoulders slope naturally. She thought of her cover name: Lyra Thorne. Lyra, a constellation, beautiful and distant. Thorne, a nod to the RID, but softened. She imagined herself as a woman who genuinely appreciated quality, who was driven by passion and aesthetic, not just profit.
She walked a few steps away from the mirror, then turned back, holding a single, imaginary, magically grown berry.
Her face transformed. The coldness vanished, replaced by an expression of deep, almost vulnerable admiration. Her ice-blue eyes warmed, crinkling slightly at the corners. The military glint was gone, replaced by a soft, discerning curiosity. She tilted her head, a natural, feminine gesture she hadn't allowed herself since she was a teenager.
"Mr. Blacksun," she said, and the voice was different. It was still low and commanding, but it was now laced with an almost melodic warmth, the sound of a woman used to quiet confidence, not loud orders. "I'm Lyra. Honestly, my firm's ledger is less important to me than the sheer beauty of your work."
She gestured with the imaginary berry. "This is not produce, Mr. Blacksun. This is art. In the capital, we are surrounded by drought, by weakness, by things that are failing. Your farm is the only place in the entire kingdom where abundance still exists. It's a birthing ground of life."
She walked closer to the mirror, meeting her own gaze with a look of genuine, shared awe. "My clients don't just want food; they want to feel that life again. They want to taste the sun, the mana, the honest effort that went into these grapes.
I'm not here to talk price, not immediately. I'm here because I want to see how you do it. I want to understand the magic of a man who can defy a kingdom-wide drought."
She paused, letting the emotion settle. It was a perfect pitch: flattery for his labor, an intellectual hook about his magic and defiance, and a touch of professional intrigue. It appealed to his pride as a farmer and his genius as a Magicknight.
Crucially, it gave her a reason to linger, to observe. She was a discerning merchant, a connoisseur of rare excellence, one who wouldn't haggle, but who would admire.
She finished with a faint, perfect smile that touched her eyes but didn't quite reach her lips—a gesture that hinted at a deeper, unspoken understanding.
That is the one, Elara thought. The appreciative buyer. The woman who sees the man, not the ledger or the rank. A natural admirer.
She stood before the mirror for a final minute, holding the pose, letting Lyra Thorne set like clay. The Falcon had been shed. The merchant was ready to hunt.
...
Rowan checked the old, wooden grandfather clock in the hallway. Only thirty-five minutes had passed since he tucked the little ones in, but that was long enough. He didn't want them getting into a deep, midday slumber that would ruin their bedtime.
He slipped back into his room. Lilly and Lucia were still curled up together, a perfect picture of tiny, peaceful protection. Alex, Alexia, and Darius were resting, eyes closed, but their stillness suggested they were on the cusp of waking.
Rowan gently touched Lilly's forehead. "Rise and shine, my little swordswoman. Time for the make the most fun meal of the day: dessert."
Lilly's eyes blinked open, emerald green instantly focusing on her father. "Dessert? Did the bread have a second course, Daddy?"
He smiled, then whispered, so as not to startle Lucia. "We have a mountain of beautiful, sun-warmed strawberries that need a proper resting place. It's time for some ice cream."
That was all the cue Lucia needed. Her ruby eyes snapped open, a sudden, wide smile breaking across her face. "Ice cream! Cold! Sweet!" she exclaimed, her voice still quiet and melodic.
Darius sat bolt upright, rubbing his eyes. "Ice cream? I'm ready!"
Alexia smoothed her dress and sat up. "The thermal properties of ice cream are fascinating. It requires a specific chilling process to prevent the formation of large ice crystals, thus maintaining a smooth consistency."
Alex merely nodded, the promise of a sweet, cooling treat enough to motivate him.
"Excellent!" Rowan said, clapping his hands softly. "Let's get up, stretch our legs, and head to the kitchen. Today, we conquer the strawberry and transform it into a creamy, magical dessert. A treat worthy of five heroes!"
He led the excited children out of the quiet bedroom and back into the warm, comforting aroma of the kitchen, which still held the lingering scents of baked bread and simmering tomato.
Rowan guided the children to the center island. On it, the large woven basket of bright red strawberries, picked by Lilly and Lucia, sat ready.
"We have our star ingredient," Rowan announced, picking up a handful of the perfect berries. "And now we need the rest of the magic. For ice cream, we need dairy and sugar."
Rowan went to his metal human sized cabinet and opened it with tug. Inside, a low, consistent white light pulsed, and a faint chill drifted out.
"Behold! The Magic Fridge," Rowan declared with a flourish. "It's a simple, ancient chilling spell woven into the metal. Keeps everything fresh and cold, even in this heat."
He pulled out two glass jars. One filled with thick, rich heavy cream, and the other with fresh milk, both straight from his small, lovable cow, Betsy.
Alexia peered into the cabinet with intense interest. "A passive, permanent localized chilling enchantment? Father, the energy expenditure must be minimal, yet the temperature regulation is absolute. This is far more efficient than any elemental ice storage unit I've ever read about!"
"I made it myself, my dear. Your mother wanted one for her ingredient storage." Rowan said, setting the dairy on the counter. "She left before I could give her one."
He pulled out a small, glass jar containing a golden-brown, thick liquid. "This is honey from our own hives. The bees live near the flower garden behind the house. The honey gives the ice cream a deeper, richer flavor than plain cane sugar."
"Our first job is to prepare the berries," Rowan said, laying out a large, clean wooden cutting board. "Lilly and Lucia, you two picked them, so you get to start."
He divided the berries, placing half of them on the board. "We need to mash these into a beautiful, pulpy juice. This is where the real flavor lives!"
He handed a wooden masher to Lilly and a smaller one to Lucia.
Lilly, her emerald eyes focused on the task, started mashing with the same fierce energy she'd shown when picking the tomatoes. Whump. Whump. Whump.
"Perfect, Lilly! Maximum force!" Rowan encouraged.
Lucia, meanwhile, was gentle, delicately pressing the berries to release their sweet juice. She looked up at her father. "Red juice, Daddy. For princess."
Rowan laughed. "Exactly, princess. The best kind of red juice. Better than your mommy's wine."
Alexia, unable to resist the scientific process, leaned in. She then took a small, clean spoon and carefully sampled a mashed berry. "The sugar content is optimal. The mana infusion is subtle but effective."
She could taste the slight mana that lingered from almost all the things that grew on the farm. The strawberries had less of it than the other things but she could still feel the boosted taste.
Darius, realizing this was a mission of physical effort, grabbed a second masher and attacked the remaining berries with military rigor. "No berry left unmashed, Father! Total flavor extraction in minimal time!"
Alex watched the process with a faint smile, then noticed a few stray leaves. Unnecessary bitter leaves. He meticulously picked them out, ensuring only the pure berry mash remained.
When the mash was complete. A beautiful, chunky, deep-red pulp. Rowan scooped it into a large, glass mixing bowl.
"Now for the base, the creamy core," Rowan instructed. "Alexia, your mother taught you the art of exact measurement. You shall be our Master Mixer."
Alexia's eyes gleamed at the challenge. Rowan presented her with a large, clean glass pitcher.
"Alexia, I need you to carefully pour two cups of the heavy cream into this pitcher. Then, one cup of the fresh milk."
Alexia took the cream jar, holding it with the careful reverence she would a dangerous potion reagent. She poured slowly, her concentration total, stopping the flow at the exact two cup mark with zero spill.
"Measurement accurate, Father," she announced, her voice filled with pride.
Next came the milk. The proportions were exact, a perfect 2:1 ratio of cream to milk for a rich base.
"Now, the honey," Rowan said. Darius, puffed up with the responsibility, carefully tilted the honey jar. The thick, golden liquid spiraled out, slow and syrupy, dripping into the cream mixture.
Darius grunted, his small muscles straining from the sheer effort of the viscous pour.
Rowan then handed a long, wooden spoon to Alex. "Alex, your job is to slowly, methodically stir the base. We need the honey to completely dissolve into the cream and milk. No rapid movements. A gentle, continuous mix."
Alex, embracing the methodical task, stirred the mixture in a calm, focused rhythm, ensuring a perfect, even blend.
"Now, for the final touch to the base," Rowan said, pulling out a tiny vial of clear liquid. "Vanilla essence, from a bean grown right here on the farm. It adds a background note of warmth. Lucia, I need you to drop in six tears of magic."
He held the vial over the pitcher, and Lucia, perched on her stool, carefully counted out six drops as they fell into the mixture. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
"All the parts are ready!" Rowan announced, holding up the pitcher of perfectly blended base and the bowl of mashed strawberries. "Now, we combine them. The cream will embrace the berry, and the flavor will explode!"
He carefully poured the cream base into the bowl of mashed strawberries. The red swirled into the white, creating a beautiful, light pink canvas dotted with chunks of red pulp.
Rowan took a spatula and folded the mixture gently. "We don't mix hard now, children. We fold. We want to keep the air in the cream and keep the strawberry chunks intact."
He then brought out a large, shallow, perfectly clean metal pan. "This is our chilling vessel. Alexia, can you pour the entire mixture into this pan? Careful not to lose a single drop of this sweet treat."
Alexia executed the final pour with the precision of a chemist transferring a highly explosive compound. The pink mixture settled evenly in the pan.
"Now comes the true magic!" Rowan's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
He led the children over to the Magic Fridge. He placed the shallow pan inside the cold cabinet, the faint white light bathing the pink mixture.
Rowan closed the door. "Not done yet!" Rowan said. "The secret to creamy ice cream is churning! Every fifteen minutes for the next hour, we pull it out, and we stir it hard! We break up the forming ice and incorporate more air. It's a labor of love!"