The next morning, the ground floor didn't look like a demon's lair; it looked like a perfectly decent, albeit noisy, home. The children were bustling about on the rug with their clay toys. Tizor was already standing confidently on his own feet, gripping the edge of the sofa, though he was still wary of walking—apparently, gravity still felt like a suspicious concept to him.

  Aya and Alastor had occupied the kitchen. Judging by the sounds, there was a serious battle with the ingredients, but in the end, they emerged victorious: a perfectly edible plate of fried eggs and bacon sat prominently on the table. I came down from the second floor, led by the scent of meat, and pulled up a chair.

  Breakfast was served with a side lecture on social camouflage.

  — "Watch closely," Aya lectured, poking her fork toward Yara and Erol. "Do not swallow chunks whole. Humans don't do that. If the food is hot—don't just shove it in. Blow on it. Act like it’s burning you. And for the sake of the Abyss, chew! Chewing is the cornerstone of humanity."

  The little vampires nodded obediently, diligently feigning agony over every piece of egg. The sight was comical: two apex predators trying not to betray their nature in front of a plate of breakfast.

  Alastor, setting aside an empty mug, suddenly spoke of business: — "We need to go to the city. Supplies are running low, we have no salt, and the eggs in the cellar are going to start hatching themselves if we don't sell them soon."

  I stayed silent, methodically destroying my portion. I was curious: would they figure out how to manage this agrarian giant on their own? Surprisingly, they did. Aya supported the plan: they decided to collect the surplus, take a couple of old rams for meat and wool, and gather the milk my milking-golems had already begun to stockpile.

  I watched the children. It was striking how easily they had processed the death of their parents and their life with us.

  Meanwhile, Aya was spoon-feeding Tizor. The little one made a face—human food clearly wasn't in his top ten favorites—но under the War Demon’s stern gaze, he finally gave in and swallowed.

  It was time to move out. Alastor brought out the wagons and began hitching the horses. Before doing so, he managed to shear the rams down to their pink skin.

  — "Alastor," I walked up to him, eyeing the shivering livestock. "Isn't it a bit early for a haircut? Aren't you afraid they’ll freeze to death by the time we reach the city?"

  — "Not at all," he threw out confidently, tightening a knot. "It says so in the book. They need to 'air out'."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The golems, meanwhile, were lugging flasks of milk from the cellar. There were a terrifying number of them—I had clearly overdone it with the efficiency of my stone laborers. We were running out of containers, the horses were snorting, and ahead of us lay a twenty-kilometer journey and a whole city of people who had no idea what kind of "freak show" was rolling toward their market.

  — "Alright," I jumped onto the driver's seat. "Just remember: we are ordinary farmers. If anyone asks why 'Mom' has horns, we’ll just say it’s a local fashion trend."

  Let’s roll.

  We rode for a long time. At least, my internal "laziness timer" had already begun to signal an overload. It was only now, on the road, that I finally bothered to take a good look at our means of transportation.

  The horses were unusual. Even for a wealthy stable, these would be top-tier. Alastor and Aya were mounted on massive, muscle-bound heavy-draughts—true living tanks, capable of pulling a fortress wall rather than a wagon.

  But my horse... I stroked its neck. Lean muscles, not a gram of extra fat, and a dry, lithe frame. This beast wasn't born for plowing; it was born to cut through the wind. Yara and Erol sat on similar "bolts of lightning." The strangest thing was that the horses were eerily obedient. Those not hitched to the wagons simply followed us in a perfect line without any bridles, as if tied by invisible threads.

  I felt the living energy vibrating beneath me. Мой steed was literally begging me to let go of the reins; its eagerness was transmitted to me through the saddle.

  — "Yara, Erol!" I shouted, turning around. "Race you to that village on the horizon! Last one there cleans the chicken coop!"

  The little vampires traded glances, their eyes sparking with competitive fire. I only slightly squeezed the horse’s sides with my knees.

  WHOOSH.

  The world turned into a blurred streak of green and sky. The horse lunged forward with such force that it momentarily took my breath away. I leaned down against the mane, not hindering the animal from doing what it was created for. The horses weren't just running—they were competing with each other, venting the power built up in the stalls.

  — "LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!" Erol roared.

  He managed to stand up on the saddle at full height, balancing at high speed with the grace of a circus acrobat. A second later, Yara repeated his maneuver, spreading her arms like wings.

  I smirked. Kids...

  I noticed a small, smooth stone on the path ahead. — "Think you can handle this?" I shouted.

  At a full gallop, I leaned out of the saddle, my hand almost touching the ground flying past, and with one precise movement, I snatched the stone. Reflexes from a past cycle worked like clockwork. A few moments later, triumphant shouts rang out behind me—the twins had repeated the trick without slowing down.

  In the end, Yara’s horse crossed the imaginary finish line first. Erol flew in second, and I... I came in third. To be honest, I had just been admiring how well those two handled the animals.

  — "I’m first! I’m first!" Yara was beaming as she jumped onto the grass.

  — "And I’m second!" Erol bragged, patting his horse's rump. "And you, Greg, are third! Ha-ha-ha! The old man is losing his touch!"

  — "Yeah, yeah, enjoy it, runts," I grumbled, dismounting. "I gave you a head start out of respect for your youth."

  We stopped at the entrance to the village, waiting for our heavy wagons to crawl up to us. The horses, not even winded, began to graze.