Upon arriving in the city, Alastor and Aya—our newly minted "commerce experts"—set off in search of wholesalers. Their logic was ironclad: leave the most valuable goods under the supervision of two vampire children and one lazy teenager. Fine, let them practice; after all, this was the "family business" now.

  I sprawled out on some empty burlap sacks, hands tucked behind my head. The sky here was remarkably calm. Clouds drifted slowly, shifting shapes: no sooner had they become something tangible than they dissolved to become something else entirely.

  "A strange country indeed," I mused lazily. "No fat clerics collecting taxes for 'soul salvation,' no lords wringing every last copper for a new carriage. In other cycles, I’ve seen peasants toil from dawn till dusk just to stay alive, surrendering half their harvest to the needs of yet another 'holy' organization. But here... here we are our own masters."

  The thought of building my own mill crossed my mind, but I instantly dismissed it. Too much work.

  My ruminations were interrupted by Erol and Yara. — "What are you staring at the sky for?" Erol asked, sitting down beside me.

  I lazily slanted my gaze at them. — "You two should at least pull your hoods up," I grumbled. "Your silver hair and grey eyes are glowing like beacons. We don't need the extra attention."

  — "Your eyes change every day too," Yara countered. "Why does that happen?"

  — "No idea," I lied.

  The children shrugged and returned to their games while I continued contemplating the clouds until I caught an unfamiliar voice. A middle-aged man in a decent working suit had approached the kids.

  — "Listen, little ones," he began smoothly, "where are your parents?" — "They’re in the city on business," Erol replied, tensing up.

  I didn't move, but I was listening intently.

  — "You have an impressive haul here," the man surveyed our wagons. "So many eggs, so much milk... and the horses? What magnificent horses! Are your parents by any chance the new owners of that large plot by the river?"

  He noticed Erol clenching his fists and hastily raised his palms. — "Now, now, don't be frightened! I come with good intentions. My name is Gorston; I'm your neighbor. I have a farm a couple of kilometers from yours. Smaller, of course, but it’s enough to get by."

  He extended a hand to Erol. After a pause, Erol shook it. Yara introduced herself as well, maintaining perfect etiquette. Gorston looked genuinely surprised. — "Such well-mannered children..."

  At that moment, Alastor and Aya drifted out from behind a nearby building like two storm clouds. They approached silently and simultaneously placed their hands on Gorston’s shoulders. The man jumped as if he’d been struck by lightning.

  The demons didn't bother playing "friendly neighbors." They bared their teeth in unison, and the air immediately grew cold. — "What do you want?" Alastor growled, staring into the neighbor's eyes. "Thinking of stealing something? Think kids without supervision are easy prey?"

  Gorston turned a shade of blue-white. The sight of seven-foot-tall "parents" with predatory grins clearly wasn't in his plans for the day. — "I... I..." he stammered. "Gorston... I'm a neighbor! I just wanted to introduce myself! The previous owner always rented me his horses during plowing; they were incredibly strong. I just wanted to see who I’d be dealing with now..."

  In an instant, Alastor and Aya transformed. The snarls were replaced by polite, if slightly terrifying, smiles. — "Ah... so you're a neighbor?" Aya’s voice became honey-sweet. "Forgive our rudeness, then. We are simply very protective of our property."

  — "Yes... yes..." Gorston backed away hurriedly, bowing as he went. "A pleasure... I should probably be going. Business to attend to, you know..."

  He vanished around the corner.

  When we reached the wholesalers, they were astonished—early spring, yet we had a harvest as if the earth itself were in a hurry to give us its best. Alastor and Aya quickly found their rhythm; for them, trading became a kind of duel where coins rang instead of swords. Having earned a solid sum for the goods, we headed for the shops. Alastor led the way, focused on his list—salt, pepper, vegetables, fruit. It was strange, even slightly amusing, to watch yesterday’s incarnations of fear haggling over every bag of spices.

  — "Right, kids," Alastor said suddenly, looking up from the list. "Do you need anything? Clothes, maybe? Zenhald, what about you? How long have you been wearing those rags?"

  I looked at my sleeves. Indeed, my clothes were long overdue for retirement. We entered a shop for fabrics and ready-made wear. Inside, a scene unfolded that made me feel both awkward and uncharacteristically warm.

  — "Father..." Yara hesitated, trying on a light cloak. "Do you think this suits me?" Erol, picking up on her tone, turned to Aya: — "Mama, which jacket is better? This grey one or the dark one?"

  You should have seen the demons' faces. They beamed with such joyous smiles that their teeth, usually terrifying, now seemed like part of happy parental masks. "Sweetheart," "Son"—they showered the children with endearments that made me want to step out for fresh air immediately. But deep down, I understood: this theater was becoming reality for them, and that "warmth" was slowly creeping even under my thick skin.

  We got stuck in the library for a long time. While the demons gathered books on herbalism, mathematics, and reading with fanatical zeal, I just stood aside. I was too lazy to choose—too much borrowed knowledge had already accumulated in my head to bother adding more.

  Passing by a confectionary shop, I froze. The scent of sugar hit my nose, awakening those childhood reflexes. — "Want some candy?" Alastor noticed my gaze. "We'll buy you a whole bag." But the moment he saw the price tag, his generosity evaporated. — "How much?!" his eyes widened. "You know what, Greg... we’ll buy you a handful. A very small handful."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I felt a bit dejected, but I didn't argue. Walking further down the street, I noticed a strange thing held by one of the city guards—a long stick with holes and iron fittings. At one point, fire and smoke erupted from the thing with a roar. Gunpowder. So, this world had found a way to kill each other without the use of magic. Curious. Technical progress.

  By evening, we were leaving the city. The children, full of energy, began pestering me for a contest again. I pulled a piece of thick cloth from my pocket. — "Fine, we’ll play a different game."

  I blindfolded myself and formed a small fire-bird out of mana. It fluttered its wings in my palm. — "Whoever catches it first from the saddle wins. But we’re catching it blind."

  — "What?" Erol protested. "How can we catch it with blindfolds? It’ll just fly away!"

  — "First of all, you're vampires," I replied calmly. "Your senses should be sharper than any human's. Learn to navigate by sound and air currents. Second, the bird won't fly higher than your head. It will chirp and flap its wings—listen for its rhythm."

  We tied the blindfolds. At first, the children moved tentatively, their horses twitching their ears in sync with their riders' uncertainty. Но soon, the competitive spirit took over. They began to listen. When the bird suddenly turned into a swift rabbit darting between the hooves, their concentration reached its limit.

  I caught it first. I simply felt a fleeting warmth and snatched the mana into my fist with a sharp movement. — "HA! I win!" I ripped off the blindfold, looking at them triumphantly.

  — "That's unfair!" Yara cried, pulling the cloth from her face. "It was our first time playing; we didn't have enough experience! Next time we’ll definitely be faster than you!"

  — "Sure, sure," I laughed at their pouting faces. "Excuses are for losers."

  We rode toward the farm under the cover of twilight. The horses stepped rhythmically, the purchases clattered in the wagons, and I thought about how this "family" trip to the city had become something more to me than just a salt run.

  Deciding to check our herd, I looked into the pen and found exactly what I expected: the rams and sheep were huddled in a heap, nearly perishing from the cold. Alastor had clearly gone overboard with his "haircut"—it might be spring, but no one had cancelled the night frosts.

  Alastor ran in after me, looking around as if an empire were collapsing before his eyes: — "Oh no! Why are you dying? You were so strong this morning! You have so much fat in you!"

  I just sighed. I didn't have the energy for this drama. I simply touched the ground with my palm, sending heat through it, lit a small fire in the corner to warm the air, and left. A waste of time.

  That night, I again couldn't sleep for a long time. From the third floor, where our "newlyweds" had settled, came such grinding and creaking of the bed. Apparently, their role-playing was in full swing on all fronts.

  Morning brought new surprises. Little Tizor not only started walking around the house on his own but also uttered his first word. — "Ma... ma... Mama..."

  Aya screamed so loudly that birds probably fell off the branches in the next village. She scooped the little one up, beaming with happiness: — "Alastor! He said 'Mama'! Did you hear?!" Alastor flew to them, glowing just as brightly: — "Really? Incredible! Well done, kid!"

  I sat at the table, silently observing this idyll. It was hard to process: these two had recently been erasing cities and feasting on terror, and now they were practically crying because a vampire toddler called them parents. The world is a strange place, and memories of the past make it even stranger.

  For breakfast, there was again some questionable food. It annoyed me immensely that I was the only one concerned with taste. Vampires have a weak sense of taste—to them, it’s just texture—and demons don't care what they throw into the furnace as long as the vessel functions. I remained the lone gourmet in this theater of the absurd.

  I sighed heavily, finishing my portion, when Aya suddenly said: — "I'm sorry, Zenhald. I'm trying, really. I’m learning from the book, but every time it turns out... like this."

  I looked at her. There was an almost human awkwardness in her gaze. — "It's fine," I grumbled. "You're getting better every day. At least the potatoes don't crunch between my teeth anymore."

  And then something happened that nearly stopped my heart. Yara walked up to Aya and hugged her leg, burying her face in her apron. — "Yes, Mama is doing so great!" she chirped.

  I froze with the spoon in my mouth. What the hell? How did this happen? How did they manage to get so close in just a week? The masks hadn't just grown onto their faces—they had become their skin. Yesterday’s enemies, different races, monsters and their victims... now they stood before me as a perfectly ordinary, loving family.

  This sudden sincerity scared me more than any Fear Demon. How do they do it? Why, after living so many centuries, have I never learned this simple magic?

  Another week passed. Life on the farm settled into a groove, turning into an endless but surprisingly peaceful cycle.

  Everything was gradually becoming permeated by the mundane. Aya and Alastor, who once slaughtered villages and cities, were now focused on delivering calves. A specific sight, I tell you, but the demons handled it just as methodically. The children weren't idle either: Erol and Yara were successfully herding sheep and horses, mastering the nuances of flock management. Well, almost.

  Tizor was progressing frighteningly fast. Now he wasn't just stomping around the house, bumping into corners, but had started producing entire sentences.

  One morning, I woke up not to the grinding of the bed above, but to a smell. A real, thick, tantalizing aroma of food. My stomach immediately voted for getting up. In the kitchen, Aya was working magic over the stove. She had prepared something made of yellow grain with juicy meat and potatoes.

  I tried it. It wasn't just edible—it was genuinely delicious. Seeing my look, Aya gave a barely perceptible smile. — "You’re the only one in this house who can appreciate the result," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "The vampires don't care, Alastor doesn't really taste much... so I orient myself on you."

  — "Thanks for trying," I replied sincerely. For a Demon of War, the path from destruction to culinary arts turned out to be surprisingly short.

  Another week went by. My "toy workshop" was operating at full capacity. The children constantly demanded something new. For Erol, I molded a dwarf in full gear, with a tiny hammer and shield. For Yara—a strange creature that looked like a tree with legs. — "Hey, Greg, what’s this walking stick?" she asked, turning the ent over in her hands. — "Just imagination," I lied, though the image of a living forest surfaced clearly in my mind.

  Tizor, however, was obsessed with one thing. — "I want people. More people. Tiny ones!"

  He demanded mini-humans by the dozen. Alastor and Aya managed to find a whole wagon of clean sand and set up a huge sandbox for him behind the house. Tizor sat there all day, building cities and arranging his clay residents. Sometimes Yara and Erol joined him, and then massive battles and trade alliances would break out in the sandbox.

  By mid-March, time began to accelerate. Erol and Yara, finished with the herding, were increasingly running off to the nearby village. There, they played with the local children, learned to laugh like humans, and seemed to have finally forgotten that they were exiled vampires.

  At first, Alastor and Aya were twitchy, watching them from the shadows, ready to turn the village into ash at the slightest threat. But over time, they relaxed. Now they let the children go with a calm heart, returning to their own business and garden beds.

  I observed this world and felt March slowly warming the earth. Everything was too right. Too quiet.