Another week passed. The peace and quiet on the farm began to feel suspicious, like the proverbial calm before the storm. And the storm didn't keep us waiting. It burst into the house in the form of two ecstatic little vampires.

  — "Mama! Mama!" Erol and Yara practically flew into the kitchen, nearly knocking Aya off her feet. "Dogud’s parents invited us over!"

  — "Really?" Aya paused her stirring of the ragout, a flicker of something like polite interest in her gaze.

  — "Yes, yes! We're going, right? Say we're going! Dogud’s father is named Gorston, remember? The one who approached us at the market!"

  I listened to the conversation from the living room. Gorston... right, the guy who nearly went grey when Alastor and Aya decided to "greet" him. A brave soul, deciding to invite us over after a meeting like that.

  — "Fine, we’ll go," Aya nodded. "When?"

  — "The day after tomorrow!" the kids exhaled in unison and, not waiting for a reply, raced upstairs, likely planning which toys to bring along for a proper demonstration of superiority.

  Meanwhile, I was occupied with "High Engineering." I was lounging in Tizor’s sandbox, lazily propping my head up with my hand, watching the little one attempt to build a bridge between two sand mounds. The bridge stubbornly refused to obey the laws of physics, collapsing every time Tizor tried to station his best clay warrior upon it.

  — "You’re a bit of a lackluster architect so far," I muttered.

  We pulled out a book. Construction for Toddlers, or something to that effect. I began to read: — "The foundation of any bridge is weight distribution. Insert a support at the center of gravity, secure the foundation..."

  With the help of a few twigs, we solved the problem. The bridge stood firm. Tizor, beaming with delight, immediately lined up a whole rank of his little people on it.

  I decided life in his toy city was a bit too peaceful. I flicked my fingers, kicking up a small cloud of sand. The grains swirled, densifying and taking the shape of a multi-eyed beast. I began to move the monster, voicing it in a sepulchral tone:

  — "THE TERRIBLE MONSTER SHALL NOW ATTACK AND CRUSH YOUR MAGNIFICENT BRIDGE! BEWARE!"

  Tizor clutched his head in panic, pressing himself into the sand. — "No! No! Not now! Please, we aren't ready yet! The army isn't fully equipped!"

  I gave a theatrical sigh, making the sand monster "vanish underground." — "Fine, kid. I’ll give you time to prepare. But remember: I will return. And I hope your little people learn how to hold a defense by my next visit."

  Tizor laughed, his eyes sparkling with joy. — "I’m looking forward to the fight, Zen!"

  I watched him. Tizor had already begun to show the first signs of magical talent. It was very weak telekinesis—his mana was only enough to topple a figure or make it stand up clumsily. Precision and strength were catastrophically lacking; he moved in jerks, as if pulling on invisible strings.

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  "He’s growing," I thought, closing my eyes under the gentle March sun. "Another couple of years, and he’ll be moving real stones. Let's just hope that by then, he doesn't decide the whole world is his sandbox."

  The day passed, and "Hour X" arrived. We set out to visit, acting like model neighbors. Alastor and Aya, apparently deciding to fully commit to their roles, brought along gifts—a couple of brand-new books. In this house, books were valued more than gold.

  Upon arrival, we were met with joyous shouts. — "Oh! Erol! Yara! They’re here!" Gorston’s brood—at least five of them—immediately dragged our little vampires into the depths of the yard.

  The hosts themselves stepped onto the porch, radiating hospitality. — "Oh, dear guests! So glad to see you! Come in, sit down, we’re just setting the table." — "You shouldn't have gone to such trouble..." Aya inclined her head politely.

  We went inside. And then I remembered why I don't like visiting farmers. Gorston’s family wasn't just large—it was a legion. Under one roof lived... let’s see, counting on my fingers: Gorston himself, his wife, her grandmother and grandfather, his own elderly parents, brothers, sisters, their spouses, and an endless stream of children of various calibers. You could get lost in this house at three in the afternoon and not find the exit until sunset.

  The whole thing began to irritate me as early as the entryway. Especially Gorston. There’s a certain type of person—two-faced, noisy, trying to fill all available space with themselves.

  We were seated according to an unwritten hierarchy. I was assigned to the "youth" table—guys my age. The elders sat separately, the runts in another corner. And what was I supposed to do with them?

  My tablemates immediately decided to probe the ground. — "Hey, kid," one began, eyeing Alastor and Aya. "Your family is... monumental. Your parents are huge."

  — "They aren't my parents," I replied lazily, poking at my plate with a fork. "Aya is my aunt."

  The guys went silent for a second, processing the info. — "Sorry, didn't mean to offend... So, what’s your name?" — "Zenhald," I said.

  — "You’re kind of arrogant, Zenhald," another guy noted, squinting. "We get that we aren't the richest and don't mingle with the elite, but don't go sticking your nose up."

  I looked at him. — "To be honest, I couldn't care less who you are or how much gold you have stashed away. I just don't like 'questions for the sake of questions.' You aren't asking to get to know me; you're just asking so you don't have to sit in silence. And then you'll forget both my name and this conversation. A waste of breath. Doesn't that irritate you?"

  An awkward pause followed. Apparently, sincerity wasn't in high demand here.

  — "Listen, Zenhald..." the first guy decided to change the subject. "A guy like you surely has a beautiful girlfriend?" — "And why is that?" — "Well, your eyes..." he stammered. "They're unusual." — "He's just an eyesore," someone piped up from the end of the table. — "No, it's actually even..." the first one countered.

  I shrugged. — "How about you guys?" One of them proudly puffed out his chest, slapping his shirt: — "My firstborn is due soon!" — "And I’m getting married in a month," added the second.

  — "Incredible," I feigned mild surprise. "You guys are real fast-shooters." — "And you really have no one?" they stared at me with sympathy. — "No one."

  — "Man, that’s sad... By the way, we’ve never seen you out at the pasture. Erol and Yara are always with the sheep, your herdsman never leaves the saddle... What do you do? Milk cows or work in the woods?"

  — "Not really," I popped a piece of pie into my mouth. "I just sit at home and do nothing."

  The guys went silent, not knowing how to react to such blatant laziness.

  But Gorston was the one who annoyed me the most. He conducted the conversation at the main table so loudly he could be heard in the cellar. He told stories, laughed at them himself, and threw out questionable jokes at the expense of his own family along the way. He belittled them for a laugh, and they... they stayed silent, not daring to peep in response. Only Alastor maintained an active dialogue with him, managing to keep up a polite face in a bad game.

  "I should have stayed in the sandbox with Tizor," I thought. "At least the monsters there were made of sand, not ego."