Chapter 42: Time Off

Chapter 42: Chapter 42: Time Off

Thursday morning arrived, and Rowan stepped through the golden portal into his dorm room with the latest harvest from Eden. Stacked neatly against the wall were crates bursting with High-Vitality Tomatoes, Ignis-Sweet Corn, Luminous Mana-Soybeans, Stimulant Coffee Cherries, Azure Recovery Poppies, and Frost-Melons.

Down at the residential quarter’s loading bay, Arthur Vance was already waiting beside the newly rented commercial chilled van.

"Morning, son," Arthur said, helping Rowan load the heavy crates into the refrigerated back compartment. "The chilled van worked like a charm yesterday. Market demand was even higher—we sold out before noon."

"That’s good to hear, Dad, but today’s batch will be the last one for a bit," Rowan said as he closed the van’s rear door. "The academy just finalized our deployment orders. The entire first-year cohort is being sent into the Tower for a one-week introductory Tower raid as our mid-term exam."

Arthur paused, his expression turning serious. "A full week inside the Tower?"

Rowan nodded. "Squad 07 is fully registered, and I’ll be inside the lower layers without reliable exit access until the operation concludes. Tell Mom to shut down the market stall for the week while I’m away. Use the downtime to rest, restock packaging, and manage our local inventory. Once I return with fresh lower-floor soil insights and new crop strains, we’ll reopen Eden International stronger than before."

Arthur clapped a firm hand on Rowan’s shoulder, smiling with pride and reassurance. "Understood. Your mother and I will take the week off to get the storefront fully prepped for our next expansion. You just focus on staying sharp and keeping your squad supplied in there."

"Will do, Dad. See you in a week."

After seeing his father off in the chilled van, Rowan returned to his dorm to double-check his gear, securing his Sol-Aethel Pass, his Squad 07 silver deployment badge, and his specialized seed pouches before heading toward the Tower Teleportation Staging Grounds.

***

The central marketplace was silent by early afternoon, but inside the empty booth of Eden International, Martha Vance was still wiping down the wooden display counters. The final crate of D-Grade Frost-Melons and Azure Recovery Poppies had sold out in under two hours, leaving behind only the rich, sweet fragrance of mana-infused soil.

Beside her, Arthur flipped the double-sided wooden sign hanging on the front beam, exposing the painted lettering: CLOSED FOR 1 WEEK – TEMPORARY RESTOCK & REORGANIZATION.

For the first time in as long as Martha could remember, Arthur didn’t look exhausted. There were no dark circles under his eyes from double shifts, no nervous checking of the clock to rush off to a secondary logistics job. He simply dusted off his apron, locked the storefront shutter, and smiled at her.

"Let’s go home, Martha," Arthur said, taking her hand.

Their small suburban cottage was peaceful when they arrived. Tucked away from the noise of the central district, the house felt warmer now—no longer just a pit stop for brief hours of sleep between heavy shifts, but a real home.

While Arthur went around the back, Martha picked up her worn watering can, filled it at the well, and walked into their modest backyard vegetable garden.

Before Rowan’s awakening, this little patch of earth had been their sole lifeline—a modest plot where Martha grew everyday heirloom vegetables to keep dinner on the table during lean months. Now, as she moved down the narrow dirt rows, carefully pouring water over the roots of crisp lettuce, ripe tomatoes, and sweet bell peppers, she felt a profound sense of gratitude. She didn’t have to sell these to make ends meet anymore. These were grown strictly for home—for slow, home-cooked dinners with her husband.

She knelt by a cluster of carrots and leafy greens, harvesting a basketful for tonight’s stew.

From across the yard, the rhythmic sound of sawing wood and measured hammering echoed softly. Martha wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to where Arthur was hard at work.

Stripped down to his work shirt with his sleeves rolled high, Arthur was measuring out a wide perimeter along the edge of the property. Piles of fresh cedar timber, wire fencing, and reinforced glass panels sat neatly nearby—purchased with a small fraction of their recent gold earnings.

"Expanding?" Martha asked, a soft smile playing on her lips as she leaned against a corner post.

"Building a proper perimeter fence," Arthur replied, driving a sturdy wooden post deep into the soil. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, looking over at her with clear eyes. "And right over there, I’m setting up a glass greenhouse. Rowan’s growing techniques inspired me. When he comes back from that Tower expedition, I want him to see that his old man isn’t sitting on his hands. We’ll have a controlled temperature setup right here at home for the delicate strains."

Arthur paused, setting his hammer down on a stump and walking over to pull Martha into a gentle embrace.

"No more extra night shifts, Martha," Arthur murmured against her hair. "No more burning the candle at both ends just to clear interest payments. We have a quiet week, a full pantry, and time together."

Martha rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She looked over his shoulder at the sun setting over their quiet suburban yard, praying silently for Rowan’s safety inside the Tower while holding onto the newfound peace her family had finally earned.

Martha reached up, resting a hand against Arthur’s cheek as they stood in the evening quiet of their backyard.

"Arthur," she murmured softly, her eyes reflecting the warm orange hue of the setting sun. "I know Rowan is strong, and he’s surrounded by capable academy classmates... but a week inside the Tower is still a week inside a dungeon."

Arthur looked at her, sensing the quiet concern behind her gentle tone. "You’re thinking of our old logistics contacts?"

"Yes," Martha nodded. "You still have the emergency comm-dials for the veteran supply runners and escort guides—the ones who spent years hauling freight between the lower Tower floors before we retired to the suburbs. Give them a call tomorrow morning."

She looked out toward the horizon where the dark, jagged silhouette of the Tower rose into the clouds in the far distance.

"We don’t need to hire a full escort or interfere with his academy exam," Martha continued, her voice steady but tender. "Just ask them to keep their eyes open. If their trade caravans or forward outposts cross paths with Squad 07 on the first few floors, tell them to lend a quiet hand or pass along a word if Rowan ever runs into real trouble."

Arthur let out a soft breath, his expression softening as he squeezed her hand. "You always think two steps ahead, Martha. Old Garen and the supply scouts from the Seventh Depot are still running freight along the Floor 1 trade roads. I’ll reach out to them first thing tomorrow."

"Thank you," Martha smiled gently, resting her head back against his chest. "Now, let’s go inside. The stew is almost ready."