Ersia: Raven Dawn

During their evening drift through the heart of Fleurein, Randia felt unease settling deeper into his bones. Trouble had begun to tighten its net. The longer they walked, the clearer it became: there was not a single inn in this sprawling capital where they could safely lay their heads. At least two shadowed figures lingered in every threshold he passed, their postures too still, their glances too careful.

Now that it was certain — a grand convocation of dignitaries from the far reaches of the world was looming — spies and informants prowled in every alcove and alleyway. An unseen war of eyes and whispers churned beneath the thin veneer of peace. That much, Randia had expected. Fortunately, long years had taught him how to separate the subtle from the sloppy, the simply shady from the dangerous.

Yet all his discernment offered no remedy to the problem before him. Viena, cradled in his arms, had begun to droop with fatigue. After a day of walking — and with her still-healing leg — she had little strength left. She needed rest, shelter, warmth. Should they risk it? Gamble on an inn and pray the eyes there were blind to them? That was the knife’s edge he walked tonight.

“Papa, what’s wrong?”

Her voice, soft as falling dusk, broke through his reverie.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on.” She gave a small, knowing huff. “Do you think I didn’t notice? This is the seventh inn we’ve passed. You haven’t picked one yet. That’s not like you… even for someone who overthinks everything.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Hm. Seems you’re growing sharper after all. Not bad for someone with such a tiny head.”

Viena giggled, biting his ear playfully before resting her head against his shoulder once more — her weight warm and familiar.

“Hey… tell me the truth. Is something going on? Are we being followed? Wait—was it that spy from earlier?!”

“No,” Randia murmured, shifting her gently in his arms. “Not exactly. We just have to be careful. Too many people tonight… too many who don’t belong in common inns.”

“… Bad people?”

Her words, thick with sleep, came slower now.

"There’s a possibility for that."

Already, her curiosity was folding beneath the heaviness of her eyelids. The milk, the warmth, the quiet hum of twilight — all conspiring to pull her under.

“I’ll be right here,” he said quietly, adjusting his hold on her with practiced care. “You don’t need to worry about anything. Just rest for now.”

“… Promise you won’t leave me alone again… okay? Never… forever…”

Like every night since she’d been taken and found again, those were the words she whispered before sleep claimed her.

Now alone with the hush of the streets and the weight of responsibility, Randia pressed on. Viena curled against his chest, his travel-worn pack heavy on his back. For three more hours, he roamed the labyrinth of stone and lanternlight, searching for a haven that would not betray them — all the while ducking the eyes of patrolling guards and sidestepping the shadows that slithered where they should not.

---

At a quiet crossroad, one less crowded than the rest, Randia’s stride slowed. From the left, an old woman emerged, her steps unsteady, her hands wringing against each other in restless loops. Her gaze darted about, wild and untethered, as though she searched every corner and shadow at once. Every so often, she clutched at her neck, fingers pressing as though to soothe a phantom ache.

“Lisabelle… Lisabelle…”

The name escaped her lips in a cracked whisper, thin as parchment.

The deepening night seemed to weigh heavier on her shoulders. Under the dim lanternlight, her face crumpled and tears slid soundlessly down her worn cheeks — grief leaking from a heart too burdened to hold it in. Randia hesitated. He had learned caution the hard way, but humanity tugged harder still. Shifting Viena gently in his arms, he stepped closer.

“Good evening, madam,” he offered quietly.

“Y-yes, sir?” Her voice jolted as if startled from far away. She wiped hastily at her tears with trembling fingers. “What… what can I do for you?”

“It’s the other way around.” His tone softened. “You seem distressed. Is there something I can do for you?”

The woman’s eyes flicked to the small girl cradled against him. For a heartbeat, her breath caught. One gnarled hand rose to cover her mouth, and her tear-glazed eyes brimmed anew. Whatever memory Viena stirred in her — it was too much to bear. The dam broke. Her shoulders shook as sobs spilled from her frail frame.

“M-my granddaughter…” she gasped between cries. “She’s gone. Missing. I can’t find her anywhere…”

Randia’s expression sharpened, though he kept it neutral. His mind, however, moved swiftly — cataloguing risk. He had seen enough ploys where sympathy was weaponized. Was this one? He schooled his breath and scanned the edges of the square. No lurking silhouettes. No waiting thugs hiding in doorways. No prickle of ill intent in the air. Just an old woman, grief-wracked and desperate.

“I’ve gone to the guards,” she continued, voice breaking. “They said they’d watch for her but with today’s commotion… they can’t promise anything. Oh, Aine… please, keep my Lisabelle safe…”

Randia remained silent, weighing everything, until a familiar, drowsy murmur stirred against his chest.

“Papa… are we still walking?”

“Just a moment,” he replied quietly.

Viena blinked, heavy-lidded and bleary, before her gaze found the sobbing woman in front of them. She stared for a long breath, then turned her questioning eyes up to Randia.

“Papa, what’s wrong?”

“This madam is in trouble,” he murmured. “Her granddaughter is missing.”

“That’s awful!”

The dismay in Viena’s voice was clear, cutting through her sleepiness in an instant.

“I know.”

Her brows knit together earnestly. “Aren’t you going to help her?”

The question hung in the cool air, heavier than any weapon. Randia’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer at once. His mind churned — the risks, the unknowns, the edges of safety fraying thinner with every delay. And yet… the way Viena was looking at him, expectant and trusting…

He exhaled slowly. The choice was clear.

He turned back to the woman, gaze steady.

“What does she look like, madam?” Randia asked.

“Her height is close to mine,” the old woman answered, voice thin and quavering. “She has long ashen hair — almost to her waist — and her eyes are bright violet, just like mine. I tied an embroidered green handkerchief around her neck this afternoon. She’d caught a bit of flu these past few days…”

“Waist-long ashen hair, violet eyes… around one sixty-five centimetres…” Randia murmured, imprinting each detail carefully into memory.

The woman folded her hands, fingers interlaced tightly as if in prayer. “Please… if you see her, tell me. I’ll wait here. All day… all night, if I have to…”

Randia gave a silent nod and gently lowered Viena to the ground. She blinked up at him, bleary but curious. Without a word, he knelt and cast a velda chant under his breath. A subtle greenish luminescence coiled around his index finger as he traced a slow, deliberate line along her tibia. Viena twitched, a soft giggle escaping her lips at the ticklish sensation — but soon the area dulled, drifting into numbness.

“I hastened the reparative process,” Randia said quietly, gaze still fixed on her leg. “The fracture should be entering the early stage of hard callus formation. How’s it feel?”

Viena blinked, testing her leg gingerly. “Um… I don’t know. I don’t feel anything.”

“Good.”

Her eyes sparkled suddenly. “Wait — does that mean it’s completely healed?!”

“Don’t even think about it.” His voice flattened, stern as stone. “No running, no jumping — and most importantly, no sidestepping. Do you hear me?”

Viena scrunched her nose and puffed her cheeks, mimicking his grave tone in jest. She swung her left leg in the air with exaggerated defiance. Randia, unimpressed, reached out and gave her ear a sharp tweak.

“Do. You. Hear. Me.”

“Ouch—! Yes, yes! I get it! No sidestepping! Stop pulling!”

He released her and exhaled slowly, his features softening again. When he turned, the old woman — Eleanor — was watching them, a small, wistful smile brushing her lips.

“I can help you find your granddaughter,” Randia finally said. “But in the meantime, I need you to look after my daughter. Her name is Viena.”

“Nice to meet you, madam!” Viena chirped, beaming brightly.

“She can be a handful,” Randia added dryly, shooting a sideways glance that mingled chagrin and reluctant affection. “I hope you have patience for her antics.”

“Hey! I’m not troublesome!”

Eleanor’s brow furrowed faintly. Her gaze wavered between Randia and Viena, doubt flickering behind her eyes. She clasped her hands again, uneasy. “Are you sure? You both… you don’t seem like locals. Travelers, perhaps? And it’s getting dark. Can you even manage on your own in this city?”

Randia gave a nod, edged with confidence. “Don’t worry. This isn’t my first time here. Though it is for my daughter.”

He rested a steadying hand atop Viena’s head, smoothing her hair in a brief, silent gesture of reassurance. Then, rising, he turned to Eleanor with crisp resolve.

“Stay near the park by the central plaza. There are plenty of guards on patrol there. Don’t leave, no matter what happens — even if you see Lisabelle walking across the street. Stay put and wait for me. I'll be back soon.”

Eleanor hesitated, then dipped her head in agreement. “Please… if you find her, tell her it was her grandmother, Eleanor, who sent you. Lisabelle is a cautious child. She won’t trust strangers easily. But if she hears my name… maybe…”

“I understand.”

Without another word, Randia swept his cloak about him, the hem whispering against the cobbles, and strode away into the night — movements swift and decisive. Behind him, Viena watched with wide, unblinking eyes, and Eleanor sat beside her with a silent prayer on her lips.

Randia moved quickly, navigating the web of streets with ease born of long acquaintance. He found his destination soon enough: a tall merchant guildhall, its broad facade shadowed against the indigo sky. Scaling its side with silent precision, he ascended past shuttered windows and narrow ledges until he reached the rooftop.

The city sprawled before him — a labyrinth of slate rooftops, lamp-lit streets, and drifting haze.

Drawing a slow breath, Randia narrowed his eyes. The air around his irises shimmered faintly, as though heat ripples danced across them. With a sharp murmur and a flick of his focus, he awakened the latent power within his sight — ancient, honed, and ruthless in clarity.

If his eyes couldn't even find a crying, lost little girl, then he might as well go blind.