Ersia: Raven Dawn

The morning sun filtered gently through the windows of Eleanor’s home, casting soft rays over the breakfast table. Viena, accustomed to rising early, was already sweeping the floor. Randia had told her that a good guest must finish their chores before the owner of the house awakes. Eleanor, a woman who had always risen with the sun, watched them with quiet appreciation.

“She is such a sweet child,” Eleanor remarked, her voice warm as she observed Viena’s industriousness. “How did you manage to raise such a girl? Was it your wife?”

“… Yes. I suppose so.”

Eleanor had expected a fuller response, something more heartfelt, but instead, she received a veiled reply. She could sense that Randia was still holding back, unsure of how to settle into the comfort of this home. She decided to try a different approach. After all, to feel at ease is to lift the mist that clouds one’s heart.

“Seeing your daughter,” Eleanor continued softly, “reminds me of a time long ago, a time when Lisabelle was much like her. Full of noise and smiles.”

Randia paused, his hands stilling for a moment as he wiped down the plates. Eleanor’s words hung in the air as she turned her attention to separating the seeds from the lavaberries.

"You might have known by now, judging by this house alone, that we used to be pretty well-off."

Indeed, the furnishings, the quality of the decorations, and the expansive space of the house spoke volumes of a former prosperity. The personal water plumbing that diverted from the public aqueduct was a clear marker of privilege. Yet, the house felt too large for just two inhabitants—suggesting a glory now faded.

“My husband and I were once prominent merchants,” Eleanor explained, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “Our guild provided garments to the crown family.”

Randia glanced at a blanket he had aired earlier and noticed the familiar stamp on its edge. The mark belonged to the trading guild that had once supplied the royal family’s garments—indeed, the same guild that had commissioned the cloak pins for Asmar and his comrades. If Eleanor spoke truth, then her husband was likely no stranger to Randia.

“Graham… Arbon?” he asked carefully.

Eleanor chuckled lightly, surprised but not taken aback. “Oh? So, you know of my husband?”

Indeed, the Arbon Company had been famous across the continent. Years ago, during Randia’s campaigns, no one had failed to recognize the name. They had pioneered the art of arcane weaving and introduced the patent system for garments, a legacy of innovation.

“The Arbon Company went bankrupt?” Randia asked, puzzled. “I thought they would last for a hundred years.”

Eleanor’s laugh was a soft, almost bitter thing. “Oh, my dear, you give us too much credit. The company did not go bankrupt. It was simply handed over to someone more… suitable.”

Eleanor sighed heavily, her gaze drifting to the glistening edge of the knife she held. She seemed to lose herself in the quiet moment, the weight of old memories sinking into her chest.

“A great deal has changed since the day I lost my daughter and son-in-law,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Do you know, Mister Ran, how it feels to bury your own child?”

Randia was silent. He said nothing, choosing instead to focus on his tasks, though his movements had slowed.

“It is a pain no word, no god, can ever explain,” she murmured. “Now, imagine burying not one, but three of your loved ones. All in the span of a week.”

Eleanor’s eyes clouded with sorrow as she recounted the darkest days of her life. Three funerals in as many days—a grief so sharp it threatened to tear apart the very fabric of her being. The loss of those she loved most, in the blink of an eye.

“Three nights after I buried my loved ones, I was this close to ending it all,” she said, making a small gesture with her fingers, an agonizingly small gap between them. “But then Lisabelle knocked on my door. She called for me over and over.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly. “I tried to ignore her. I even closed my ears. But then she cried and asked me, ‘Are you going to leave me too?’ That moment… it broke me. I realized I had to stay strong for her. But by then, it was already too late.”

Eleanor’s voice faltered, but she steadied herself, determined to finish what she had started.

“The one thing I regret more than not being there at the end for my loved ones, is that I failed to be strong when she needed me most. Since that day, I’ve never seen Lisabelle cry. She only smiles and laughs when she feels it’s necessary—to keep me from worrying about her.”

Randia said nothing, his expression unreadable. He was not one to understand such matters, nor did he know how to respond to such heavy words.

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor said softly, shaking her head as if to clear away the emotions still lingering in the air. “I’ve spoiled the mood on this fine morning, haven’t I?”

“You needn’t worry about me, Madam Eleanor,” Randia replied, his voice steady but without much warmth. “I may not be the best at showing it, but I’m listening. Thank you for sharing.”

Eleanor gave a small, fragile smile. “Thank you for listening, Mister Ran. I sincerely hope you never have to know such grief for yourself.”

Meanwhile, Viena had finished her chores and, seeking a break, went to the living room for a glass of water. She found Randia and Eleanor deep in conversation, clearly distracted.

"What are you two talking about? I want to listen!" Viena demanded, hands on her hips.

Eleanor, sensing the playful mood, smiled softly and glanced at Randia before answering.

"We were just discussing the next chores you'll be taking on. We thought you might start by moving the flower pots outside."

"Huuh? But I just finished sweeping! And the pots are huge!" Viena protested, her hands flailing in mock distress.

Eleanor chuckled, her eyes warm with affection as she beckoned Viena over.

"Thank you for all your help, little sugar. Now, why don't you come here and help this old lady bake some sweets?"

"Sweets?! For real?!" Viena's eyes lit up, a smile spreading across her face.

"Absolutely!" Eleanor confirmed with a wink.

"Let's go!" Viena ran over eagerly, and the two women disappeared into the kitchen.

Randia remained in the living room for a moment, his lips curving into the briefest of smiles as he watched them leave. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Then, he stood up and finished the rest of the chores in Viena's place, settling into a chair nearby in the kitchen, his posture stiff but his eyes lingering on the scene before him.

Watching Viena, so full of joy and innocence as she helped Eleanor with the dough, stirred something within him. It was strange—uncomfortable, almost—yet undeniably warm. It gnawed at him, something he hadn’t quite felt in years. When Viena, in her excitement, dashed over to him and smeared flour on his cheek, laughing all the while, it was clear to him: she had become someone special, someone he felt a strong urge to protect. Even while she was having fun, Viena's thoughts are filled with him.

"You’re going to regret that," Randia warned dryly, his tone flat.

"Oh yeah? And what about it? Gonna cry?" Viena challenged with a mischievous glint in her eye.

With a flick of his fingers, Randia summoned a small whirl of wind, which danced around her and dusted her face with more flour. The little girl ended up sneezing a few times.

"That's cheating!" she gasped, eyes squinting.

"You could’ve done the same, if you had the skill," Randia shot back, his voice like stone.

Viena, in her frustration, tweaked his ear and then bit his shoulder—just a playful nip, but enough to make him smirk ever so slightly. She was quick to notice, though.

"Ha! You’re laughing!" she declared triumphantly.

"No, I’m not," he replied, his expression falling back to its usual unreadable mask.

"You did! I saw you! I heard you!"

Randia’s voice remained steady. "You must be terribly sick if your body plays that many tricks on you. I'll make you a medicine—a shockingly bitter one."

"Shut up! Come on, laugh again! I wanna see it!" Viena urged, her grin mischievous.

Eleanor, who had been pounding dough with rhythmic precision, looked up from her work, her heart lightened by the sight of Randia, usually so reserved and distant, finally showing a side of himself she hadn’t expected. It pleased her to see her guests enjoying the moment.

"Order up, girl!" Eleanor called out, her voice filled with laughter. "The cookies are ready!"