Ersia: Raven Dawn

Lisabelle had no idea where Viena was, nor whether Randia was with her. But one clue remained, piercing through the fog of her uncertainty: The Great Cathedral of Aine. Without hesitation, she took every shortcut she could recall, desperate to avoid any delay. However, her distracted thoughts caused her to bump into people and objects as she dashed through the bustling streets.

The city seemed to stretch endlessly, but finally, the towering dome of the famous blue cathedral appeared on the horizon, peeking over the high white walls that surrounded the entire complex. Flowers in full bloom decorated the grounds, and the tranquil lake at its base held a statue of Aine, poised and serene in the center.

To any other person, The Great Cathedral of Aine—an architectural marvel—would have been a sight to behold. Yet, today, Lisabelle couldn’t care less about its beauty. She wasn’t here for the well-maintained gardens, the harmonious afternoon choir of robed worshippers, or the healing rituals offered within its sacred halls. No, Lisabelle was here for one thing, and one thing only.

She sprinted past the grand entrance, her chest heaving, her gaze frantic as she caught sight of a group of novitiates chatting near the gate.

“Excuse me! Sisters!” Lisabelle gasped, still struggling for breath. “May the merciful blessing of the Holy Mother light your path!”

“May she reward all the devoted,” the novices chimed in, their voices soft and reverent.

One of the younger novitiates, a girl with kind eyes, noticed Lisabelle’s distress and approached, gently resting a hand on her shoulder.

“You look troubled, young one. How may we help you?” she asked with concern.

“I’m looking for a little girl,” Lisabelle answered, her voice tight with urgency.

The novices exchanged confused glances.

"There are lots of little ones in the loving haven of The Holy Mother," the oldest of them replied kindly.

“No, you don’t understand!” Lisabelle’s voice rose, her frustration mounting. “She came with her father—a medevist, tall and broad-shouldered. They were supposed to help here, but now they’re gone!”

The group whispered among themselves, clearly unsure of what to make of her words. Lisabelle’s heart sank, but just as she thought her efforts would be in vain, a small voice piped up from the back of the group.

“I think I might have an idea ....” The youngest novice, a girl named Alice, stepped forward hesitantly, twiddling with her fingers as if unsure of what to say.

"Sister! Do you know something? Please, help me!” Lisabelle urged, desperation creeping into her tone.

"H-Her dad —was he wearing a black turban? And… I don’t know, he seemed… gloomy, but in a rather charming way?" Alice’s face turned bright red with embarrassment.

"Yes! Yes! Wait - what? Well, I guess his eyes are intense," Lisabelle tilts her head, thinking.

The other novices gasped in unison. “Alice! How could you!” they scolded in dismay.

"How obscene! Impure thoughts!"

The other novitiates started to scold her, but Lisabelle stepped between them as if to protect her.

"Please forgive me! I just had to make sure! I-I just want to help!" Alice stammered, covering her face with her hands.

"Thank you so much, Sister Alice! I will not forget this! Now, can you tell me where they go?"

With the help of Alice, Lisabelle went to the flea market, the very place that Viena had planned to visit for the day. She is running nonstop like her life depends on it. Every time her legs slow down, she remembers her bitter past, and it propels them forward through sheer emotional power alone. She covers four kilometers of distance within 16 minutes.

---

Lisabelle’s heart pounded relentlessly as she cut through the busy streets of the capital, each frantic footfall a testament to her panic. The cluttered stalls of the flea market were a blur of colors, voices, and the chaotic pulse of haggling vendors, but none of it registered to her. She could hear nothing but the rush of her own blood in her ears, feel nothing but the sharp sting of desperation.

The only thought that consumed her mind was Viena. Where are you?

Every shortcut, every alleyway, she took with precision, hoping to catch sight of her sister, hoping against hope that she had not already fallen into danger. But Lisabelle’s mind was clouded—too much rage, too much fear—leaving her little room to think clearly.

Viena.

She scanned the crowd again, eyes darting left to right, her breath coming faster. The stalls, packed to the brim with trinkets and fabric, felt like a maze—a maze that threatened to swallow her whole. But then, she saw something. A small figure, a little girl, with bright blue eyes and deep dark hair, standing among a crowd looking confused.

Lisabelle’s stomach lurched. Her pulse quickened. It was her. It was Viena.

The sight was like a vision of salvation, but it quickly turned to dread. Viena wasn’t alone. She was surrounded. Six towering figures, dressed in dark clothing, loomed over her, closing in with suspicious intention. The girl was walking—no, being led—deeper into a narrow alley, the sounds of the market fading behind them. Lisabelle’s breath hitched in her throat as she moved, faster now, pushing through the crowded stalls, her thoughts a tangled mess of panic and rage.

She didn’t stop to think. She only acted.

With no weapon in sight, she grabbed the nearest thing she could find—a broom, abandoned by a peddler who had long since fallen asleep on his stool. The broom was old, the handle thick and heavy, but Lisabelle’s hands didn’t hesitate. With a single, violent stomp of her foot, the end of the broom snapped, leaving her with a jagged spike, a makeshift weapon fueled by her fury.

She moved swiftly, silently, her eyes fixed on the group. Every step was measured, every breath a warning. She would not stop until they were all gone, until she could hold Viena safely in her arms.

She was close. So close.

Without warning, she rushed. The blood pounding in her ears, and the broom raised high. Her eyes are locked to the rearmost one in the group.

"STOP!"

The voice cut through the air like a knife. It was another robed man walking slightly behind the others—who had noticed her approach. The group turned, their eyes widening as they took in Lisabelle’s frantic stance, the weapon she held in her hands.

In that split second, Lisabelle’s fury boiled over. She didn’t stop to think; her instinct was simple and clear. It's a mass murder in progress.

Lisabelle charged, the broom now a deadly instrument aimed at the woman in the front- presumably in her late twenties. In that slightest span of time, the woman could grab a hold of the broom, albeit barely. It turns into a momentary contest of strength between the two, each at the edge of the broom.

Alas, the woman is quickly getting overwhelmed by Lisabelle, and the broom pierces through her thigh. The woman was screaming, but not for long, as Lisabelle's foot crashed on her face with brutal force, the sickening sound of impact as the woman's chin snapped violently sideward. The sound of cracking bone rang out, her jaw breaking with a single, merciless strike. The woman collapsed like a ragdoll, her body going limp as she crumpled to the ground, unconscious but very much alive. Lisabelle stood over her, panting, her eyes wild with a fury that consumed her very being, her hands still trembling from the violence.

Lisabelle stood over her, breathing heavily. Blood stained her hands, but her gaze never wavered from the group, as if daring anyone else to challenge her wrath. Until she noticed again that Viena was standing still with her eyes wide.

“VIVI, RUN!” Lisabelle screamed, her voice raw, desperate.

But instead of running, Viena remained paralyzed with fear, and tears begin to flow out of shock, terror, and confusion.

That was when the others screamed.

The crowd around them had finally caught up with the chaos, and their fearful cries rang through the air. Mistaking Viena's crying for being tears of pain and dread from getting assaulted by the group of adults, Lisabelle turns even more enraged and takes a dashing stance once more.

“You…” Lisabelle spat, “I WILL KILL YOU ALL!”

Lisabelle screamed at the top of her lungs as she took out a scissor she used for knitting from her bag and brutally pulled the broom out of the unconscious woman until blood gushes from the damaged femoral artery.

Before the madness could escalate further, something unexpected happened.

A hand, firm and strong, grabbed her by the neck. A rear chokehold, lifting her off the ground, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her head spun, her vision darkened, and she struggled, gasping for breath. Panic, pure and unadulterated, seized her chest as her body thrashed against the chokehold.

"Lisabelle! Stop it! Calm yourself!"

The man was no other than Randia who had just been walking slightly slower than the rest of the group.

The voice that broke through her frenzy was unmistakable. Randia.

His voice cut through her rage like a rope, pulling her back from the edge of madness. But Lisabelle was too far gone. She had no space left to think, only to fight. Her hands moved without thought, grabbing the scissors from her bag. She swung them in a desperate arc, aiming for anything, everything, to free herself.

She then performed an unthinkable feat of combat as she threw the scissors towards the broom and flung the inner hole of the scissors with the edge of the broom before swinging and launching it backward beyond her head, straight to Randia's face.

The scissors hit their mark, plunging into Randia’s left eye. His body jerked back in shock, but his grip did not falter. Lisabelle’s rage burned hot, still blinding her to everything but the need to defend Viena. She swung the broom again, aiming for his arm, the bloodied wood tearing into his flesh with each blow.

Randia’s body didn’t flinch. He didn’t scream. His face remained a mask of cold indifference, his grip tightening around her throat, lifting her higher. His strength was inhuman, his endurance unshakable. Even as blood spilled from his eye, he didn’t flinch.

Lisabelle fought on, but slowly, she began to lose strength. Her arms grew heavy, her movements slower. The fog of fury lifted, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion. Her vision blurred, and her knees gave way as she slumped in Randia’s grasp.

As her body grew limp, she saw Viena once more, struggling to break free from the others holding her back. The child’s face was filled with fear, but it wasn’t for herself. It was for Lisabelle. And in that moment, Lisabelle’s heart shattered.

"Vivi . . . N-No . . . ."

Everything happened so quickly, and they are rendering everyone helpless. Those who present are only moving out of reflex, losing their order of logic in gasps and fearful silence after witnessing such a display of unexplained barbarism. Only Randia remained in control, his voice low and commanding as he ordered the others to tend to the wounded.

His grip on Lisabelle loosened as he lowered her gently to the ground, his gaze lingering on her broken form. His face, though bloodied, was still calm, his mind already calculating the next steps.

The wounds, the chaos, and the pain were all present, but in that moment, Randia’s thoughts were clear. Lisabelle’s fury had clearly consumed her, but he would seek for more explanation after the dust is settled.