Ersia: Raven Dawn

[16:00 PM — Arbona Estate, Living Room]

Viena was in the kitchen, counting spices as Eleanor had asked. If anything was running low, she made a quiet note in her mind. And whenever she came across a jar she couldn’t recognize, she would hurry back to Eleanor with a question. She hadn’t realized there were so many kinds of herbs used in cooking — most of them aromatic. After all the rummaging, her hands carried a strange but pleasant scent she couldn’t quite name.

Then, she heard the heavy, deliberate steps approaching the front door. Without a second thought, she dropped everything and dashed toward the vestibule.

Randia was there, unwrapping the bandage from his face.

“Papa! How was it?! What’s going to happen to Lily?”

Randia didn’t answer right away. His gaze moved past her, steady and searching.

“Is the madam resting properly in her room?”

“No, I’m here,” Eleanor’s voice came from behind.

She stepped out slowly from the adjoining room, her movements cautious and unsteady. There was something in her appearance — a wornness that hadn’t been there before — as if the weight of the past weeks had drawn twenty years onto her frame.

It was no surprise. A burden like that did not pass lightly, especially for someone her age.

“Granny, don’t push yourself,” Viena said quickly, rushing to her side.

She guided Eleanor to the sofa in the living room. Randia followed in silence, and soon the three of them sat together. None of them spoke at first. Their eyes lingered on the simple flower vase resting on the table. The quiet between them felt necessary — as if each was giving the others the space to gather themselves.

“Shall I brew some tea?” Randia finally asked.

“. . . Yes, please,” Eleanor murmured.

He called for Viena to help him ready the tea set. Eleanor, meanwhile, sat still, her gaze distant as it drifted over the familiar veneered furniture of the house. She had lived in these rooms for many years, but now they felt weightless and fragile, like the rest of her. Inwardly, she prayed — harder than she had in years — that Randia would bring relief. That he would say the one thing she needed to hear.

As Randia poured the tea into the cups, his voice broke the quiet at last.

“Lisabelle will be returned to you the day after tomorrow. She is safe.”

Eleanor’s breath caught — and then the tears came. She didn’t ask for details. She didn’t ask how or why. Those words alone were enough to undo her. Her voice trembled as she spoke, but every word that left her lips was nothing but praise and gratitude to Aine.

Viena grinned, nearly spilling the tea as she carried the set to the table.

“But is she really free, Papa? Won’t she be punished? After all… she did hurt someone.”

Randia didn’t hesitate. “That is her punishment.”

The answer hung in the air — simple, but heavy.

After a while, Eleanor wiped her face with the corner of her sleeve. Her tears had eased, but her focus had sharpened. She sat up, resting her arms lightly on the sofa. Then she lifted her gaze to Randia and met his eyes squarely. There was no anger in her expression, only quiet resolve.

“I beg you,” she said clearly, “tell us everything. We need to know.”

.

.

.

Randia reached into his coat and pulled out a folded document — a copy of the court ruling for Case Number 432: Lisabelle Arbona’s Flea Market Incident. He placed it gently on the table and slid it toward Eleanor. Everything that had transpired in the trial was written there in careful language. The facts, laid bare.

Viena, uninterested in the formal print and long sentences she couldn’t untangle, shifted over to sit on Randia’s lap instead. She leaned against him, her eyes flickering curiously as he began to speak.

“Your granddaughter had been struggling since her fourth semester at the academy,” Randia began, his voice even. “A number of students — envious of her success — worked together to cut her off socially. They isolated her.”

“What does that mean?” Viena asked, her brow furrowed.

“It means certain people banded together to strip Lisabelle of her friends and allies,” Randia explained. “They likely sabotaged her belongings, tampered with her assignments. Enough to make her stumble, enough to make her fail her grade.”

Viena’s face twisted. “That’s so cheap! Who are these people?!”

Randia gave a small breath through his nose — not quite a sigh.

“Both private and official investigators carried out surprise inspections and inquiries. They interviewed nearly five hundred students. Of those, four hundred confirmed that the isolation was real. Some even insisted that Lisabelle, despite her sharp words and stiff manner, was always kind in action. They said she helped whenever she could.”

Eleanor smiled a little when she heard it.

A faint smile broke across Eleanor’s face. Just a small one — fleeting and sad — but it was there.

“However,” Randia continued, “none of those responsible for the awful treatment were named. No matter how deep the investigators dug, no student was willing to speak.”

“That’s so unfair!” Viena burst out. “They get away with it just like that?!”

". . . In the end, the harassment got escalated. I'm sorry for hiding this from you, Madam Eleanor, but truthfully, when your granddaughter was missing, I found her getting into a big fight with a dozen young adults."

Eleanor’s breath caught sharply. “Don’t tell me… The wound I found on her shoulder—?”

“Yes.” Randia’s voice did not soften, but it was careful. “It wasn’t from a passing carriage. A knife struck her medial deltoid. I treated it on the spot with a healing spell.”

Eleanor’s hand trembled as she pressed it to her lips. Her eyes brimmed again, and fresh tears streaked her already worn face. Viena stared up at Randia, confused and searching.

“Why would you hide that?” she asked quietly.

“I thought it was a one-time thing,” Randia admitted. “And I believe Lisabelle didn’t want you to know. If she had, she would have spoken of it herself, long before it reached that point.”

The room fell quiet again. After a beat, Randia turned to Viena and gently nudged her.

“Go on now — finish up the housework. The clothes outside will need to come in soon. Looks like rain is coming.”

Without protest, Viena slid off his lap and padded away, just as she always did when asked. Randia moved as if to rise, but Eleanor reached out and lightly touched his wrist.

“Please,” she said softly, her voice thin, “stay a little longer.”

Randia eased back into his seat. He didn’t speak at once. Instead, he lifted his cup of tea and held it calmly in both hands. His quiet gesture was deliberate. It was a simple signal — take a moment, steady yourself.

Eleanor understood. She mirrored him, lifting her cup with slightly shaking fingers and taking a slow sip.

“The past is done,” she said, after a pause. Her voice had steadied a little. “But I need you to speak plainly now. No more holding back. Tell me… what truly happened at the market? Why were you there with Viena? And…” her words faltered, but she forced herself to continue, “did my Lisabelle truly harm someone?”

Randia lowered his cup slightly and met her gaze — level, unwavering.

He was ready to answer.

"I was roaming around the town," Randia began, his voice measured, “searching for specific ingredients and tools I needed for my work. A few other medevists from the cathedral were planning a similar trip. They’re rather fond of Viena — they invited us along, and I accepted.”

He set the empty teacup gently down and folded his hands loosely.

“At one point, we wandered to the flea market near the edge of the fourth district. There, one of them suggested we take a detour through the alleys. He claimed that there is a hidden gem of a shop that people rarely notice. It was on our way there, that Lisabelle appeared."

Randia’s gaze held steady.

“She stepped out from a narrow passage, holding the splintered shaft of a broken broom — its end sharpened to a point.”

Eleanor’s face tensed, but she said nothing. Randia went on, steady as before.

“She made straight for Lady Diene — a military paramedic of the Sixth Southern Garrison. The lady had been on extended duty, retraining at the Great Cathedral, after nearly three years away from home. That, of course, explains the presence of military officers at the trial this morning.”

Clink.

Eleanor placed her cup carefully back onto the coaster.

“Was the lady… alright?” she asked quietly.

Randia nodded, though his expression didn’t soften. “She suffered an injury to her femoral artery, a dislocated jawbone, and a mild concussion. In simpler terms — yes, it could have been fatal had it happened in open combat, but under the circumstances, she was stabilized.”

“I see…” Eleanor murmured. “Then… I suppose the judges’ ruling weighed heavy on Lisabelle.”

Randia said nothing at first. He reached out and tapped the document on the table.

“Turn to the final page.”

Her fingers, though unsteady, obeyed. Eleanor leafed through the thick stack, her eyes narrowing as she searched the lines carefully. Halfway down the page, in the third paragraph, her lips parted slightly.

“Six months of home detention?” her voice wavered. “But that’s… that’s—”

“I’m sorry,” Randia interjected gently. “It was the best the counsels could secure.”

“No…” Eleanor shook her head quickly. “No, that’s not what I mean. On the contrary—this is far less than I feared. And there are so many exceptions written here… Thank Aine!”

The papers crinkled softly in her grasp as she drew them to her chest and covered her face. Her shoulders shook. Tears spilled freely now, but she made no attempt to hide them. The certainty — the finality — that Lisabelle would come home, and not face worse… it broke something loose within her.

A breath later, her body slackened. Her head tilted faintly, and she went limp in her chair — her mind, overwhelmed and unburdened all at once, giving way to exhaustion.

“Viena!” Randia called sharply.

"Yes, Papaa . . .!" Viena came running from the other room.

"Make her bed and boil some more water!"

“Okay!” She dashed off without another word, her little feet quick and sure on the wooden floor.