Ersia: Raven Dawn

Lisabelle rose with quiet authority.

“Come sit,” she said, her hand lifting—not soft, not brusque, simply inevitable. Viena obeyed, drawn more by the certainty in Lisabelle’s bearing than by the words themselves.

“Theo,” Lisabelle spoke, her gaze still resting on Viena, “hold off a moment. Let’s make sure we’re all starting from the same line.”

Theo didn’t argue. His nod was slight, habitual.

“Gino. Gina. The book I gave you last year. Bring it here.”

“Okie!” Gino’s voice cracked with forced cheer.

“Dokie!” Gina echoed too quickly. Footsteps scuffed out of the room.

Lisabelle settled onto the sofa’s edge, her posture deliberate, her skirts gathered cleanly beneath her knees. She crossed one leg over the other with elegance stripped of vanity. When she finally looked at Viena, her expression had cooled—not distant, but smoothed of anything as untidy as open concern.

“You’ve never heard the story. Might as well put those cookies out. No good telling a tale on an empty table.”

“Oh! Right!” Viena startled, her face brightening as she bustled away.

There was a quiet choreography to the preparations. Viena laid out the cookies with delicate precision, the plate clinking gently against the wood. Theo’s pitcher tilted steadily, filling glasses without waste or splash. Lisabelle’s hands moved without flourish as she straightened the cushions, tugging seams into alignment and folding the throw square against the chill that had crept unnoticed into the corners of the room.

When the twins returned, book in hand, the air had shifted—settled. The kind of stillness where stories begin.

Lisabelle’s voice, when she spoke again, carried no embellishment.

“You don’t think the hero tales are real?”

“…Maybe,” Viena admitted softly.

Lisabelle inclined her head. A quiet gesture, her earrings shifting just slightly.

“Why not?”

"Because Papa said if they were real, then there shouldn't be any more suffering, but that is not true. Especially since they have started to fight with each other again . . . I once helped him treat a border guard and her wound was so scary that I couldn't even eat properly for two days."

"Hm. I'm sure eternal peace is what everyone wished for. Yet, even if things don't turn that way, That doesn’t mean the ones who fought didn’t matter. At the very least, we can honor the fruit of their deeds by remembering them."

"You mean the heroes are dead?" Viena tilts her head.

“Most are. The rest is rumor. People make up ghosts to fill gaps they don’t know how to live with.”

A faint shrug; the faintest lift of her brow. Lisabelle neither romanticized nor dismissed it.

Gina eased open the tome. The spine groaned. When she turned the first pages, her fingers stalled.

Damage.

Not the roughened wear of age—but something worse. The pages aren't just crumpled, they simply have torn and completely unreadable.

Gina’s fingers fluttered hastily at the ruined pages, ready to flip past them and pretend it away.

But Lisabelle’s hand came down hard—flat and final—across the book’s spine. The crack of impact echoed sharper than it should have in the small, quiet room.

Gina froze. Her lips parted, but only a faint rasp escaped.

“W-wah… this is bad,” she breathed, her throat tight.

“I-I knew it! Rats! It’s the rats!” Gino blurted, too loud, too brittle. His voice ricocheted off the walls.

“Y-yeah! Rats! They’ve been chewing on everything lately!” Gina added, her pitch climbing with thin, unconvincing haste.

The silence that followed was heavier than accusation. It had weight and shape, like a glass bell lowered over all of them.

Gina’s hand drifted down, timidly clutching at Lisabelle’s sleeve—barely a tug, just enough to plead without daring to speak.

.

.

.

“What,” Lisabelle’s voice cracked out at last, low and precise, “happened to these pages?”

Her tone did not rise to a shout. It didn’t need to. The consonants cut like slate splitting under cold steel.

Gino and Gina’s gazes broke away at once. They folded inward, shrinking under the scrutiny they couldn’t bear. Lisabelle turned the pages herself, each turn clipped, the dry rasp of paper loud in the taut air. She flipped through the damage methodically, jaw tight, before snapping the book shut with a muted thud.

Her breath hissed once between her teeth. She strode to the table and drained an entire glass of milk in slow, deliberate gulps—set it down cleanly, squarely, with not a tremor in her wrist.

She turned back.

“Explain. Gino. Gina. Right now.”

The twins wilted as though her shadow itself weighed them down.

“We’re so sorry, Boss…” Gina murmured, her eyes rimmed with regret.

“We just—when you gave it to us—we both wanted it first,” Gino admitted miserably. “We got too excited. We fought over it… and it tore.”

Lisabelle’s knuckles knocked against her own brow, once, twice, an irritated rhythm like the tap of a mallet against a stubborn nail. Her sigh unspooled long through her nose.

Across the table, Theo munched on a cookie, placid as a man at market. Viena hunched slightly, quietly sipping her milk, eyes flickering from face to face in cautious fascination.

“Three hundred Rios,” Lisabelle said flatly.

Gino blinked. “Huh?”

“That’s how much the book cost. Almost three hundred.”

Her voice was even, but underpinned with something iron. “Books aren’t cheap. Especially illustrated ones like this. A colored edition could cost twice as much.”

Gino’s face drained pale.

“Three hundred?! Lily, that’s so much money!”

“Of course it is,” Lisabelle said crisply. “And now you understand why I told you two to be careful with it.”

Without warning, Gino flung his arms around Lisabelle’s leg, clutching tight. Gina did the same with her arm, both pressing close in panicked, teary contrition.

“Boss, we’re sorry! We swear we’ll take care of it this time! Please don’t be mad!”

“Boszu! I’m sowwy! Sniff! Sniff!” Gina’s wail cracked adorably despite herself.

Lisabelle did not soften. Her face remained carved from cool marble, but her hands did not push them away.

“I wanted you to take care of it,” she said at last, tone clipped but calmer, “because if you ever decide to sell it, it could still hold value. I didn’t give it to you just for sentiment.”

“Boss! We’d never sell it! We’ll treasure it forever!”

“Bosssuu! Don’t hate us!” Gina hiccuped.

The twins clung harder, rattling her slightly back and forth. Lisabelle let out a breath that was half exasperation, half surrender. Finally, her gloved fingers flicked impatiently in the air.

“Alright, alright. Shut your mouths and quit crying already.”

Her eyes narrowed, though something dry flickered faintly in her expression. “Honestly… everyone around me is a damn crybaby.”

Viena ignored the others and slid the book toward herself, her small hands eager as she leaned over the worn pages. Where Lisabelle had left it open, the spreads bloomed with vibrant drawings — a delight for someone like her, who couldn’t yet read fluently. Her smile lingered, wide and innocent, until she turned to the torn pages. The jagged tears cut straight through the heart of the illustrations.

“What drawings are on the ruined pages?” she asked, voice softening.

“Err… it’s supposed to be the portraits of the heroes,” Gino admitted.

“…The what?!” Viena gasped, her lower lip trembling. She whined under her breath, clutching the frayed edge of the page with clear frustration. Her shoulders sank, but after a few moments, she puffed her cheeks, exhaled hard, and quietly made peace with her poor luck.

They soon gathered back where they left off. Lisabelle patted the spot beside her — and without hesitation, Viena slid into place, curling herself comfortably against her sister. Lisabelle, ever discreet, draped her arm loosely around Viena’s back, steady and sure. No words passed between them about it; none were needed.

When the book was set before them again, Viena tensed. Her hands fidgeted at the hem of her dress. The dense lines of text loomed larger now, and panic flickered across her face. If the others found out she couldn’t read well, she’d be mortified.

Lisabelle noticed instantly. Without shifting her expression, she dipped her head and whispered near Viena’s ear.

“(Too difficult?)”

“(. . . There’s a lot of new words. I can only guess to understand.),” Viena admitted, her voice barely a breath.

Lisabelle’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Then, with measured calm, she raised her voice just enough for the room.

“Theo, Viena says your voice is easy to listen to. She asked whether you’d mind reading it aloud for her.”

“R–Really?!” Theo blinked, startled — then grinned ear to ear. “Man, I thought you flop, kid. But you’re sharper than you look! Okay then, guess it can’t be helped, aye?”

He shifted forward, pulling the book toward the center as he cleared his throat with exaggerated ceremony. A rare spark of pride lit his face — praise wasn’t something he stumbled into often. Across the table, Lisabelle and Viena exchanged a knowing glance. Viena’s smile returned, brighter this time. She gave a small thumbs up. Lisabelle flicked her hair back, her manner cool, but the faintest curve of her lips betrayed her satisfaction.

Thus began the storytelling of the heroes. Theo’s voice dropped, steady and rich, threading into the hush of the room.

“After three hundred years of fleeting peace, humanity once again let their greed reign. Swords sharpened and trees cut down. Books were burned and children lay sleepless. Wars raged and hatred spread like an unstoppable wildfire. Thus, in the wake of two hundred years of bloodshed, the finest seedbed of chaos took root. From the most tainted soil, He emerged once more. The Doubted had returned, enthroned by his blinded acolytes and misguided believers.”

“It’s like an epithet,” Lisabelle explained smoothly, her hand resting idly at Viena’s shoulder. “It’s common for great beings to have them. Just like our goddess — she’s often called Aine the Merciful. That’s why the First Queen, who forged a pact as Aine’s champion, never slew her enemies, even when she lost her only son to them.”

The story continues.

"The greater being responded. Gods and goddesses raise their champions to withstand the encroaching shadow. The champions eventually gathered around and fought together as one.

Bear witness and engrave these names to the back of your skull O witness of history:

Meralda the Radiance from Hilverhold, champion of Uni, Goddess of The Hearth and Kitchen

Toran the Keymaster from Underpoint, champion of Luka, God of Larks and Games

Marwan the Golden Lion from Zarim, champion of Qayn, God of Wealth and Luck

Yumna the Rainbow Bubble from Runawijaya, champion of Nusa, Goddess of Summer Tide

Fu Mei the Dragon Priestess from Xin, champion of She Hua, Goddess of Medicine.

Ethelar Aramid the Dominator from Aramia, champion of Omzun, God of Revolution."

“This man looks scary—huh? Wait…” Viena’s voice trailed, her brows pinched as she pointed to the lone intact illustration.

“Isn’t Ethelar Aramid the name of the emperor from yesterday?”

Her finger hovered over the page depicting Ethelar Aramid astride a warhorse, glaring straight through the parchment as though at the reader. His bruised steel armor was smeared with mud and darkened blood; the hollow, unflinching eyes said enough of the carnage left in his wake.

“You’re right,” Lisabelle answered coolly. “He is the emperor of Aramia — and, frankly, the most disliked of the eight.”

“Well, that’s not hard to understand, given everything he’s done,” Gino muttered with no small measure of disgust.

“Eight?” Viena asked, frowning. “But there are only six here.”

Theo smirked and turned the next page, revealing a section torn jaggedly along one side. The surviving names and descriptions sat stark and lonely on the damaged sheet — unlike the prior entries, no illustrations accompanied these, thanks to Gino and Gina.

"The last two are the most famous. They are Asmar and Randia, a twin chosen by Ruala, The Goddess of Light, the most revered of the Seltis Pantheons. The most major goddess who has the highest number of followers in this continent."

As Theo wanted to turn over from the torn page to the next one, Viena stopped his hand. Her chest and mind feel itchy. She bites her lips, trying to control her curiosity. She blinked a few times, each hoping that when she opened her eyes, the drawing was there, intact and in full color like the others. A wishful thinking, she knew, but she had to.

"Don't worry! Don't worry! You'll see them someday! Although it's kind of hard since they're not fond of being drawn, especially Lord Randia," Gina poked Viena's cheek.

Lisabelle, saying nothing, slid the plate of cookies closer. Viena accepted quietly, nibbling on one as Theo resumed.

“Since stories are best savored one bite at a time — like these fine cookies Lady Eleanor baked for us — we’ll start with Asmar, The Great Hero. He’s the figure most people mean when they speak of the campaign against the darkness. The leader of the eight, and the wielder of the sword.”

“What about Randia? Isn’t he Asmar’s brother?” Viena asked, gaze sharpening.

“Well, technically yes,” Gino interjected, voice lowering. He exchanged a look with Theo, then scratched his neck. “But… he’s kind of different.”

"What do you mean different?" asked Viena.