Ersia: Raven Dawn

“Aight, let’s talk about the two of them, then. They’re inseparable anyway,” Theo said with a grin, settling back into his seat.

By now, the sunlight had softened to amber silk, and the air turned crisper, edging toward twilight. The town bell tolled sixteen slow, sonorous chimes, their echoes drifting through the cooling streets. Yet despite the rising chill, Viena felt nothing but warmth. Encircled by her newfound companions, a quiet contentment curled in her chest — a longing she’d never fully understood until now. Sweet crumbs of cookies lingered on her tongue; her fingertips sank into a slightly dusty pillow; the faint, fresh fragrance of Sea Envoy roses drifted from the window box nearby. Everything, even in this weathered and worn little corner, felt achingly pleasant.

“Asmar and Randia. Gold and silver. Sun and moon. Dawn and dusk. Two of a kind — entangled divergence,” Theo intoned. His voice took on a storyteller’s cadence. “While Asmar was adored for his bright smile and boundless geniality, Randia was feared and revered for his cold clarity and unshakable conviction.”

“They say Lord Zabir ibn Abou Hattin, the chronicler of their tales, once posed them the same question — though at different times,” he continued, leaning forward. The firelight caught in his eyes as he recited:

“‘You are wandering the land and discover that the princess of a nearby country has been taken hostage by a powerful dragon — a beast that has fallen, curiously, in love with her. The damsel is unhappy. Night after night, she cries to the stars from the tower window of her prison, her grief so wrenching that her father, the king, sends hundreds of knights every year to free her.

What would you do?’”

Theo’s gaze flicked to Viena, gauging her reaction.

“It’s an old trope — the damsel in distress, her dragon captor, and the rescuer’s dilemma,” Lisabelle remarked knowingly, her tone gentle for Viena’s sake. “Sometimes the tale ends with the dragon knight marrying the princess. Other times, not.”

Theo resumed, straightening his back slightly.

“Asmar answered:

'Dialogue is nice. Though it's going to be hard since its simple sneeze would melt us into puddles, but still, what's wrong with trying, eh? Only resort to a contest when we know that words couldn't do what swords could. Three healthy men — and my brother — and there’s nothing we cannot overcome!'

“His words were steady and sure,” Theo added, smiling faintly. “Reassuring and lighthearted — the kind you’d expect from the vanquisher of darkness. The Lightbringer himself.”

“Aaagh! You’re butchering it with that flat voice — it’s losing all its spark!” Lisabelle huffed, throwing up her hands. Without ceremony, she snatched the book from Theo’s lap and shoved his face aside with her palm. Their playful squabble sparked at once, muffled laughter and indignant protests as Theo tried to reclaim the pages.

It was Gina who broke the tussle, stepping in smoothly and placing a glass of milk in front of Theo. “Here. Have this and let the boss enjoy her stuff, okay?”

Chastened — but only slightly — Theo took the glass with a sheepish grin, and Lisabelle, triumphant, cleared her throat as she prepared to continue the tale herself.

“However, Randia answered differently,” Lisabelle read aloud, her voice steadier and more deliberate than Theo’s earlier cadence. Her eyes flicked across the page, lashes low.

“Randia answered:

'There is nothing to lose but one.'

The phrase left her lips like the clang of a distant bell—clear, final, and difficult to ignore.

“That answer,” she murmured, “brimmed the well of the author’s questions, and in it, he claims, he saw the depths of the hearts of the two men chosen by the Western goddess.”

“I… don’t understand,” Viena confessed, brow knitting as she leaned forward slightly, searching Lisabelle’s expression for clues.

Lisabelle didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted the book gently toward Viena and tapped her finger against a faded line of text. “According to Lord Zabir,” she explained calmly, “Randia’s answer means that he would kill the princess.”

“What?!” Viena gasped, her hands curling into the worn pillow on her lap. “But why would he do something like that?”

“Because the princess herself is the axis around which the tragedy spins,” Lisabelle said, her tone unflinching. “Without her, the dragon would have no reason to stay. The knights would have no reason to throw away their lives year after year. To Randia, the solution is simple and merciless: remove the root, and the branches fall quiet. He cleaves cleanly through problems others hesitate to touch.”

Her gaze lifted, green eyes catching Viena’s directly. “He does not falter. Not when the greater good is at stake.”

"But that's too cruel." Viena whispered, shaking her head, her deep blue eyes clouded.

“Perhaps,” Lisabelle allowed, her voice softening minutely. “But his reasoning stands on solid ground. The book makes it clear—Randia is the kind of man who breaks before he bends.”

A small, rare smile ghosted across her lips. “Well… except when it concerns his brother. That is why the two should never be separated.”

As Lisabelle turned the page, a thin sheet of rough paper slipped free and fluttered to the ground. Unlike the crisp vellum of the book, this page was filled edge to edge with hurried, looping handwriting.

“Oh! That’s mine!” Gina exclaimed, bending quickly to snatch it up. “I took notes while reading.”

“She wrote that if it weren’t for Randia, their party would’ve never survived half the things they did,” Gino chimed in with a half-smile and a shrug.

“There are countless times,” Lisabelle picked up seamlessly, skimming Gina’s notes, “when Randia’s sharp judgment saved his companions from disaster.

The Monster of San Mia Mountain, The Great Labyrinth of Kur'ka, and The Temple of Tutiwa, are some of many chapters where Randia made crucial calls that became a saving grace to all."

As Lisabelle recited the names, Viena felt something coil tight in her chest. A faint ache—not of pain, but longing. To hear these grand tales and know they’d soon drift out of reach when the book closed left her restless.

I’ll learn to read, she vowed silently, her fingers clutching the edge of her seat. I swear it. No matter how long it takes. I want to see these worlds myself. I want to hear the past speak to me with my own eyes.

“Well,” Lisabelle said, closing the book gently, “since twilight is thickening and we have much more to discuss, we’ll skip ahead.

Every champion is granted an artifact and a divine blessing. These artifacts are manifestations of the wielder’s will—and marks of their crusade.

But here’s where it gets strange. Artifacts, by their very nature, are bound to vanish once a hero’s duty is fulfilled. That has always been the way of things. Across all ages.”

“You mean… there were heroes before them?” Viena asked, curiosity flickering through her voice.

“Yes,” Gino answered with a nod. “We’re in the Fourth Age now. That means there have been three crusades before this one.

Queen Fionalda was part of the Third Age, roughly two hundred seventy years ago, I think? Though not much is known about the first two ages,"

“No matter how many times I hear it, it still gives me chills!” Gina grinned broadly, scrunching her shoulders with glee. “So mysterious!”

“Exactly,” Lisabelle said smoothly. “That’s why the tournament prize is such a shock.

The Sword of Asmar—Solus.”

“Only Asmar?” Viena blinked, frowning slightly. “What about Randia?”

"The thing is ... even though both brothers are blessed by Ruala, only Asmar possessed an artifact, and there's no clear explanation for it. It's also for that reason that people considered Asmar to be the true chosen champion of Ruala on top of the difference in demeanor between the brothers. The same goes for their respect for them."

“Alright, that’s enough!” Theo, having been silent for a time, clapped his hands together briskly, startling the group slightly. He strode forward and set his palm squarely over the center of the book, closing it with finality.

Viena’s lips parted in disappointment, but Gino and Gina quickly smiled to ease her spirits.

“You’re welcome to drop by anytime to read more,” Gino assured her gently.

“Yeah! We’ll keep your place warm,” Gina added, her wink quick and bright.

“Now that you’ve got the big picture, pipsqueak,” Theo grinned, rolling up his sleeves, “it’s time to get serious.”

He dragged over a broad blackboard and thumped down a fat stack of chalk with practiced ease.

---

“The man told us there’ll be twelve nations competing,” Theo began, rolling the chalk between his fingers with an easy rhythm. His grin tugged crooked at one corner of his mouth.

“Nine sports, split into forty-one events, spread over forty days straight… and that damned hero’s sword as the grand prize.” His voice dipped slightly, enough to let the weight of Solus hang in the air.

“On top of all that, there’s the matter of a massive betting ring. You’ve all heard whispers about that, right?”

“I have,” Lisabelle replied, her nod crisp, her expression composed but alert.

“No, we don’t,” Gino and Gina echoed in near unison, both shaking their heads—Gino’s slower, Gina’s quicker, a small frown tugging at her brow.

Theo’s smirk deepened. Without a word, he ducked down and tugged a large folded sheet from his bag stashed beneath the blackboard. The paper crackled as he unfurled it, thick and stubborn with layers of scribbled ink and sketched diagrams.

“Gino—lend me a hand here.”

Between them, they pinned the oversized chart to the board, smoothing out the corners until the full breadth of its contents stood clear.

Lisabelle’s brows arched ever so slightly. Her breath caught — not in shock, but in a quiet, rare flash of admiration.

The sheet was a meticulously drawn web of data, outlines, and timelines. Names, odds, alliances, projected wagers. Far more thorough than she’d anticipated Theo could produce in such a short stretch of time.

“Well now,” she exhaled softly, lips curving as she crossed her arms, emerald eyes narrowing with interest. “Damn you, Theo.

All this in one sitting? You’re getting sharper by the day. I’ll give you that.”

A mutual smirk passed between them—one part camaraderie, one part calculated mischief. For a brief heartbeat, they didn’t look like simple companions anymore.

No, they looked like seasoned schemers—two master tacticians mapping out the fault lines of an empire’s worth of secrets.

Across the table, Gino, Gina, and Viena traded wary glances, their unspoken confusion knitting tighter with each passing second.

They sat motionless, waiting—hoping—for someone to peel back the layers of intrigue now thickening around them like gathering storm clouds.