Ersia: Raven Dawn

From the day Lisabelle dangled that promise before her, Viena’s habits shifted like the tide.

She rose every morning at five—half an hour after Randia—and padded into the kitchen to help prepare his tools and pack the odds and ends he needed for the day’s work. Without fail, she greeted him with a bright hug before he left for the cathedral, and wrapped him in another when he returned home. Her small hands moved faster, her feet quieter, her smile eager, always eager.

But one Trinda night, long past when even the hearth coals had died to ash, Randia returned at midnight. His boots thudded softly against the threshold. The emergency that kept him late weighed heavy on his shoulders, but what stilled him was the sight at the vestibule.

Viena.

Curled on a cushion, pillow clutched tight to her chest, her breathing deep and slow in sleep—clearly waiting for him to come home. The stubborn little thing must have sat there until her eyes betrayed her.

Randia sighed deeply. His expression softened, though a furrow lingered in his brow. Carefully, he stooped and gathered her in his arms, her head nestling unconsciously against his shoulder. He carried her to her bed, pulled the blanket snug beneath her chin, and lingered a moment in the quiet. His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek.

He knew.

He’d known for days that she was up to something. But now—it had gone too far to ignore.

---

Pre-dawn mist still clung to the windows when Viena stirred. She slipped from bed, stretching her arms above her head with a soft yawn. As she padded downstairs, intent on her usual extra chores, she stopped short at the sight before her.

Randia sat at the kitchen table, back straight, a calm stillness about him like stone washed by rain. Two cups of steam curled into the dim light.

“Come, Viena,” he said simply.

She blinked, then shuffled closer, bouncing once on her toes to wake herself fully. “Yeah? Want some tea? Granny says cinnamon makes it even better—”

“Sit down.”

The short command, paired with the firm weight of Randia’s gaze, made her pause mid-step. Slowly, she slid into the chair opposite him. He lifted his own cup—plain hot water—and sipped in silence. Viena, unsure, peered down. Her cup brimmed with warm milk. Did her father just buy it? But it's very uncommon to see milkmen wandering about at this hour. All in all, it's right before her now, warm and creamy, just the way she liked it.

Her smile bloomed, bright despite her sleepy eyes. “Wow—thank you, Papa!”

"Viena, I told you that you can always be straight with me."

"Yeah? I think you did . . . Why are you bringing that up?" Her elbow rested on the table as she propped her chin in her hand.

"You have been trying to get on my good side since two weeks ago. What do you want?"

At that, color touched Viena’s cheeks. She looked aside, lips twitching, the corners of her mouth caught between pride and embarrassment.

“I—I didn’t! I’m just trying to be a good girl.”

Randia exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

"I've seen a blind man pulling a better con. Now, drop it and tell me, what do you want?"

Cornered by his directness, Viena wilted slightly and confessed: her plan with Lisabelle for the weekend. As soon as the words left her mouth, she saw it—his jaw setting, the quiet steel hardening behind his gaze.

The disagreement sparked quickly. Randia’s voice remained low at first, but edged with that unyielding certainty that could cleave stone. Viena, frustrated by how her efforts were crumbling, raised hers in turn, her words trembling between anger and pleading.

“It’s not anything big! Why are you always like this?! What’s wrong with you?!”

“It seems you’ve hit your head harder than I thought. Forgotten everything from the past month, have you?” His tone sharpened, though it never rose above a level pitch. “You were abducted. Your leg broken. You were nearly dragged into a criminal mess. Be reasonable, Viena. Think.”

“It’s DIFFERENT! Those things aren’t going to happen THIS TIME!”

"This world is always the same wherever you go, Viena! Get it into your skull! Anyone can do anything! Even a brat gets so unstable she stabs people walking on the street!"

His words struck like hammer on iron. Viena’s breath hitched—her cheeks wet before she even realized she was crying. Her voice broke apart, her protests dissolving into jumbled, gasping sobs as Randia’s restraint finally faltered and his voice rose.

Silence fell thick after that. Only Viena’s quiet weeping filled the kitchen.

Randia closed his eyes. His next words dropped heavy, final.

“Enough. We leave this place tomorrow.”

The sentence shattered what composure Viena had left.

With a strangled cry, she hurled herself at him—fists small and frantic as she beat against his chest. Tears poured down her cheeks as she swung between pleading and rage, begging him to take it back.

Upstairs, the noise had carried. Eleanor’s and Lisabelle’s doors creaked open at once. Both women stood, brows furrowed with concern, glancing at one another across the corridor.

Lisabelle exhaled slowly, then silently lifted her hand and pointed at herself, arching her brows in silent question. Eleanor read the message in a heartbeat. With a small nod, she retreated back into her room and closed the door, leaving Lisabelle to handle it.

Calmly, Lisabelle descended the stairs, her steps light but unhurried. She’d already pieced together most of what was unfolding below.

“Huff…” She sighed deliberately as she reached the bottom. Her tone, when it came, was light but edged with dry reproach.

“Come now, you two… isn’t it a touch early to be making this much noise? What in the world are you doing?”

Randia didn’t even look at her. His voice came flat and sharp.

“Your thoughtless invitation made this happen.”

Randia’s cold reply made Lisabelle exhale sharply through her nose. Her hand drifted up and scratched absently at her temple—an old habit of hers when biting back irritation. Without sparing him another glance, she stepped past and knelt beside Viena, who lay crumpled against the sofa, her face buried deep into the cushion, tears soaking the fabric in dark, uneven blotches.

The sight pulled something taut in Lisabelle’s chest. Viena’s sobs shuddered through her whole frame, jagged and raw, as though her small body could barely contain the grief pouring out of it. A flicker of rare fretfulness crossed Lisabelle’s face. Her jaw set, and when she finally cast a glance back over her shoulder, her eyes were thin slits of disapproval.

"I can't believe you got riled up by a kid less than half your size and age. That's low, you know? Get out and cool your head. We will talk later. I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding," Lisabelle cynically glanced at Randia while rubbing Viena's back.

The words were crisp and dismissive, but her hands were gentle as they moved—one circling slowly along Viena’s quivering back.

“There, there… damn it, stop crying already. Big Sis is here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

With practiced ease, Lisabelle slid her arm beneath Viena’s shoulders and coaxed her upright, shifting the girl’s tear-damp face from the cushion into the crook of her armpit. Viena clung to her like a drowning sailor clutching driftwood, her fists twisting Lisabelle’s night robe, breath hitching in short, shallow bursts.

Randia lingered a moment longer, jaw tight, before turning on his heel and stepping outside into the dim, quiet street. The door clicked softly shut behind him.

The cool bite of dawn wind lapped at his face, sharp and bracing. Mist clung low to the cobbles, and above the trees, the sky hung deep and dark-blue, trembling on the cusp of morning. Slowly, Randia lifted a hand and rubbed his forehead, then dragged it down across his mouth and jaw in a long, slow sweep.

Lisabelle had been right. The clarity hit him with quiet force.

Maybe the one who’d lost reason wasn’t Viena.

It was him.

He breathed deep, chest rising and falling with deliberate slowness, and stepped into the garden path slick with dew. His boots pressed soft circles into the grass as he wandered aimlessly toward the hedgerow, where drops of water clung to leaves like tiny beads of glass.

Randia stood there in stillness. He reached out, letting his fingertip brush along the edge of a leaf, scattering a row of dew into tiny quivers.

His brow furrowed deeper.

Since when?

Since when had emotion carved such a throne over his head? Since when had his grip on composure, once as steady as an oak’s roots, begun to slip like sand between his fingers?

He exhaled slowly, the breath curling in the cool air. His reflection shivered faintly in a puddle near his feet, blurred and uncertain. There he stood—bent and brittle, no less vulnerable than the girl he’d scolded.

---

By half past six, the sky had begun its slow turn from charcoal to deep indigo, thin streaks of pale blue stretching like silk across the eastern rim. Thanks to last night rain, the dark still ruled the earth below, but it softened now, waning hour by hour. A hush hung over the quiet street, broken only by the distant murmur of stirrings in unseen homes.

On the front porch, Randia sat, his elbows braced on the armrest, gaze fixed somewhere far off beyond the hedgerow. Beside him, Lisabelle rocked gently in her chair, the slow creak of wood threading through the cool dawn air. Unlike Randia, she wasn’t watching the distance. She was watching him.

Her eyes were sharp, clear as polished obsidian and just as unreadable.

“So,” she began quietly, her voice low and even. “What is it that’s got you so dead set against the idea?”

Randia didn’t look at her. His jaw shifted slightly before he spoke, words clipped and deliberate.

“Her safety.”

Lisabelle let out a slow breath through her nose and leaned back, her chair giving a soft groan as it tipped.

“Fair. That’s justified.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then tilted her head toward the ceiling and sighed deeply. “I’ll own my part, too. I wanted to keep it from her, so I guess I shoulder some of the blame.”

Her hand drifted down to the armrest as she nudged the chair into motion again, rocking slow and steady. Her voice grew quieter, less pointed.

“I wanted to take her hunting. Nothing more than that.”

Her lips quirked faintly. “She's lacking in physical exercise, I'm sure even you can't argue with me on this."

Randia gave no answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly—whether in reluctant agreement or irritation, Lisabelle couldn’t tell.

She carried on regardless, her tone lightening.

“We were going to my uncle’s domain in Neims. I already sent a letter, so everything’s arranged. He’s just a small baron, nothing fancy—his land butts against the southern forests, and this time of year, there’s game thick as fleas. The place is quiet. Safe as a saint’s pocket. Guards all loyal to my family, and the last and most vicious crime committed is a dine and dash, and it was three years ago."

Her fingers drummed absently on the armrest before she added,

“And just to spell it out plainly—we’re not gallivanting off unprepared. We’re going with twenty others. Alan and Gwen will be there too. Plus, we’ve got the academy’s official seal that says it counts toward my physical activity needs.”

Lisabelle tilted her head, her stare narrowing ever so slightly.

“So? Can’t you loosen the leash on your baby daughter, father dearest? It gets mind-numbing having to stay in this house all the time. You have to understand—her needs don’t end at food, clean clothes, and a roof to live under.”

Once again, silence.

Randia’s expression didn’t shift, nor did his gaze stray from the dark line of trees beyond the fence. His hands flexed once on his knees, then stilled.

He rose finally, slow and methodical. He fetched his bag from the hook and pulled on his boots with the same grim precision as always. Not a word. Lisabelle watched, her lips pursing slightly. To her, the retreat reeked of cowardice—his refusal to commit, to decide, to face the fraying rope between control and trust.

"Just so you know! SILENCE MEANS YES! OKAY?! You hear me?!" Her lungs roared with a hint of annoyance.

Randia didn’t so much as glance back. His figure faded into the soft fog rolling between the houses, boots muted against the waking street.

Lisabelle clicked her tongue sharply and sank back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest as the rocking slowed to stillness.

“Asshole,” she muttered under her breath, though her mouth curved faintly.

The man was infuriating—but predictable. And predictability was something she could work with.

---

Junda had arrived, and the agenda would start tomorrow.

At seven sharp, dawn light bled gently into the windows. Viena stirred awake in Lisabelle’s bed, the warmth of her sister’s embrace still lingering on her skin. Without a word, she slipped out and padded quietly to her room.

The air inside was still, untouched. The blanket on Randia’s cot remained undisturbed. His boots sat precisely as he’d left them the morning before. Not a buckle shifted. Not a page turned.

Her chest tightened.

A brittle thought clawed at her throat—Had he left for good?

Behind her, Lisabelle’s voice cracked the silence, groggy but alert.

“Hey.”

Viena didn’t turn. She stood at the window, thin fingers resting on the sill, eyes wide and distant.

“What is it?” Lisabelle’s tone softened as she sat up.

Viena’s reply came small and hoarse.

“Do you think Papa left me?”

Lisabelle blinked—then, unexpectedly, let out a low, throaty laugh. Amusement curled at the corner of her mouth. She had anticipated exactly this moment—and, more importantly, had planned for it a week ago. Insurance, she called it. Quiet, simple insurance.

Viena flinched at the sound, her brows drawing together. Her lips trembled.

“Why are you laughing at me?!”

Lisabelle swung her legs off the bed and waved a lazy hand.

“Relax, kid. Come back and get some more sleep.”

“No!” Viena snapped, her voice cracking. “I’m serious!”

Lisabelle smirked and nodded toward the old dresser by her sewing box.

“Hah. Alright. If you’re that worked up, go open my drawer.”

Puzzled, Viena crossed the room and slid the drawer open. Nestled inside, wrapped in a soft linen pouch, she found something unexpected—a pair of rings, their bright pink diamonds catching the faint morning light. Flawless, vibrant, unmistakably precious.

Her breath caught.

“This is... did you steal it?”

Lisabelle shrugged, her smile crooked and unapologetic.

“Not quite. Let’s just say... I’m holding on to it. So he won’t slip away so easily.”

Viena’s fingers curled slowly around the pouch. Her heart twisted—a tangle of guilt and relief. But in the end, relief won. If this meant Randia wouldn’t leave her, that was enough.

Her voice was quieter now, almost sulking.

“Why can’t he just come with us anyway?”

Lisabelle stretched, her shoulders rolling back lazily.

“He could if he hadn't been an unlicensed medevist. Now, he’s got eyes on him, remember?”

Before Viena could answer, the front door creaked open downstairs.

Both of them froze. Their eyes met across the room, breath held. Viena’s lips parted slightly—hope flickering across her face—but her feet remained rooted. She didn’t move.

Lisabelle exhaled slowly, then stood.

“I’ll go,” she murmured, casting a knowing glance back as she left the room.

Downstairs, Randia stood in the entryway, quietly peeling off his overcoat. His usual composure clung to him like armor. The faintest smell of oil, metal, and old parchment clung to his tunic from a long night’s work. His movements were methodical, precise—but fatigue etched faint shadows under his eyes.

Lisabelle leaned against the doorframe, one brow lifted.

"Hey. You're back."

Randia gave no reply. He unpacked his satchel with careful hands.

Lisabelle crossed her arms loosely, voice turning casual.

“So. About tomorrow… You have no objection, right?”

Randia’s hand stilled on a stack of papers. His shoulders rose and fell slowly.

“Are you confident you can take care of her?”

“Yes,” she answered, steady.

His head tilted slightly—not a challenge, but an evaluation. His next words came lower, more deliberate.

“She’s the type to chase fireflies while everyone else sleeps. Can you keep her safe, Lisabelle Arbona?”

Lisabelle’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Yes. I can.”

For a long beat, he said nothing. Then, almost imperceptibly, he let out a breath.

". . . . You should start packing then."

Upstairs, Viena’s ears burned. She had crept halfway down the staircase, just enough to catch every word. Lisabelle didn’t even glance back—she simply raised her voice slightly, grin curling wider.

“Hear that, Vivi? Go on then. Thank him. Make some promises or something.”

Viena swallowed hard and hurried down the steps. She stopped short in front of Randia, her small hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Without waiting another breath, she rose on tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his left cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “And thank you for letting me go with Lisabelle. I promise we’ll be back before dinner. And… um... uh... maybe I’ll learn to make something for you. Some jerkies maybe? I'll do my best to make it good.”

Randia’s lips parted slightly, as if to speak—but he said nothing. Instead, he simply reached out and rested a calloused hand gently atop her head, fingers threading through her hair.

It was not a smile. But it was close enough.