The Rings
Randia’s eyes never left the path before him as he scoured every step between the cathedral and the Arbona house. Doubt gnawed at him—had he dropped the rings here? Or there? He retraced his steps again and again, pacing the same stretch of road twice in quick succession, hoping a different perspective might reveal what he’d missed. Hours slipped through his fingers like sand, the precious memento nowhere to be found.
By the time the clock struck eight in the evening, exhaustion weighed heavy on his shoulders. He finally let the search go, swallowing a deep sigh as a wistful silence settled beside him like a shadow. His heart felt leaden, but beneath the weariness, a quiet resolve stirred. He would try again at dawn—no matter how long it took, he swore to himself.
As he walked in a daze, eyes flicking to every crack and crevice, fate seemed to intervene. A family of four passed by, their laughter and easy closeness pulling at something deep inside him. They reminded him painfully of Viena — her bright spirit, her tender presence. Without hesitation, Randia turned his steps homeward, abandoning the search for the night, carrying hope with him for the morning to come.
"Papa! You're late! It's already nine!" Viena lay sprawled on the vestibule floor, nose deep in a book. "Now you're all smelly—and you can't even take a bath! What are you gonna do about that, huh?"
Randia stepped inside, the weight of the fruitless search still pressing on his chest. But before anything else, he slipped off his shoes and gently rubbed Viena’s head in silent gratitude. Despite his scattered thoughts, priorities remained intact: Viena first. Still, he frowned inwardly at the thought of her lying there on the cold floor so late at night.
“Sit up properly when you read. And keep a good distance between your eyes and the page. Also, you don't need to wait for me like this.”
"But what if you were in trouble and didn’t make it home?"
Randia paused for a moment, then exhaled. “. . . Then at least wait on the sofa.”
Viena puffed her cheeks but obeyed, rolling over and standing up with a huff. She went to light the stove, fumbling with the steel striker to boil water. Randia offered to help with a flick of his hand, but she quickly waved him off.
“No magic! I learned how to do this from Lily yesterday. Let me try it for real!”
After several failed sparks and stubborn persistence, the flame finally caught. She grinned in triumph.
As they waited for the kettle to boil, Randia called her over and handed her a small envelope.
“Take this to Lady Eleanor. And bring a blanket—she's probably on the balcony again at this hour.”
“Okay.”
Viena took the envelope with a nod, asking no questions. She already knew what it contained. Once, Randia had forgotten to seal it, too weary from a long night’s work. Curious as ever, Viena had peeked inside. A neat stack of money, along with a small handwritten note. Every time, the note was different, but the meaning remained the same: Randia insisting that Eleanor accept his support, so that he could sleep at night. Eleanor never argued. She simply accepted it, and perhaps, that unspoken understanding between them had become its own quiet comfort.
Viena delivered the envelope and blanket as instructed, then returned to the kitchen. The kettle let out a sharp whistle, and she moved quickly to prepare her father’s tea. Randia remained at the table, watching her with quiet pride, and picked up the book she'd been reading.
“Lay of the Land: The Rise of Aramia,” he read aloud. “Did Lisabelle ask you to read this?”
“Not really,” Viena answered, focused on pouring the tea just right. “I asked Lily to give me something that’d make me look smart and cool.”
Randia chuckled, flipping through the pages. “How far did you get?”
“I just finished chapter five.”
“Oh? That’s already half the book.” He blinked and skimmed a few pages. “When did you start?”
"I started after lunch!"
Randia could hardly believe what he just heard. Though The Rise of Aramia was considered light reading with simple vocabulary, five chapters still amounted to nearly two hundred pages—a remarkable feat for a girl her age.
“Remind me again, Viena. How old are you?”
“Huh?” Viena blinked, then grinned. “Heheheh! I just realized—you never asked me that before! Why now?”
"Why don't you just answer my question for once without any add-ons?"
"Hmph. Okay, I'll tell you. But promise me you will get me a present!"
“Alright,” Randia replied, settling deeper into the sofa with a tired sigh. “As long as it’s not too absurd.”
“Yay! Don’t go back on your word!” Viena beamed, arms akimbo as she dropped the tea leaves into the kettle. “Now listen and remember this well, Papa. I’m turning nine in two weeks!”
“In two weeks?” Randia raised a skeptical brow. “Sounds to me like someone’s making up birthdays just to get gifts.”
"Ish! Then just see it for yourself!"
Sulking, Viena looked away after giving Randia her pendant. It's the pendant which she showed to Randia on the very first day they meet each other. When Randia takes another look at it, he realized that he had missed some details back then. There are actually small writings on the backside. They were numbers - presumably Viena's birthday date.
"Okay, that convinces me. So, what do you want? Roast duck skewer?"
"Huh? No way! It shouldn't be food! They are not gonna last long!"
Viena launched into a dramatic list of requirements—her present had to be memorable, useful, not too small, not too big, and most importantly, something cool. She went on and on, animated and earnest, her hands waving as she tried to describe the perfect gift without actually naming one.
Randia, utterly lost, remained quiet until she finally paused to take a breath.
“Why can’t you just tell me what you want?”
“Hmm . . . no! I want you to surprise me!”
As he sat there, trying to think of a gift worthy of Viena’s delight, his thoughts drifted—then caught on something sharp. The rings. How could he have forgotten? The moment he stepped into the house, all his worries had been swept aside by Viena’s voice, her antics, her warmth. But now, the weight returned, settling cold and heavy in his chest.
He looked down at Viena, who was leaning against him, quietly flipping through the pages of her book.
“Viena,” he said, placing his hand gently over the middle of the page. “There’s something important I need to ask you.”
“What is it?” she asked, glancing up.
“I lost something very precious to me,” he said slowly. “Did you take a red pouch from inside my bag?”
Viena paused. “No. After you scolded me for pulling out that weird bottle, I haven’t touched anything wrapped in cloth from your bag again.”
Randia exhaled, and the sound of it was so hollow—so defeated—that Viena’s heart ached.
“What did you lose, Papa? I can help you look for it.”
“. . . It was a pair of rings.”
Viena stiffened ever so slightly.
“Oh.”
She knew exactly what rings he was talking about. The pink-diamond ones. The ones Lisabelle had shown her, cradled in her palm with that strange, unreadable expression.
"Papa, there's something I want to tell you about that as well."
Although Randia had taken the possibility into account, he is still taken by surprise a little when Viena speaks to him about the very same thing. The way the little girl timidly speaking as if she feels very guilty of something - He is 200% sure that he had lost the rings. Anger is slowly swelling inside him given how precious the rings were to him. His gaze sharpens, and the look in his eyes turns colder with judgement.
"W-Will you promise me that you won't be angry?"
Randia, being so close to blow his lid, wasn't thinking straight and so lost in his thought. He feels as if he wanted to get at Viena the very next moment she opens her mouth again.
"Papa . . . are you angry?"
"I am trying my best not to," Randia looked away.
"Then . . . can you at least promise me that you won't hit me?"
Randia snaps back and regains his composure the moment he listened to Viena's question. For some reason, his chest feels hurt when he hears those words. He somehow feels great regret and disappointed at himself.
"I will never do that. So, start talking now, Viena. Those rings are very-very precious to me."
After a moment of hesitation, Viena tells Randia about the rings and what Lisabelle did. She pleads to him repeatedly so that he will forgive both of them, particularly Lisabelle. However, all that actually matters for Randia is that the rings are safe inside the drawer in Lisabelle's room. His temper quickly subsides, and he wipes his face to control himself better.
"Okay. It's alright. I’m not mad at either of you," Randia finally said, exhaling deeply. "The rings are here, and they’re safely kept—that’s what matters."
He took a long sip from the tea Viena had prepared, letting the warmth center him.
“Papa, I’m sorry,” Viena murmured, her hands fidgeting on her lap.
Randia gave a tired chuckle. “I thought you’d done something worse, but you didn’t. So there's no reason to stay angry.”
“Worse?”
"Yeah, like wearing them outside and got them stolen from you by bad guys, or maybe even sold them to random people without even knowing what you are doing - something like that."
“I-I would never—!”
“I know,” he cut in gently, patting her head. “I should’ve trusted you more.”
The tension between them softened. Viena’s eyes welled up a little—not with fear, but relief. Randia gave her a small smile, then carefully lifted her from his lap and set her down on the rug.
“I’ll go get them,” he said, standing up.
Viena watched as he walked to the stairs. Her heart was pounding again—not with fear for herself now, but for what might happen next.
She scrambled to her feet and followed him. “Papa, wait—are you going to talk to Lily?”
Randia nodded wordless.
“Please don't be mad at her, okay? She didn’t mean anything bad."
"Don't worry about that," Randia brushed Viena's hair.