Wrapping Up
“Papaa! You won! Way to go!” Viena ran across the yard and flung herself at Randia’s leg just as he was setting his wooden longsword back onto the table.
But before he could even acknowledge her, another figure came charging in from the side.
“W-Wait!” Lisabelle called, breathless. “Let’s continue! You have to teach me more!”
She latched onto his arm.
“Wha—Lily?!” Viena gasped, outraged. “Go away! This is my spot!”
“Ugh—stand aside, pipsqueak. The adults are talking!”
The two clung to Randia like quarrelsome barnacles, jostling each other while he remained impassive, sighing through his nose as if already regretting the choices that led to this moment.
Alan and Gwen approached, chuckling under their breath.
"You certainly have a lot of experience in close combat,” Gwen said. Her tone was casual, but her brow furrowed slightly. “I thought you were a medevist, Mr. Ran?”
The unspoken question hung between her words.
Viena’s hand on Randia’s leg tightened. Her eyes flicked between Gwen’s face and Randia’s unreadable one, the bubbling excitement in her dimming into unease. She knew that even the smallest crack of doubt could one day split wide open.
Alan, oblivious to the shift in air, clapped Randia’s shoulder. “No medevist moves like that. That was amazing!”
Randia finally spoke. “Before my daughter was born, I traveled alone to Law End once…”
He trailed off.
“…and learned every single thing the hard way.”
Silence fell. Even Lisabelle stopped pulling Viena’s hair for a second.
Everyone there—except for Viena—understood what the name "Law End" meant. A place few returned from unchanged. A place of shadows, of lawless sorcery and desperate men.
"Law End? What were you doing in such a place?" Alan rubs his chin.
"I was desperate back then and looking for Galadrius."
Sensing that Randia doesn't wish to discuss the topic any further, Alan and Gwen decided to drop the talk.
At that moment, Eleanor approached, her footsteps light but unmistakable. Her expression wasn’t angry—just tired. Tired and deeply disappointed.
She looked at Lisabelle.
And sighed.
A long, drawn-out breath.
"Weapons are not toys, Lisabelle. I'd rather you just stick to your yarn and needles than hurting yourself with something you know nothing about. So please, do me a favor and stop fooling around bothering Sir Ran."
“I cannot stop, Grandma. I must not.” Lisabelle’s voice was quiet, but firm. “Vir en virtute—virtue lies in valor.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “No. You are far from the truth. Vir en divirtias—virtue lies in wealth. That is what you should aim for.”
“If wealth alone could have saved our family…” Lisabelle’s voice trembled, but her words struck like steel. “…then Father and Mother would still be alive today.”
Eleanor stiffened.
A beat of silence followed.
Randia didn’t move, but his hand gently pressed Viena’s head behind the curtain of his cloak—as if shielding her from what was about to unfold.
Eleanor’s lips thinned. Her voice, when it returned, was hard and brittle.
“…Go inside, young Arbona. Now.”
Lisabelle didn’t argue. She turned at once and walked back into the house, her shoulders rigid, leaving the yard heavy with silence.
Alan cleared his throat. “Well… we should be on our way. That report won’t deliver itself.”
“Yes, right, an errand,” Gwen mumbled, already turning to go.
As they departed, Randia and Viena remained where they stood—still, watchful.
“My deepest apologies, Lady Eleanor,” Randia said at last. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have—”
Eleanor raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“Don’t be,” she said. “Whatever you do, she’ll find a way to get what she wants from you. That’s how she is.” Her tone softened, almost imperceptibly. “Instead… thank you. For holding back.”
“If I may say so, milady, I do find your viewpoint more agreeable,” Randia said as he gently guided Eleanor back toward the patio. “However, I wouldn’t say she lacks any talent for martial arts.”
Viena followed close behind, listening intently. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but the way her father spoke of Lisabelle—carefully, even respectfully—made her chest tighten just a little. He liked Lisabelle more than she thought he would.
Eleanor waved a hand, wiping her brow with the back of it. “Perhaps it was all just coincidence. She’s not anything special, I’m sure. Just a slightly over-enthusiastic, ordinary girl.”
“That might be true,” Randia nodded, his tone neutral. “Maybe it’s just… her age.”
Eleanor gave a knowing sigh. “That’s a more plausible explanation. She’ll be sixteen in a few months, after all.”
“Sixteen…” Randia echoed, then paused. “Will she be attending the ceremony?”
“Ah yes, the ceremony.” Eleanor exhaled sharply. “Despite the trouble she caused this year, I believe she’ll still be allowed to take part next year. We can’t afford another scandal.”
“I see.”
The conversation lulled into something quieter, more comfortable. After spending some time offering calm company and light words, Randia eventually excused himself to prepare for work. Viena trailed after him into the house, still unusually quiet.
She helped him pack his things without a word. He didn’t ask why. Sometimes, silence was just another shape of thought.
“What are you doing? What is this…? It smells nice!” Viena’s nose crinkled as she tried to sniff the spot he dabbed.
“Just something I made in my leisure time,” Randia said.
“Really? It smells good, though not as strong as a perfume.”
“But it lasts much longer. Five hours, as long as you don’t wash it with water.”
“Wow! I think this would sell nicely then! I’m sure people would buy it!” Her eyes sparkled with budding ideas.
They talked for a while about the strange fragrant ointment, tossing ideas back and forth—how to bottle it, what to name it, who might buy it at a local market. But eventually, everything was packed, and Randia slung the bag over his shoulder, ready to leave.
Just as he reached for the door, he felt a tug on his robe.
“Papa,” Viena said, looking up at him, “are you not going to explain?”
Randia paused. He knew what she meant. Without a word, he sat beside her on the patio and gestured gently.
“...Good work holding your questions back when the others were talking earlier. Now, you may ask.”
Overjoyed, Viena quickly shifted to his lap, settling in like she always did when he told her stories or truths she wasn’t quite old enough to understand—but he trusted her to try.
She asked all the questions in her head, one after another, untangling the words she had heard in the backyard like a ball of knotted string. Randia listened patiently, then answered one at a time.
“Lisabelle’s parents died in an accident,” he said eventually. “But from her words, I think you can guess the real cause.”
“Murder?” Viena whispered, eyes wide.
Viena was quiet for a moment, digesting the weight of it. Then her brows knit.
“Then what about the ceremony?”
“The Prima Risera,” Randia said. “The coming-of-age ceremony. In this country, it marks the day a child is recognized as an adult.”
Viena tilted her head. The phrase child into an adult clung to her thoughts.
“So… we’re adults when we turn sixteen?”
“Lawfully, yes.”
“People can get adult jobs? And get married?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes widened. “That means I can do that too?!”
“No.”
“Huh? Why not?!”
Randia didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he gently lifted her from his lap and stood up, adjusting the strap on his shoulder.
“...That’s a talk for another time.”
“Come on! Stay for a little while! It’s okay to be late sometimes, right?”
"All of a man's worth is his commitment, Viena."
He ruffled her hair with a broad, calloused palm, then turned toward the door. Viena trailed after him, clinging to his leg like a stubborn leech.
“Let go of me already and go take a bath.”
“Wlee!” Viena stuck out her tongue in protest, grinning.
Just as Randia reached the doorway, he paused—remembering something.
“Oh. Also—fetch my rings from Lisabelle, would you? I will bring some food later."
"Okie dokie!"