Ersia: Raven Dawn

After the sparring match earlier that day, the rings finally returned to their rightful owner. Viena had handed them back to Randia that evening—first trying to wear them herself, slipping each pink-diamond ring onto her thumbs because the others were too small. Now they sat in his open palm, gleaming softly in the low light, as his solemn blue eyes bowed to the memories they carried.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the bashful caress of moonlight slipping through the loose curtain. Randia lay on his side, half-lost in thought, when he felt small hands crawling gently up his back.

It was Viena.

“Papa . . .”

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I can’t.”

“Work out with Lisabelle tomorrow. That’ll fix your circadian rhythm.”

He slipped the rings into his shirt pocket with a slow, practiced movement.

“What about you?” Viena leaned forward and rested her cheek against his ear. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I was almost asleep. But then someone came in and interrupted.”

“Liar.”

She grabbed his nose and cheek, squishing and pulling at them with quiet mischief. Randia let her. He knew that the more he reacted, the more she’d stay awake and keep pestering him.

Then, in a softer voice—

“Papa, are those rings really yours?”

“They are. Why?”

“I was thinking of throwing them away.”

That made him turn.

Randia rolled onto his back, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her expression. There it was—that look. The one he hadn’t seen in some time. Sad. Too quiet. The kind of sorrow that children shouldn’t carry. And it was the look he hated most.

“Why would you do that?”

Viena glanced away, fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt.

“They’re beautiful. And there’s no way you could’ve bought them. You’re too broke to afford something like that. You always give weird discounts to people and never charge enough. So I thought maybe… maybe those rings are why the bad people are still after us. Maybe if I give them to the officials, they’ll stop. They’ll leave us alone. And then… maybe we can stay here forever.”

Randia said nothing at first.

Instead, he reached into his shirt pocket and took out the rings again, holding them up in the moonlight. The pink diamonds caught the pale glow and shimmered like quiet stars.

“Are they that beautiful?” he asked softly.

“Yes!” Viena nodded. “Those must be some kind of treasure you stole or something.”

“I see,” he murmured. “I guess… they are.”

Then, without warning, Randia sat up. Viena blinked in surprise, inching closer as she watched him stare at the rings—eyes distant, voice low.

“These rings were supposed to be my… wedding rings. A merchant from Ilustra, Aamil, gave me the gemstones. And Merry—a good friend of mine—crafted them into these.”

Viena’s sleepiness vanished like smoke. She propped herself up at once.

Her father? Wedding rings? For someone as thorny and cold as Randia to have once considered marriage was a thought so alien, it made her chest tighten with curiosity.

“Hey, Papa! Why didn’t you ever tell me about her? About your wife?”

“It’s complicated,” Randia muttered, still staring at the rings. “Not exactly an easy story to tell.”

“Just a five-minute version, pleaseee?” Viena clasped her hands. “I swear I’ll sleep right after!”

“Why does it even matter to—”

He paused.

She was looking at him with that same stubborn glint he had seen earlier in the day. Eyes like little lanterns of intent. He knew that if he refused, she’d probably pester him until dawn.

Randia sighed.

With a slow shift, he moved toward the wall and opened his right arm.

“Come here.”

“It’s just that… I used to have strong feelings for someone,” Randia said quietly.

“Was she pretty? What did she look like?”

Randia chuckled under his breath, his voice growing distant with memory. “Now that I think about it, your eyes remind me of her hair. Velvety carmine—like strawberry jam. Long and straight, all the way down to her waist. You can imagine the chaos behind her when the wind blew.”

Viena burst into giggles as Randia traced circles on her face, teasing her with his calloused fingers.

“Did she have blue eyes like you?”

“No. Her eyes were green. The kind of green you’d see in the meadows we passed a few months ago—wide, wild, full of life.”

"Red and green? Pfft. What is she? An apple?"

"That is . . . a good parable. She was sweet and sour at times."

He stared up at the ceiling—or maybe beyond it—his gaze drifting to someplace far removed from the room, from the rings, from the years in between.

Watching him grow silent, Viena began to play with her fingers along his chest and arms, treating his body like a landscape—hopping across ridges and cliffs made of muscle, as if scaling the highlands of some giant.

“Well,” she declared proudly, “good luck that you met me then! I’m nothing but sweet!”

Randia raised a brow. “Sweet, huh?”

With a sly grin, he summoned a paper-thin shard of ice along his fingertip and pressed it gently to her neck.

“Eek!” Viena squirmed, laughing uncontrollably. “Cold! Cold!”

“So, how did you two meet each other?”

“During a masquerade ball,” Randia replied, his voice settling into that storytelling cadence Viena loved. “It was hosted by a nobleman named Marquis Amsterdam.”

“Masquerade ball?”

“It’s a kind of party where everyone wears a mask to hide their identity.”

“Oh! So that’s what your elephant mask was for!”

Randia blinked. Then, uncharacteristically, a laugh escaped him—quiet, genuine, unexpected.

“Hehe! You laughed!” Viena cheered, clapping her hands in triumph. “You actually laughed!”

“That’s because you’re being ridiculous,” he muttered, trying to keep a straight face.

“But I was right, wasn’t I?!”

Randia sighed—half amused, half exasperated—and took a long breath before answering. “Technically, yes. The elephant mask is a mask. But… it wasn’t exactly appropriate for the occasion.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it was a very formal, high-profile gathering. All sorts of dignitaries and snobbish elites attending. The last thing you’d want is to make a fool of yourself. That’s why people wear something more… elegant. Subtle. Exclusive. Masks that show taste, not comedy.”

“Huh?” Viena tilted her head. “But if the whole point is to hide your identity, then why not go all out? What’s the use of a mask if it doesn’t cover your whole face?”

Randia chuckled again, just a little. “The hobbies of upper-class folk rarely make sense. But they hold power—so people respect their silly games. In this case, the masquerade was all about ‘guess the guest.’”

“Ohhh…” Viena’s eyes lit up with understanding. “So you’re supposed to look mysterious, but still leave some clues so people can guess who you are?”

“Exactly. It’s a game. One of pride and subtlety. Everyone wants to be recognized—but only by the right people.”

Viena nodded, arms crossed in serious contemplation. “So, what was your mask?”

“A bear.”

“A bear?! That suits you!” she beamed. “What about hers?”

Randia’s eyes softened, gaze drifting a little. “A peacock.”

“Peacock?” Viena wrinkled her nose. “What’s a peacock?”

“It’s a bird—bright and beautiful. Its tail fans open in a crown of colors that shimmer like gemstones. Proud, graceful, impossible to ignore.”

Randia paused, his voice fading into thought.

“Go find a picture of one tomorrow. Alan, Gwen, or Lisabelle should be able to take you to the library. I’m sure there’s a book with illustrations.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t unusual between them, but something about it felt heavier. Randia shifted slightly. His fingers brushed against Viena’s hair as he began to cast a simple charm—one he’d used before. A touch of sleep-magic, meant to guide her into slumber.

But this time, her small hand suddenly shot up and caught his wrist.

"What are you doing, Papa?"

“What are you doing, Papa?”

Randia froze. “Huh?”

“Was that magic?”

He blinked, startled. “. . . .”

He hadn’t even begun the chant. Hadn’t whispered a syllable. And yet—she knew.

“How did you know that?” he asked carefully.

Viena, now fiddling with the lines on his palm, looked up and met his gaze. Her eyes were clear, curious—not frightened, not even surprised. Just… observant.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just felt something. Like a kind of… throbbing?”

“Vibrating,” Randia corrected gently.

“Vibrating,” she repeated. “Is that the right word?”

“It’s close. Vibration is like a tiny, rapid movement. Like a hum you can feel in your bones. Fast. Subtle. Controlled.”

Viena tapped her cheeks, "Yeah, I guess that sounds right."

Randia fell quiet again, mind racing behind his still expression. She hadn’t shown this kind of magical sensitivity in months—not since the first few weeks they’d met. He had been careful, almost paranoid, about shielding her from arcane exposure. So what changed?

“Viena,” he said slowly, “when did you start feeling these vibrations?”

“Hmm…” She thought for a second. “When I was taking my evening bath. Lisabelle put that hot stone thing on the faucet, and then I felt something weird. Swirling inside it.”

Randia’s brows drew together. “Swirling?”

“Yeah. It was like a warm whirlpool, but inside my chest. Not hurting. Just… buzzing.”

He sat up slightly. “Did you do anything while bathing?”

"Hmm . . . I soak with your rings. I'd thought it would make them shinier! But well, it didn't work though."

A spark lit behind Randia’s eyes.

Of course.

The answer, so simple yet so easily missed, was staring him in the face. The rings were enchanted—layered with subtle, long-forgotten weaves of resonance and focus. A gift meant for bonding, now humming faintly with dormant power. When Viena had bathed with them, her body must have come into contact with that lingering current of mana. It was gentle, harmless—yet it reverberated within her.

And more importantly… she noticed it.

To a seasoned magus like himself, that kind of background hum was so familiar it had become white noise. But to Viena, whose arcane senses were still raw, it must have been like pressing a seashell to her ear and suddenly hearing the tide.

Two things became clear.

First—whether by accident or fate—the rings had awakened something in her. Second—Viena was talented. Exceptionally so. He’d had his suspicions from the start, but now he was certain.

"Do you want to know more about magic?"

Randia turned to her slowly, eyes sharper than before. “Do you want to learn more about magic?”

Viena blinked. “Huh?! Seriously?! Yes! I want to! Finally! You finally brought it up!”

“Hold your horses,” Randia said with a faint smile. “I’m not promising anything grand yet.”

“That’s okay! It’s magic!” She could barely contain her excitement, bouncing like a restless spring.

Before she could get any louder, Randia scooped her up with both arms and effortlessly tossed her across the room—right onto her bed. She landed in a heap of laughter and limbs.

“Again! Again!”

“No,” Randia said firmly, though a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

With a flick of his finger, the blanket wrapped around her like a scroll rolling shut, and she floated gently into the air, spinning twice like a slow twirl of ribbon before being set down neatly on her mattress.

“That’s enough for one night. It’s been far more than five minutes, you troublemaker. Get some sleep and stop making noise. We start at first light.”

“Hehehe! One more time? Please?”

“No. Sleep,” he repeated with mock sternness. “Now.”

Randia lay back down on his own bed, sighing as he finally closed his eyes.

For about three seconds.

Because before the silence could even settle, a familiar set of footsteps tiptoed across the floor, and a tiny weight returned to the edge of his mattress.

Just as he opened one eye and raised his hand to magically launch her again, Viena leaned forward, flung her arms around his neck—and kissed him on the cheek.

“I love you, Papa. Good night!”

Before he could say a word, she bolted back to her own bed, giggling like a victorious thief in the night.

Randia stared at the ceiling, hand frozen in mid-air. The magic he was about to cast dissolved in his fingertips.

Unknowingly, it was he who had been caught in her magic.

And as the warmth from her kiss lingered, deeper and far older than any spell he could weave, Randia found himself smiling in the dark.