Ersia: Raven Dawn

Viena, Alan, and Gwen scoured the training ground, their eyes flitting from one corner to another under the high noon sun. A young academy cadet trailed after them dutifully, assigned to assist by Professor Gaspard himself—who now lounged under the shade of a peach tree near the western edge of the field, sipping from a gourd and watching them like one might a mildly amusing play.

They had been circling for a while, arguing over details of Randia’s cryptic directions.

“No, it’s five steps after the tree stump—”

“You said from the tree stump.”

“I said past the tree stump.”

“I’m starting to think the present is a metaphor,” Alan muttered.

But Viena’s eyes suddenly lit up. She took a careful step forward, then another. “Five steps to the left,” she whispered, “and… here. This should be the spot!”

“Hey, junior!” Gwen barked, spinning on her heel toward the cadet. “Get that shovel going!”

“Yes, ma’am!” the cadet replied, already starting to dig.

Viena dropped to her knees beside him, using her small hands to scoop at the looser soil. Alan leaned over to Gwen and nudged her elbow.

“You really enjoy bossing people around, don’t you?”

Gwen sniffed and flipped her hair back proudly. “What’s the point of being a senior if I don’t enjoy a little rank?”

Alan rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“I know. And yet, you’re still here.”

Before he could retort, the cadet let out a sharp cry.

“I hit something!”

They all gathered as he pulled away the last layer of earth. Buried just beneath the surface was a small trunk—worn, oakwood, no larger than a spice box. It looked humble, aged, and utterly unremarkable… yet somehow the sight of it made Viena’s heart quicken.

“There’s a note!” the cadet called. “Attached to the back!”

"What does it say?" Gwen wipes her brows.

Alan took it, squinting as he read aloud:

“To all of you who helped my little girl in her search for her present, allow me to express my gratitude—not only with words, but with a few surprises I’ve left inside.

The location was made possible thanks to a small favor owed to me by Knightess Hirma of the 2nd Airborne Patrol Regiment. I trust she had learned a lot during her little adventure. Once again, thank you kindly.”

The cadet blinked. “Knightess Hirma… The Natlanis?”

---

Professor Gaspard’s voice drifted from beneath the peach tree, dry as old parchment. “Ah. Now it makes sense. If anyone did see her out here, they wouldn’t have dared to ask.”

He stood with a grunt, the soft clank of his mechanical leg echoing across the training field as he made his slow, deliberate way toward them.

“Alright, kiddo,” Gwen called over her shoulder to the cadet, fishing a silver coin from her pocket. “Job’s done. Here, go get yourself a drink—you’ve earned it. Now scram.”

The cadet caught the coin mid-air, blinking. “Eh? But can’t I stick around a bit longer? I’m curious too—”

“Huh?” Gwen turned, a dangerous smile spreading across her face. She stepped in close, eyes narrowed like a hawk’s. “You talking back to me, junior? Go on. Say it again—to my face.” She tapped the cadet’s forehead, repeatedly and unrelentingly.

“N-No ma’am!” the boy yelped, and bolted down the hill like a rabbit fleeing a hawk.

Alan gave Gwen a sidelong look. “You could’ve just said ‘no.’”

“I did,” Gwen shrugged, smug. “Just with an extra emphasis.”

The moment turned solemn as they opened the trunk together. Hinges creaked. Inside lay four strange items, nestled carefully among linen wrappings: a thick glass container filled with small, white pills; a clay jar of ointment with an unfamiliar seal; a stoppered glass flask filled with a shimmering blue liquid marked with a crimson warning sigil; and two small wooden boxes adorned with the painted image of a daisy.

Viena gasped and pulled out a folded note tucked neatly between the items. She held it high like a treasure, eyes scanning the ink with childlike excitement.

“It says… ‘Fresh Candy,’ and… ‘Pretty Cream’... Ooh, and—uh, ‘Elixir of… Retrum?’”

Professor Gaspard suddenly lunged forward with a speed they hadn’t expected, his head popping between Alan and Gwen like a jack-in-the-box. He pushed them aside with both hands and carefully lifted the blue-glass flask with trembling reverence.

His eyes gleamed.

“Elixir of Retrovelum!” he declared.

Even Alan and Gwen, used to the professor’s eccentric antics, found themselves caught off guard by the sheer awe in his voice. It wasn’t just excitement—it was wonder.

Alan tilted his head. “That name rings no bells. What’s it for, Professor?”

Gaspard didn’t take his eyes off the vial. He raised it to the light, letting the liquid swirl and refract a ghostly shimmer across his face.

“Retrovelum,” he said softly, “means ‘the veiled past.’ This elixir doesn’t heal wounds or grant power—it lets the drinker dream of a memory they yearn for most. A face… a place… a moment, long gone but never forgotten.”

He crouched beside Viena and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. His voice lowered.

“Little lady. Tell me—who’s your father?”

Viena puffed her chest. “Papa’s name is Ran! He’s a medevist!”

“Ran, huh…” The professor gave a slow nod. “Well, this here is rare stuff. Not because the ingredients are scarce, or the recipe lost… but because it takes absolute dedication to make. The alchemist must watch the brew for twenty-five hours straight—no sleep, no pause, not even to blink too long.”

“That’s… insane,” Gwen muttered.

“That’s alchemy,” Gaspard replied.

Then, without a word, he reached into his pouch and pulled out three thick gold coins, each bearing the royal mint of the old Rosmayne dynasty.

He pressed them into Viena’s hands.

“Two hundred Rios apiece,” he said. “A treasure for a treasure. Take it, little one. No child gets a gift like this without a reason.”

He turned to Alan and Gwen, and with a mischievous grin, handed each of them one gold coin as well.

“Your share, for surviving the goose chase.”

Gwen stared at the coin. “We’re being paid now?”

“We found an Elixir of Retrovelum. I’m not letting you walk away empty-handed. Consider it academic funding.”

Alan raised a brow. “For what, exactly?”

Gaspard chuckled. “For the next time this girl’s father decides to bury a miracle in your backyard.”

“Fortunately, you kids did find the treasure,” Professor Gaspard said, tucking the gleaming flask safely into his coat. “Unfortunately, it was buried under my jurisdiction. So! I’m claiming this one for myself.”

Before anyone could protest, he wagged a finger and added, “Don’t worry, I’m not completely heartless. You’ve been paid, haven’t you? And as a bonus, you now have full permission to roam wherever your young feet please. No more questions. No more rules. Off you go!”

And with that, he turned on his heel and strode off toward the peach tree again, his mechanized leg clicking rhythmically like a ticking clock.

The three stood there in silence, watching him go.

“…Well, that was unexpected,” Gwen muttered, one brow raised.

Alan exhaled through his nose. “Hmm. So, three items left.”

Viena, undeterred, picked up the thick glass container and twisted it open. She popped a small white candy into her mouth. Her face scrunched for a second, then relaxed into a smile.

“Mint.”

“Mint?” Gwen looked wary. “So… like, spicy? I don’t really like spicy things.”

“It’s not hot spicy,” Viena said between chews. “But it is spicy. Just, like… herby? There’s star anise in here. Fennel too. And licorice. Oh! And yeah, mostly mint.”

Alan reached in, took one, and let it dissolve slowly on his tongue. A cool breeze seemed to sweep through his senses, and he reflexively exhaled into his palm.

He gave an impressed nod. “Fragrant. Not bad.”

Gwen looked suspiciously at both of them, then snatched one herself and tried it. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Hey… it’s not that bad!”

“Right?!” Viena beamed.

With the candy judged and approved, only one prize remained: the two small wooden boxes marked with daisy motifs. Viena gently reached for them and opened the first—click. Inside was a neatly packed cream jar, labeled in flowery script: Pretty Cream.

“Easy,” she said. Then she turned to the second one. She tugged at the lid.

Nothing.

“I-It’s not opening!” she cried, straining with all her might. “Alan, help!”

Alan took the box from her small hands and squared his shoulders. He twisted, pried, pressed, and even grunted a little. The lid wouldn’t move an inch. A sheen of sweat began to form on his brow, and still the box remained perfectly sealed, as if fused by magic itself.

“What… is wrong… with this damned… thing?!”

Viena watched with wide eyes. “Maybe it’s cursed?”

“Or enchanted,” Alan muttered, still trying in vain.

“What about you, Gwen?” Viena offered it over. “Maybe it likes you better.”

Gwen gave it a token try—poked at the lid, tried to turn it—but quickly shook her head. “Nah, impossible. If Alan can’t open it, what chance do I have?”

Alan scowled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m just being realistic, darling.”

Viena sighed and placed the sealed box back in the trunk. “Maybe it’s not meant to be opened yet…”

While Alan continued wrestling with the stubborn sealed box, Viena turned her attention to the other one—the one she had managed to open. Nestled inside were dozens of peculiar wooden pieces, each one carved with curious patterns and indentations. Some had ridges, others grooves, and each bore a slightly different design.

Viena furrowed her brow, picking one up and turning it over in her hand. The carving wasn’t random—there was a pattern, a logic to it. Something about it tickled her memory. She glanced back at the inside of the lid, where the daisy flower had been engraved.

And then she saw it.

“Wait, Alan! Give it to me!”

Alan paused and handed her the sealed box, watching with mild curiosity as she inspected the underside of the daisy carving.

She ran her fingers along the base, then gasped softly. The wood around the daisy wasn’t flat—it had been carved with subtle recesses, creating a shallow board with slightly raised edges and different depth levels.

Viena grabbed one of the flatter wooden pieces from the other box, lined it up with the board’s corner, and pressed it in.

Click.

It fit perfectly. The sound was so crisp and satisfying that even Alan looked up.

“Aha! I knew it!” Viena’s eyes lit up.

She began lining up more pieces, testing and turning them, matching not only the fit but the shape they were beginning to form. Gwen peered over her shoulder, her brows rising as the pattern slowly emerged.

“Ohh! I get it now—it’s a puzzle! A jigsaw, but made from wood!” she exclaimed. “These pieces are supposed to be connected!”

“Yes, Gwen! You’re right!” Viena chirped.

“But what’s the final image supposed to be?” Gwen asked, narrowing her eyes. “How do we know what goes where?”

Alan, who had been watching with growing interest, suddenly pointed at the engraving. “Gasp! The daisy!”

“Yeah!” Viena and Gwen chimed in unison.

The pieces were forming parts of petals, stems, and leaves. The engraved daisy wasn’t just decorative—it was the reference image.

With their objective now clear, the three of them threw themselves into the puzzle with a sense of shared purpose. Alan estimated the board held five tiles across and eight tiles down—forty pieces in total. Forty chances to get it wrong, and one beautiful daisy if they got it right.

They argued over which shades belonged where—“This is clearly the petal, Gwen, not the leaf!”—but they laughed through it. Alan and Gwen occasionally clashed over symmetry, while Viena patiently repositioned their misplaced tiles with small hands and sharp eyes.

Minutes stretched into nearly an hour. Slowly but surely, the scattered shapes began to take form. Bit by bit, petal by petal, the image came to life beneath their fingers.

Halfway there.

And none of them wanted to stop.

At one point, a patrolling officer wandered over, drawn by the sound of bickering and bursts of laughter near the edge of the training ground. He squinted suspiciously, arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey, you three. What exactly are you—”

“SHUT THE HELL UP, BUCKETHEAD!” Gwen barked without even looking up from the puzzle.

“WE’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING IMPORTANT HERE!” Alan added, not missing a beat, his eyes still locked on a stubborn tile in his hand.

The officer froze, blinking in stunned silence. He stared at them—three young people huddled on the ground, completely absorbed in a wooden board game like it was the fate of the realm—then slowly took a step back, utterly thrown.

“I-I was just doing my job...” he murmured, backing away as if they’d cast some sort of spell on him.

He walked off with a slouch in his step and the heartbreak of a man who’d just been yelled at by a pair of puzzle-obsessed lunatics.

---

Another hour slipped quietly by. The academy bell rang out seventeen solemn chimes, echoing through the chilly autumn air. The sun had begun its slow descent behind the treetops, casting long golden shadows over the training grounds. A crisp breeze swirled past, tugging at sleeves and hair. In the distance, cadets ran their afternoon laps, their rhythmic footsteps pounding like a steady drumbeat, passing the trio huddled around the wooden box for the third time.

Suddenly, Viena sprang to her feet, her chest puffed out in triumph.

“Haha! Finally! Only one piece left!” she declared, eyes gleaming with victory.

Alan and Gwen burst into applause—not just for her, but for themselves as well. Solving this peculiar puzzle felt like cracking an ancient mystery. A few passing cadets gave them odd looks—some curious, others amused—but none of it mattered.

“Come on, come on!” Gwen bounced on her heels. “Put it in, Viena! I can’t take the suspense!”

“Alriiiight! Here we go!”

With careful hands, Viena placed the final wooden piece into the board. A soft click echoed through the quiet air—and then, suddenly, the box shimmered with a faint, golden light. It pulsed once… twice… thrice… before fading into stillness.

Alan leaned forward. “Go on, Viena. I’m sure that... is your father’s true gift.”

Viena slowly lifted the lid.

.

.

.

Inside the box lay a pair of dangle earrings—so exquisite they seemed almost unreal. Even in the fading light of dusk, they caught the meager rays and reflected them like liquid fire. The metalwork was delicate, almost weightless, yet clearly forged with masterful precision. The hooks and backs were crafted from the highest-grade titanium, their surface bearing a whisper of bluish sheen—an alloy so rare and strong that even seasoned jewelers would raise their brows. Viena, of course, couldn’t tell. But Gwen could. And she did.

Her eyes widened, and for a fleeting moment, even her loud mouth was silent.

“Viena,” she muttered. “These aren’t just earrings. These are… priceless.”

But the true heart of the piece—the detail that stole everyone's breath—was the pair of pink diamonds nestled at the center. Large, luminous, and deeply cut, they sparkled not with light alone, but with an almost eerie vitality, as if the stones themselves were alive. They didn’t just glint—they shimmered, beckoned, demanded to be seen. Their brilliance was profound, even intimidating, like royalty draped in silence.

Viena stared at them, unmoving.

She knew those diamonds.

They were unmistakable—the same stones that once adorned the twin rings worn by Randia. The same faint blush, the same hypnotic shimmer. Her eyes softened as memory flickered behind her gaze.

He had given them away.

For her.

She said nothing.

But the small, quiet tremble in her lip, the way her fingers hesitated before touching the earrings—those said enough.