Ersia: Raven Dawn

“Papa!”

Viena’s voice rang out across the cathedral steps as she dashed toward the man in black robes. Randia, however, didn’t seem to hear her at first. He was still deep in conversation with a group of attendants, who bowed and stepped aside with the utmost reverence. Their posture was rigid, their expressions respectful—he was clearly held in high esteem.

“Papaa!” she called again, more insistent this time.

Randia finally glanced her way. “Oh, you’re here.”

“Hey! Is that all you’ve got to say?!” Viena pouted, placing her hands on her hips. “Don’t you see anything different about me?”

She gave a theatrical toss of her head, swiping back a lock of hair to reveal a pair of delicate, gleaming earrings. It was an exaggerated gesture, clearly rehearsed—and just as clearly, learned from someone else.

Randia’s eyes narrowed slightly. Instead of replying, he turned his gaze to Gwen, the knight standing a few paces behind. She grinned and gave a thumbs-up. Just as he thought. Gwen’s influence again.

“You look no different,” Randia said flatly. “What is there to say about?"

“No way! Can’t you see them from up there?! Get down and look properly!”

With a huff, Viena grabbed at the hem of his robe and tugged with all her might. Randia sighed, but allowed himself to be pulled down to one knee, eye to eye with the little girl.

And then, unexpectedly, he hesitated.

He found himself staring not at the earrings, but at her face—at her bright, expectant eyes, her flushed cheeks, her wide, gleaming smile. Something inside him shifted. It swirled low in his chest, unfamiliar and warm. He had a word for what it might be, but he refused to name it. Not now.

“See? I’m so pretty, right?!” she beamed.

He gave another soft sigh, the corner of his lips twitching.

“Sure. Your earrings look good.”

“Tsk, tsk. That’s not how you say it!” Viena crossed her arms with a dramatic huff. “You’re supposed to say, ‘The earrings look good on you!’ That’s the words to say! Right?!”

“My, I had no idea you had a daughter, my lord.”

“Hey there, cute girl! What’s your name?”

Willard and Milla approached from behind Randia, their curiosity piqued the moment they laid eyes on Viena. Milla, in particular, looked positively enchanted—already plotting how she might use the child to draw closer to her ever-distant superior.

“Ah, yes,” Randia said as he stood up, brushing off his robes. “I’d forgotten you two haven’t met her yet. Viena, this is Willard, and this is Milla. Now go on—it’s your turn to introduce yourself.”

Viena puffed out her chest with pride and gave a dazzling smile. “Hello, Willard and Milla! Nice to meet you! I’m Viena—Papa’s most, most beloved daughter!” she declared, hugging Randia’s leg tightly like a triumphant flag on a mountain peak.

“Wow! What a coincidence!” Milla clapped her hands with mock delight. “I’m his most, most beloved attendant!”

She opened her arms, ready to dive into a hug—only to be stopped mid-lunge by Willard, who pulled her ear sharply.

“Apologies,” he said, bowing his head toward Viena. “Please forgive this one. She’s not always in full possession of her senses.”

“Ow—ow—Willard! Let go, I was bonding!”

“Hehe!” Viena giggled. “Your friends are fun, Papa!”

Willard chuckled. “That’s one word for it.”

The conversation meandered into easy small talk, filled with laughter and Viena’s bright energy. The warm moment stretched on until the golden dusk began to give way to twilight. One by one, the streetlamps flickered to life as patrolling knights lit their way. Autumn’s touch was already stealing the daylight early, cloaking the town in its long evening embrace.

Willard gave a polite bow. “It’s getting late, my lord. Forgive us for holding you up. Please, carry on with your evening—and thank you for your hard work, as always.”

“Thank you, Willard. Milla,” Randia nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

Randia takes Viena's hand and walk away together with Alan and Gwen. They go to a nearby tavern to have a dinner. Randia was going to pay for their meal, until Alan and Gwen insisted that he shouldn't. They even bring out Randia's gift to the table and talk about it. It's at this time that Gwen finds out that the clay ointment jar she got from Randia is an exfoliating cream that she supposed to use once a week, twice maximal. One can only imagine how happy she is when she understood how valuable the gift was for her.

They spend their time together before going back to the Arbona's house. Viena, Gwen, and Alan just couldn't stop smiling all night. They are in a very good mood, and they have grown even closer with each other. Seeing this, Randia feels quite delighted. He is glad that he has chosen the right things to be stuffed inside the box.

Creak—Click.

"Well, well, well. Someone had quite the day without me," Lisabelle said dryly from the sofa, not even lifting her eyes from her book as the front door eased shut behind small, skipping footsteps.

"LILY!"

Viena's voice rang like a bell through the quiet room, full of excitement and pride. She bolted straight to Lisabelle, cheeks rosy, hands behind her back, trying—and failing—to keep her surprise hidden.

Lisabelle’s book flopped to the floor as she jolted. "Uwah—! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" she scolded, placing a hand over her chest. But her tone softened as she turned and caught sight of the girl beaming up at her with sparkling eyes.

She crossed the room in long, slow steps. Viena bounced on her heels, barely containing herself.

Lisabelle crouched slightly, tilting her head, lips curling into a sly grin. "Hmm. Something’s different about you today… I wonder what it is~"

Viena huffed and dramatically shook her head side to side—jingle-jingle—making her earrings dance and glimmer in the warm light.

"Ohhh, I think I see it now!"

Lisabelle reached out with both hands, slowly, as if to inspect the earrings—but at the last second, her fingers darted behind Viena’s ears and started tickling her mercilessly.

"Aaaah—nooo!!" Viena squealed, laughing uncontrollably.

Their laughter echoed through the house, unfiltered and wild. Books shifted on their shelves. Cushions tumbled to the floor. A few moments later, Eleanor emerged from the hallway, arms crossed, but a small amused smile tugging at her lips. She stepped over the chaos and handed a glass of water to Randia, who had just returned, quiet and road-worn.

On the floor, Lisabelle and Viena were still tangled up in fits of giggles, red-faced and breathless.

Eventually, the two girls flopped onto the sofa, panting as if they’d just run a marathon. Outside, the night deepened, casting a blue tint across the room. From behind the hallway door, the sound of water running could be heard—Randia was in the bath.

Lisabelle leaned her head back and gave Viena a sideways glance. "Those earrings are pretty cool," she said casually.

Viena’s eyes lit up again. "Yeah! Papa gave them to me."

Lisabelle went quiet for a moment. She turned her gaze to the earrings—familiar in shape and metal. Her voice, when it came again, was quieter.

". . . You noticed, didn’t you? That they were once his rings?"

Viena's smile softened into something bashful. She nodded, then gently laid her head across Lisabelle’s lap.

Lisabelle rested her hand on Viena’s hair. "Make sure you take care of them, okay? You knew how much he cherishes them."

"Mmhm. I will," Viena whispered.

That night, Viena simply couldn’t stop admiring herself in the mirror.

She twirled in place, giggling to her reflection, her new earrings swinging with every motion like tiny bells announcing her joy. She wore them even in the bath, splashing with glee, and continued playing with them all through dinner—cupping them with her palms, glancing at every reflective surface, and asking, “Do they sparkle under this light too?”

Randia had tried to ignore it at first, assuming it was just a phase—something natural for a little girl. But as the evening wore on, and her theatrics stretched into their third hour, his patience began to fray.

At last, he looked up from his book with a weary sigh.

"Are you planning to do that all night?"

"But Papa! Can’t you see? I’m so pretty!" Viena spun dramatically, her grin stretching ear to ear.

He said nothing. Just patted his bed beside him, a silent invitation.

Viena didn’t need to be told twice. She hopped up with a bright smile and plopped down on his lap, curling into him like a cat basking in affection. Randia brushed back her hair and gently touched the left earring, his fingers lingering. For a second, his gaze softened—not at the jewelry, but at something far away, deep in memory. Then, wordlessly, he tapped her forehead with a finger.

Tunk.

"Ow—! Hey!" she protested, rubbing her forehead. “What was that for?”

"Why are you so obsessed with being pretty?"

"Huh? But you’re the one who said ‘the fairness of shape is important’!”

"Maybe for most people," he replied. "But I’m... a little different."

"Why?" she asked, brows furrowed, sensing the shift in his tone.

He hesitated a moment, then looked her in the eye.

“Because anyone can love a flower,” he said slowly, “but it takes something else to love a leaf. It’s easy to love the beautiful—but it’s beautiful to love the ordinary. There’s a kind of perfection in imperfection.”

Viena tilted her head. Her expression twisted in visible confusion. “So... you mean I should be ordinary?”

Randia chuckled, shaking his head. “No. You should try your best to be beautiful.”

"ISH!! YOU’RE CONFUSING ME!!"

Irritated, Viena sank her teeth into Randia’s hand—her usual little rebellion whenever his words confused or annoyed her. Then he reached over and pinched her nose with two fingers, gently tugging until she squeaked and let go.

“Truce?” he offered.

She pouted, crossing her arms with a huff. But when Randia began stroking her hair, her sulk softened into a quiet hum of contentment.

"You’re nine now," he said softly, still running his fingers through her hair. “It’s time to start thinking for yourself. People will offer their thoughts, sure—but in the end, it’s you who gets to decide what to do with them.”

Viena perked up, eyes narrowing with mischief.

“So that means I can do whatever I want?”

Randia gave her a flat look. “Yes... and no.”

“Papaaa,” she whined. “You’re doing it again! You’re so confusing—”

She leaned in, threatening another bite. He held up a finger in mock warning.

“Listen. If your choice only affects you, then yes, you're free to do as you wish. But if it involves others—and you still insist on doing whatever you want—imagine if everyone in the world thought that way. What kind of world would that be?”

Unexpectedly, Viena turns silent. She rests her cheek on Randia's chest, seemingly thinking about something.

To his surprise, Viena didn’t respond with another quip. Instead, she leaned forward, resting her cheek against his chest. The room quieted.

"...What if my thinking isn’t good enough?" she murmured. “What if I mess up and hurt someone?”

This time, it was Randia who fell silent.

He shifted his gaze to the window, where the full moon hung low in the mist-veiled sky, its pale light slipping through the glass like a ghost's breath. A soft glow painted his face, but his eyes were shadowed—caught somewhere far from the quiet room they shared.

“We humans are born to make mistakes, Viena,” he said, his voice quieter now, as if speaking to the moon itself. “One day, you’ll have to make a decision in the dark. No knowledge of what came before, no certainty of what’s unfolding—and no clue what’ll come after. And whether you get a second chance… well, that’s never promised.”

“. . . I don’t want to,” Viena whispered. “I’d rather have you tell me what to do, Papa.”

Her honesty struck like a blade wrapped in silk. Randia blinked slowly.

Her words brought back the shadows of his own past—the weight of old chains. He, too, had once given up his reins. Let others guide him. Trusted their ideals over his own judgment. And for what? To be twisted into a weapon… broken, used, and discarded like a pet whose only crime was obedience.

The thought of Viena, his Viena, shackled to the same misery—it made his jaw clench.

“A man who gives away his free will,” he said slowly, “is worse than an animal. Why would you hand your life to someone else, when you have every gift to be anything you want?”

“Because you know what’s right and wrong, Papa!” she shot back, her voice brittle with fear and defiance.

Randia’s expression softened, then darkened.

“I’m not always right,” he murmured. “And one day… I won’t be here.”

He gently touched her cheek.

“You might find me dead from a heart attack tomorrow morning—then what?” His tone wasn’t cruel, only real. “Will you hand your life over to Lisabelle, just because it’s easier than choosing for yourself? Will you cry to Lady Eleanor for every storm that comes because you're afraid to steer your own ship?”

Viena couldn’t answer. She just pressed herself tighter against him, her small arms winding around his waist like a vine clinging to an old tree. She listened to his heartbeat—once fast, now slowing, each beat echoing the sorrow in his words.

And she began to understand, in her own small way, that growing up wasn’t just about age or strength or beauty.

It was about daring to stand alone, even when your heart begged to be carried.

Randia cupped Viena’s cheek gently between his thumb and forefinger, lifting her gaze to meet his own.

“Look at me, Viena,” he said softly, his voice steady but full of meaning. “Will you throw away the potential inside you—the power to make people's lives brighter—in the name of fear?”

“...No,” she whispered, eyes wide but resolute.

“Will you turn away from those who need you, just because taking risks feels too dangerous?”

“No.”

“Will you spend your whole life doing nothing, because you are scared to see people in their eyes?"

"No!"

"... Will you make me proud?"

"No - Wait what? Yes! I mean yes! Of course, yes! You got me there, hehe!"

"Hm. Good girl." Randia nods and gently bopping Viena's nose.

He wrapped her in a warm embrace, tapping her back gently as Viena melted against him, burying her face into the comforting scent of brewed tea that clung to his chest.

After a beat, Viena pulled back just enough to whisper fiercely, “I’ll do it.”

Randia blinked, surprised. “Pardon?”

“I’ll learn everything I can. I’ll make you proud, Papa. But… you have to stay with me as long as possible, okay?”

His smile softened to a quiet promise. “Alright.”

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Days slipped by gently, weaving their quiet rhythm through the lives of this small, bustling household. The children—curious, lively, and endlessly spirited—filled the house with laughter, study sessions, and adventures of their own making. Meanwhile, the adults moved steadily through their duties, a seamless dance of care and responsibility. In this home, boredom was a stranger; even the occasional quarrels, those inevitable sparks between siblings, only added texture to their bond—like the roughest stones that hold a wall firm and unyielding.

Now and then, they would venture out together to local festivals, sharing the joy and colors of the town. Lisabelle, however, found herself missing many of these outings, as Alan and Gwen were often called away on duty. Truth be told, both guards had recently found themselves in hot water for neglecting their responsibilities—especially after sneaking off to the military academy during Viena’s birthday celebrations. Fortunately, Professor Gaspard’s earnest plea saved them from harsh punishment, and they escaped with only minor reprimands.

When New Year’s Eve finally arrived, the household brimmed with warmth and merriment. A grand feast was laid out, and the air buzzed with the clinking of glasses and hearty laughter. Liam Arbon and his loyal butler Davon made their way to join the gathering, their presence adding to the evening’s cheer. Though the Bidau family had been invited, unforeseen circumstances kept them away; instead, they sent generous gifts of luxurious meats and fine wine—tokens of their celebration from afar, shared in spirit with the Arbons.

The vernal equinox had come at last—a day when the sun hovered directly above the equator, casting no shadows anywhere. Outside, dawn’s pale light seeped gently into the house, though the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

Inside Lisabelle’s room, Viena lay sprawled beneath a soft quilt, still deep in slumber despite the early hour. Her tousled hair framed a peaceful face, and a small trail of drool betrayed her late bedtime the night before. The clock on the wall read five in the morning, but the moment they had been waiting for was already upon them.

“Vivi!”

A gentle but urgent voice broke the quiet.

“Nngh...”

“Vivi, wake up! Today is the Prima Risera!”

Sunlight touched the curtains, promising a day steeped in tradition and new beginnings. The ceremony beckoned, and the first steps toward what was to come would begin now—whether Viena was ready or not.