Ersia: Raven Dawn

Morning light spilled across the Great Gardenia like liquid gold, catching the banners and helms of the gathered crowd. Today marked the semifinals of the Open Duel, and the air was wild with anticipation. Merchants scurried to set up their stalls, hawking new souvenirs of the four remaining duelists—little wooden effigies carved overnight, pennants painted still wet.

The scent of roasted nuts and metal dust from freshly polished armor mingled in the wind. Every breath of the arena felt alive.

Among the thousands, three familiar figures took their seats: Viena, eyes bright and curious; Lisabelle, ever poised yet restless; and Laura, who had tagged along after their chance meeting two days prior.

After the quarterfinals, Laura had invited them to Clarentine’s manor for tea and pastries—an invitation Viena had accepted before Lisabelle could even think to decline. And so, here they were again, seated side by side amid a roar of cheers.

When the trumpets sounded, the crowd thundered with excitement. The royal herald gave his formal blessing, his voice echoing through the marble corridors of the coliseum before yielding the stage to the event’s commentators.

But then—an announcement of delay. Something about the enchantment grid misaligning. The commentators scrambled to fill the silence, cracking jokes, swapping anecdotes about past duels, and playfully arguing which fighter had the better entrance flair.

It was during this lull that someone lowered himself into the empty seat beside Lisabelle.

An old man, dressed in an unassuming grey cloak. His beard was long and uneven, his expression sharp yet oddly amused.

“Damn, it’s loud today,” he said, almost to himself. “I had to leave my bed just to see what all this noise was about.”

Lisabelle turned, arching an eyebrow. “Are you alright, gramps? Don’t you have someone to look after you?”

She froze when she noticed his eyes. One was emerald green. The other, a deep, glimmering red.

Heterochromia — but not the natural kind. Something hidden flickered behind that gaze.

“I’ve got a grandson,” Argenis replied, eyes crinkling. “But he’s still a fool, better off studying than trailing me around.” He turned his head toward her, meeting her stunned look. “What? Something on my face?”

“N–No... it’s just—I didn’t expect the red one.”

The old man laughed, low and hoarse. “Boo! I’ll kill you and offer your heart to Mistus!”

Lisabelle blinked. “...I don’t have any prejudice against them, if that’s what you mean.”

“Ah, dull,” he grumbled. “You’re no fun. Too mature for a child.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lisabelle muttered, stretching her shoulders.

Just then, Viena leaned against her arm. She was also mesmerized by his red eye for a moment. However, like always, curiosity get the best of her as she looked for an opening to get to know the old man whom Lisabelle was talking to.

“Lily, who’re you talking to?”

“Hey, small fry,” said Argenis with a grin. “Name’s Argenis.”

He plucked a single hair from his beard and blew it in Viena’s direction. The hair shimmered, vanished, and Viena sneezed—hard. Argenis burst out laughing, his laughter so carefree that nearby spectators briefly glanced over.

Lisabelle sighed. “This old man’s just a lonely spectator, so I said hello.”

Viena puffed her cheeks. “I can see why he’s lonely.”

That earned a booming laugh from Argenis. “You two are sharp-tongued little devils. I like that.”

Despite his mischief, there was something almost comforting about his presence—like a candle’s glow that hid the shadow it cast.

“Vivi, get your bread and milk,” Lisabelle said.

Still sulking, Viena obeyed, tearing a piece of her soft bread and pouring fresh milk into a wooden cup. She handed both to Argenis with reluctant politeness.

“Oh! You’re kind after all!” Argenis clapped. “Thank you, Lily and Vivi! You’ve made an old man happy!”

“It’s Lisabelle for you,” she corrected.

“You can call me Vivi!” chirped Viena, mood already lightened.

Argenis devoured the bread and drained the cup, sighing contentedly. Then, rummaging through his cloak, he pulled out a small black sphere and tossed it to Lisabelle.

“Here. This is for you. Use it every day.”

Lisabelle caught it, inspecting its weight—heavier than it looked, smooth and cold like obsidian.

“What is this? How do I use it?”

“Since there's some sort of ... a miniscule similarity between your magic and mine, you’ll understand in no time,” Argenis said, waving dismissively. “But I’ll tell you this—it’s worth more than a hundred books. I guarantee it.”

Lisabelle sighed, pocketing it. Probably just another sentimental trinket from an eccentric old man. Still, she didn’t have the heart to throw it away—at least not yet.

“Gramps,” Viena piped up suddenly, “may I ask something?”

“Of course.”

“Why is one of your eyes... red?”

Argenis leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Ah. That’s actually a big secret. But since your sister’s already got her gift—it's only fair that I give yours. Come closer, brat.”

Viena hesitated, but curiosity won. She sat by his other side.

Argenis whispered, “Why would you ask such question when you’ve got two red eyes of your own?”

Her heart stopped. A chill ran through her spine. Those words—those eyes—brought back the memory she had buried deep: the bandits, the fear, the knife that almost took her sight.

"LI-!"

Before she could scream, Argenis snapped his fingers.

Her body froze. Her voice caught. Panic rose in her throat, but her limbs refused to move.

“Calm down, you little monkey,” he said gently, tapping her forehead twice. “I know your secret. And your father’s. But I’ve no intention to harm, I swear. I’m just curious... what kind of child could make a man like him choose to live like a rat in the dark, after all he’s endured for others.”

He glanced toward Lisabelle—who was busy chatting with Laura, unaware of what had transpired—then back to Viena.

Let's just say that—your father once killed people with eyes like yours ... like ours. He was foolish, cruel, and stubborn.

Another snap, and Viena could move again. She trembled, tears welling in her eyes, confusion and fear all tangled together. She just sit there with here eyes locked with Argenis, unblinking.

“Go on, little one. Back to your sister.”

Viena walked slowly back, head down. She sat between Lisabelle and Laura, clutching her cup of milk.

“Vivi, what’s wrong? You look pale! Don’t tell me you’ve got the same stomachache as me!” Laura stood, fuming. “Damn it! I knew that soup vendor looked suspicious!”

Lisabelle sighed. “For the last time, Laura—you just can’t handle spice. And you—” she turned to Argenis, her gaze sharpening. “What did you whisper to my sister?”

Argenis chuckled. “My bad. Didn’t know she was such a scaredy-cat.”

“I told her my red eye isn’t from birth like the mistari. I got it after making a pact with Mistus. And you know what happens when one makes a pact with the pantheon's nemesis, don’t you?” He winked.

“Dark and horrifying stories?” Lisabelle muttered, dabbing Viena’s eyes with her sleeve. “Sigh. This one is hopeless with those.”

Then, standing, Argenis stretched his back with a groan.

“Well... seems I’ve spoiled the bright morning mood. My apologies, kids. I guess I’ll just go somewhere.”

“You don’t have to,” Lisabelle said with a small, knowing smile. “Reality checks are sometimes necessary. Even for a brat like her.”

For the first time, Argenis’s grin softened. His tone matched his years—gentle, even wistful.

“Keep being yourself, Lisabelle. Life will test you, as it should—but I’ve no doubt you’ll become someone important to many.”

Lisabelle smirked. “Pfft. What’s with the sudden wisdom and sentiment?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Hah! You’re right, you’re right. Old age gets me sometimes. Very well then—tell your family, Argenis sends his regards.”

He began to walk down the steps, his figure shrinking into the crowd’s tapestry of color and noise.

“Argenis!” Lisabelle called after him.

He stopped, turned, his cloak fluttering in the wind.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Hope your family’s well.”

“You too,” he answered, smiling, raising one hand in farewell.

The crowd roared again as the duels finally began. Trumpets blared, and somewhere high above, a single feather drifted down — faintly glowing blue and gold — before vanishing as it touched the stone.

Lisabelle didn’t see it. But Viena did.

And for a fleeting second, she thought she saw the old man watching them from the shadows of the upper terrace, smiling like a god remembering something long forgotten.