Ersia: Raven Dawn

[Present Time - Thousand Mirror Palace]

The Thousand Mirror Palace stood apart from the capital’s inner walls, yet not so far as to fall beyond the vigilant reach of Rosmayne’s knights. It was a place not meant for spectacle, but for discretion—a residence reserved for delicate diplomacy between the Queendom of Rosmayne and foreign powers. Here, negotiations unfolded not through grand assemblies, but through measured conversation, where every word carried weight and consequence.

In the aftermath of the pandemonium of the Ludus Magnorum, the capital of Fleurein found itself in a state of ongoing revitalization. Magnolia Palace, long the customary seat of such affairs, had become entangled in reconstruction and social discomfort. Thus, many matters once handled within its halls were quietly redirected to the Thousand Mirror Palace. Among them was the increasingly sensitive case concerning Randia and Viena—an issue that had drawn the careful attention of all, especially those who weave the intricate fabrics of power.

For the time being, Viena and Lisabelle resided within that glass-bound estate as guests of the queen. It was, in many respects, a place designed to soothe the mind through abundance. Light fractured endlessly across mirrored corridors, gardens stretched wide beneath open skies, and warm pools offered quiet refuge from the chill of early mornings. There were trained falcons wheeling through the air, intricate hedge labyrinths, and tables laid with confections so refined they bordered on artistry. Every arrangement, whether of flowers or of flavor, seemed curated with intent—as though the palace itself participated in a subtle effort to mend what sorrow it could.

And yet, such efforts could only reach so far.

Despite the luxuries that surrounded her, Viena would still, at times, weep. The grief came without ceremony, often in quiet moments when the world had softened its noise. She would tell Lisabelle, in a voice that struggled to remain steady, how she wished her father could have seen it all—the gardens, the light, the fleeting joys offered so generously to her. It was not the absence of comfort that troubled her, but the absence of certain someone whom she would love very much to share it with.

Throughout their stay, Lisabelle found herself increasingly unsettled—not by any overt threat, but by the silence. No officials came to question them. No attendants lingered beyond their duties. Most striking of all, they had yet to be granted an audience with the queen herself. For a matter supposedly of such importance, the silence surrounding them felt deliberate.

She could not shake the sense that decisions were being made elsewhere, by individuals who preferred caution over haste.

Morning arrived earlier than comfort would allow, though the palace servants seemed to rise even before it. While the air still carried the lingering cold of night, the corridors had already stirred to life with quiet industry. Among the many routines set into motion each day was the care of the palace’s distinguished guests—Viena and Lisabelle among them.

As had become customary, they were awakened promptly and attended to without delay. Garments were prepared, hair arranged, and before either could fully gather their thoughts, they were guided toward the morning prayer service. The practice remained unfamiliar to Viena, who had long been accustomed to beginning her day with water—if not a full bath, then at least the simple clarity of washing her face. Here, however, ritual preceded comfort.

Seated among the faithful, she listened to the sermon through a haze of drowsiness, her attention wavering as the cadence of the priest’s voice blended with the quiet stillness of the hall. The language of theology carried its own rhythm, one that demanded patience she had yet to master so early in the morning.

Only after the service concluded were they permitted the reprieve of breakfast.

They dined, as always, on one of the open terraces overlooking the palace gardens. From there, the view extended across carefully tended blooms, their colors softened beneath the morning light. The air carried a faint sweetness, and for a moment, it was easy to believe in the illusion the palace offered—that within these walls, the world beyond had been held at bay.

For a moment, the illusion held—fragile, almost persuasive. Then dawn broke in full, and with it, time resumed its quiet, relentless march.

Viena and Lisabelle were seated in the palace library when two knights entered without ceremony. Their armor carried the faint echo of the corridors behind them, and their presence alone was enough to still the air.

“Young Ladies Lisabelle and Viena,” one of them said, his tone formal but firm, “a grand audience with Her Majesty will commence this afternoon at the second hour past noon.”

The other stepped forward, adding, “Until that time, you are to remain in your chambers until further notice. Please, allow us to escort you.”

Neither of them objected. They simply rose, closed their books, and followed where the knights led.

For Lisabelle, this was the moment she had long anticipated. She did not know what awaited them within that audience, but her mind moved swiftly, assembling possibilities with practiced discipline. Questions that might be asked, suspicions that would need careful answers, pressures that might be applied, and demands that could not be refused—she rehearsed them all in silence, refining each response with deliberate precision. Word by word.

She was so absorbed in this rehearsal that she barely noticed the walk itself, her mind elsewhere even as her feet carried her down the corridor connecting the library to the little garden where the household took its afternoon tea. That distraction cost her. She never saw what was coming until it had already happened — one knight turning on the other with a speed that belonged to no ordinary soldier, driving his blade clean through his companion's throat.

The wounded man convulsed once, twice, the death already moving through him before he finished falling, and then he simply stopped. Behind them, the three palace servants who had trailed along at a respectful distance broke into screaming, their voices ringing off the stone as blood sprayed wide across the corridor, streaking the walls, the floor, the hem of Lisabelle's own gown.

"Vivi!"

Lisabelle moved on instinct, turning to shield her sister—but something struck her before she could reach her. The force was overwhelming, as though she had been hit by a charging warhorse clad in full barding. Her body was thrown across the corridor, crashing into a marble table with a sickening impact. The world went dark before she could even gasp.

Laughter followed.

The knight who remained standing began to laugh, and the sound that came out of him belonged to no man his size. It was a woman's laughter, high and delighted, utterly wrong coming from that broad-shouldered frame in its plate armor.

"At last," he said. "I've found you."

He came toward Viena slowly, one unhurried step at a time, as though savoring the distance that remained between them.

“Come now, sweet thing. Don't be afraid of me,” he said, his voice shifting—soft, almost lilting, unmistakably feminine despite the body it came from. “I have wandered this world for millennia, and never once, in all that time, have I encountered anything like you. You are… exquisite. A vessel beyond any comparison, Viena. I knew it the moment I saw you. It was love at first sight!”

He reached up and pulled the helmet from his head, tossing it aside without ceremony, and in the instant it took him to blink, the color of his eyes changed entirely — burning gold threaded with living fire. They were radiant and terrible, and yet there was something in that unnatural light that pulled at the eye instead of repelling it, a strange allure that defied reason.

She knew him at once.

Y-You…! S-Syamrin!” she stammered, her voice breaking under the weight of recognition.

A delighted gasp escaped him.

“Ah! So you DO remember me.” His smile widened, almost childlike in its delight. “How wonderful. Then surely this is fate, is it not? Verily! You and I, we are meant for each other!”

Syamrin drew in a long breath and began to sway where he stood, dancing a few loose steps to a tune he hummed under his breath, some melody hat belonged to a song that no one has ever heard.

"S-stay away from me!"

Viena's fear climbed past anything she had felt before. She glanced left, then right, searching for anyone who might help, and found no one. The servants had already scattered, fleeing in every direction with their screams trailing behind them until even the echoes died away, and it was in that silence that the truth settled over her: she was entirely alone and no one can help her. Not her father this time. Not Lisabelle either.

"Don’t be like that, dear one,” Syamrin said lightly. “Do you have any idea what it's like, changing bodies nine times in a fortnight? Living through nine foolish, fragile little human lives, one after another? Exhausting. Disgusting, if I'm honest. Though I'll admit it hasn't been entirely without its muses — it's shown me that you humans really haven't changed much at all."

He paused there, something private and unpleasant flickering across his expression, and when he went on his voice had dropped into something almost fond, almost nostalgic — the tone of a man recalling an old indulgence rather than confessing a sin. Suddenly, Syamrin touched himself and fondled his private as if he were extremely aroused.

"You see ... You'd be amazed what hides under the vestments of the most devout men you'll ever meet. Even the seemingly most pious, r*ped children oh so vigorously! And it was even a scheduled routine! On par with food and sleep! Hahahah! That priest is one of my favorites! Even I can hardly imagine such epicure for debauchery! A candidate for my top 10 for sure!"

Viena’s legs gave way beneath her. She fell to the ground, her body refusing to obey her as fear rooted her in place.

"Ah, forgive me — where was I?" he mused, tilting his head. "Oh yes, it's about time we end this. Wouldn't want to wait until everyone is here, right?"

“But do not worry,” he continued, his tone softening into something almost gentle. “I am so so pleased to meet you. I'm very grateful to your mother. Thus, before everything ends, I will grant you a dream—the finest fantasy of your life. You will live within it, surrounded by everything you have ever longed for. Your deepest desires, given form, exactly as you imagined it.”

He resumes his advance, and his hand began to reach toward her.

“And when you awaken…”