Ersia: Raven Dawn

In one corner of the afternoon tea garden, where the ritual was underway, countless motes of light had gathered around a tree, clinging to its branches like millions of fireflies drawn to a single resting place. Their collective radiance grew brighter until the individual lights could no longer be distinguished from one another, and from within that luminous gathering emerged Argenis. His arrival brought his features into clear view before Rudan and Syamrin: eyes divided between green and red, pure white hair, and a beard braided into three distinct sections, each adorned with silver and sapphire. His garments, too, were unmistakable, their pale grey-white fabric lending him the appearance of a man who had long since transcended beyond the ordinary world of men.

Rudan, however, could hardly afford to admire his master's timely arrival. Argenis's presence had only made Syamrin's ritual more ravenous, accelerating the rate at which the entity siphoned away the old mage's immense power. Every passing second strengthened the creature, and the magic sustaining Rudan's formation grew increasingly difficult to maintain. Even Argenis, whose head still swam from the strain of teleportation, understood the danger. His gaze swept across the garden, searching urgently for his apprentice.

"Explain briefly, Rudan!"

"This evil entity is performing a ritual to take possession of that child's body!"

Mendengar keduanya, Syamrin yang semakin kuat tiap detiknya hanya tertawa semakin girang.

Syamrin had heard them both. The knowledge that its power was growing with every passing moment seemed only to delight it further, and its laughter rang through the garden with unrestrained glee. The sound was almost human, though there was something deeply wrong in the way it reveled in its own ascent.

"I shall destroy it. Once I have, the rest is yours to deal with, Rudan!"

Before Rudan could answer, a sharp crack sounded from his hand. One of his fingers had broken, and the formation he was desperately maintaining fractured in response. The damage was more than a physical injury; it was a sign that Syamrin had begun to turn the ritual's force against him, probing the boundaries of his restraint and finding them increasingly fragile. Rudan bit down on his lip to keep from crying out, forcing his scattered thoughts back into order as he struggled to mend the broken circle.

"Kuh! I can't hold it much longer, Master!"

"Stop complaining! What good is magic if you cannot even use it to save a single child?!"

Argenis's rebuke struck harder than the pain in Rudan's hand. The apprentice had been on the verge of losing his nerve, but his master's harsh words brought his attention back to the task before him. He steadied his breathing and gathered his thoughts, refusing to let the agony of his broken finger—or the steadily mounting pressure of Syamrin's power—drive him into panic. The formation remained damaged, but Rudan's resolve had begun to mend.

Satisfied that his apprentice had regained his focus, Argenis turned his attention to the entity. He uttered no incantation, nor did he reach for any instrument of magic. Instead, he rose slowly into the air, bringing his hands together horizontally before his chest. As he hovered above the garden, his white beard began to fall away, strand by strand, until every braid had come undone. The severed hairs remained suspended around him, each one transforming into a complex magical formula, its intricate characters inscribed upon the air itself.

Argenis then parted his palms in a single, measured motion. At once, the tens of thousands of formulas dissolved into silver light, folding and refashioning themselves into butterflies of luminous origami. Their delicate wings shimmered as they took flight, scattering across the garden before converging upon Syamrin. One after another, they settled against the entity's body, their paper-thin forms adhering to its surface with a precision that belied their fragile appearance.

Syamrin sensed the danger immediately. Whatever these silver butterflies were, their touch carried a threat that even its growing strength could not afford to ignore. Its laughter faltered, replaced by a startled outburst as more and more of the butterflies covered its body.

"What is this?! What are you trying to do?! What manner of being are you?!"

Syamrin raised its hands and slowly curled its fingers inward, mimicking the motion of crushing something within its grasp. The gesture seemed almost casual, as though it had all the time in the world to deal with this new adversary. Yet even with half its body already covered in silver butterflies, it continued to resist, its will bearing down upon Argenis with a force that could not be dismissed.

Blood spilled from the old mage's mouth.

"Master!" Rudan cried out in alarm.

"Focus, boy! Have you learned nothing from me?!"

Argenis's furious reprimand snapped Rudan out of his momentary lapse. He had allowed his concern for his master to draw his attention away from the formation, precisely when Syamrin was pressing hardest against it. The realization struck him at once, and he returned his concentration to the spell, struggling to keep its fractured boundaries intact.

By then, the garden was no longer theirs alone. The sound of hurried footsteps and the clatter of armor announced the arrival of the knightly guards, who had finally reached the scene.

The knights arrived with their weapons drawn, their boots striking the garden paths in a hurried rhythm that disturbed the otherwise tranquil morning. They had expected to find the source of the disturbance and bring the situation under control, yet the sight that greeted them left even the most seasoned among their ranks momentarily uncertain. The afternoon tea garden, ordinarily a place of leisurely conversation and carefully tended beauty, had become a scene of terrible disarray. At its center, a figure hovered above the ground, his white beard scattered into a swarm of silver butterflies, while an unnatural presence stood beneath their fluttering wings. The air itself seemed to resist their lungs, heavy with a pressure none of them could identify.

"Captain, what in the heavens is that thing?" one of the knights muttered, tightening his grip on his sword.

The captain offered no immediate answer. His eyes moved from Syamrin to the silver butterflies clinging to its body, then to Argenis, whose bloodied mouth and strained posture made it painfully clear that the old mage was paying a steep price for whatever spell he had unleashed. Beyond them, Rudan struggled to maintain a formation that seemed ready to collapse at any moment. The captain had witnessed battlefield sorcery before, but never had he seen magic that demanded such visible sacrifice from its wielder.

"Hold your positions," he ordered at last, his voice carrying across the garden. "No one approaches without my command. Keep your weapons ready, and do not interfere! We have to assess the situation first!"

His men obeyed, though several exchanged glances. The captain noticed their unease, but he could hardly blame them. Even from where he stood, he could feel the strange force gathering around Syamrin, as though the creature were drawing the very substance of the garden into itself.

At last, the final silver butterfly settled upon Syamrin's eyes, completing the intricate spell Argenis had woven. The creature was now entirely concealed beneath their delicate wings, leaving no trace of its form visible through the countless layers of silver. For a moment, the garden fell into an uneasy stillness, as though the world itself were holding its breath. Even the knights, who had been watching from a cautious distance, seemed reluctant to disturb the silence.

Argenis regarded his work with a solemnity that belied the blood still staining his mouth. His eyes, one green and the other red, fixed upon the figure before him as he finally spoke.

"I am Argenis the Silver. And you shall witness my true sorcery."

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.

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Arch Genesis

Their silver radiance intensified, spreading across Syamrin's concealed form until the entire garden was bathed in a cold, brilliant light. The knights instinctively shielded their eyes, while the ornaments upon the tea tables cast long, wavering shadows across the paving stones. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the light went out.

Where Syamrin had stood, there was nothing.

The butterflies had changed, their silver wings now black as ink, and they took to the air in a spiraling formation. They circled above the ritual site, their movements strangely orderly, like fragments of a single creature that had been scattered to the wind. The knights watched in bewilderment, unable to determine whether the entity had been destroyed or merely transformed into something beyond their understanding.

Argenis, however, was not looking at the black butterflies.

Among them, a handful remained white.

The difference was small, almost imperceptible amid the swirling mass, but to the Sage, it was enough to bring the entire spell to a halt. His expression changed as he recognized what the remaining white butterflies signified. For the first time since his arrival, genuine astonishment broke through his composure.

"Rudan! The child is still there! Separate them!"

Rudan understood at once.

The black butterflies represented the portions of Viena that Syamrin had already consumed and brought under its dominion. The white ones, few as they were, were the remnants of the girl herself, the last fragments of her identity that had survived the entity's invasion. So long as even a fraction of Viena remained untouched, there was still a chance to save her. But that chance was slipping away with every passing moment, and Argenis could not complete his spell without erasing the very thing they were trying to preserve.

Rudan had spent the better part of his life studying matters that most people would rather leave undisturbed. Once a friar of the mendicant order known as the Twelve Footsteps of Mercedes, he had inherited a body of ancient knowledge concerned with esoteric arts and the unseen world. His former brethren had taught him to recognize the signs of things that existed beyond ordinary perception, to understand the laws governing forces that could neither be measured nor contained by mundane means. Yet the knowledge he possessed had always seemed distant from the concerns of his everyday life.

Eleven years ago, his practice had been limited to relatively simple applications. The charms he fashioned, the incantations he studied, and the obscure teachings he had committed to memory had served him well enough in those days. He had never imagined that the scattered lessons of his former life would one day converge upon a single moment such as this. Now, with Viena's remaining consciousness circling before him in the form of a few white butterflies, Rudan finally understood the purpose of all those years of study.

This was the enemy his teachings had prepared him to face.

Every spell, every admonition, every tale of the horrors that lurked beyond the visible world had led him here. There would be no retreat into the familiar, no simpler incantation to fall back upon. If he wished to save the child, he would have to draw upon knowledge he had yet to master—and pay whatever price it demanded.

From beneath his robes, Rudan produced dozens of ligatura talismans, each one carefully prepared during the quiet hours he had once regarded as little more than a diversion. Their surfaces bore intricate inscriptions, the accumulated work of a gifted Feare Feasa, whose natural aptitude for such arts had long exceeded his practical experience. The talismans trembled between his fingers as he called upon their latent power, their markings stirring with a faint, unfamiliar light.

He then formed the manus dei, a sacred hand sign that represented the utmost reach of his spellcasting. His right hand extended diagonally beside his body, thumb, index finger, and middle finger held upright while the remaining two curled toward his palm. His left hand, despite the broken little finger and ring finger, struggled to bring its thumb and index finger together. With visible effort, he began tracing a tuaitheal, turning his hand counterclockwise in a deliberate, continuous motion.

The pain was immediate, but Rudan did not allow it to interrupt the gesture.

Septenary Geas

The talismans responded first. Their inscriptions flared, and an unseen force swept through the spiraling swarm. One by one, the black butterflies began to turn white, their dark wings paling as the magic took hold. The transformation spread slowly at first, then gathered momentum, drawing the two colors toward an uncertain balance.

Rudan felt the cost almost immediately.

Blood seeped from his nostrils, then from the corners of his eyes and the openings of his ears. His fingers grew numb, their color deepening from a sickly blue to something close to black. The strain travelled through his hands and into his arms, threatening to unravel the very gestures upon which the spell depended. Yet he continued, forcing the magic forward as the butterflies changed around him.

The knights could only watch.

The captain, who had until then been occupied with keeping his men in formation, found himself staring at Rudan's trembling figure. Whatever the young mage was doing, it was clearly taking a terrible toll. A few knights shifted uneasily, their hands tightening around their weapons, but none dared approach. Even the captain seemed to understand that an attempt to intervene might disrupt the fragile working of the spell and condemn the child they had come to protect.

Rudan's vision began to blur. The butterflies were becoming indistinguishable from one another, their spiraling movements merging into a shifting veil of black and white. He could feel the spell slipping beyond his control, and with it, the last of his strength. He had reached the limits of what his knowledge and body could sustain.

"Master..." His voice came out faint and unsteady. "This is all... I can do."

By then, the butterflies had settled into a precise division: seventy percent white, thirty percent black. Rudan held the ratio for one final moment, ensuring the transformation would go no further, before bringing his spell to its conclusion. The instant the magic released him, his body crumpled. He collapsed onto the garden floor, unconscious, his eyes still slightly open.

Argenis turned toward his fallen apprentice.

"That is enough. Well done."

There was no time to spare. With Rudan's spell complete, the Sage brought his palms together once more and resumed the ritual he had deliberately suspended. The butterflies answered his call, their wings beating in unison as the two swarms began to converge. Black and white spiraled together, folding into one another until their individual forms could no longer be distinguished. The air filled with a soft, shimmering radiance, and the garden's oppressive atmosphere began to recede.

Then came the miracle.

Where Syamrin's stolen presence had once occupied Viena's body, the girl herself returned, whole and unharmed in form. The butterflies dissolved around her, leaving no trace of the entity that had sought to claim her. Viena fell onto the blood-soaked ground at the center of the ritual, her small body lying motionless in the pool where the ceremony had taken place.

For a brief moment, no one moved. The knights stared at the child, then at the old mage who had accomplished what none of them could have imagined possible. Their captain lowered his hand at last, though the tension in his shoulders remained. The danger had passed, but the garden offered little comfort in its aftermath: broken porcelain littered the paving stones, the air still carried the metallic scent of blood, and the remains of the ritual stained the ground beneath the morning light.

Argenis descended until his feet touched the earth. Blood remained at the corners of his mouth and along the edge of his nose, yet he stood as straight as ever, his expression giving little indication of the ordeal he had endured. He regarded the assembled knights, whose silence had persisted long after the threat was gone.

"Clean up the rest, you bunch of imbeciles."

The captain stiffened at the insult, but whatever retort might have risen to his lips died before it could be spoken. Argenis had little interest in their wounded pride, and even less patience for explanations. His attention had already returned to Rudan.

With a slight movement of his hand, the Sage lifted his unconscious apprentice from the ground, holding him aloft through magic alone. Rudan's limbs hung loosely beneath his robes, his battered hands resting at his sides. Argenis spared him a brief glance, then turned away from the knights.

A moment later, the air around the two mages shimmered.

The familiar gathering of light enveloped them, brightening until their figures were swallowed by its radiance. When the last motes dispersed, Argenis and his apprentice were gone, leaving behind only the bloodied garden, a couple of unconscious children, and a company of knights who had witnessed a sorcery they would struggle to describe for the rest of their lives.