Randia and Viena had been on the road together ever since they escaped the smoldering pursuit from her hometown three months ago. Now, they wandered from village to town, offering remedies and potions in exchange for coins. Most days, luck and the forgiving southern wilds kept them sustained; when coin ran dry, they hunted small game for their breakfast. Only when fortune smiled in the form of a wealthy patron did they enjoy a hearty meal.
One such evening, after a rare busy day, they found themselves dining in a modest inn. Viena suddenly halted, her spoon clinking softly as she set it down. A troubled look crossed her face. Randia, ever watchful, slowed his eating and followed her gaze as it flickered toward the inn’s price board.
"What's on your mind?" he asked quietly.
"Ran, how many coins do we have left?" Viena turns at Randia.
"Why are you asking such a question?"
"I think I might've eaten more than my share."
"You are ten years too early to worry about something like that. Just eat like you always do."
"But the food doesn't taste good this way!"
"Then order something else."
"Ran!"
Her pout made the corner of Randia’s mouth twitch—not in annoyance, but in quiet amusement. For one so young, her sense of responsibility was admirable. Yet, he knew her well; she would keep pestering him until he gave the answer she sought.
“Enough for two days,” he finally admitted.
“Two days?! That’s not nearly enough! We need to earn more!”
“You’re right. But now is not the time. Finish your meal first.”
Viena ignored him. Sliding off her chair with a flash of determination, she dashed toward the counter, a grin blooming on her face.
“What are you doing?” Randia called after her.
“I’m going to ask the innkeeper if he knows where we can find work! I’m going to help us earn some coin!”
“Remember what I said about being too excited? Come back here and sit. I already have a place in mind.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I’ll ask anyway! A backup plan never hurts. Besides—more coin never hurts either!”
Randia sighed deeply, shaking his head. For all her small frame and bright smile, Viena’s will was hardier than most. Perhaps that stubbornness was the one gift left to her by her years fending for herself. Still, it worried him more than it comforted.
Moments later, she returned, eyes sparkling brighter than before.
“Ran! The innkeeper said the Bakers’ Guild is short on hands—they’re preparing for a festival!”
“Do you know how to bake bread?”
“Um… I-I can learn, right? How hard can it be?”
“Well, there’s no such thing as an easy job. That’s why you get paid to do it.”
“Exactly! Then let’s sleep early! We need to be there by five!”
The next morning, before the pale light of dawn had stretched across the sky, Randia and Viena arrived at the mill. By half past five, they were already hard at work. After sorting good wheat from bad, they were assigned separate tasks. The mill master, noticing Viena’s sharp eye, placed her at the flour grading station with a few adults. Randia, meanwhile, shouldered heavy sacks of flour to and from the warehouse.
An hour in, the master moved them both to the bakehouse—less out of generosity and more because he sensed Viena’s boredom creeping in. Yet the bakehouse was not what Viena had dreamed of. It was stifling and loud, the air thick with heat and flour dust, and the pace merciless.
"This is NOT a kitchen! This is a battlefield!" Viena grumbled to Randia.
"It's a good place to learn how to focus. No one ever said it's going to be easy."
"B-But! I thought we were going to make beautiful cakes?"
"There is no such a thing in this part of the world?"
"Huh? Why though?"
While trying to keep up with the stirring and kneading, Randia glances at the overseer, making sure that they are not going to get caught chatting too much when working.
"Generally, there are only two places where you can find luxurious food. A capital city and a port city. Especially for sweet treats, since sugar only grows in tropical places."
"What is a tropical place?"
"A place where you only have two seasons every year. Dry season with little rain, and wet season with a plenty."
"No snow?"
"No snow."
Viena slowed down on her work as she imagined what a tropical place would look like. however, this is not left unnoticed by the overseer. The overseer’s bark snapped her back to the present. Startled, she quickly returned her focus to the dough, cheeks puffing in frustration. Randia merely smirked faintly to himself and carried on.
“Ugh, that baldhead is annoying.”
“Don’t complain. You wanted this. Besides, he’s paying us. We’ve got to hold up our end.”
“I know! I was just saying!”
“Keep it to yourself. Loose words can shave coins off our pay. If you’re frustrated, kill it with joy.”
“Kill it with joy? What do you mean?”
“Eat. Sing. Bathe. Whatever clears your head and softens your heart.”
Viena huffed but fell silent for a few minutes. Then, softly, she began to hum—a tune carried not by voice but by breath pressed through closed lips. A half-forgotten melody her mother used to sing to her, back when days were kinder.
"Hey, Ran. Why don't you si-"
"No."
She stuck her tongue out at him, pulling a face, then launched right back into her humming, stubbornly cheerful as her small hands worked through the dough. She kept at it until their shift finally ended.
When it came time to collect payment, Randia insisted on handling it himself. “Let me deal with it,” he’d said. “You’ll get tangled in terms you don’t understand.” Only when they were well away from the Bakers’ Guild did he open his hand to show her the fruits of their labor.
Sixty Rios.
Viena froze. Her face darkened as the truth sank in.
“Sixty Rios?! Is this a joke?! Didn’t you say you wouldn’t get tricked? This isn’t right! Let me talk to that fat geezer!”
“Quit it, Viena. This is fair pay.”
“What are you talking about?! We can barely stretch this for a day!”
“To be frank, we haven’t exactly been saints with our spending. If we ration carefully, it’ll last us three days.”
“No way! The work was brutal! We deserve more!”
Randia inhaled slowly, steadying himself. He’d known this would come.
“Listen to me, kid. If you keep pushing your luck every time you catch a wind of it, you’ll hit a wall faster than you think.”
"Hah! Why don't you just admit that you are too easy to take advantage of? What did the head baker say to you? 'Sorry, we're a small business, this is all we can afford to give', is that it? Did he promise that everyone in the house would pray for our good fortunes so we'd be rewarded by the world in a way that they couldn't? Bah!'
Randia kept silent and walked away. He's trying to pretend he doesn't hear any of that. Yet, Viena is getting even angrier. She walks up to him and continues to complain, again and again and again. She is determined to keep it up until Randia decides to turn back to collect more money from the head baker.
"I've been seeing you working for three months now! Do you think gratitude alone is enough to keep us fed?! I know you are the kind of person who turns into a good dog at the mere notion of pride, kindness, and honor! You are too pitiful for your own good!"
Unfortunately, this time, Viena's words hit too close to home for Randia. That is because he was indeed a fool who fell headfirst at the illusion of grandeur. He was a true incarnation of a beast who didn't hesitate to spill countless blood in the name of things that cannot even take care of their own plates.
“Enough!” Randia’s voice cracked through the street like a whip.
“If you want easy money and don’t give a damn about anything else, then why don’t you sell your honor and prostitute yourself? Let’s see how happy your mother would be in her grave, knowing her daughter spat on pride and honesty!”
With a ragged breath, Randia hurled the bag of coins at Viena’s feet. His fists trembled, nails biting into skin. His chest heaved, and in the tense stillness, a thin line of blood trickled from a sudden split on his knuckle—cut by his own strain, sharp as glass. It pattered to the ground, but he didn’t flinch.
What stopped him cold wasn’t the pain in his hand.
It was the quiet drip of something else.
Tears.
Viena’s tears slid down her cheeks, falling faster than she could wipe away. Randia lifted his gaze, and the sight cleaved into him deeper than any blade ever had. Her lips quivered, her breath hitched soundlessly; she wept without voice, and it shattered him.
For long, hollow moments, only her muted crying filled the air. Randia exhaled slowly, grounding himself, then stooped to gather the scattered coins. Quietly, he reached for her hand. Without a word, they started walking again—Viena trailing beside him, sniffling as the tears wouldn’t stop.
“…I’m sorry,” Randia murmured. His voice was worn thin, scarcely a whisper. Without ceremony, he lifted her into his arms. She didn’t resist. She buried her face against his shoulder, her sobs trembling against him.
He waited. He breathed. Then, when the weight in his throat lightened just enough to speak again, he did.
“I know the work was hard. And I know it’s cruel to be told this is all we earned. But it’s the truth. The pay is fair, and I never give discounts to the undeserving.”
Her shoulders still shook. The mention of her mother had unlocked more than just anger—it had pried open memories better left untouched. Sweet and sour alike, tangled in regret and longing. What ifs. What should have beens. She doubted herself now, doubted if the life she was living would’ve made her mother proud at all.
“This world…” Randia’s voice grew distant, brittle. “This world is a prison for men of faith and righteousness. It's hard to even live a simple and decent life while keeping honest to your work."
"You were right. I was a dog to things like glory and honor. I've been living all my life that way because I don't think I have ever had anything else. I doubt myself from time to time, thinking maybe that I should just live as I see fit since kindness is hardly rewarding."
"But here I am, once again."
Randia didn't notice it himself, but meeting Viena was a second breath of life to him. He lived blindly for most of his life and even completely stranded out of grace for the last ten years. Despite all of that, here he is, trying all he can to be the best version of himself for a girl whom he had only known for such a short amount of time compared to all the years he left behind.
An hour and a half later, after a bath and a quiet breakfast heavy with unspoken thoughts, Randia took Viena out again. The morning streets were hushed, gold light softening the rough cobblestones. He said little, but the set of his shoulders said enough—he had somewhere he wanted to show her.
“...I’m sorry too, Ran.”
Viena’s small voice broke the silence as she clutched at the edge of his cloak.
“You don’t need to feel that way.” Randia reached over and gently brushed her hair. His calloused hand was warm, careful. “You’re fine.”
“But why did you spend so much on breakfast? We barely have anything left.”
“…Because it was necessary.” He gave a faint smile. “Besides, we’ll earn more. Don’t worry. As long as you’re with me, don’t ever worry about anything.”
Soon, they arrived at their destination, and it was a place that Viena didn't expect. The red bricks of the building slightly gleamed as the morning rays shone down upon them. It's the town's small church dedicated to the deities of Seltis Pantheon. The church symbol resembles an hourglass where there is a hexagonal plate in the middle of its narrow neck that has an eye-like shape perpendicular to the center of it in each of its angles.
Viena blinked, curiosity edging past her gloom.
“What is this place?”
“This is the town’s prayer house,” Randia answered. His voice softened as though he were lifting a veil. “A church, if you’d rather call it that.”