The candle flame danced atop its wick, swaying gently whenever a draft slipped through the gaps in the old wooden walls. Its glow was modest, too weak to challenge the darkness gathering in the corners of the room and far too fragile to keep the evening chill at bay. Yet none of that seemed to matter to Viena. Her pomegranate gaze glowed as she watched the flame appear at Randia's fingertips. To her, even something as simple as lighting a candle felt like a glimpse into a world she had never been allowed to touch.
“Wow! Is that magic?! Or is it just a trick?”
“Both. Since magic is the way gods trick those who seek what they should not.”
Not fond of Randia’s cryptic reply, Viena raised her brows.
“Eh? Alright, sooo... what other tricks can you show me?”
“I don’t know. What other things about yourself can you tell me?”
Her shoulders slumped.
Of course he would answer like that.
Viena ran a hand through her hair and clicked her tongue. The more time she spent with Randia, the less she understood how his mind worked. Holding a conversation with him felt like trying to assemble a puzzle after someone had hidden half the pieces.
“Why do you always answer my question with another question?!”
“You just did the same.”
“Ugh! You are so annoying...! Tsk. Whatever. I’ll talk if you want me to. But if you ask me out of nowhere like that, I can’t really decide where to start.”
“Your parents would be a good start.”
The irritation on her face faded.
Leaning back against the wooden headboard, Viena stared at the ceiling for a while before answering. The room had been warm and comfortable only moments ago, but memories had a way of dragging old coldness back to the surface. No matter how far she traveled or how many days passed, the years following her mother's death never seemed very distant.
“Mama passed away three winters ago. And I’ve never seen her husband.”
“Did she have the same eyes as yours?”
“No, she didn’t. Hers were brown, like the clay of the Kailan Plains... or so she said. I’ve never been there myself.”
“What about your father? Did she tell you anything about him?”
“Mama did leave me something about HER HUSBAND.”
The emphasis was impossible to miss.
Randia needed no further explanation to understand. Whether through anger, resentment, or simple refusal, the girl had rejected the title entirely. Considering the life she had been left to endure, he could hardly blame her.
“If it wasn’t for her wish, I would’ve gotten rid of his stupid face a long time ago. I’ll never understand why she made such a dying wish.”
Viena took something from her pocket and tossed it onto the floor in front of Randia. It was a locket. He picked it up and opened it. Inside was a picture of a proud man and his wife.
Randia's fingers froze around the pendant.
He knew that face.
The years had changed little. Even through the fading ink and worn edges of the picture, he recognized the man immediately. The sight pulled at memories he had spent a long time trying to leave behind.
“What is it? What's with that look? Ever seen that guy somewhere?” Viena asked.
Randia returned the pendant to her without a word. How could he speak on the matter, when he himself was the one who had made her live a fatherless life?
“No... No, I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“Hmm, just because,” she said with a shrug.
Randia rose and began preparing his bed. Once he was finished, he lay down and turned toward the wall, leaving Viena alone with her thoughts.
“Sleep now.”
“Eh? But aren’t you going to help me with the pain in my stomach?”
“I did.”
“Wha—How? When did you—”
“The food.”
Annoyed, Viena jumped into Randia’s bed and tweaked his ear. She started punching his shoulder repeatedly, refusing to let him leave her alone in her wakefulness.
“Hey! Explain! What do you mean by that?! Also, how can someone sleep this early?! Aren’t you an adult?! Adults are supposed to stay awake until midnight! Wake up now! And tell me everything I want to know!”
Randia understood—more than he wished he did. Viena yearned for company. A child, having endured the bitterness of solitude for years, was bound to long for connection. So he did nothing, letting her have her moment.
“Don’t ignore me! Answer me, Raan!”
By accident, Viena’s tantrum pulled off the cloth Randia had wrapped around his head. In that moment, his pure white hair gleamed brightly in the dim candlelight. Viena stared, stunned. Randia quickly sat up and tried to cover it again.
“You little—!”
He was about to scold her, but the mesmerized look on Viena’s face stopped him cold. She sat there on his legs, her eyes wide in wonder.
"So pretty."
Viena could not contain her curiosity. She touches his hair and strokes it gently with her little hands. The emotion is somehow reciprocated as Randia feels a pleasant feeling with each of the little girl's strokes. That was until Randia regained himself, shoved Viena away, and quickly wrapped his hair back with the cloth.
"N-No! Why are you hiding it?"
"I told you to behave!"
The sharpness in his voice startled her. The moment the words left his mouth, Randia regretted them. Then with a sigh, he lifted Viena from the bed and set her back on the floor.
"My hair is afflicted with an infectious disease. You shouldn't get too close. No one should."
"B-But your hair is so beautiful!"
"Things with beauty often kill more than the ones without. Now, go back to your bed."
". . . I'm sorry, Ran."
Viena obeyed Randia quietly and she crawled back onto her bed. On the other side, a part of Randia felt relieved that she had failed to recognize him. However, another part found the realization unexpectedly painful.
People who struggled to fill their stomachs rarely had the luxury of caring about legends, miracles, or the faces attached to them. If Viena had come from a different life, his identity might already have been exposed.
Still, the feeling is not entirely unpleasant for Randia. Because for the first time in decades, someone finally saw him as he is. Someone who sees beauty in his hair, instead of hope for salvation which burdened him so much that he often thought about slicing his head off.
Randia's frown softened as he turned the candles unlit with a flick of his fingers.
Dawn arrived, and Randia was already awake. The previous night had been the best sleep he had enjoyed in years—free of the haunting visions that so often plagued him.
He was about to head downstairs to the pump to wash his face when he heard Viena whimper in her sleep. She cried softly, calling for her mother.
Feeling guilt swell in his chest, Randia knelt beside her and whispered a spell.
“Cadhran au vindecar.”
He stroked her hair gently, as she had done for him. It wasn’t much, but it was the least he could offer.
Randia could not see what path the future held, nor what fate—his sworn enemy—had planned. Death followed him like a shadow, always lurking, always taking. He didn’t expect much from this encounter. Just as he believed Viena might be another face in a long line of fleeting memories.
And yet, he still chose to stay. To act. To care.
“For the sake of children... and a brighter dawn,” he murmured, recalling the last words of his brother.
The deed is nothing more than an act of defiance against the cursed fate, nothing more than that. At least, that's what Randia tried to believe.