Viena woke much later than usual.
For a few precious moments, she simply lay there beneath the blanket, basking in a strange and unfamiliar comfort. The room was quiet. No footsteps. No voice telling her to get up. No chores waiting for her the moment she opened her eyes.
Then the sunlight reached her.
She squinted and rolled toward the window. The morning radiance pouring through the shutters was far too bright, far too high in the sky.
A jolt ran through her.
She had never slept this late before.
The last traces of drowsiness vanished. She threw aside the blanket and looked around the room.
Randia was nowhere to be found.
"Ran! Where is he?!"
Her voice shattered the stillness.
Panic quickly replaced confusion. She hurriedly grabbed her purse from the bedside table and reached for her wool cloak. As she swung it over her shoulders, something slipped from the hood and fluttered onto the floor.
A folded piece of paper.
Viena paused.
The handwriting meant nothing to her, yet she recognized it immediately. The night before, she had watched Randia scribbling into the inn's guest registry while the innkeeper prepared their room. The elegant loops and sweeping strokes were impossible to mistake.
Unfortunately, recognizing handwriting and reading it were two very different skills.
Viena was illiterate.
"Seriously..."
She turned the paper over in her hands as though the words might somehow reveal themselves through stubbornness alone.
They did not.
With a frustrated groan, she tucked the note away and rushed downstairs.
The innkeeper was out on the veranda tending to a row of flower pots. One hand carried a small basket while the other plucked away wilted leaves and dying blossoms with the patient diligence of a man who had performed the same task a thousand times before.
He barely looked up when Viena arrived.
She marched straight toward him and thrust both the note and a coin into view.
The innkeeper glanced from the paper to the coin and then to the girl.
"Your father wrote this for you because the two of you are playing hide-and-seek to make you learn how to read?"
"Yes! What did he say?"
"If I told you, wouldn't that defeat the point of your little game?"
Viena immediately frowned.
"Never mind. I'll ask someone else."
She turned on her heel.
"Now now, hold on, will you?"
The innkeeper sighed.
Whatever strange arrangement existed between the two travelers was none of his business. Besides, a paying customer was a paying customer.
He accepted the little girl's offer and unfolded the paper.
The moment his eyes settled upon the writing, his expression shifted slightly.
It was beautiful handwriting.
Not merely neat, but practiced. Refined. The sort one rarely encountered outside monasteries, noble households, and the studies of learned scholars. The flowing cursive stirred an old memory of his mother, who had written letters in much the same hand before passing away more than twenty years ago.
The recollection lingered only briefly before he returned his attention to the note.
"He said you should head to the southern hill at eight if you want to understand more. Otherwise, he's leaving."
"What?!"
Viena stared at him.
"He wouldn't do that!"
"Are you sure this is from your father?" the innkeeper asked. "It doesn't sound like something he'd joke about."
Viena snatched the paper from his hand.
Before the innkeeper could react, she shoved the coin against his stomach and bolted toward the road.
"Hey!"
The coin flicked by his thumb and dropped into the dirt.
"Take it with you!"
Already several strides away, Viena skidded to a halt, spun around, and hurried back to retrieve it. The moment her fingers closed around the coin, she took off again as though the hounds of the underworld were snapping at her heels.
The innkeeper watched her disappear down the road.
Then he looked toward the crumpled leaves still waiting to be cleared from his flower pots and shook his head.
"Brats."
With that, he returned to his work.
The southern hill stood a little over ten minutes away at a normal pace.
Viena was not moving at a normal pace.
She tore down the road as though sheer speed might somehow prevent Randia from leaving. The note remained clenched in one hand while the other struggled to keep hold of her cloak. Dust scattered beneath her boots. The morning wind tugged at her hood and whipped loose strands of hair across her face.
Before long, her breathing grew ragged.
Then painful.
Then miserable.
Still, she refused to slow down.
The road eventually gave way to a narrow path running alongside a river. By the time she reached the water, her lungs felt as though they had been stuffed with burning coal.
And there he was.
Randia knelt beside the riverbank, calmly washing clothes.
Not packing.
Not preparing to leave.
Washing clothes.
For a brief moment, Viena simply stared at him in disbelief.
"Y-You!"
She pointed an accusing finger.
The effort proved fatal.
Her stomach lurched violently.
Viena doubled over and emptied its contents onto the grass.
Randia spared her a single glance before returning to his work.
The rhythmic sounds of splashing water continued while Viena suffered.
One shirt.
Then another.
Then a pair of trousers.
Only after hanging the last garment upon a makeshift clothesline stretched between two trees did he finally approach.
Without a word, he offered her a waterskin.
Viena snatched it.
"You pig! Why the hell would you do that?!"
"A morning exercise is important."
His expression remained perfectly composed.
"But it seems manners are more so."
Viena ground her teeth together and angrily began drinking.
The moment she raised the waterskin, Randia placed a hand atop her head and pushed.
She promptly found herself kneeling once more.
"Mmfc! Mdrngin dere!"
"Sit down while you eat or drink."
"Mmff!"
"And no talking while you do so. Especially when you're speaking rudely to me."
Viena glared up at him.
Randia ignored her entirely.
By the time she finished drinking, the urge to strangle him had only grown stronger.
Unfortunately, she was still too exhausted to try.
Once the laundry was finished, Randia gathered the basket and started walking uphill.
Viena followed close behind.
Naturally, she complained the entire way.
The path climbed steadily along the hillside until the river became a silver ribbon winding through the valley below. The higher they went, the farther the world seemed to unfold before them. Dense forests stretched across distant slopes, broken only by patches of farmland and the occasional thread of smoke rising from unseen chimneys.
Near the crest stood an old oak tree.
Its roots emerged from the earth like weathered stone, while its broad canopy cast a generous pool of shade across the grass beneath.
Randia settled himself against the trunk.
Viena immediately dropped beside him.
"So?" she asked.
"So?"
"Aren't you going to tell me something about myself?"
Randia raised an eyebrow.
"Am I?"
"Huh? But you said I was dying!"
"Only if you keep using your magic."
The answer drained the enthusiasm from her face.
Viena lowered her gaze.
Magic was not merely a talent.
It was the foundation upon which her entire life rested.
Ever since her mother passed away, it had been the one thing she could always rely upon. Villagers avoided her. Travelers distrusted her. Strangers whispered about her eyes before they ever bothered learning her name.
Magic, at the very least, had never abandoned her.
"How can I live without this power?" she asked quietly. "Most people don't even give me the chance to interact with them the second they see my eyes. They call me—"
"Cursed child. Mistari. Demonborne."
The words struck her like stones.
Viena stared.
"...How do you know?"
"Because I've traveled far."
Randia's gaze wandered beyond the valley.
"And because I know there are places where people care very little for such things. Just like the innkeeper."
"That's because you have something to give them. You have coins."
Randia remained silent.
The remark landed closer to the truth than he cared to admit.
For a time, neither spoke.
The breeze stirred the branches overhead, filling the air with the soft rustling of leaves.
Eventually, Viena let herself fall backward and rested her head upon Randia's leg while staring into the canopy above.
The oak's branches stretched endlessly in every direction, weaving together a roof of green and gold.
"Huft."
"What is it?"
Viena watched a leaf sway lazily against the sunlight filtering through the branches.
"Tell me, Ran."
"Hm?"
"Is life really this difficult?"
Randia considered the question.
Not because it was difficult to answer.
Because it wasn't.
"...It is. At least for some of us."
The answer seemed to satisfy her for a moment.
Then another thought arrived.
"Is there any way to make it easier?"
"Learn."
Viena immediately sat upright.
Hope flickered across her face so quickly that it almost looked painful.
"Then... will you help me learn the things I don't understand?"
Randia released a slow breath.
The request was simple.
The responsibility was not.
"I'm not sure I'm good at teaching others."
"But you are the best one for me!"
Viena leaned forward with startling conviction.
"Because as I told you, normally people won't even care!"
The words were spoken so matter-of-factly that Randia found himself at a loss.
There was no bitterness in them.
No self-pity.
Merely an acceptance that no child should ever have possessed.
After a moment, he reached down and pulled her upright.
"Then ask your questions."
"Wah! Really?!"
Viena immediately brightened.
"Well then... uh..."
The excitement faded into concentration.
She frowned.
Thought.
Frowned harder.
Then suddenly pointed at her own face.
"Let's start with my eyes! It's the biggest pain in the ass so far! What do they mean by a cursed child? Did my mama really marry a devil?"
"It is a mark associated with those who entered forbidden pacts with the unholy deity Mistus, as well as their descendants."
Randia placed a hand upon the oak's bark.
A few quiet words escaped his lips.
The tree answered.
The wood softened beneath his palm. Fibers loosened and unfolded from the trunk in delicate layers, peeling away like petals until several thin sheets of pale paper rested in his hand.
Viena's eyes widened.
Then widened further.
A small flame appeared at the tip of Randia's finger.
Unlike an ordinary fire, it neither flickered wildly nor consumed what it touched. It remained steady and obedient, as though waiting for instruction.
Randia lowered his hand and began to draw.
Lines emerged across the paper.
A crown.
Flowing hair.
The outline of a face.
And finally, a diamond-shaped jewel embedded within the center of a man's forehead.
When he finished, he held up the portrait.
"This is Mistus."
Viena stared.
The portrait.
The paper.
The flame.
The paper again.
The flame again.
Then the portrait.
Randia narrowed his eyes.
"The person, Viena."
"Oh."
She quickly redirected her attention.
"Right."
Randia was unconvinced.
"This is Mistus," he repeated. "The nemesis of Ersia during the war between the Alliance and his devotees. During that time, the Alliance had—"
He stopped.
Viena was staring at his finger again.
"...Viena."
"Y-Yeah! I'm listening!"
"Are you?"
"Of course!"
"Then what did I just say?"
Viena pointed triumphantly at the portrait.
"Mistus and his followers were enemies of the Alliance, and they had the same eyes as mine and my mama's husband!"
Randia paused.
Against all expectations, she had somehow absorbed the important part.
A remarkable achievement considering where her attention had spent the last minute.
"Did that answer your question?" he asked.
"Yeah, thanks."
She looked down at the portrait.
For a few moments, she studied the face in silence.
Then she shrugged.
"But now it doesn't really matter, does it?"
Randia blinked.
"What doesn't?"
"Whether he was one of them."
She handed the portrait back.
"It's all in the past. There's nothing we can do about it now, right?"
For the first time that morning, Randia found himself genuinely surprised.
He had expected anger.
Confusion.
Fear.
Not acceptance.
Whether it came from maturity or simple indifference was another matter entirely.
Judging by the way she kept sneaking glances toward the flame on his fingertip, he suspected the answer leaned heavily toward the latter.
"Hey, Ran."
"What?"
"Why don't you teach me magic instead?"
Randia looked at her for a moment before returning his attention to the portrait.
"No."
"Aw, come on!" Viena protested. "It would be really cool if I could make a rain of fire or a thirty-meter river tide!"
Randia flicked her forehead.
"Ack!"
"Your purpose for learning is highly questionable."
Viena rubbed the sore spot and pouted.
"Come on! I would never hurt good people with magic!"
"Good and bad are merely perceptions, if not prejudices. Unlike this paper, the world is unclear and full of stories. It was not made of black and white."
Viena looked down at the portrait resting between them.
"...Including Mistus and his followers?"
The question lingered in the air for a few moments.
A breeze swept across the hilltop, carrying with it the scent of grass and distant forests. Above them, sunlight filtered through the oak's leaves in shifting patches of gold.
Randia watched one such patch drift across the paper.
"...Who knows?" he finally said. "Each person ought to think and seek their own truth."
Viena had seen that look before.
Not often.
Only a handful of times since they had met.
The gaze of a traveler looking far beyond whatever stood before him. A gaze that seemed to wander through old roads and older memories invisible to everyone else.
It reminded her of the fishermen who occasionally passed through her village after long voyages. Men weathered by years at sea who sat in silence while staring toward horizons they had already left behind.
She wanted to ask what he had seen.
What places he had visited.
What stories had carved that weariness into his eyes.
But she also knew better than to pry.
At least for now.
"Alright, okay, okay," she said. "Let's just say I want to learn magic so I can save people's lives."
"And what if the lives you saved took the lives of others? How would you take responsibility for that?"
Viena blinked.
"Huh?"
"Sometimes you save more lives by not saving some."
The answer came so calmly that it took her a moment to process it.
Randia's gaze remained fixed upon the valley below.
"Devils are evil because they have no choice but to be. But those who had the choice to become many things and still chose wickedness instead..." He paused briefly. "What kind of evil do you think they are capable of?"
Viena thought about it.
The answer arrived surprisingly quickly.
"Yeah... I guess they could be worse than devils."
Randia said nothing.
The silence that followed felt different from before.
He was not waiting for another question.
Nor did he appear lost in thought.
Instead, there was a heaviness about him that reminded Viena of a traveler carrying a burden too large to set down and too familiar to notice.
The look vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
Perhaps she would have missed it if she had blinked.
"Can I spot one?" she asked.
"A what?"
"A man-shaped devil among a crowd."
Randia let out a quiet breath through his nose.
"No."
"Not even with your eyes?"
"No."
His answer carried none of the hesitation she had expected.
"Even with my eyes, you will never know. Even if you are armed with a million doubts, you will never find out until their true nature manifests. They are as unreadable as death itself."
Viena rested her chin upon her knees and followed his gaze toward the distant horizon.
Most of what Randia talked about was difficult.
Not because the words themselves were difficult, but because the ideas behind them seemed to stretch far beyond anything she had ever needed to consider.
Until recently, her greatest concern had been surviving until tomorrow.
Finding food.
Avoiding trouble.
Making sure winter did not kill her.
Now she found herself listening to stories about ancient wars, forgotten gods, morality, choices, and truths that could not be judged by appearances alone.
The thoughts swirled around her like leaves caught in a whirlwind. Confusing. Strange. Sometimes frustrating.
Yet she found that she did not dislike them.
Quite the opposite.
Every answer seemed to reveal another question waiting behind it. Every story hinted at a larger world beyond the one she knew.
A world filled with distant kingdoms, ancient histories, and people who saw life differently than anyone she had ever met.
And standing at the threshold of that world was Randia.
For now, that was enough.
As long as he remained willing to answer her questions, Viena intended to keep asking them.