act22side

Reed...

...Bagpipe. You've been asking me, time and again—where I'm taking these Tarans.

Let me ask you now. Is Dublinn's dream an unachievable one?

Bagpipe rarely ever feels disappointment.

It's crossed her mind how her reports will never make it to the right person, and how her friends in arms died meaningless deaths in conflicts long premeditated.

It's crossed her mind, should she ever come across Dublinn again, how she'd dismantle their plot, and protect the innocent citizenry within their grasp.

But now, she sees how the County Hillock incident was nothing more than two Dukes testing one another, and she sees how lost and stricken the eyes of the Tarans are, there behind Reed, emerging from the flames of war.

She can't say for sure who it is she's disappointed in.

She doesn't know if she can still get any answers from Reed, for much the same reason she can't give Reed's question any reply.

...Let's go, Ch'en.

Huh?

My mission's to investigate the truth behind Dublinn, and now I've heard it from Dublinn's 'Leader' herself.

And from what it sounds like, Operator Reed won't be comin' back with us to Rhodes Island for the moment.

She's got her own business to take care of, and so do we.

...Alright.

B-Bagpipe!

Fionn...?

This... This is for you.

The radio?

You'll be making through the barrens, won't you? Take this radio with you, you might catch some useful news...

You don't need it any more?

I... haha, the news is always same old for the Tarans, isn't it?

Bagpipe, we really are thankful to you, and Ch'en, and the, um... the Rhodes Island. Thank you for your tents, and your assistance all along the way.

And, well... farewell.

Slán leat, Fionn.

The old radio buzzes in Bagpipe's hand. Unconsciously, her grip relaxes ever so slightly.

Take care.

...Caireann, Fergal, you and me. Just the eight of us left now.

I suppose it's easier to run with fewer of us, haha...

...Please check for me—if there's any more clean gauze in the box.

*sigh*. Okay...

Here.

I'll remove the gauze on your wound now. This will hurt...

Unf...

Hey... Fionn, not so afraid of blood no more?

Huh? O-Oh, no, yeah... I've seen so much blood lately. Pointless being scared any more.

Say. Reed... Is Bagpipe really just going now? Aren't you two friends?

Perhaps, come a day we will be, but not for now.

...*sigh*. I suppose.

I was just thinking, I know we were bound to go our separate ways, but you should've had a proper goodbye with them.

Everyone... should have a proper goodbye.

—Hey, it's Moran!

They see Moran, eyes grasping on the faint light of daybreak, limping in their direction.

Held tight in her grip is a broken sword, and a blood-soaked bandana.

Is that... Selmon's?

Moran, what... happened to her?

(Shakes head in silence)

I'm sorry. I know—you can't have seen.

Far away in the woods, remnant fumes from the flames of war still rise gently for the sky.

All those who did not come back now lay in the woods, just as Selmon does. No one in time to see them, in their final moments.

The survivors stare in silence at the drifting smoke.

They all just—don't know... which way to go.

In the Scáthanna Fields, in Hillock, in Oak Grove...

She has seen fire, great and profuse. Be it anywhere, there are those who scheme of war and disaster, vying for power and prestige.

She has seen the ordinary soul struggling amidst it all, only to die without rhyme or reason.

She raises her hand, and from a Draco's flame, a faintest flower is born.

The feel of holding a flame still makes her tremble, pains her insides to no end, but no more does she shut her eyes.

For all those... who pull themselves up from this land of mud.

And the flower floats down, and sinks into the wetlands, there to wither without a sound in the mire.

'I cast my heart into my rhymes,'

'That you, in the dim coming times,'

'May know how my heart went with them... after the red-rose-bordered hem.'

I knew they wouldn't come looking for anyone under a pile of Catastrophe rubble.

We have that thick mist this morning to thank. Wouldn't have made it out so easily otherwise.

Ah, careful. We don't have any protective equipment. There's a risk of infection here, if we get hurt.

You too, Moran. Originium-rich environments are—especially dangerous to Infected.

Noted. I'll watch out.

Is Caireann... asleep?

I think she's just fallen asleep, yes, it wasn't fainting. Her breathing's very calm, I can tell. Sleep will ease her pain, if only by a little.

But I still worry she might not make it, if we don't stop to take care of her injuries soon.

Mm.

Are... any of you disappointed?

Why would we be? Didn't you say so yourself? We've got to fight with Dublinn forces because they don't want a second 'Leader.'

But they've got grander goals. They won't keep making chase.

We're used to a life of running at this point. We can bear with it.

What about after, though? You still haven't told us what you're thinking for then.

I don't have a very good idea yet. I'm sorry.

Right. There might be fewer Originium crystals, deeper into the ruins. I want to take a look, and see if we can hide ourselves anywhere for the moment.

It's about time we all stopped for some rest.

But aren't there people over that way?

They seem like normal folk, but we should steer clear anyhow. You said yourself, it's strange there's people in a place like this. We need to be careful...

No need.

...You seem so afraid. What's the matter?

I'm fine. Please, don't worry about me.

(She's come here before...? Is she nearby?)

Hey. The one over there's walking kind of strange, isn't she?

Don't look.

Oh, lord—she's—

She probably died—some time ago.

Her body's—just being controlled by Arts. Like the Dublinn soldiers we saw before.

Why would they control a civilian?

I'm not sure yet.

—Come with me. I'll handle these dead.

It's very dim here. Follow the stone steps—watch out for any shards of raw crystal as you go down... Moran, are you sure you're okay carrying Caireann on your back?

I'm fine. As long as your flame's lit, I can see where I'm going.

Okay. We'll head in as deep as we can. Try not to be too loud.

It's...

King Gaeil's castle?

When the topic of that overthrown dynasty arises, some think of the piles upon piles of armor from fallen soldiers, while others claim its golden crown still hides beneath elaborate mechanisms, deep within the ancient forest.

Some see the towering walls of modern Victoria as a foil to the castle's vastness, paralleling the boundless inland sea of Clariside with the virtuous prosperity of the age of heroes, while at the same time lamenting its passing decay under the shadow of Victoria.