act22side

If we've cleared up the misunderstandin', are we able to ceasefire? Attackin' civilians is a violation of military discipline.

...What gives you the continued right to say that?

Eh? What's wrong with me?

You seem to not be duly aware of the situation here.

Oh, excuse me, I'm very well aware.

My friend said you wouldn't protect Taran civilians, and I've just confirmed she was right.

You're the same as that old Colonel Hamilton back in County Hillock, na?

So even though I'm discharged? I'm positive now, I still have to fulfil a Victorian serviceman's duty, and do what you're not willin' to do—

Defend these civilians' lives.

Then let me ask. Have you ever inquired into that white-haired Vouivre's identity?

C—Come on, let's go, Selmon...

Everyone's looking to escape!

...No.

Ugh, now's not the time to be stubborn!

I know this is hard to take, but... what Ch'en said seems true... so, let's get away for now?

Come on, survive first, then we can talk after...

...Who's that you're staring at? Wait, it can't be...

...Bro.

There, Fionn... Your wound is like last time's. It's not too severe.

But—it'll still hurt.

Nrgh, that's whatever... as long as I don't see blood. Anything else flies with me.

Coward. You said you'd help Selmon. All you've done was scarper with her on your shoulders.

N—Nothing wrong with that, at least we made it out. All of us made it out.

...*sigh*.

Reed, I need to ask something... I've been wanting to ask it all day.

You and your friends seem to be professionals with this stuff. But—I still just don't get. Why do you say those people... those Dublinn people are dead?

Is there any off-chance they're sleepwalking? Maybe it's that witchcraft from the legends that makes people lose their consciousness?

Just... just on the off-chance, that they are sleepwalking, we could go and wake them up...

...We can't. I wish I could provide you some consolation, but—it's a unique Originium Arts I recognize.

*sigh* Alright. I'm just a little frightened myself. What's Selmon gonna think, though?

What's... wrong with her?

Oh, go on and tell, Fionn, we all know her. You were the one vouching for her since the beginning. She's a good girl. We wouldn't have come with her otherwise.

The... the truth is, I actually know her because she robbed me, once.

We sat down and got talking with one another in the end, of course. She just wanted a pair of sturdy boots. Her brother was out in the snow that winter with half his soles worn through, feet frostbitten something hideous.

So you gave her yours?

No, actually. Her brother went off to Dublinn. I was only in time to cover for them. Couldn't do them any solid boots quickly enough.

Fact is, she's been out here this whole time looking for her brother.

What? She brought us to join Dublinn just for that?

No, it's more than that, it's...

She wanted to join Dublinn along with her brother, she just ran away on the way there. That was two years ago.

...Think how tough it must've been on her, catching up to her brother today.

...Say, how do you think my family's doing?

They're still back living in the village. It's about time they replaced the roofing straw. Once we find a place to stop over, I'm getting a Messenger to ask how they're doing.

It's alright, I'm sure they're fine. I'll help you find that Messenger, come then.

Grand.

...But where are we going? We chased a Dublinn squad that was all dead people, and Selmon's not found her own. Where should we head now?

*sigh* Reed, what do you...

...Reed? Where'd she go?

...Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen... three less than in the day.

...I just don't get it. What kind of Originium Arts is this? Makes me sick looking at it.

She squats behind a boulder, looking around.

The soldiers keep marching for their heart's destination, upon the twilight wilds.

The colors of the Dublinn uniform fade beneath layers of mud and soil. They seem as if held in a silhouette, one lit by a glimmer from somewhere unknown.

I just need to... pounce, then retreat, and I'll be fine.

A hundred meters.

They turn to walk straight for the boulder Selmon hides behind.

Tch, he's at the back of the squad. Looks like he didn't get to be the leader. Made himself out so bloody big in all his letters.

They're headed for... yeah, same direction as the letters said.

Fifty meters.

Selmon clenches the wooden cudgel in her fist.

...Is the city you're heading for that important to you?

Who's telling you to head on? You'd still go, even if you died?

Even though you're being battered by—wind, and rain, and all these people one after another? You'd still go?

Thirty meters.

She remembers the first time she saw Dublinn's troops, two years ago.

They told her, once she was decided, she could come to them. The Leader would give all Tarans a place to survive.

...I'm sorry.

I... never could be as sure as you were. You never looked back, but I did.

She rushes out.

Like those Victorian soldiers in the daytime did, like Ch'en did, these people that have ceased to be can be knocked down again, so long as every attack comes swiftly enough, ferociously enough.

Until they'll sleep peacefully in the soil of Tara, never called to stand again.

The soldier does not fall.

He merely stumbles for a moment from the blow to the neck, and then swiftly spins around, pulling out his sword.

He is ghastly silent.

You lot! Out of my way! I'll send you all right back with him!

No, I will, I'll do it!

I was just here to find my brother, but you're all the same...

(Silently attacks)

—Piss right off! At least say something!

Grgh...

Square, that was...

Hah, bloody hell. Head, chest, it's just not enough, is it.

Her cudgel flies out of her hand blocking the next attack.

And in that moment, the soldier's mask falls off.

She feels a sort of illusion for a moment. As if the way he brandishes his weapon slows, for a fraction of an instant.

As if her brother is about to give him both his hands, like when Victoria's police accosted them in younger times, shielding her in his embrace.

And then she sees his familiar face all so clearly.

His forehead drips no blood, and his eyes turn no look to his little sister.

Those eyes gaze to the distant, vague horizon, a rage of firelight longing, burning within.

—Just like the night he decided he'd seek out Dublinn.

And Dublinn soldiers surround them. Selmon blankly, dazedly, reaches a hand out to the man before her.

Admiration, aspiration, guilt. Regret.

All swallowed up by the ice-cold fire that her fingertips brush.

Fear.

All she is left with is fear. The fear of that longing, maniacal, burning unto death.

And before time can move again, flames blaze high, incandescent sparks blossoming into the night sky.

So close her fingers could almost touch, a flame blooms forth, and vanishes again before she can grasp it. The soldier falls over, to the ground, and never makes another whisper.