act22side

Everyone in the manor hangs their heads in silence, trying to keep busy. The moment they see me, they avert their gaze.

Our teacher's health has been poor. He hasn't left his room since making his way back through a snowstorm from a dinner party. Dr. Dale readied him the mulled wine, yet hasn't been punctual in fetching the empty glass.

The muted sounds of crackling wood seep through the gaps in the door. The fireplace must be a bed of warmth on this snowy night, but the flames' eerie silence makes my teeth chatter.

Nonetheless, I open the door.

Now that—you've convinced everyone to turn against me... Why shouldn't I partake in this glass of wine?

I thought you would want to know what your missteps were, such that your servants would seek help from me.

*cough*... That is no matter, Eblana...

What is important is... can you continue to hold their trust?

Yes, of course.

And I see you don't ask why I would agree to help them.

*cough*... I'm sure you know what's going to happen to this city once I'm gone.

The balance of power between the nobles will be lost, and no one will dare to oppose Count Philip in Parliament. Still, our own two junior barons will no doubt set to work in the shadows, so as to earn the Duke of Stafford's favor.

And simultaneously, the Tarans who have just rediscovered their names will lose their leader and protector.

They will continue to be upheaved, trodden down by the harsh rule of law and the nobles... to the point they cannot bear it.

Yet even if you live, all the bloodshed, the violence, the rioting would happen sooner or later.

Wouldn't you say, sir?

Hohoh... and what will you do when that time comes?

I will... reach my hand out, and drag them up from the ashes.

For some unknown reason, a satisfied smile appears on his pale face.

The insatiable Dracos, their ambitions knowing no bounds... Half my life spent searching. It was not in vain... ahh...

He removes his spectacles, and with a slow, arduous turn, faces out through the window, out to the snowstorm.

That gaze, filled with fond nostalgia and earnest expectation, is the same as on that winter night ten years ago, the night he finished reading the legend, the night his fingers brushed across the Taran letters embossed in gold upon the book's spine.

I see... a new age belonging to the Tarans... right in front of us.

Oh...

But Loughshinny...

And you...

You...

I stand motionlessly in the doorway. Reflected on the glass pane is my face, illuminated by the cold flames around us.

Though filled with fear, our pitiful expressions are one and the same.

Loughshinny... whose student will you be?