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Whenever two red dragons meet, endless conflict awaits. If you insist on involving yourselves in it, then we can no longer offer you sanctuary.

How could you?

This is how we have always been. The wakemen neither start nor end conflicts.

The disputes of the living are not our concern. We watch over only the souls of the departed.

If you are truly the noble and compassionate leader Moran imagines you to be, you will not drag these innocents into your battle, red dragon.

This isn't a battle between two red dragons. I came to seek your help on behalf of the people of Na Saoirsí—

Every battle has its reasons.

It's not an excuse. Reed wouldn't do that.

Excuse or not, the disputes of the living are none of our concern... A hard-learned lesson whose bitter fruits we continue to taste to this day.

Now leave.

What if I'm here to ask you to hold a funeral?

A funeral?

In <i>that</i> case, the wakemen will welcome you. But for that, and only that.

Now tell me the name of the departed, their deeds in life, and... present the remains.

His name was... Culann. He was a blacksmith.

Culann?!

How did he die?

The purple flames of death took both his life and his will. Not even my flames can help him now.

Then why is it that not a single denizen of Na Saoirsí has come to us to request a funeral since the city became independent?

So...

So it transpires that the first Na Saoirsían to be mourned since the end of the war was not taken by war at all.

So I weave the straw into a ring like this?

Yes. Then adorn it with these flowers, and the wreath is complete.

I remember when the farmers put a wreath on your head, praying for a good harvest next year.

...Mhm.

Feels like old times. I miss that.

Are you not happy here?

I rather enjoy it myself, but the others might find it stifling.

The life of a wakeman is almost like a self-punishment, after all. What's the word for it again? 'Asceticism'?

No alcohol, no overeating, no fancy foods—can't even laugh too loud. They wake up before sunrise and sleep after midnight, and everything in between is some ritual or other.

At least they don't expect the same from us, but there's no avoiding them when we have to help out on the farms and stuff.

I've practically forgotten how to laugh—hah.

Moran's the only one who goes out of her way to talk to them. She's learning something new every day. Might be how they tie certain knots, might be how to estimate the age of a tree.

Compared to the wakemen in the tales, though...

Your Highness?

Ma'am.

I did not expect to find you here working with them.

Reed has always been like this.

Hm.

Should we excuse ourselves?

No, I simply came to confirm the facts of the departed's life, for the purpose of the ritual.

Please, tell me. What happened to Culann?

I will tell you all that I saw, as I saw it.

I hope it makes you feel something.

I have already dismissed all the servants in the citadel. These footsteps, then...

...Your Highness.

Ah, it's you. Did you need something?

You aren't going to ask how I returned?

No, I won't. You came back, and that's all that matters, my loyal servant.

Besides, I have a fairly good idea of what sort of guest you can bring me.

Has the curfew started?

Just now.

Then you could say that my orders have been followed.

...failure...

Failure?

Na Saoirsí is here. I am here. What failure?

...escape...

The deadline is Samhain. Surely the black mist remembers this, even if it's hardly known for being a good listener.

...unsurprising...

...disappointing...

...unacceptable...

Am I meant to understand something from these few words?

Or perhaps... you, too, prefer the directness of Arts and destruction to the imprecision of language?

No sooner do the words leave Eblana's lips than gleaming branches thrust forth from the dark mist, reaching for her throat.

At the same time, her spear penetrates the thick mist. Purple fire is faintly visible from within; she could burn it away to nothingness with a thought.

But the branches never find Eblana's throat, and her purple flames never ignite.

Samhain.

By the time the sun rises on the day after Samhain, the outcome will be plain for all to see.

So... why don't we dispense with these meaningless bluffs?

Eblana's spear still impales the mist, but the branches before her throat disappear a moment later, as do the flames at the tip of her spear.

The dark mist dissipates.

Your Highness...

You're still here.

Did you need something else? Is this about Dublinn?

There are only the two of us here. I will permit you to speak that word again, my most loyal servant.

Thank you, but there is no need.

Spectres are but spectres, even if they helped found a nation. There is no place for ghosts in the history books.

But I worry about my colleagues who stayed behind that day, as I did... Where are they? Could they mean you harm?

No need to worry. Even if there were, that is no reason for you to risk staying here.

...I saw a scene of chaos on my way back.

It was bedlam. People were fighting over the tiniest things... sometimes nothing at all. While others seemed to be stuck where they stood, like statues.

Just like the spectres who fought the Victorians with us.

Will they fade into darkness too?

This is Na Saoirsí, the Red Dragon's Lair, the capital of Tara. Anything that happens here will have repercussions across the nation.

No, it won't.

You don't sound convinced.

Your Highness... I...

At the end of the day, I have just one question.

One question I pray you will answer.

Very well. I will forgive your imprudence.

(Takes a deep breath)

Your Highness Eblana, that future...

That future you promised Dublinn, you promised Tara, that future where all Tarans could freely write their own dreams...

Was it all a lie?

The Brigadier cannot stop himself from trembling. The fear that had lurked in his heart for days overcomes him.

It is not because he fears his own end. He is not afraid of being swallowed by the dark mist like his colleagues, or of invoking the red dragon's wrath.

He fears that he will hear an answer he dare not consider.

It was true, every word of it.

Your Highness...

I have answered your question, Brigadier.