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The red dragon's voice seems ethereal, feeble even, but it leaves no room for questioning.

It is the voice that has led the man to victory countless times, and so he slowly straightens his back.

Then I trust you.

Perhaps... Or perhaps you simply have no other choice.

Often have you chosen a path that seemed baffling, impossible even. But it always ends up leading us closer to our dream. Of that I have no doubt.

Such deep trust is indeed worthy of my gratitude.

However, I do not require you to maintain order within Na Saoirsí.

If you managed to return from the Dark Woods, then you should return there now.

Until Samhain has passed?

Until Samhain has passed.

Or...

'I stepped into the dark woods one morn, calling to the mists of hoar'...

Your Highness?

Do you hear the song coming from beyond the woods?

Hardly a day has passed since you left... Fine work, Loughshinny.

Is <i>that</i> what's been happening in the city?!

Reed, your sister... what is she planning?

I don't know.

Someone once told me that her plans would only ever be beneficial to Tara. Now, though, I can trust neither her nor the one who made that promise.

Are you still not going to help her, wakewoman?

She came for a funeral, and we will only accept her for that.

I have learned of the deeds of the departed.

Bring the knots and wreaths and come outside. The funeral is about to begin.

The people set aside their differences and stand up in silence.

I stepped into the dark woods one morn, calling to the mists of hoar♪

I trod upon the road, heading out to war♪

No pipes a-singing, nor battle drums a-roar♪

Only the bells behind me, through dew and fog their rings do soar♪

The wakemen sing softly, each attending to their own duty.

Some adorn the coffin with knots and wreaths.

Some lay firewood and kindling around it.

Some distribute candles to the attending refugees as they continue to sing.

Tiny lights begin to sway throughout the camp.

Loughshinny has a candle too, which she carefully lifts in front of her chest.

Excuse me...

Go ahead.

I didn't know the departed, and don't really have much to say... But where I grew up, people talked freely at funerals.

Certainly. This is how Tarans honor the departed.

Life should be celebrated, even after its end. The joy of the living is consolation to the dead. You are free to talk amongst each other.

I also made some snacks...

Please feel free to share them. We will also provide refreshments later.

However, we must request that you exercise restraint, considering that Mr. Culann died before his time, and under unfortunate circumstances.

We must also ask you to follow our instructions during the fire-returning ceremony.

Understood.

Is this how your folks hold funerals, Moran?

We didn't have all these rites and ceremonies. All we did was keep watch through the night. No clue what this 'fire-returning' thing is either.

Guess we just follow their instructions.

Have you ever been part of a ceremony like this, Reed?

(Shakes head)

I see...

You mean...

Loughshinny has found the wakemen. The hero's funeral has begun.

'I stepped into the dark woods one morn, calling to the mists of hoar; I trod upon the road, heading out to war'... Do you know this song?

You already know the answer.

I led the young into battle with it more than a few times.

Who is it? Who's singing?

Why is it that I still hear that song here at the site of the old capital, even after escaping the Dark Woods?

Or am I still stuck in the woods?!

No... no, the sound is coming from the furnace at the center of the ruins.

Such a beautiful tune...

No pipes a-singing, nor battle drums a-roar...

Only the bells behind me... through dew and fog their rings do soar...

I...

I should go back...

Now I see... what I truly want...

Besides... do I really deserve... to escape Na Saoirsí?

Here, Emma, today's bread.

Thanks for sharing your food in times like these.

You shared with me before. Just returning the favor.

But... why do you keep staring at the bread in my hand like that?

(Mutters) Control yourself... control yourself...

(Mutters) She's Emma... the one who shared bread with you... you must help her... you must—

(Deep breath) I'm fine, Emma.

I-I just meant to say, you've been bedridden for so long. There'll be tough times ahead.

'No pipes a-singing, nor battle drums a-roar'...

Why are you singing that?

Someone's singing... in the distance...

Friends of the departed, please present your eulogy before the fire-returning ceremony begins.

Reed?

I... I have a eulogy here, written by Nemos. May I read it?

Of course. Go ahead.

'Dear Culann...'

A letter?

'Culann, perhaps it won't be long before I join you...'

Culann, perhaps it won't be long before I join you—before I become a slave of the purple flame, before I turn to ash.

Perhaps there won't be anyone to free me from an afterlife of eternal torment.

But I've never forgotten what you said to me.

You said you wanted to be a hero. You asked me to let you become one.

You said Na Saoirsí needed a hero for the postwar days, one who belonged only to us. Neither Dublinn nor soldier.

You said that nearly everyone in the city had lost something important in the war, be it a partner, a child, or a future.

Without a hero, an exemplar to understand them and fight for their rights, one who would also set them right should they go astray...

Without that, they wouldn't have anything to hold onto when the war ends, when they have no one left to hate.

I agreed and assented to your request.

You took Theo in, and helped the people who'd lost their livelihoods.

You thought everything was on the right path, and so you proposed the statue. You became fully immersed and took on a great burden.

By the time you realized... it was too late.

Now, it is my turn to carry this burden, one too heavy for any single person to bear.

'...Now, it is my turn to carry this burden, one too heavy for any single person to bear.'

'Farewell, Culann. Slán leat. Or should I say, Slán go fóill.'

'May we meet again...'