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The morning mist has long since gathered in the uneven crevices of the stone pavement, forming murky puddles. Caught off guard, Theo stumbles backward and falls straight into one.

You Victorian scoundrel! Who do you think you are? How dare you offer me charity?!

Urgh...!

Put that cane away! What's going on here?

Are you okay, Theo?

I'm fine, Brigid, I'm fine. I crashed into him first.

A rootless nomad and a Victorian mongrel—couldn't ask for a more perfect pair of lowlives.

You're not exactly making your ancestors proud, Brigid.

What's that supposed to mean?

Hmph. Forget the Victorian mongrel. What about you?

You're descended from the Exiled King, from the very clan that's supposed to warn the Tarans of impending Catastrophes—yet here you are, mingling with the likes of <i>him</i>.

Even during the war, you never cared whether your own people won or lost, you'd just coldly toss those battle reports into the citadel, then go door to door delivering those meaningless personal letters...

Are you lot even fit to call yourselves Tarans?

So, this is the only place you have to go? Why not just go back to Culann?

I... I need to wash my clothes first. Should be quick. You don't need to worry about me, Brigid.

Of course I'm worried. I came here just to see you, after all.

Hmph. How is a place wrecked by war and left to rot any better than Culann's workshop? At least there you'd have the forge keeping you warm, and hot meals.

No, it's just that... I don't want to cause him any more trouble. Please—don't tell Culann about what happened today. Okay? I'll be on my way as soon as my clothes dry.

I'm not here for him, Theo. I'm here for <i>you</i>, to take you away.

Take me way? Did he say something to you?

Just what sort of relationship do you have with him, anyway?

If I hadn't shown up today, were you going to take the beating without fighting back? My instincts are never wrong: if you stay in the city, they'll just keep finding new ways to push you around.

Today, they shoved you into a puddle and beat you with a cane. Tomorrow, who knows?

Anyhow, just come with me. I can take you to the plains, or anywhere else you fancy. Up to you.

You and me, we don't belong here. And if you've got nowhere else to go, you can always head to Nemos's old place and stay with the wakemen for a while.

I <i>do</i> want to see them, after all the stories Nemos has told me...

But I can't leave, not unless Culann asks me to.

Nemos has no time to look after him, and the dragon statue isn't finished yet. What would he do if I just up and left?

But still, thanks Brigid.

If you say so. Then I'll take you back to the city before I leave.

No, don't bother. It's cold out, so my clothes won't be dry for a while. I'll go back then.

And if all else fails, I can always take shelter in that abandoned home. Someone left a quilt and bedsheets there, and I've stayed there before. It'll be fine.

...If you <i>really</i> don't want to come with, well, I suppose it's safer here than risking a trip to another city.

So not even Culann looks after you all the time, huh?

He has more important things to do. I should be making things easier on him, not giving him something else to worry about.

Well, goodbye then. Take care of yourself, you hear?

We're here!

Like I said, you've come at the perfect time. Today we have fresh ale, stew, and oatmeal... if only we had a bonfire.

Shouldn't you save that for Samhain?

According to the old customs, we can actually light it a few days before Samhain.

Then again, the war just ended, so we really don't have much in the way of firewood. We can't just start chopping down trees, either, because of the curfew.

At any rate, it's still light out. The sun can be our bonfire today!

But that's enough chit-chat—take a seat. I'll have them make room for you.

Loughshinny steps forward. In the damp, chilly air, each dish in the lavish spread on the table has the same familiar scent.

Warm, rustic, and simple, yet not what it seems.

She looks around, concealing her surprise, only to find that no one else finds any of this unusual.

...Is this stewed meat?

Yeah. This here is the meat, these are grilled fins, and your cup is full of ale. Oh, right, and we also have oatmeal. I'll go grab you a bowl.

But...

All the dishes appear to be made of the same thing.

They're all made of potatoes, right?

Their statue is bowls. Their bonfire is the sun. Their feast is... potatoes.

As the friendly resident goes to fetch a bowl of 'oatmeal', Loughshinny stands up and walks toward the cart-and-burdenbeast that has been waiting for her the whole time.

Her Highness will return very soon. Please wait here.

And this place is...?

Na Saoirsí citadel. The highest point in the city is just up the steps beside you. This is also where Her Highness lingers most, when she's in the city.

I'm glad to see you aren't filling the halls with candlelight, musicians, and lavish feasts.

I've already told you: the primary reason the city is short on supplies is because trade between Victoria and Tara has not yet fully resumed. We're working as hard as we can to resolve the issue.

The residents are very understanding of the situation. They hold nothing but goodwill and genuine love for Tara.

Your Highness Eblana!

Leave us.

At once!

Loughshinny.

Just what is going on in this city, Sister?

Everyone's celebrating Samhain, except there's no harvest, no bonfire, and the feast is nothing but potatoes!

If you came here to make me repeat what the Brigadier has already told you, well, I suppose I can play along. I wouldn't want to spoil our long overdue reunion.

I'm more worried about your spear. Where is it now?

My spear?

If you're talking about the spear you gave me, it's being stored in a warehouse on Rhodes Island. I no longer need it.

How can someone with no weapon claim any sort of power? Or forget power—even survival would be a struggle.

I said 'the spear you gave me.'

Also, you won't kill me. At least, not yet.

As a puppet that has only just regained its soul, you wouldn't want to break me before you've had a chance to play with your new toy.

Your words are... quite hurtful.

Anyone can be made a puppet, Loughshinny, anyone except you. You are my dance partner, yet you'd rather stand in my shadow than join me on the floor.

Until about a year ago. You finally got bored of me, didn't you?

...I don't recall what you're referring to.

As for power, I'm not here for power. That power rightly belongs to you.

Oh?

You've been setting fires all across Tara. Those fires have melted the chains that once bound the Tarans. That much is true.

Then why have you returned?

To bear witness.

If you're truly willing to use your power to give the Tarans a new beginning, then I will do everything I can to support you.

Say, for example, that you're too busy to deal with the supply shortages in the city right now. If so, I would be willing to help with that.

Whether I step forward as a second red dragon, or hide my identity as before, it makes no difference to me.

As noble as ever, my dear sister.

But I can't say whether...

...you would truly be satisfied with that.

The sister I knew wasn't someone who sought power simply to live a life of indulgence. She wanted more than that.

But so far, every step you've taken has been paved with bones and blood.

I can only pray that's because you've had no other choice.

I sincerely hope I will never have reason to collect my spear and come searching for you.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

It seems your life of wandering has taught you far more than you ever learned while acting as my shadow.

Let's not beat around the bush. I've made my intentions clear, and you've invited me back. So what is it you want from me?

You'll find out, soon enough.

Until you do, though, why not come with me? I'll show you around the Red Dragon's Lair.

Legend has it that the architect deliberately shaped the plate with uneven elevations to mirror the old Taran capital.

Legend has it that Tara's stonemasons showcased their finest craftsmanship in every building they made—save for one. They refused to add even a single ornament to the citadel, knowing it would be inhabited by a puppet king.

Loughshinny has heard many stories like this, but no story can tell you whether it is itself a true flame, or merely its shadow cast on the wall.