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Nemos aside, the first resident to break curfew has already opened their door.

So for their sake, as well as the hundreds more who will take to the very same streets, you must remain here.

Before my answer to Na Saoirsí is deemed a failure, before the people here are reduced to shambling corpses bent on tearing the dark mist apart, you have no right to take the lives of anyone trespassing in the dark.

What arrogance...

You call <i>this</i> arrogance?

If Tara needs it, I can be far more arrogant than that.

The red dragon speaks no more, and the flames of life burn brightly atop her spear.

She steps forward with her back straight, no longer dodging the ice-cold branches, but allowing them to lace her body with bloodied scratches.

The juxtaposition of the giant statue with the two tiny figures makes them seem like ghosts.

But somehow, Nemos can also feel the presence of others besides Emma. In fact, they seem to have crowded the square, as if the whole city is here.

They are all watching and listening, lit up by the strange purple glow from their Originium lamps.

No, it is more than a glow... Their bodies are burning purple.

The one who killed the Red Dragon is...

Nemos knows they haven't changed a bit. They are still waiting for her to utter a name they can curse and then destroy. Or maybe they will even destroy themselves.

Loughshinny? No one would believe there were actually two red dragons.

Who else, then? Who else could possibly kill the dragon who seemed to toy with life and death?

Before she can stop herself, she has a thought: Why not just say it was the dark mist, or the Victorians?

'Revenge', indeed. Let these lunatics dash into the mist and die in the Red Dragon's name.

Let them fulfill their desire for vengeance, and let this violet city die. It was born in disgrace, let it die in madness.

Yes, die, let everyone who stayed perish, just like those who left and went into the dark mist—

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

Nemos turns to look at the colossal dragon skeleton sculpture, and recalls that recent evening, awash with confusion and sorrow.

What was he thinking, the man who dragged this statue into the square? What song was he singing in his heart?

Was it the song they taught Theo when they rescued him, what feels like centuries ago?

At this moment, the last bit of her sanity snatches the answer from the fiery clutches of her rage.

The answer that had been fluttering around since the very beginning of the story, the answer to the Red Dragon, to the sisters, to the mirror and reflection, and to the flames of life and death.

(Chokes back tears) Culann...

(Sob) If... If it wasn't you to throw his life away protecting these people...

The one who killed the Red Dragon is no one other than... the Red Dragon...

It was herself.

The woman before Nemos stares at her blankly, as if she did not hear her words.

Straining her entire being, Nemos yells at the whole city.

The Red Dragon killed herself!

She never intended to light the flames within your bodies! But she did not want you to burn into cinders, so she offered her own life instead!

To protect you from death, and yet...

Must you exact a fruitless revenge? Must you destroy everything she gave her life for?

The city falls silent as purple flames flicker, leaving only the dark mist lingering restlessly at the gates, as if waiting for its hesitant prey to step into its domain.

You're saying... she killed herself... so we wouldn't exact revenge?!

Then... what do we do now?

The onslaught of questions from the residents sends Nemos's head spinning.

Bloodshot eyes that did not shut from news of the death, instead ask her questions.

Grinding teeth that did not relax from news of the death, instead ask her questions.

Clenched fists that did not open from news of the death, instead ask her questions.

Silence, tension, confusion.

Their revenge was rejected, overruled by the Red Dragon, so where should their sorrow go now?

Niels... my unborn child... the Red Dragon... someone, tell me...

Emma?

If even revenge is out of my hands, then what else can I do?

I have nothing else, the war took everything from me...

How am I supposed to live on? Tell me, Niels... tell me, Red Dragon...

Anyone, just tell me, quickly... how am I supposed to live on?

Or... should I... go to you instead?

Emma, no!

Isn't this... the only path left for me?

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

Niels, is that you? Are you finally back?

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♪

Stop singing!

That song snatched Niels away from me! Why would you still sing that song, nomad?!

Emma seems lost to madness, until a soft voice sings the same tune, but with different lyrics.

The night-blind laborer is led by a wakewoman as they slowly walk into the square.

Again through the dark woods—♪

I said stop singing that!

—Wait, 'again'?

It may be presumptuous, but I tried writing a new verse to the song.

Because I don't want our brave loved ones... to just leave us, to never to see us again, to be eternally lost in the mist, just like we are.

Again through the dark woods—parting the mists of hoar♪

Our gallants dearly departed, my heart so sad and sore♪

And so in my dreams I go, lighting bonfires in the woods♪

Not to reunite, but to light the path you trod with fog and dew♪

...Not to reunite, but to... light the path you trod...?

A tear trickles from Emma's eyes, streaking across her sallow face.

Return it... Return your flames, and the blessing of the Red Dragon.

Return the flames...?

If I... return this blessing... this fire back to her, will it light up their path?

Return it, and the wandering departed will also return to the flames and rest in peace.

No, I don't want that, I just... want to see him again...

If you die as you are, you will only ever brush past each other in the fog, again and again.

Then... what should I do?

Live on.

He chose to walk into the mist so you wouldn't need to be lost within it as well.

Return the fire to light his path. And then let the years pass, let life begin anew, and when your hair is white and he learns his wish was fulfilled...

Only then will you meet again.

The woman buries her face in her hands as she kneels on the ground, tears streaming down her fingers.

Moran hands her a candle. The candle flame turns purple the moment she takes it between sobs.

The wakemen and refugees slowly sing their way through the city, like a tiny stream left behind after a night of rain.

It is by no means a clear stream, nor a turbulent one. It is a miserable, muddy trickle flowing down centuries of painful history, carrying dust and blood, and about to run dry.

But it is this murky bitterness that reveals the city's true self in the gloomy night.

Nights of falling asleep gripping old photos, mornings awakened by phantom pain from amputated limbs.

Now-empty houses fell to ruin, while those fortunate enough to return home were greeted only by orphaned dolls scattered across dusty floors.

The doors... are opening?

They are.

People flood into the streets like a burst dam, pouring into the square.

Some leave their homes with candles in hand, while many more follow Emma's lead and take one from the wakewoman.

The flames still burn purple, but seem to have softened, and bear a bit of warmth.

Finally, finally...

Place the Red Dragon's coffin at the statue's base, Nemos.

It seems Na Saoirsí will witness a grand fire-returning ceremony tonight.