act41side

You may have indeed solved a problem for me.

As I said, what I've seen, what I believe, and what I've said all contradict one another. Thanks to you, though, they are finally beginning to converge.

How lovely for you.

Now, are you ready to start telling the third story?

Of course... of course.

But I'll need your help.

You will need to pick up the narrative whenever I get stuck.

This is my story, but it's also yours.

It has always been yours.

With pleasure.

The writer's breathing is rapid, his face red. His fountain pen still refuses to write, so he throws it on the table.

Yes. Of course.

Has he not seen enough of those things already?

So what?

He is a writer. He will soon find the ending of his story.

<i>There was a mother who once ruled a kingdom until her crown and her family were taken by her foes.</i>

<i>The mother had a powerful daughter, who then made a pact with the dark mist in the dark woods to drive out their foes. The daughter reclaimed the kingdom for her mother, returning the promised peace to the dark mist.</i>

<i>The mother was to host a grand coronation for her daughter, but the daughter died mysteriously right before the event.</i>

<i>Tremendous woe and then rage engulfed the mother. Her zeal to avenge her daughter was so fierce that the entire kingdom was scorched by her vengeful fire.</i>

<i>Until that fury disturbed the dark mist, who had just returned to its resting peace.</i>

<i>The dark mist demanded that the mother cease, or she would be dragged into the darkness. But in her grief, the mother remained convinced that the dark mist was the one who had taken her daughter. A desperate battle was then inevitable. The mother determined to risk her life.</i>

Nemos, Reed...

At the city gates, the nomad looks back at the citadel in the distance one last time.

She resists the urge to turn tail and flee at the acrid burning smell. She knows what it signifies.

She knows she should do as Nemos said, and leave the city to seek the wakemen as quickly as possible, regardless of whether Loughshinny is successful.

But despite the urgency in Nemos's voice, she did not sound like she believed things would take a turn for the better, nor did she believe that Brigid could convince the wakemen to come.

Brigid could smell the same burning smell coming from Nemos. It reminded her of the obsessions that only the dead could have.

Who are you waiting for? Death? Are you just waiting for it to pat you on the back so you can have a nice little race together?

...Who is that?

Oh. I forgot you could hear me.

I can hear you. I can even sense your presence... but I can't see you.

Leave the city, outsider.

You're an outsider too, by the sound of it.

Naturally. Consider it advice from one outsider to another.

Live, Brigid. Nothing is more important than being alive. This city will be dead by sunrise tomorrow.

Listen to Nemos. Find her kinsmen, run as far as you can, and never look back.

...You're right. I should go.

But I <i>will</i> be back.

Back?!

Hah! Stubbornness and stupidity really <i>are</i> hereditary!

You're going to come back after she tried so hard to get you out of here?

So you also think it was just an excuse to keep me safe?

What else could it be? You really think you can sway those wood-brains? Maybe if you waited for spring, one of their brains would sprout and they might come with you to the Dark Woods!

I don't like the way you talk, invisible brother.

What did you call me? Brother?

You have burnt stench, but other than that, you remind me of the nomads. No clue how you're related to us, but it feels right.

Haha... hahahahaha!

Let's make a bet then, Brigid.

A bet?

On whether you'll be back tonight, before Na Saoirsí is burned to the ground. I say it's impossible.

That's not what you really want to bet on.

Oh yeah? Then tell me, what I'm really thinking?

You just want to prove that you're right, that nothing is more important than being alive. You think I'll choose survival in the end.

But whatever. You're on.

Well, what are you waiting for then?

It just doesn't feel fair. If you win, I'll live the rest of my life in regret. But if I win, it doesn't really matter to a bystander like you.

So how about this? If I win, you go back to where you came from.

And where do you think I should go back to?

No idea, but not here. This isn't your home.

You sound like you've been betrayed by the cityfolk here before, but you still can't bring yourself to hurt them.

You act like you want to see them reap what they sowed, but didn't sound happy at all when you talked about the city burning to the ground.

Honestly, you're the most struggling person I ever met, and—

Enough!

Very well. If you win, I'll return to where I belong.

But just coming back here to die won't cut it.

What else do you need me to do then?

Deliver a message to those wood-brains outside the city. Tell them...

(Ancient Tengae) 'It's been six hundred years. Nobody's blaming you anymore. Go do your jobs.'

Oh, and one more thing. (Ancient Tengae) 'I *Ancient Tengae expletive* you stupid wood-brains!'

Uh... What?

Pass that on to those fools verbatim, <i>especially</i> the filthier bits. Did you get all that? Need me to repeat myself?

N-No, the elders sometimes speak that language, so I understand it, more or less...

Then go.

What are you waiting for?

Was all of that just so you could tell me this?

...Just get moving already!

The golden-haired nomad takes a deep breath and runs away from the city.

Her ancestor whose figure she never saw stands in place, unmoving.

That stubbornness and stupidity...

...really are hereditary.

Nemos turns to leave, while Loughshinny looks towards the Dark Woods.

The sun has set beneath the horizon. Curfew is about to begin.

In the distance, she sees the dark mist spreading from the forest towards Na Saoirsí, thicker than ever.

*pant*... *pant*...

Made it in time...

She raises her spear toward the mist outside, lighting a bright yellow spark in the city of purple.

As though receiving some kind of message, the mist slowly rises until it is level with the flame at the tip of her spear.

Yes, come here, where it's warm and bright, where there's still life... yes, over here.

What? You want to pretend I don't exist again?

I won't let you.

This light will never go out, not until true darkness falls.

Attracted by the flame in her hand, yet unable to approach, the mist begins to flow through the streets.

Soon, it returns. But this time, her flame can neither draw or repel it.

There is a cacophony within the mist. She feels as though everything has gone dark all of a sudden—

The dark mist has come.

Is this your answer?

Yes, this is my answer.

It is incomplete. It needs time.

Time is your enemy, not your friend.

We'll see about that.