act41side

You should be the first, Nemos.

Me? But this is <i>her</i> funeral, so... are you sure?

It is more than just hers, is it not?

The wakewoman looks around, trying to pinpoint the shadow of a stranger.

But even if the ghost wasn't trying to hide from her, she has no way of hearing the long overdue words of forgiveness from his mouth.

Now we're even, wood-brains.

Nemos takes a candle from the wakewoman, and bows before the burning coffin beneath the dragon statue.

...Rest in peace.

She deliberately neglects to mention the name of the departed. She places the candle before the coffin, no longer able to stop her tears from crashing into the flames.

Violet fire instantly rises up into the sky, spreading from the coffin to the entire statue.

The entire sculpture is set ablaze.

The crowd place their candles down beside the statue, and return the purple flames to the one who granted them their hue.

Some are silent, and some call the Red Dragon's name, but many more chant the most precious things they had lost in the war...

Tears fall like rain.

The suppressed, the promised, the twisted, the incited... Tears wash away the flickering, hollow pageantry, revealing only the sorrow of lives crushed to bits.

Crude, sharp, turbid, and stuck in their throats, only now does their sorrow manage to cry out.

The rain of tears converges into the stream of songs, pooling around the statue as the raging blaze evaporates it all, until even the citadel behind the square is engulfed in flames.

As I said, this... is my answer.

The mist does not reply, but after a long time Loughshinny hears a deep sigh.

...You made this choice yourself.

The dark mist dissipates like awakening from a dream, and Loughshinny sees real black clouds above her.

She heads towards the square.

She goes to return fire to the dead.

She walks the whole way from the city gates to the square. Every living resident is gathered before the burning statue.

The soaring purple flames have already taken over one side of the citadel. No one is able to approach, so Loughshinny gets all the space she could want.

...It should work from here too.

Eblana... May Tara never need your flames again.

A small blossom of fire flies from Loughshinny's palm. She does not know if this conforms to funerary tradition—it is simply an act of instinct.

The bright yellow flower flutters into the purple blaze. Loughshinny stands quietly, as the other fire returners have done.

But the fire does not die out.

The purple fire still lights up half the sky until everyone has returned their flames, though the Originium lamps on their waists remain an ice-cold violet.

Loughshinny finally realizes that at some point the giant dragon, still aflame, has stopped right before her.

She meets its eyes.

Eblana's eyes.

Still not giving up, Eblana?

Very well then. I'll play along with you...

One last time.

Loughshinny's spear tip flares up as the giant dragon flaps its wings and charges towards her.