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So please, allow me to lead the way.

Wakewoman, since you've returned, does that mean Moran and the others have already settled in?

That's right. They'll be staying just outside the ruins. They're probably still clearing out the empty houses right about now.

Thank you.

Don't mention it. By the way, call me Nemos. I hardly do any work as a wakewoman these days.

Alright, Nemos. You mentioned a banquet just now. Who's hosting it?

In a few days, Dublinn will be hosting a celebratory banquet, and all the high-ranking nobles will be in attendance, including Her Highness Eblana. We've been very busy with all the preparations.

A celebratory banquet? While the residents are making do with 'stewed meat' and 'grilled fins' made from only potatoes?

The potato thing started out due to a food shortage, but now, they're just...

used to it.

But Dublinn is aware of the situation in the city. They're calling it a 'banquet', but I didn't see any eating or drinking on the itinerary.

I'm not trying to cover for anyone, Miss Loughshinny. I truly believe that Dublinn wouldn't turn its back on the people of Tara like that.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must be going.

She certainly left in a hurry.

So if directly removing the violet flames would only cause a panic, what if I were to do it more subtly...?

To lunder whatever you want, then?

Who's there?

The noble red dragon turns around and sees a figure engulfed in blazing purple flames.

No, if the other residents have been merely 'kissed' by the flames, then the person standing before her seems to have been forged from the purple fire itself. The flames don't look harsh, yet they distort the very light around them.

Unfortunately, what you want sounds incredibly boring.

After all, Tara's flames have already been dyed that color. That's just a fact.

You know about the flames.

I happened to find out about them, yes.

Tell me everything you know. It's extremely important.

Why should I?

I need to stop people from being engulfed by the purple flames.

So you can replace them with your own flames?

As long as the people of the city are safe, the color doesn't matter.

What grandiose nonsense. It's almost nostalgic. Your excuse is so clumsy that it's laughable, red dragon.

What is your relationship to my sister, sir?

Loughshinny takes a step forward, while the figure moves backwards, preserving the distance between them.

Relationship? You, your sister, and I are all cut from the same cloth. We all crave power, conflict, and bloodshed.

We're all itching for what comes next, eager to set the land ablaze.

But this time, I'll stay out of it. Until the Lair is consumed by flames, I'll be cheering on both sides.

Goodbye—

Wait!

The red dragon tries to weave the flames of life into a cage, but before it can take shape, the strange figure scatters in the wind.

Her fire only briefly illuminated his long tail...

Then returned to nothingness.

Sir.

It's you. What's wrong? Why have you come to see me now?

Don't tell me there's another problem with your grain shop that I have to deal with. I've never treated you as a subordinate—we're 'business partners', understand?

I understand.

Good, as long as you do. I have another shipment that needs to be escorted out of the city. Leave soon, and be back before curfew.

Sir, about that—

About what?

About the grain we sent out before... You said it wouldn't affect the city's food supply, but now we're all stuck eating only potatoes...

Do you know what it's like in other parts of Tara? They don't even <i>have</i> potatoes!

Na Saoirsí's agricultural output is already top-tier. We're taking urgent measures to help our countrymen. Understand?

Besides, how much did you earn from just those last two carts?

Look at it this way: the people of Na Saoirsí aren't starving. At least they've got potatoes to fill their bellies.

What's more, it's almost harvest time. There will be plenty of new grain then. I'm more worried that your tiny shop won't have the throughput to sell it all.

Still, I'm not one to force anyone to act against their conscience. If you really feel that bad about it, you can always just transfer your business license to someone else and close your shop.

But how will I eat then?

I told you, you're not my subordinate. How is that my problem?

Alright, alright, just hand over your business license by the end of the day—

No! Don't! Okay! I'll do it.

Hmph.

*Sigh*...

Why are you still standing there?

I have something else to discuss. My friend told me that lately, the dark mist in the forest...

Dark mist? If I needed <i>you</i> to remind me about that, I might as well quit right now.

There will be someone waiting for you once you're past the gates, just like always. Anything else is none of your concern. Now go.

Sir.

What is it? Did The Brigadier say something when he was on patrol this morning?

No sir, he didn't come around this morning. The Leader sent him on another assignment.

Phew.

Then what's got you in such a panic?

It's officially harvest season for the agricultural plate to the south.

Isn't that a good thing?

Yes, but, uh, all the skilled agricultural workers have left the city.

Tch, just follow the handbook—do exactly as it says, got it?

Yes sir!

By the way, what's the estimated yield for the entire plate? Report it to me, and I'll consolidate the numbers later.

Um, we're not exactly familiar with this sort of work either...

You're useless! Can't you at least tell when the crops are ready for harvest?

They're definitely ripe, or we wouldn't have harvested them in the first place...

Then isn't it just business as usual? Report a normal yield based on previous years! Now get going!

Hello, I'm Brigid the nomad.

What do you want?

I've delivered all my letters in Na Saoirsí. So I'd like to go to the highest point in the city and let the wind carry my message to my brothers and sisters. Then I'll be on my way.

Ah, now I remember—it's <i>you</i>. You've been here so many times, and we've never let you up there even once. Haven't you learned your lesson yet?

Even the Victorians let me up to the top of the citadel when they were in charge.

Do I look like a Victorian to you?

No. You're a Taran.

Then you should know that, since we're all Tarans, there's no need to indulge those outdated customs of yours anymore. All that nomad and wakeman nonsense—it's all stupid superstition.

Now get moving! If you don't, I might just have you arrested!

Fine, I'm going. No need to make a fuss...

Welp, I've done exactly nothing I set out to do, other than delivering my letters.

Oh well. At least I'm out of the city before curfew. Now to just pass through the Dark Woods and I'll be back on the open plains.

*Sigh*... I just hope the mist will let me through.

But it's never stopped the nomads before, so why am I worrying about it?

The nomad kicks a pile of fallen leaves by the roadside. The rustling sound echoes through the vast, empty forest ahead.

To her surprise, the sound doesn't fade away—it echoes back in a repeating loop.

Brigid suddenly crouches down, trying to cover the scattered leaves before her. Where the sound is coming from.

Sorry, shouldn't have kicked you.

The sound continues.

Uh—

It doesn't stop. Instead it grows louder and louder, echoing until it becomes an unbearable, deafening cacophony.

At the same time, the dark mist creeps up from her feet, covering her eyes and ears.