act41side

(*whispers*) Sorry.

Ma'am! Hold on, please!

Oh, Reed! It's you! You left so suddenly—I was worried our hospitality had been lacking in some way.

No, I truly appreciated your hospitality. I had just suddenly remembered some business I had to take care of. I still have a few questions, though. Would you mind answering them for me?

Ask away.

Do you realize that you're engulfed in flames?

Flames? Oh, you mean my blessing? Wow, you can see other people's blessings?

I didn't notice until someone pointed it out to me—

Wait, you're saying you know about the flames, but can't see them? How can that be?

The friendly resident puts her hand on her waist.

The ancient Tarans carried small flames at their waists, stabilized through Originium Arts, to dispel the dark mist in the marsh.

After Victoria seized full control of Tara, this custom—along with all similar practices—was strictly banned.

But times have changed. No longer bound by Victoria's rules, the Tarans, or at least the people of Na Saoirsí, have chosen to wear small Originium lamps at their waists.

I'm sure you know fuel is scarce, and with the curfew in place, we can't afford to keep the lamps on—nor do we need to. But... if we carry these small lamps...

That's her fire... That's the color of her fire in the lamp.

Now, whenever people turn on their lamps, this is the color they'll see. Even if they replace the filaments with different ones, the color remains unchanged.

And you're not the least bit worried about this?

Well, as you can see, things are on the up and up here in Na Saoirsí. And what explanation can there be but the Red Dragon's blessing?

But—

But?

But if a reckless returnee tried to warn her that those flames were anything but fortuitous, she would never believe it.

Loughshinny hopes that perhaps a more direct approach would work.

But I wanted to experience the dragon's blessing for myself. May I hold your hand?

But you've already entered the city. Everyone who does will receive the blessing, sooner or later.

Please? It's just a small favor.

Well, I suppose it wasn't easy for you to make it all the way back to Tara.

Oh, right, what do you do for a living, anyway?

I... I know some basic medicine, along with some healing Arts. Nothing to brag about.

So you're a doctor, then. We're in need of doctors, actually.

Come here. Give me your hand—

She tightly clasps the woman's calloused hand, letting the fire spread from her own wrist to Loughshinny's.

Thank you...

She shuts her eyes.

Close your eyes and remember those whose pain you once soothed, those no longer forced to linger in this realm—

Go, and warm this cold fire.

Ugh...

The purple flames gradually fade. Beneath them, a pale face emerges, swaying gently, with a friendly smile.

So she tries to erase more of the purple flames, but fails to notice when the woman's expression suddenly changes.

My God, I—

My hand! What did you do to my hand?! It's completely numb!

What?!

I can't feel my blessing anymore, either! Just what are you doing to me?!

Let go!

Reed!

Wakewoman?

Reed, please let go of this poor lady.

I—

(Shakes head)

Sorry, ma'am.

She means no harm—I stake my honor on it.

But she said she's a doctor—how could a doctor possibly...?

Arts-based medicine can sometimes have side effects. Look at your hand, it's perfectly fine now, isn't it?

But I still can't feel anything—

You'll be fine.

The wayward wakewoman raises a hand, gently pressing her warm palm to the frightened woman's forehead. It is just a normal, casual gesture, yet the woman gradually calms down.

Okay, okay. I believe you. Right, I still have my hand, as well as my blessing.

It's almost nightfall. You should head back home.

And Reed, you have another banquet to attend, don't you?

A banquet?

...Right, the banquet.

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.