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Are you scared of my fire? But your fire is the same as mine, Loughshinny.

It will burn forever. Trying to smother its glow, to extinguish it, is futile.

You needn't fear it being seen. Why don't you let those who see it, fear it?

I know that in my body is a fire. If I feel for it, I can feel it burning me. After so long, the pain of it comes to me even before my thoughts do.

Our parents warned us to take these flames we were born with and swallow them down, hide them away, and never let them be seen by anyone.

But I knew—how my sister would secretly burn whatever she didn't want, and then she'd get something better for it.

Can I do that too?

Dad, can you take me to the bookshop?

That morning, I thought I'd try acting like her, talking to my parents in her tone of voice.

Every time she told them what she wanted, they'd agree with panic, like they were being burnt, yet with love.

She and I had the same appearance and voice, and wore the same clothes, so why couldn't I disguise myself as her?

I want to read the sequel to the Steam Knights adventures... since—I don't want anyone asking me, how come a Victorian wouldn't like stories about the Steam Knights.

...Tomorrow, Loughshinny. Your mum and dad are exhausted for today.

Dad... did you recognize me?

Of course. How could I ever mix up my own two daughters?

I only realized, after that snowy night, that he didn't say yes—because what I wanted was far too small.

She wouldn't have gone begging to our parents, just for a new book.

I followed behind her, running as fast as I could.

The bells to reunite sounded—yet—we no longer could go home.

Eblana... Where... are we going?

...Where do you want to go?

I... don't know...

Nowhere's home, so go knock on any old door.

You just need to be honest to whoever opens it, and tell them that we have no home to go back to on this snowy, festive night.

No matter how cold they are, surely they'll sympathize with two children.

Go, Loughshinny, don't be afraid. I'm watching over you.

Under the glow of icy, purple flames, I knocked haltingly on the first door.

The flames had taken the lives of those we hated so only moments ago, but I wondered so badly—if those flames would come to kill me instead, if I did anything wrong.

—But—what did Sir do wrong?

I heard—there was a play being put on in the Tarans' neighborhood, hence why on such a snowy night, Sir never came home for being so late.

My sister made me sit down in his study. She simply warmly stared at me, and never answered my questions straight.

I knew—she was very disappointed in me. I should have been able to reach my own answers.

...He taught us—to ruin the lives of the innocent, to stir the schism between the Tarans and Victorians.

He even... plotted his fallen opponent's murder, just like—those Victorians—killed our parents.

So, taking his life... was what we were meant to do.

My sister could always do the right things, while I never could.

She gifted her spear to me, yet every time I gripped it, that pike burning with flames, I shivered.

Just as I did now.

Am I... right?

No, Loughshinny.

Death is merely there to guide him to his dreams.

He showered us in conspiracy and political trickery, peeled us of our freedom and dignity. That was detestable, yet detest is all that is.

But even while he'd mastered his methods, his sights were set too narrow. That's what was truly regrettable.

He wanted little more than the control of a brittle, fantasy nation, with us serving as the puppets that would crown him.

The power I look to have in my hands is far grander than the daydreams of that madman.

—What about you, Loughshinny? What do you want?

Yes, it's good that your blood and your upbringing have you carry yourself high, but if you want for nothing, then what sort of position am I meant to leave by my side for you?

Go on. This is your wish on a snowy night... I'll let you aspire as grand as you want.

I didn't answer.

I only had the tiniest dream, like the warm fire of a hearth.

I didn't dare answer.

No matter, my sister. If you don't know where your own desires lie, then first become me.

From hereon, you and I are both 'The Leader'.

Intently, that flame watched me, and I became her shadow.

Hah... have you been after me all this time? Since when?

No, I simply heard from Fionn—that you'd seen your brother, in the squad of parted Dublinn...

I guessed you'd come here yourself.

It's not as if it's any of your business.

I've been searching... all this way, for these dead controlled by Arts. I want them to find peace.

And I can accomplish that. Just as you saw, just now.

Gone are the marching footfalls of soldiers. The barrens turn silent.

Neither of them say a word. After a while, Selmon squats down, brushes the dirt off the mask, then carefully places it over the soldier's face.

...Meddling little Fionn. Did he tell you about the first time I ever saw Dublinn?

We were in the city, me and my brother. If we were in good moods, we'd line up to see if any of the pubs needed last-minute waiters or what-have-you. If we were in bad moods, we'd hit Viccies' windows with our catapults.

Hah. Couldn't tell you if all the nobles were Viccies, to be honest, I just knew the one who drove us off the ag plate was.

Then, one day, there was this injured woman lying in an alley who shouted at me in Taran, wanted me to deliver a letter for her.

We guessed who she was. I delivered it, and found her a place to hide.

I told her, of all the scummiest Victorians in this city, the number one would be that one with the tiny moustache who issued all the decrees.

Bloody, Originium product taxes, alcohol taxes to 'target Taran drunks', ordinances to round up unemployed Tarans and house them in one place, he was the one on telly delivering all of that.

And then there was the army man stationed in the alleys. I couldn't do nothing but watch him beat all those people to death, and if I'd stared at him a moment more, he would've taken me away.

If she and her spectre force wanted marks to attack, then those two had to be on the list.

But I was wrong, she responded, it wasn't Dublinn's aim to retaliate against Victorians in Tarans' stead.

My brother told her which noble had the biggest house, which had the poshest dinner parties, which had a treasure hoard enough to arm an army, support a plate's farmers.

That was even more wrong, she said. Dublinn wasn't stealing from the Victorians to give to the Tarans.

And she said, if all we do is kill a few people, and seat ourselves in their positions, it won't make things better for the Tarans, it'll just make us become them.

Just like how Tarans who learned Victorian etiquette, copied Victorian accents, could pass as Victorian nobles...

...Then, did she tell you—what it was Dublinn wanted?

Hah, nope. But my brother had it all figured it out afterwards, so. We decided to join Dublinn, and went following them on the info they left behind.

We left the nomadic city, heading for a settlement close by.

It was along the way there I suddenly remembered how Dublinn disposed of their eyewitnesses.

I was scared for my life, so scared I felt I had to run.

It's not as if I hate every last Victorian, y'know. And if I don't hate them, I'm not prepared to make them bleed.

But... there's no alternative to it.

I—don't like saying this. But—Dublinn is an army, and the one thing armies face is war.

I know, of course I know.

Rationally, I know they're in the right.

What's wrong is I can't do it.

...How come I can't do what my brother could? How could he be so sure, while I had to run?

How could he put up with dying, and burning after death, while I can't even stand seeing him turn out this way?

How can she stand up from the ashes, while I can only shrink into her shadow and weep?

Loughshinny, what is it you want?

...'I wrote, for you, what my life knew / In terms of love, and dreaming too,'...

...'But in your burning ecstasy, there was no place to hold them'...

Wha...?

You... you're not reciting poetry, are you?

Are you serious? At me? Are you trying to show off your upbringing?

Sorry... I—don't know what I should say.

There's so much I <i>could</i> say to encourage others, or comfort others... but none of it is mine.

Hah... you can stop reading...

Selmon buries her face in her hands.

Her grief, like the Dublinn soldiers who no longer speak, is shrouded in a deep green silhouette.

'I dreamt...' they murmur.

Years and years ago, we were working in a Victorian's manor.

One day, my brother got me to drop everything I was doing, and slip out with him for fun.

...We walked for ages, until we reached the edge of the ag plate, and we looked out down into the wilderness below.

We couldn't see where the soil ended, it was all bursting full of wild flowers. My brother said, that there, that's Tara.

He said so much daft, arrogant shite, he sang into the wind at the top of his voice.

He said there was so much we wanted to say but couldn't, because the Victorians robbed us of our language. The only thing we could do was hide our love and sorrow away in our time-old folksongs.

And he said we'd done something incredible today. We didn't work for the Victorians today, so we'd rebelled against them.

He must've been absolutely full of it back then, full-on dreaming of becoming like a hero in the legends... hah.

Same here.

...They're very pretty, the flames you've left him. They're just like the flowers we saw that day.

But these flames aren't true flowers. They're just...

'From the moment we're born to the moment we die, it all runs past in the blink of an eye.'

...You aren't—even able to hold them.

That's fine. I don't care.

I knew for the longest time he'd die. Even I was prepared to die when we went looking for Dublinn.

I... don't care.

I never trusted he'd die like he bragged, like we dreamed, with a hero's death.

But at least, Reed... I want to hear the truth. Your truth.

Was the... future Dublinn promised, the thing he was chasing even once he'd died, was it made up?

In the dark of the night, a flame ignites at the tip of a spear.

Cast in the firelight, Reed sees—tears, finally flowing down her face.