level_act41side_08_beg

Nemos drags the coffin out of the citadel.

Not a single soul is in the square with the statue. Curfew has begun, but she drags the red dragon's coffin over as the draconic flames burn within her own body.

Wherever she goes, the darkness retreats. Once she moves on, it re-occupies the space.

Hah, Culann... I envy you.

No one could have slept through you dragging that colossal statue, forcing them to come out to see what's going on.

But what about me, Culann? What am I supposed to do?

Do I have to keep shouting 'The Red Dragon is dead!' as I walk down the street?

She lifts her head to meet the statue's eyes. The violet flames dancing within its pupils do not answer.

She recalls the songs she sung for the dead with the wakemen all those years ago. Those from the city would also join in, if only for the first few lines.

...I hope you all remember the ancient ballads, Tarans.

So, Red Dragon. Which song should I sing to announce your death?

How about the blasphemous 'Tim Finn's Wake'? Would you enjoy a funeral where people get into fights, splash whiskey on your corpse, and then you wake up after smelling the alcohol?

Forget it. No one wants you coming back to life.

She casually sings another song that pops into her mind.

The black clouds shroud the marsh and vales, the cold wind shrieks through the mounts and hills♪

At crack of dawn I see a traveler, who asked me the way to the golden field♪

The wayward wakewoman sings with a hoarse voice, dragging the burning coffin towards every inhabited part of the city she's familiar with.

She stops at every house, making sure that the purple flames reflect in their windows, that the elegy is heard inside.

The more she sings, the more intimately the flames envelop her body, overwhelming her sluggish senses and making every step feel like torturous labor.

But it also lets her hear even the smallest snippets of speech from every window.

Taran language classes, Kieran? That can't possibly be free, right?

At that price... Well, it's doable, as long as we cut down on the wine.

Bloody hell, Kieran! If I helped you more back then, could you have escaped the Victorians...?

Damned dark mist! If the Red Dragon won't drive it away, I'll do it myself!

The black clouds shroud the marsh and vales, the cold wind shrieks through the mounts and hills♪

At crack of dawn I see a traveler, who asked me the way to the golden field♪

Who is that? Nemos? What's she up to, singing in the middle of the night?

And what's that she's dragging, that burns so bright...?

Darling, even if you want to help the Taran cause, surely you don't have to join the army?

...Fine, I'll wait for you to come home, for the day we win our freedom.

Finally some quiet. Going on and on about how your hand hurts, when your whole arm's already gone! And it's not like screaming about it's going to get you any medicine.

If it was going to be like this, I wish you'd never come home. I'd rather spend my whole life missing you...

I said to him: poor chap, even I don't know how far you have to go♪

But if you wish, I'll go with you for a bit, towards the golden field♪

Isn't this a funeral song?

Those purple flames... Who is it mourning?!

What?! The enemies have entered the woods and are right outside the city?

I can't sit back and do nothing, Nemos. Where is the army recruiting? I'll take my weapons and go!

There is neither light nor any voice behind this window.

Turn right and pass by the palace, cross the river of fine wine♪

I'll share a cup by the riverside, before we return to the golden field road♪

Miss Nemos, will you be moving in with Mr. Culann after the war's over?

Aw, I was hoping there'd be someone other than me to cook for him...

Perhaps the most important thing to do before Her Highness returns... is to repair the workshop door.

(Sniffle)

I hope you find that golden field, and a home in flames you'll never yield♪

I'm sure you won't hesitate then, and complete your trip to the golden field♪

A wakewoman on the brink of death. Who does she think she's going to rouse with those songs?

When she can't even wake herself up.

But whatever happens, Brigid, oh silly child of my distant bloodline...

Don't come back.

This city isn't worth your life.

Nemos walks toward the last street she has yet to visit.

She has been through practically the entire city, and heard the simmering restlessness behind every door, but none of them have opened.

The wayward wakewoman gradually loses her grasp on her senses as her voice grows weaker. She has sung every song she knows, even the blasphemous 'Tim Finn's Wake,' from start to finish.

She has only one song left. She did not want to sing it, but now she has no other choice.

I stepped into the dark woods one morn, calling to the mists of hoar♪

I trod upon the road, heading out to war♪

Nemos...

Emma!

I almost couldn't recognize you, you're... still...

I'm not doing good, Nemos. I'll be dead soon. I just want to lie in bed and stop breathing.

My joints hurt, and my throat's burning. I'm even seeing people who aren't with us anymore.

But I heard your song, and saw the coffin! I'm on death's door already, so I figured why not come and see... *cough*, *cough*!

Where is the dark mist?

Maybe in the forest, maybe in the city, maybe right behind us. I don't know, and I don't care.

Ha... ha... I... don't care either.

One question, Nemos... I need you to answer it before I can die in peace—

(Ragged breathing) Inside that coffin... Is that truly our Red Dragon?

Emma stands on her front porch, staggering, as if ready to collapse at any moment into a pile of kindling, to burn in despair and return to dust.

I put her in the coffin myself.

Why did she die...?

Who killed her?

WHO?!

Emma's feeble but angry voice echoes down the empty streets.

WHO?!

Who?

Who...

The echoes linger.

Nemos turns around to look. The streets are still empty, but she knows where the echoes are coming from.

Behind every closed door is a pair of bloodshot eyes hidden away, just like the ones on Emma's face.

Nemos turns again to look towards the towering citadel where nothing remains within.

You guys... still want... revenge?

That's right, as long as we can move...

We can avenge the Red Dragon.

Nemos turns away in despair.

She stops singing her songs, and merely hauls the coffin step by step towards the square.

Wait, Nemos, wait!

//黑雾

//录一下m_bat_act22side_01_intro

How many times must I repeat myself, mist? Eblana is dead! I killed her with my own hands!

Her body lies in the coffin Nemos is now dragging through the city. The people must know she is dead, and return her violet flames so their bodies will no longer burn!

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

Wishful thinking...

She did not gift those flames, she merely started the fire... Everything the Red Dragon promised will be lost because of you...

When has she ever cared about honoring her promises? But if that's all that matters to you—

Loughshinny retreats, step by step, until there's no room for her to move any further—only then does a fierce flame burst from her spear tip, melting the coldly lit vegetation.

Know that the only Red Dragon stands before you.

Whatever she's promised you, the only way you'll get it is through me.

Do you hear the doors opening in the distance? You must have.

Nemos aside, the first resident to break curfew has already opened their door.

So for their sake, as well as the hundreds more who will take to the very same streets, you must remain here.

Before my answer to Na Saoirsí is deemed a failure, before the people here are reduced to shambling corpses bent on tearing the dark mist apart, you have no right to take the lives of anyone trespassing in the dark.

What arrogance...

You call <i>this</i> arrogance?

If Tara needs it, I can be far more arrogant than that.

The red dragon speaks no more, and the flames of life burn brightly atop her spear.

She steps forward with her back straight, no longer dodging the ice-cold branches, but allowing them to lace her body with bloodied scratches.

The juxtaposition of the giant statue with the two tiny figures makes them seem like ghosts.

But somehow, Nemos can also feel the presence of others besides Emma. In fact, they seem to have crowded the square, as if the whole city is here.

They are all watching and listening, lit up by the strange purple glow from their Originium lamps.

No, it is more than a glow... Their bodies are burning purple.

The one who killed the Red Dragon is...

Nemos knows they haven't changed a bit. They are still waiting for her to utter a name they can curse and then destroy. Or maybe they will even destroy themselves.

Loughshinny? No one would believe there were actually two red dragons.

Who else, then? Who else could possibly kill the dragon who seemed to toy with life and death?

Before she can stop herself, she has a thought: Why not just say it was the dark mist, or the Victorians?

'Revenge', indeed. Let these lunatics dash into the mist and die in the Red Dragon's name.

Let them fulfill their desire for vengeance, and let this violet city die. It was born in disgrace, let it die in madness.

Yes, die, let everyone who stayed perish, just like those who left and went into the dark mist—

...I stepped into the dark woods one morn, calling to the mists of hoar...

Nemos turns to look at the colossal dragon skeleton sculpture, and recalls that recent evening, awash with confusion and sorrow.

What was he thinking, the man who dragged this statue into the square? What song was he singing in his heart?

Was it the song they taught Theo when they rescued him, what feels like centuries ago?

At this moment, the last bit of her sanity snatches the answer from the fiery clutches of her rage.

The answer that had been fluttering around since the very beginning of the story, the answer to the Red Dragon, to the sisters, to the mirror and reflection, and to the flames of life and death.

(Chokes back tears) Culann...

(Sob) If... If it wasn't you to throw his life away protecting these people...

The one who killed the Red Dragon is no one other than... the Red Dragon...

It was herself.

The woman before Nemos stares at her blankly, as if she did not hear her words.

Straining her entire being, Nemos yells at the whole city.

The Red Dragon killed herself!

She never intended to light the flames within your bodies! But she did not want you to burn into cinders, so she offered her own life instead!

To protect you from death, and yet...

Must you exact a fruitless revenge? Must you destroy everything she gave her life for?

The city falls silent as purple flames flicker, leaving only the dark mist lingering restlessly at the gates, as if waiting for its hesitant prey to step into its domain.

You're saying... she killed herself... so we wouldn't exact revenge?!

Then... what do we do now?

The onslaught of questions from the residents sends Nemos's head spinning.

Bloodshot eyes that did not shut from news of the death, instead ask her questions.

Grinding teeth that did not relax from news of the death, instead ask her questions.

Clenched fists that did not open from news of the death, instead ask her questions.

Silence, tension, confusion.

Their revenge was rejected, overruled by the Red Dragon, so where should their sorrow go now?

Niels... my unborn child... the Red Dragon... someone, tell me...

Emma?

If even revenge is out of my hands, then what else can I do?

I have nothing else, the war took everything from me...

How am I supposed to live on? Tell me, Niels... tell me, Red Dragon...

Anyone, just tell me, quickly... how am I supposed to live on?

Or... should I... go to you instead?

Emma, no!

Isn't this... the only path left for me?

I stepped into the dark woods one morn, calling to the mists of hoar♪

Niels, is that you? Are you finally back?

I trod upon the road, heading out to war♪

No pipes a-singing, nor battle drums a-roar♪

Only the bells behind me, through dew and fog their rings do soar♪

Stop singing!

That song snatched Niels away from me! Why would you still sing that song, nomad?!

Emma seems lost to madness, until a soft voice sings the same tune, but with different lyrics.

The night-blind laborer is led by a wakewoman as they slowly walk into the square.

Again through the dark woods—♪

I said stop singing that!

—Wait, 'again'?

It may be presumptuous, but I tried writing a new verse to the song.

Because I don't want our brave loved ones... to just leave us, to never to see us again, to be eternally lost in the mist, just like we are.

Again through the dark woods—parting the mists of hoar♪

Our gallants dearly departed, my heart so sad and sore♪

And so in my dreams I go, lighting bonfires in the woods♪

Not to reunite, but to light the path you trod with fog and dew♪

...Not to reunite, but to... light the path you trod...?

A tear trickles from Emma's eyes, streaking across her sallow face.

Return it... Return your flames, and the blessing of the Red Dragon.

Return the flames...?

If I... return this blessing... this fire back to her, will it light up their path?

Return it, and the wandering departed will also return to the flames and rest in peace.

No, I don't want that, I just... want to see him again...

If you die as you are, you will only ever brush past each other in the fog, again and again.

Then... what should I do?

Live on.

He chose to walk into the mist so you wouldn't need to be lost within it as well.

Return the fire to light his path. And then let the years pass, let life begin anew, and when your hair is white and he learns his wish was fulfilled...

Only then will you meet again.

The woman buries her face in her hands as she kneels on the ground, tears streaming down her fingers.

Moran hands her a candle. The candle flame turns purple the moment she takes it between sobs.

The wakemen and refugees slowly sing their way through the city, like a tiny stream left behind after a night of rain.

It is by no means a clear stream, nor a turbulent one. It is a miserable, muddy trickle flowing down centuries of painful history, carrying dust and blood, and about to run dry.

But it is this murky bitterness that reveals the city's true self in the gloomy night.

Nights of falling asleep gripping old photos, mornings awakened by phantom pain from amputated limbs.

Now-empty houses fell to ruin, while those fortunate enough to return home were greeted only by orphaned dolls scattered across dusty floors.

The doors... are opening?

They are.

People flood into the streets like a burst dam, pouring into the square.

Some leave their homes with candles in hand, while many more follow Emma's lead and take one from the wakewoman.

The flames still burn purple, but seem to have softened, and bear a bit of warmth.

Finally, finally...

Place the Red Dragon's coffin at the statue's base, Nemos.

It seems Na Saoirsí will witness a grand fire-returning ceremony tonight.

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.