Reed the Flame Shadow

Reed the Flame Shadow is a 6-star character in Arknights. Reed the Flame Shadow's class is Medic. Faction: Dublinn.

On our Arknights tier list Reed the Flame Shadow is S tier, 34th of the 293 characters ranked, from where 7 current tier lists put Reed the Flame Shadow.

Reed the Flame Shadow attacks instead of healing directly, dealing arts damage while automatically topping up whichever ally is in her range each time she hits something. Wither and Thrive supports melee allies especially well and has posted some of the highest single-target arts DPS of any operator, and Ember of Life can wipe out whole clusters of enemies at once, with Reflected Shine even healing her back whenever her attacks heal someone else.

She's an S on our list, though dedicated arts DPS units still edge her out on raw damage, and she can't heal anyone at all if there's nothing in range to attack.

Module story INC-X: Feeling in the dark, Reed untangles her hair with utmost care, then stands herself straight once more. A dream comes to mind, one she always used to have. Her sister stands behind her in her shadow, watching as she puts on a deathly heavy crown. She feels it's wrong for her to be wearing it, but she can't take it off no matter how she tries; all she can do is melt it by fire. Metal trickles down her face, scalding, searing, but the idea of the purple flame bringing her comfort, ice cold, scares her more. So she makes not a sound. And she recalls two people she met while pursuing the high-speed battleships' tracks a few days ago, ordinary folk. They knew the name of Dublinn, their land showed scars from being razed by fire. They asked Reed point-blank, are you the one who ruined our lives? The Draco, manipulator of the flame of life, fell silent for a while. She was familiar with the fear her sister could leave in people. But in the end, she nodded, for she is the Leader of Dublinn, and the Tarans have no need for two Dublinns. Someone is calling her name. She leaves, through the tight wooden door. She crosses a threshing floor, filled with hay and cardboard stage props of every color. Her costume's a little cumbersome; everyone wanted to drape their own two sashes over her, in much the manner one nestles two flowers for their beloved in a buttonhole. Surely the Red Dragon didn't take to the battlefield like this a millennium ago. But no matter, they don't have to trouble themselves with the looks of the crown-bearer. Let the wandering minstrels suppose, for the sake of a rhyme, that the Draco hero of legend had hair just as flowing and golden. Reed clears her throat and swishes her tail, a little wary. The Tarans in front of her don't know how each brook of muddy waters tracing through the marsh is the track of a galloping warship. They don't know that the bleak clouds to the north that never blow this way are the fumes of war. They don't know that what Reed grasps is the very flame of the Red Dragon of Tara. They simply know it's important to still have food to eat after their taxes are levied, and it's as important to make sacrifice and perform theater so their farmwork is bountiful and blessed. Sat in the back are the soldiers who've fought all the way alongside her, and they look at her just as expectantly. They've taught Reed that a failure to learn the lines means no good harvest in the coming year. 'I give you land, and I give you the weather to nurture it.' A fire ignites at her speartip in time with her words, and the audience abruptly settles down. At this moment, all could swear they have some vague premonition as to who it is that stands before them. Reed lowers her head. A child places a floral garland on her head of every color under the sun, each flower a symbol of a growing, flourishing crop. It is light, almost weightless. She bows down, and to the village's script, unchanged in all its years, she adds one line. 'I give you peace.' Module story INC-Y: '...Per the latest report from the courier, Nasrsha's summer shipping routes have been replanned.' 'Oh, right.' The one who had been bent over the desk, half-listening to the briefing while signing off on requests, finally looked up from the stack of documents. 'Before we move onto the new route, what should we do about those empty houses on the plot that's fallen into disrepair?' Nemesys walked into the office carrying today's newspapers, a trial issue printed in the Taran language, alongside the usual daily paper still printed in Victorian. Normally she would set them out on the newsstand, replacing them each day. It wasn't really her job, but ever since Ravigne started submitting to the papers anonymously, she'd had to give these flimsy sheets her full attention. Today, though, she paused before reaching the stand. 'What's that?' Noticing the clerk's gaze, Ravigne followed it to the corner of her desk, where an object taking up a third of the desk's surface sat waiting. 'Well, it's a... a model house? At least that's what the person who delivered it called it,' Drac said, fiddling with a decorative flower on the model's base. 'Oh, is it a design for rebuilding the old houses? I thought they were only talking about it,' Nemesys said, setting down the papers and stepping closer. She ran her hand over the model's roof and found even the tiles had been layered on one by one. 'Though I suppose what matters most is repairing those broken houses until they're livable again. How they look should be the last concern.' 'I understand. But maybe this is just a kind of hope. That someday, every Taran might live in a house like this.' As if something had occurred to her, a small smile appeared on Ravigne's face. Nemesys smiled too, then shook her head. 'No, I think they probably mean more than that.' As she spoke, she pushed open one of the model's little windows, reached inside, felt around for a moment, and drew her hand back closed into a fist, as if she'd grasped something. 'It feels like such a waste to leave it empty. Why not turn it into an orphanage? For the children who lost their families in the war and have no one to raise them. I can provide the starting funds myself, from my own account.' 'Your Highness.' 'Yes, and my salary too. Isn't that all sitting in the public welfare fund? We could just withdraw it.' 'Ravigne.' The one called by name gave a small shudder. 'If this is what you wish, then we will all lend you our strength. For those left behind by the war, whether people or houses, we will find a proper way to see them settled. You don't have to carry this alone.' Nemesys opened her hand, revealing two brass keys and a slip of paper with an address written on it. Her smile carried a touch of nostalgia. 'I once thought that once the war ended, we'd naturally be able to return to ordinary life. Moving into a new house together with family might be a good place to start.' Ravigne stood up, meaning to go to Nemesys's side and say something. But what was there to say? Teo, Kulin, even her sister, even Aibrana? She found she had nothing she could put into words, so she stayed silent. The red-haired Felinae held out her hand, keys resting insistently in her palm. 'It seems these children have given you their blessing too, Your Highness Ravigne. So please, take it. And this address happens to be right next to the newly finished orphanage.'