EA-5 Drowned in Fire

Was that another trick of the shadows? This isn't the right way. I'm going in circles.

I can't see the sky. How long has it been...? How far do I still have to go?

Well, I'm in the Dark Woods, at least. The mist and noise Brigid was talking about didn't keep me out.

Tricky fae, shadows pointing the wrong way, fowlbeasts that trip you with branches... That's all more or less the same as when I was bringing Moran and the others back.

The trees are too tall, and the leaves too thick. They block out the sky, making the life here different from outside.

...This is the right path. I'm at the heart of the Dark Woods now.

The scenery seems different from before. Where did the red and gold of autumn go?

Why does it look like this?

The black mist?!

So the woods are rejecting me after all?

Does it... reject me?

No, it's closer to indifference... disappointment?

Why?

Another dead end...

No time to waste here. I'm sorry, but I'll have to burn a way through—

You're overthinking it.

Who's there?!

Take a guess.

You... how could it be?

You're that gentleman from the city... I wanted to ask you something, but you—

Indeed, hardly the most amicable of partings. Since then, I've been following and watching you for a while now. Consider it my way of reflecting on myself.

I'll admit you're not quite what I thought. But this is no time for small talk.

Do not burn the trees. It should be enough to illuminate them with your fire. See for yourself what they really are.

'What they really are'...?

The leaves are razor sharp. The brambles are hard, and the branches have a metallic gleam... what is this?

That's not important. What's important is that your fire can't burn through it.

Now follow me.

Hurry, before the black mist changes its mind!

We can talk later, but if that thing is in a bad mood, there won't be anything left to bury when it's done with you.

Isn't that a dead end?

Why do you put so much faith in what you see?

Just listen and move!

This is... the path I took when we came to Na Saoirsí!

So this is where those trails lead?

If you don't mind me asking, are you and the forest fae—

Don't be ridiculous. I have nothing to do with them.

The woods, though... Centuries have passed, but it's hardly changed at all, other than the black mist.

Ruins the view, really.

We'll be out of the Dark Woods soon. Now could you—

Tsk, tsk, this is really...

What's happening?

Look behind you.

Reed!

Reed! We're here!

What happened in the city? It's like the black mist got angry the moment you entered it, cutting it off from the outside. It's been days since anyone went into the Dark Woods.

A few people were hunting on the outskirts when they heard sounds from within, and saw what looked like fire.

Whenever something similar happened before, the wakemen told us not to approach the woods.

This time, though, we recognized your fire. We could hardly ignore it.

You shouldn't have come. It's dangerous here—

Then you shouldn't have either, not on your own. We all learned our lesson about letting you go off alone after waiting for you in the marshes outside Londinium.

We trust you. So please, trust us back.

...Thank you.

You're welcome. Let's go back to camp.

Mhm.

Sir, would you—

Who are you talking to? Is there someone else with you?

Thank you for providing refuge for these people.

Nemos entrusted them to us. We simply did our part.

On behalf of the wakemen, I promise that we will not reveal your existence to anyone unaware. And you have seen with your own eyes that your people are safe. Now it is time for you to leave.

What do you mean? Is she not welcome here?

Neither are your people, Moran.

Whenever two red dragons meet, endless conflict awaits. If you insist on involving yourselves in it, then we can no longer offer you sanctuary.

How could you?

This is how we have always been. The wakemen neither start nor end conflicts.

The disputes of the living are not our concern. We watch over only the souls of the departed.

If you are truly the noble and compassionate leader Moran imagines you to be, you will not drag these innocents into your battle, red dragon.

This isn't a battle between two red dragons. I came to seek your help on behalf of the people of Na Saoirsí—

Every battle has its reasons.

It's not an excuse. Reed wouldn't do that.

Excuse or not, the disputes of the living are none of our concern... A hard-learned lesson whose bitter fruits we continue to taste to this day.

Now leave.

What if I'm here to ask you to hold a funeral?

A funeral?

In that case, the wakemen will welcome you. But for that, and only that.

Now tell me the name of the departed, their deeds in life, and... present the remains.

His name was... Culann. He was a blacksmith.

Culann?!

How did he die?

The purple flames of death took both his life and his will. Not even my flames can help him now.

...

Then why is it that not a single denizen of Na Saoirsí has come to us to request a funeral since the city became independent?

So...

So it transpires that the first Na Saoirsían to be mourned since the end of the war was not taken by war at all.

So I weave the straw into a ring like this?

Yes. Then adorn it with these flowers, and the wreath is complete.

I remember when the farmers put a wreath on your head, praying for a good harvest next year.

...Mhm.

Feels like old times. I miss that.

Are you not happy here?

I rather enjoy it myself, but the others might find it stifling.

The life of a wakeman is almost like a self-punishment, after all. What's the word for it again? 'Asceticism'?

No alcohol, no overeating, no fancy foods—can't even laugh too loud. They wake up before sunrise and sleep after midnight, and everything in between is some ritual or other.

At least they don't expect the same from us, but there's no avoiding them when we have to help out on the farms and stuff.

I've practically forgotten how to laugh—hah.

Moran's the only one who goes out of her way to talk to them. She's learning something new every day. Might be how they tie certain knots, might be how to estimate the age of a tree.

Compared to the wakemen in the tales, though...

Your Highness?

Ma'am.

I did not expect to find you here working with them.

Reed has always been like this.

Hm.

Should we excuse ourselves?

No, I simply came to confirm the facts of the departed's life, for the purpose of the ritual.

Please, tell me. What happened to Culann?

...

I will tell you all that I saw, as I saw it.

I hope it makes you feel something.

...

I have already dismissed all the servants in the citadel. These footsteps, then...

...Your Highness.

Ah, it's you. Did you need something?

You aren't going to ask how I returned?

No, I won't. You came back, and that's all that matters, my loyal servant.

Besides, I have a fairly good idea of what sort of guest you can bring me.

Has the curfew started?

Just now.

Then you could say that my orders have been followed.

Failure?

Na Saoirsí is here. I am here. What failure?

The deadline is Samhain. Surely the black mist remembers this, even if it's hardly known for being a good listener.

Am I meant to understand something from these few words?

Or perhaps... you, too, prefer the directness of Arts and destruction to the imprecision of language?

Samhain.

By the time the sun rises on the day after Samhain, the outcome will be plain for all to see.

So... why don't we dispense with these meaningless bluffs?

Your Highness...

You're still here.

Did you need something else? Is this about Dublinn?

There are only the two of us here. I will permit you to speak that word again, my most loyal servant.

Thank you, but there is no need.

Spectres are but spectres, even if they helped found a nation. There is no place for ghosts in the history books.

But I worry about my colleagues who stayed behind that day, as I did... Where are they? Could they mean you harm?

No need to worry. Even if there were, that is no reason for you to risk staying here.

...I saw a scene of chaos on my way back.

It was bedlam. People were fighting over the tiniest things... sometimes nothing at all. While others seemed to be stuck where they stood, like statues.

Just like the spectres who fought the Victorians with us.

Will they fade into darkness too?

This is Na Saoirsí, the Red Dragon's Lair, the capital of Tara. Anything that happens here will have repercussions across the nation.

No, it won't.

...

You don't sound convinced.

Your Highness... I...

At the end of the day, I have just one question.

One question I pray you will answer.

Very well. I will forgive your imprudence.

(Takes a deep breath)

Your Highness Eblana, that future...

That future you promised Dublinn, you promised Tara, that future where all Tarans could freely write their own dreams...

Was it all a lie?

It was true, every word of it.

Your Highness...

I have answered your question, Brigadier.

Then I trust you.

Perhaps... Or perhaps you simply have no other choice.

Often have you chosen a path that seemed baffling, impossible even. But it always ends up leading us closer to our dream. Of that I have no doubt.

Such deep trust is indeed worthy of my gratitude.

However, I do not require you to maintain order within Na Saoirsí.

If you managed to return from the Dark Woods, then you should return there now.

Until Samhain has passed?

Until Samhain has passed.

Or...

...

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

Your Highness?

Do you hear the song coming from beyond the woods?

Hardly a day has passed since you left... Fine work, Loughshinny.

Is that what's been happening in the city?!

Reed, your sister... what is she planning?

I don't know.

Someone once told me that her plans would only ever be beneficial to Tara. Now, though, I can trust neither her nor the one who made that promise.

Are you still not going to help her, wakewoman?

...

She came for a funeral, and we will only accept her for that.

I have learned of the deeds of the departed.

Bring the knots and wreaths and come outside. The funeral is about to begin.

Excuse me...

Go ahead.

I didn't know the departed, and don't really have much to say... But where I grew up, people talked freely at funerals.

Certainly. This is how Tarans honor the departed.

Life should be celebrated, even after its end. The joy of the living is consolation to the dead. You are free to talk amongst each other.

I also made some snacks...

Please feel free to share them. We will also provide refreshments later.

However, we must request that you exercise restraint, considering that Mr. Culann died before his time, and under unfortunate circumstances.

We must also ask you to follow our instructions during the fire-returning ceremony.

Understood.

Is this how your folks hold funerals, Moran?

We didn't have all these rites and ceremonies. All we did was keep watch through the night. No clue what this 'fire-returning' thing is either.

Guess we just follow their instructions.

Have you ever been part of a ceremony like this, Reed?

(Shakes head)

I see...

You mean...

Loughshinny has found the wakemen. The hero's funeral has begun.

'I stepped into the dark woods one morn, calling to the mists of hoar; I trod upon the road, heading out to war'... Do you know this song?

You already know the answer.

I led the young into battle with it more than a few times.

Who is it? Who's singing?

Why is it that I still hear that song here at the site of the old capital, even after escaping the Dark Woods?

Or am I still stuck in the woods?!

No... no, the sound is coming from the furnace at the center of the ruins.

...

Such a beautiful tune...

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

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

I...

I should go back...

Now I see... what I truly want...

Besides... do I really deserve... to escape Na Saoirsí?

Here, Emma, today's bread.

Thanks for sharing your food in times like these.

You shared with me before. Just returning the favor.

But... why do you keep staring at the bread in my hand like that?

...

(Mutters) Control yourself... control yourself...

(Mutters) She's Emma... the one who shared bread with you... you must help her... you must—

(Deep breath) I'm fine, Emma.

I-I just meant to say, you've been bedridden for so long. There'll be tough times ahead.

...

'No pipes a-singing, nor battle drums a-roar'...

Why are you singing that?

Someone's singing... in the distance...

Friends of the departed, please present your eulogy before the fire-returning ceremony begins.

Reed?

I... I have a eulogy here, written by Nemos. May I read it?

Of course. Go ahead.

'Dear Culann...'

A letter?

'Culann, perhaps it won't be long before I join you...'

'...Now, it is my turn to carry this burden, one too heavy for any single person to bear.'

'Farewell, Culann. Slán leat. Or should I say, Slán go fóill.'

'May we meet again...'

'in the warm flames.'

Witness that the departed has found peace in flames. He shall no longer wander the mortal realm.

Place your candle as close to the fire as possible, or throw it in directly. Return the fire to the departed.

If you have anything to say to the departed, say it aloud to the flame. Be it praise or reproach, they are the memories that will console the departed at journey's end.

Once you have returned the fire, please remain to keep watch over his soul, until the fire has gone out.

Let us begin.

Slán leat. May you find rest, stranger—

deceiver and hero.

Do you want to come closer to the fire, Reed?

If there's anyone here who doesn't deserve to pay respects to Culann, it would be me.

You couldn't have saved him.

Moran?

There was no place for him in the Red Dragon's Lair from the moment he made the choice to truly become a hero.

You should return the fire to him.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Let the dead rest with our memories, as life goes on.

...

Return the fire...

Let the dead rest with our memories... as life goes on?