Scorching Dream

Dad, can you take me to the bookshop?

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?

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.

—But—what did Sir do wrong?

...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.

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.

......

......

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'.

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.

......

...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?

......

...'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 could say to encourage others, or comfort others... but none of it is mine.

Hah... you can stop reading...

......

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...

...You aren't—even able to hold them.

That's fine. 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?

......