The bonfire writhes disconsolately, its erratic motions a stark contrast to the unbroken shine of the lanterns surrounding it.
You bring your hand up to your chin. Sure, you've taken a few dozen blows to the head recently, but you're pretty certain that wasn't there last time. You mentally retrace your steps; talked to Hope, talked to Gehrman about the Club of Righteousness, kneeled at the grave, emerged in the infinite blackness. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Except that there's a bonfire sitting in the middle of the cluster of lanterns.
You walk over to take a closer look. The flames lap at your legs tenderly, devoid of their expected voracious hunger. Curious, you reach a hand into the splintering wood.
The gaudy stone halls of a medieval castle fill your mind. Cavernous rooms filled with food and drink, armored behemoths lining the corridors, and a huddled assembly of giants all flit through before settling on a most unexpected image.
A young woman alone in a bed, her mane of red hair strewn haphazardly about the immaculate sheets.
Fiddle and Emma are safe with Eileen. Something tells you this girl is a more pressing concern. You close your fingers around the intangible heart of the flame and awake.
You're coughing before your eyes even have a chance to wake. The stone reeks of ash and dead things. You quickly scramble to your feet and brush yourself off, taking a look around in the process. A heavy door squats behind you while an impossibly-long hall challenges the limits of your depth perception. Orange sunlight meanders in through a series of ornate windows, telling of the far-off coming of night. At your feet, firewood withers away into nothing, bleeding a slow drip of smoke. You turn and give the door an exploratory push. To your mild surprise, it swings open with the silence of perfectly-maintained hinges.
"Aslatiel?"
You stop at the sound of the voice from within. After a brief silence, you make your way fully into the room. As far as you can tell, it's a hospital room, lined wall-to-wall with pristine beds. It's a far cry from Iosefka's humble clinic; you're fairly certain the good doctor literally dreams of having a facility like this. Despite its size, a fire-haired young woman of Japanese descent is its sole occupant, eyeing you with contempt from one of the center beds. Oddly, it has a neighbor on just one side, a wooden chair sitting in place of the bed on the other.
"What do you want? I've already spoken to Oktavia; you can just ask..."
The scorn dies on her lips. She stares at the shining cross around your neck with an inscrutable medley of emotions on her face. For some time, she simply gawps at you in silence save for half-formed exclamations that tumble haphazardly from her open mouth.
"Who are you?" she asks. She seems significantly smaller than when you first entered.
"Father Alexander Anderson."
"How did you get here? Where are you from?"
"I'm from the Vatican. Ta be honest, I'm not sure how I got here. I was in a Dream and there was this bonfire and-"
"You're from the Vatican? From Italy?"
"That, I am. What about you?"
"I'm from Kazamino. In Japan. How are you here?" There's fear in her eyes now and she's gripping the sheets so tightly her nails are punching through.
"I felt like I was supposed ta be."
She begins to shiver. Even through the linen pajamas, you can tell she's worryingly thin.
"Are you here to kill me?"
Now it's your turn to gawp.
"No, lass, of course not. I was led here by God-"
"Don't talk to me about God."
No teenager should ever have that kind of hurt in their voice. Nobody should ever have that kind of hurt in their voice. You give her a moment to steady her breathing and regain eye contact.
"Do ye mind if I sit down?"
She nods and gestures towards the chair next to her. As you approach, she begins rambling.
"Aslatiel was sitting there, but then the guards said Ornstein wanted to speak with him and escorted him out. I guess the other guards aren't here yet."
You take a seat and intertwine your fingers. When no further comment is forthcoming, you straighten up and look her in the eye.
"What's yer name, lass?"
"Kyoko Sakura."
"Ms. Sakura, is there anythin' ye'd like ta speak or confess? I'm a stranger ta this land, and anythin' ye say is between you, me, and the LORD. I am not here to judge ye, only ta act as a willin' ear."
She looks fit to snap at you again, but instead sags. She takes a deep breath and she tells you.
She tells you of being young and hungry, of her father who spread his own new gospel. She tells of her wish and the rat-like thing that granted it. She tells of the cost and the fire and being alone.
Loneliness. A found friend. A lost friend. A stupid girl with blue hair who eventually meant everything. Crashing wheels and shining chains and one final prayer.
Death in battle. Awakening in some unknown place for an unknown purpose with nowhere to go but forward.
You let her speak her fill. When she is finished, you gather your thoughts and turn to her.
"You were tempted, as we all are. With love in yer heart, ye succumbed ta temptation and bartered with unholy forces."
She nods, pursing her lips.
"But though yer actions brought ruin, ye fought for redemption and laid down yer life in pursuit of it. Ye gave all ye could give, and there is nothing more the LORD could ask of ye."
Your words seem to bounce off her ablative misery armor with no visible effects. You sigh, reach into your sleeves, and pull out an unmarred copy of the Word.
"In yer desire ta help yer father, ye became a monster of God. Is that correct?"
"It wasn't for God. It wasn't even for Dad. It was for me."
"Ye fought ta spread the Word. For yer family and for the God ye believed in, ye paid the price of unending combat. And in the end, ye died so that a lost girl wouldn't have ta die alone. For the goodness in the world which is God. 'For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.'"
"Luke 9:24."
You smile, then turn your eyes downward. "I gave up everything, too. I faced a monster, the worst monster there ever was, and I became a monster of God ta stop him. I threw away all of myself ta win."
She looks up at you curiously.
"And I still lost. I died on the streets of London, and then I awoke in a new land that had never heard the Word." You put a hand on her shoulder. "I was given a second chance, just as you were. These things don't happen by accident. Nothing does.
"I can't force ye ta return ta God. Nobody can. It's yer decision and yers alone. But we are where we are for a reason, Kyoko Sakura."
You smile.
"Because we're the good guys, and we're carryin' the fire."
She meets your gaze for a moment, and then she smiles as well. You pick up the Bible and offer it to her.
"I'm sorry, Father. I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet."
You nod and return it to the confines of your sleeves.
"When ye are, I'll be around, God willin'."
The sound of armored footsteps in perfect sync interrupts your moment. Looks like those guards finally got off their asses. You look around for an avenue of escape before a faint glow near the door catches your attention.
A lantern has sprung from the stone, complete with a gaggle of Messengers. You give the confused girl a bow and make your way over to it.
"Until we meet again."
And you're gone.
Rather than the Dream, you find yourself in the infinite blackness once more. The bonfire is crackling and spitting its last. Before it winks out, you catch the echoes of final images; armored men arguing about who forgot the guard rotation, Kyoko staring at the lantern that sank into the floor as though it was never there.
There's just ashes now, but you can feel the life in them. They'll burn again, when the time comes. For now, you have a very long night ahead of you.
