After breakfast, which turned out wonderful for a wild bird, Liliana and Sylas moved out of the cavern to travel eastward to hunt other duos. Sylas is unsure as to if Liliana suspects that he knows she's hiding the fight she had with a human attacker. This situation makes it hard for him to maintain small talk knowing she's keeping it a secret.

After an hour of silence, Liliana stops Sylas by holding her open hand above her. She nods towards the right to direct Sylas' attention. She's pointing at a tall tree with white, luminescent, cascading pine leaves standing in a dim clearing.

It is the only tree of its kind in the vicinity and shows no sign of suffering from the cold compared to the leafless maples. Through its branches that arch downward like hair, Sylas spots a human figure standing still.

"What is he doing?" Sylas asks.

"You should go check on him; I'll search for his partner; they shouldn't be apart," Liliana says. She glances around and starts walking up a slope, searching for a vantage point.

Sylas leaves the forest to enter the clearing. A faint, fruity smell fills the air as Sylas approaches the towering, luminous tree. The closer he gets, the stronger the smell becomes.

The human figure at the base of the tree is still, as if frozen in place. Getting closer, Sylas can see he wears a gambeson and still holds his spear at his side, but he cannot make out his features.

"Hey! Are you alright?" Sylas calls out. He narrows his eyes, trying to discern more, but the radiance from the tree makes it difficult to peer through its leaves. He moves a set of leaves aside to open a path and enters. As he draws closer to the boy and recognizes him as one of Walf's men, Sylas' urgency to reach him fades away.

The world blurs at the edges of Sylas' sight, and time grows languid. Sylas can't quite remember why he came here in the first place. Everything – Liliana, the cold, him being a guard – feels like a distant memory, and he finds himself back in his village's forge.

A scream shatters the stillness, followed by a war horn and guttural roars. Clashes of steel fill the air, muffled by the walls surrounding Sylas.

Sylas hesitates, staring at the dancing, ember lights that peer through the forge's door. The acrid smell of smoke and blood fills his nostrils, stinging his eyes as his hand finds the handle of his blade. He unsheathes it and pushes open the door to walk onto the streets.

Bodies litter the ground, both villagers, neighbors he knew since childhood, and Orcs. One of the beasts jumps out of an alley to swing a jagged axe at a fleeing man.

"Stop!" Sylas yells. The last time, he hid behind a cart as the man, their cobbler, died. But the blade in his hands gave him an instant of strength he now regrets as the beast turns to him.

The Orc spins his axe with his wrist as he walks towards Sylas, a grin growing on his tusked face. Then, a few paces away from Sylas, he lunges forward with an overhead strike.

A sharp pinch on his cheek yanks Sylas back to reality. The tip of his blade falls into the snow as it suddenly feels heavy. He flinches, the light around him blurring as the snowy landscape overtakes his vision.

Liliana stands beside him, her hand still gripping his cheek, a smirk on her face. She's chewing on a set of purple leaves whose sap deepened the color of her lips. "And that's how you die of hypothermia – stunned by a whispering willow because you don't know what it is."

"Then how are you not affected?" Sylas asks, feeling his mind dulling once again. A bead of water rolls down his temple, making him realize he's sweating despite the cold. He looks around and sees the skeletons of small animals – rabbits, mice, squirrels, and more – dotting the ground.

Liliana hands him a handful of leaves like the ones in her mouth. "Veilbane; works to dispel a lot of illusions, but don't go swallowing the leaves themselves or use them too long, or you could go blind."

"Thanks," Sylas says before biting down on the leaves. Their bitter sap stings his tongue and soon restores his body's sensations. His fingers and feet feel like ice blocks, frozen as if he had stood for hours under the tree. Looking away from her, he spots a figure waiting outside. "How long was I out for?"

"Thirty minutes, give or take," Liliana answers. She passes the still dazed recruit to approach the trunk. Using her dagger, she detaches small black beads from the tree and flings one to Sylas. "Might as well know this one too; it's a parasitic berry you can find on Ether-rich trees like this one. If you eat it, it will let you ignore cold, heat, thirst, hunger, fatigue, and even pain for a while. But don't abuse it, or you'll pass out because you forgot to drink or sleep."

"How do you know so much about… how do you call it? Herbolism?" Sylas asks, trying to distract himself from the vision's memory. He mouths the small fruit and swallows it alongside some of the leaves' sap.

"Herbalism and alchemy; I studied both at the same time," Liliana corrects. She grabs the dazed boy by the collar of his gambeson and drags him until they are outside the tree's branches, where she releases him.

"No, let me go back," the boy cries, not realizing nothing is stopping him from stepping back under the tree.

Sylas moves in front of him, barring his way to the whispering willow. "He doesn't look like he's quite himself yet."

"How long have you been searching for him?" Liliana asks the waiting boy.

"Three hours, I'd say, ma'am," he answers. He stares at his feet as he answers, looking ashamed and worried.

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"That will do it; he'll come back to his senses in a few minutes. For all we know, he might have been in his dream for what felt like days," Liliana says. She points southward and orders, "Get him back to Walf; you lost. And don't try to cheat; I know your names and how long it will take you to make your way."

"Yes, ma'am," the boy confirms. He grabs his bewildered companion by the shoulder to turn him around and push him forward. He turns back for a final salute. "Ma'am, sir."

"Do you really know their names, or was it just for show?" Sylas asks as he gets close to Liliana.

"Dain and Bram," Liliana points out. "Dain is the one who always looks guilty of something, and Bram had delicious cookies made by his mom."

"You're making me feel bad for not remembering them," Sylas quips.

"It will come when you notice small stuff that makes them unique," Liliana says. She flicks one of the small black berries between her teeth to bite down on it. "Or when you see their names on reports again and again."

"What if we didn't come here on time? He could have died from the frost," Sylas points out.

"This tree is the only one in the region; Hawryn checks it often in case something like that happens." Liliana turns around to resume their journey eastward. "But he wouldn't find anyone if those two checked on each other."

"What if they both got stunned at the same time?" Sylas asks, following her.

"In doubt you shouldn't approach unknown plants; you never know what they could do to you," Liliana counters.

"Sounds reasonable," Sylas comments. Deep down, he's ashamed he fell into one more of her teaching traps without even questioning it.

As they move further eastward, Sylas' thoughts circle back to his vision. The memory, and that of the real raid on his village, lingers like a wound in his heart. He was a coward, still is perhaps. That day, he hid and witnessed powerless as others died. He only dared to help once every last Orc died to Grim's hand.

"You are quiet," Liliana observes, walking ahead of him. "Whispering willows can show you quite a lot of things. What did you see?"

Sylas exhales. "It's nothing. Just… memories."

Liliana shrugs as if she expected the answer. "Be careful not to get lost in them. You wouldn't want another wolf to catch you off guard."

Sylas narrows his eyes as a patch of darkness on the horizon disturbs his sight. He gasps as he realizes it is the tail end of a rising plume of dark smoke. Gauging the distance, it must be near the road they took to come from Opal.

Liliana looks in the direction of the smoke, a dreadful expression on her face. She brings her right hand to her mouth, hiding a gasp of horror before trying to regain her composure.

"What did you hear?" Sylas asks.

"Nothing," Liliana lies. "This must be a hunter's camp; gods know I'd want to light a fire too in this cold."

Sylas turns to her, placing himself uncomfortably close. "We ate the berries you harvested at the same time, and I'm still under its effects; you don't feel cold. But that was a pointless lie anyway – your expression was quite telling."

"I said it's nothing to worry about," Liliana retorts, feigning offense.

"I don't care for the games you play on me to teach me about surviving in the wild; in truth, I even found some of them quite clever. But if there is someone over there that needs help and you stay silent, it will be no different from harming them yourself," Sylas confronts. "Even if you consider I'm too weak or inexperienced to do anything about it."

Liliana bites her lip, taking a step back from Sylas. Lowering her gaze, she admits, "I heard a cry for mercy; she wasn't able to finish her sentence."

Sylas turns around and bolts through the forest. The wind howls past Sylas' ears as he moves. Rushing towards the smoke, he barely registers the underbrush snapping beneath his boots and against his legs.

"Wait!" Liliana calls from behind. She follows after him, her strides faster than his.

Sylas surges forward, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The distant column of smoke rises higher as he closes the gap. Deep down, he never wants to feel the guilt of letting others die when he could have helped again.

As he crests the hills that mark the delimitation of their training area, he sees the scene. A caravan lies in ruins, the wooden frames of three carts shattered and burning. He sees no movement, and despite the distance and smoke, believes he can spot immobile human shapes.

"Stay here," Liliana commands. She stops at his side and grabs his left arm.

"Whoever did this is already gone," Sylas comments. He shakes his arm to escape her grasp and starts running down the slope leading to the road.

"You don't know that; they could be hiding to ambush those you come to their rescue," Liliana retorts. Her eyes scan their surroundings, with a strange focus on their back. Surely, those who attacked the caravan wouldn't come from behind.

"Is someone following us?" Sylas asks, glancing over his shoulder. "You look stressed."

"No," Liliana startles. "It's you who are stressing me, rushing into danger because you feel like it."

"Isn't it a guard's job to rush to the rescue when someone is attacked?" Sylas retorts.

Liliana looks to the side and breathes in deeply, unable to find another argument.

As the two of them reach the wreckage, the stench of smoke and charred wood fills the air.

Sylas moves with his sword held before him, eyes sweeping across the bodies sprawled in agonizing postures. Many have arrows protruding from their chests and throats, and none are breathing.

Liliana follows, moving through the wreckage with a cloth over her mouth and her blade in hand. She stops at the helm of a collapsed, burning cart. A body catches her eyes; his tunic, though stained with blood, is a wealthy one. "I remember him; he's a merchant from Opal."

Sylas' gaze shifts over the burning carts. Wooden crates lie untouched in them, waiting for the flames to reach them alongside expensive, rolled cloths. Bags of coal, tools, and even barrels of ale and wine remain inside. He moves to another wagon and finds the same – riches left to the flames.

"They didn't take anything," Liliana mutters, shaking her head. "Not a single thing. Those carts are full, and they didn't even rob their weapons."

"Why burn it all, then? If it were bandits, they would've stolen what they could carry. At the very least, their food and weapons. This…" He gestures at the scene, frustration taking him. Then, the answer comes to him as he remembers stories he learned to read with. "Is siege warfare."

"That's what I think too," Hawryn's voice says. He appears from behind one of the carts, a crude arrow in hand. "The tips are poisoned – Ytherin sap, a paralytic. They could have harvested it in the region, so it doesn't tell us who they are, but it means they are quite skilled."

"From the direction of the arrows, we can tell they were ambushed from both sides," Liliana says. She motions at the many arrows embedded in the carts and into the ground. "With this snow, we should find tracks."

"Boot prints masked by brushing leaves as they moved; I spotted them when I arrived," Hawryn says. He points northeast with his index. They went in this direction. "But with this snow they'll soon be covered, and we have to gather the men. Unless you want to continue with the training."

"Of course not," Liliana confirms, glancing at Sylas. She hesitates for a moment and then orders, "Get everyone back to camp. We need to get to the bottom of this before it gets out of hand."

"We should follow their tracks as far as we can," Sylas comments. A pinch stings his chest as he doubts, worried they could fall into an ambush.

To Liliana's apparent relief, a young man lying on the ground coughs out a gulp of blood. His chest shivers around the arrow that pierced through his ribs and into his left lung.

"We need to get him to camp first; we have healing supplies there," Liliana says. She moves to his side, motioning for Sylas to come help her. "He might be able to tell us who attacked them."