Sillad altered Frostbloom Illusion, and Fores’ tragic memories faded. In their place, an ancient memory of his own began to play for Suho.0

An image of an infant appeared.0

“That’s me,” Sillad said.0

The memory showed the tiny elf peacefully asleep in the arms of an adult elf.0

“And my mother.”0

Behind them loomed the ominous figure of an Elvenwood tree, its sinister branches twisting.0

Sillad glared quietly at the monster wearing its peaceful disguise. In a low voice, he muttered, “Even before I was born, we elves were already being raised like livestock by the Elvenwoods.”0

This memory was an unbearably painful one—a scar that the Monarch had carried with him even into death.0

For the elves, the four seasons did not always align with the length of a single year. Sometimes the seasons passed quickly, and other times they lasted decades.0

But no matter their length, they always ended eventually. Even the peace which seemed to last forever was punctuated by winter. The fertile lands would dry up, and icy blizzards would sweep through forests now stripped bare of their leaves.0

“The year of the harvest, as it is called, came without warning… as it always does.”0

Suddenly, there was screaming. The elves shouted frantically at one another to run.0

“Winter always comes when one least expects it.”0

The year of the harvest had arrived for Sillad, and the Elvenwood began to...0