The peacefulness of plains was something Silva always enjoyed, regardless of how much she was fascinated with forests. Their simple and mellow texture was enough for relaxation, for travelers and wildlife grazing about. When paired with hot weather, however, Silva felt irritated among them.

She and Guren were traveling on the main road to Edelbanks, the capital city of Vyngard, where they would stop to rest before setting back out for Mara. They had to take the road across farmland, surrounded by valleys and hillocks. Then, they would pass the bridge through the Eddon River, ending up in Edelbanks soon after.

Silva heard that there was a southern road, one that descended along the Eddon River. However, not many people crossed it because the land was barren and unsuitable for farmland. Mara, a desolate town, lay at the end of the road, perched beside the Hunspr Sea. Rumors in Rolnik believed that if you set sail in the sea and kept going south, you would reach a narrow inlet, surrounded by swampland.

And crossing that inlet meant certain death, as you would arrive at the dreaded Hloubkŷ Marshes.

Silva felt no need to trouble her mind further, as she was focused on the scenery in front of her. The radiant sun was like a repellant to her fears, and Silva could only gaze at it to calm herself. She didn't feel too warm, wearing a long-sleeve, white button-up, and brown leggings for comfortable travels. Most of her clothes weren't fashionable, but Silva didn't mind it.

She looked ahead, noticing that the countryside was rapidly expanding. More and more farmhouses came into view, their dainty images perfect for illustration. Silva was almost tempted to bring out her art supplies and depict this beautiful landscape, but Guren's pace steered her to follow along.

They had been walking for about two hours now, with the Siegfried manor nowhere in sight. The warmth of the afternoon was beginning to tire Silva's pace, as her boots slowly trudged through a dirt pile. Or that was what Silva had believed until Guren turned his back.

"That's...a manure pile," he said calmly.

Silva groaned, walking towards a patch of grass and wiping as much manure off her soles as she could. She could still smell the stench of them, no matter how far she kept walking.

"It must be from a horse," Guren explained, covering his nose as well. "Maybe we can find a well to wash your boots. By then, the smell won't be so bad."

Silva nodded, making sure to walk more cautiously now. She was sure to watch for any more manure piles, warning any travelers coming by them. But the heat, the weight of her bag, and the stench of her boots were tempting her to cry out in frustration. She could keep up with Guren, but he walked the roads like a soldier, ornery and monotonous. Silva, on the other hand, enjoyed observing the land she passed by.

Is that a sign of being fragile? Silva thought. No, it's just who I am. When battle arrives, I know to turn off my tranquil nerves and focus.

As she kept thinking, the main gravel road was soon inhabited by frivolous wheatgrass. They had passed by a wheat field, which was so incredibly large that Silva couldn't see where it ended. A  mountain of pale yellow diverged the road, its glow reflecting off the sun.

In the distance, Silva moved her eyes to the left, noticing a green-tapered mound. On top of the mound was a house. Next to it was an orangish-white barn, with a spacious yard and plenty of fencings. Silva could see sheep and cows, munching on grass and trotting sluggishly around their pen. There looked to be a herd dog, guiding several flocks of sheep out of the pen and into the barn. What appeared to be a routine was a fascination for Silva, and she longed to watch more of it.

As if her appeals had not been enough, Silva saw another field. It was slightly noticeable, lying behind the slate-gray residence and spreading out into Silva's view. Behind the barn, chicken coup, and pigpen, there was a field of bluish-white flowers. She had never seen these types of flowers before, entranced by their simplistic beauty.

What are those flowers? Silva thought, forgetting her troubles throughout the day. Their color resembles the Canterbury bell, much like Mary's hair. But they resemble a plain flower shape, and the petals are spreading out.

Much to her dismay, Guren was already walking past the house and the flower field, his mind set on reaching Edelbanks as fast as possible. Silva wanted a bit of rest, and she was allured by the farmhouse. So, she emitted a loud clearing of the throat, hoping Guren would turn his back again.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Wait a moment," Silva stated. "Let's rest a bit."

Guren sighed, finally turning his back to her. "Did you step on another manure pile?" he retorted. "Look, if we keep taking the road and rest at nightfall, we can reach the Eddon River in a day or two. Once we cross the bridge, Edelbanks won't be much farther."

Silva wasn't sure that he'd listen to her, as she just wanted to visit the farmhouse. She was able to walk until nightfall, being that she was gradually getting used to her elvish nature. With how much she trained the past few months, Silva had gotten physically built and mentally adaptive. She could adjust to her surroundings with little trivialities.

"I don't mean that," Silva explained. "I'd like to wash my boots, please."

She pointed at a well, which was conveniently in the middle of the bluish-white flower field. Guren then lifted the bags off his shoulders, placing his equipment on the ground. He seemed compliant with Silva's decision.

"We need to talk," he said, his face intently staring at Silva. "And you'll take the whole day gallivanting around the flower field if we go to that farm."

I thought he had his back turned, she thought.

"What should we talk about?" she asked him, setting down her bag as well. "I'm open to suggestions."

"You're trying to hide something," Guren stated, not buying her attempt to pass the time. "Silva, you told me about my grandparents' deaths, and that you got it from granddad's diary. But for a week, you were constantly down in the basement, doing who knows what. You weren't just down in his study to read granddad's diary, right? There's something else you found; I'm sure of it."

Silva grasped how strange her actions were, as she had been in the basement for quite a while. Yet, she was alone in there most of the time, with no one checking on her at all. Did Markus forbid his family from going down there? If so, why did he never say a thing to Silva about it?

Guren deserves to know the truth, Silva thought. But I have to sugarcoat it somehow. I'll include Olaf's encounter with Mlad'at, how he received his earth magic, my encounter with Mlad'at, and what the tree said to me. That will explain why I need to see Andreja, and if she'll be of any help to cure Markus.

And so, Silva talked, starting with brief explanations of who Olaf and Matylda Siegfried were and how Olaf profited from his work. She talked about Olaf finding an ancient ruin, entering a grand hall, and conversing with a talking tree, a spirit that harbored the soul of an ancient people, the Huns. Mlad'at told Olaf that he was a descendant of the Huns and deserved a gift from the tree. He received his earth magic, greedily overusing it, causing his curse to exist.

Silva then talked about her series of events, envisioning Matylda's death, and receiving a strange message from Mlad'at at night. She encountered the tree on top of a hill, near the forest, and asked it about Olaf and Matylda's curse. The tree stated that Olaf was destined to die, and all his sons and daughters would be given a curse as well. It was the curse of the Huns, and every descendant would bear the sins of their ancestors. Silva was also a descendant, and she was given a sword to end the suffering of the Huns. She would become the savior that they desired.

Of course, Silva did not say anything about her other objective, which was finding the falls of molten rock. Still, she kept it lingering in her mind, as it was important to reach even after all these new events surfaced. Saving Markus was her primary goal, but reaching these falls was certainly her second.

Travel to the falls of molten rock, Silva repeated in her head, the words akin to Myriiel's. You will search for the smallest mountain that lies on the edge of the earth, and your answer rests inside. Once you find it, travel to the island of the mythical. I will be awaiting your arrival, Silva Dreida.

Everything has a meaning.

Silva opened her eyes, finding Guren perplexed and overwhelmed by her story. He was concentrating on her words, scratching his nails on the blade of his sword.

"I have several things to say," he claimed. "And all of these seem more bizarre than the last. First, you didn't get your sword from Markus, but from a talking tree. Second, this talking tree was part of an ancient people called the Huns, and we are all linked to them. Third, how the hells did you talk with this talking tree?"

"So, it all goes back to the talking tree," Silva said with a chuckle. "Mlad'at was its name, and it was worshipped by the people of Hunland. I found a history book about them and connected their story with what the tree told me. All of this can't be coincidental, Guren."

Guren got up from his position, stretching his arms and legs. "Well, I sure think it is," he declared. "It all sounds like nonsense to me."

Annoyed by his response, Silva unfastened her bag, taking out Hnesveta from its hibernation. She also took out the Gjölsig Chronicle from her book stash and handed it to Guren.

"How old is this book?" Guren exclaimed, feeling its ruined cover that was stained with soot. "And where did you find this?"

"Underneath the basement staircase," Silva answered truthfully. "I suppose Olaf wanted to keep it hidden from everyone because of how important it is. I was able to read it though, and I think you can too."

"This must be the Hun ancient language," Guren said as he flipped through the pages and inspected the runic letters. "Because you are a descendant of these people, you were somehow able to read this language. That means..."

"You might be able to as well," Silva finished.

Guren said no more, concentrating his eyes and focusing on the runic letters.

As he did so, Silva laid her head on the wheatgrass, staring at the bulbous clouds in the sky. A slight wind breeze slid through her hair. The wheatgrass swayed rhythmically until she started counting how many times they were shifting back and forth. By then, she was already bored.

"Anything?" Silva asked Guren, his eyes still fixed on the pages. To her surprise, Guren put the book down, grunted loudly, and gritted his teeth.

"Aaargh! I can't read it!' he bellowed.

Silva grabbed the Gjölsig Chronicle and placed it back in her bag, still pondering how Guren couldn't read it. Did she have something that he didn't, a secret ability or trait that made her able to decipher the language? They were both descendants, so Silva assumed that he would experience the same enlightenment that she experienced once she opened it. However, that appeared not to be the case.

That's too bad, she thought. He seemed excited to learn more about his ancestors. Even so, I still want to wash these boots.

"I gave you the story you wanted," Silva told Guren. "Which means you should give me one thing I want in return. It's only fair, right?"

Guren looked like he was ignoring her, getting up from the ground and picking up his bags and equipment. Silva peered at his iron broadsword, and it consisted of double sharpened edges along the straight blade, polished with a dull bronze. The grip was leather; the hilt was curved downward into an arch, almost like a fish spine at the bottom. In the middle of the blade was an engraved crest of a lion, representing the Czahun Royal Army.

Silva wondered how Hnesveta would fare against it.

"You're more like Markus than you think," she claimed with a grin. "How about we have a duel to decide? If I win, we head to the farmhouse. If you win, we keep walking the road until nightfall."

That seemed to catch Guren's attention. He took a glance at Hnesveta, studying it. Then, he picked up his broadsword and performed a fighting stance. Bending his right knee and tilting his body slightly downward, Guren clasped his broadsword, with his right hand above his left on the grip and the blade facing Silva.

"You have yourself a deal," he replied with a smirk. "Just warning you, I'm gonna give it my all."

"Likewise," Silva said. "I really want to know what those flowers are."

Instead of imitating Guren, Silva decided to fight with Hnesveta and only her left hand. Her goal was the same as when she fought Markus, to out-speed and outsmart Guren's attacks. However, Silva wouldn't be using any unprecedented magic this time, so she had to use her fighting experience and wit to win this battle.

Just think of him like Markus, Silva said to herself. Like a defensive ox; maybe a bit faster.

Because of this, Silva thought of a plan, one where she'd use the wheatgrass to her advantage. Thinking of how to include it, she dragged her left foot around to her back, to where it tilted her body somewhat. Silva turned Hnesveta behind her back, with her right palm facing forward. She intended to cover Guren's face, leaving only his eyes and the tip of his sword in her sight.

"Interesting," Guren stated, emitting no change of movement. "During all my years at the Guard, I've never seen a stance like that."

Silva grinned, saying, "You've never fought an elf before." After that, she rushed at him for the first strike.

Before she could, Silva noticed that Guren was eyeing the wheatgrass, having the same idea she had. Hesitating and stopping her attack, Silva rephrased the words she thought at the river battle, hoping to deceive herself once again. And once she did, she would come close to defeating Guren.

He moved first, arching his body right while his right leg turned the opposite way. The broadsword came flying at Silva, like a sideways swing, and it was so violent that Silva almost envisioned her own death. It was one where she wasn't fast enough to dodge it, and Guren would win the battle.

She had time to react. Guren knew she was aiming to dash into the wheatgrass, which was probably why he intended to block her way. By focusing on his eyes, Silva could predict his movement.

Guren commenced his attack. Once he did, Silva noticed that he was moving right, towards the wheatgrass. So, Silva dashed toward the green plain, which was on the right side of the road. She had enough time to duck Guren's swing and swiftly position her body to the right of his. Silva curved Hnesveta so much to where the tip of the blade was sloped beside her right ear.

With a single heave, Silva would win.

She released, crying out to the clouds and slashing Hnesveta upwards, and it collided with Guren's broadsword. The raw power that Silva saved up was enough to break his defense. As her blade collided with his grip, it launched the broadsword into the air and out from Guren's hands. Knowing she had won, Silva gracefully circled her body and sword, the tip of Hnesveta inches from Guren's neck.

It was over in just a moment. Silva noticed that Guren looked humiliated, and she understood why. After all those years of training at the Knight's Guard, he had lost to Silva in just a single strike. She was far less experienced than him, yet she outsmarted and overpowered his first move. Guren was awestruck like he was staring at an entirely different being.

"I warned you before," Silva exclaimed, pride emanating from her victory. "Although I must say that strike was close to chopping my nose off. Heavens, that was scary."

Guren raised his hands, proclaiming that he admitted defeat. He still had no words to describe his disbelief. In response, Silva moved Hnesveta away from his neck and took a bow.

"Thank you for dueling with me," she declared. "Now, how about we make our way towards the farmhouse?"

Guren nodded, trotting across the road to pick his broadsword up. Silva was worried that his anger would rise from the loss, but it never happened. Instead, he closed his eyes, scratching his neck habitually. He seemed lost in thought.

"I've got to get stronger," Guren continued, attaching the broadsword to his baldrick, and dragging the bags and equipment back on his shoulders"Mentally and physically, but I realize now that I didn't take the Guard seriously. I've got to adapt to these new...abilities I have and make use of them somehow. That way I'll be able to get stronger."

Silva assumed Guren was talking about his merfolk traits, which sounded reasonable. Nobody knows what kind of powers he'll develop as a hybrid, she thought. He may even have more potential than I do.

At that, he complied with Silva's wishes, and they began to move towards the farmhouse. "Let's try not to overstay our welcome if there is any," Guren reminded Silva. "I mean, this is all their property, including the well. We wouldn't want to be intrusive."

Even though Silva was eager to approach the flower field, she knew that Guren was right. They were travelers, and these people were hard-working farmers who tended to their crops and animals. They had enough on their plate besides welcoming two strangers onto their land.

Silva was deep in thought of what she would say to them as they strode to the farmhouse. They passed by several more patches of wheatgrass, but they eventually reached an opening in the wheat field. As they veered from the main road, Silva and Guren followed a distinct, grassy path through the wheat field and up the mound. Once they reached the top of the mound, the herd dog who was shepherding the cattle earlier approached them with a wary growl.

A moment after, there came a piercing whistle from afar. The herding dog immediately lay on the ground, ceasing its cautions and obeying its master. Silva heard a creaking noise, glanced up, and saw an old couple on the front porch of the farmhouse. They both resonated a peaceful ambiance in the air, sitting in mahogany-furnished rocking chairs and noticing the two strangers that arrived on their doorstep.

The old man got up from his chair, and he was wearing a round leather cap with dark blue overalls. With a tobacco pipe in his hand, much like Father Oliver's, the old man stepped over the porch ledge and trudged his lean figure toward Silva and Guren. The old woman was staring at Silva, her beady blue eyes covered by the bangs of her hair. She remained in her rocking chair, wearing a gown of white and yellow daffodils.

"Good girl, Daisy," the old man praised, patting the herd dog's head. "Now lay wit' Lili, will you."

Daisy jumped off the grass, happily wagging her tail and prancing towards the old woman on the porch. She lay beside the rocking chair, putting her head down on the floorboard. The old man then stared at Guren and Silva in anxious anticipation. Guren felt the need to take charge, as he always did when situations like these arose. Silva only calmed her nerves and let him do the talking.

"Afternoon, sir," Guren stated politely. "We don't mean to trouble you on this lovely day, but my friend and I are traveling to Edelbanks, and we ask if we can use your well to cleanse our muddy shoes."

As he said that, the old man started to laugh, blowing out a circle of smoke from his pipe. "To clean your shoes, you say," he repeated with a cough, easing the tension from before. "I wasn't born yesterday, ya coconut."

Silva almost snorted, as she had never heard anyone be called a coconut before. I heard of beaches in the southern lands that have coconut trees, but I've never seen a coconut before. I wonder if Guren knows about it.

Surely, Guren's face scrunched up, his cheeks as red as his hair. He seemed to understand the meaning of what the old man had called him.

"I apologize, sir," Guren replied, remaining calm. "I didn't mean to- "

"Ah, don't 'pologize now," the old man interrupted with a smile. "Just messin' with you, is all. I know your friend was lookin' at our linseed field, and we watched your little duel as well. Really was entertaining, right Lili?"

"Valter Peltonen, you stop horsing around this instant!" Lili hollered from her position. "Do you even see what's in front of yer eyes, you blind bat! A beautiful elven girl is wishin' to wash her shoes, and you call her friend a coconut! What kinda manners flew over that thick skull o' yours?"

"Ah, can it, Liliana!" Valter retorted. "Why you gotta be so uptight? I was just havin' fun."

Despite the bickering that was occurring, Silva couldn't hold back her laughter anymore. It was unexpected for Guren to see, and the old couple listened to her laugh with watchful eyes. When she stopped, there was a heap of embarrassment piling onto her shoulders. Silva didn't have the confidence to say anything afterward.

Then, Daisy leaped from her spot and scurried to Silva, wagging her tail once more and licking the fabric of Silva's leggings. Realizing how massive the dog was, she began to pet Daisy's soft, creamy-white fur coat. Daisy returned the gesture by producing lots of slobber from its drooped mouth, staring immensely at Silva with its bright, black eyes.

"She seems to take a likin' to you," Valter proclaimed, his face seeming gentler now. "Come on in, have a cup o' my handcrafted tatra tea, why doncha."

Much to their surprise, Silva and Guren were welcomed by the old couple, even offering to let them inside their house. As Valter continued to wave his pipe towards the porch, a little girl came running from behind, with another dog trailing her footsteps. She had short, blonde hair and wore a strawberry-tinted dress, and the dog following her was tinier than Daisy. It wore a black coat with reddish-brown markings on its legs.

The little girl peered curiously at their new visitors, noticing Silva's pointed ears. She shyly tugged on Valter's overalls as she moved toward him, still fixed on Silva. The smaller dog approached Daisy, who was now lying beside Silva's legs.

"Ah, don't mind those two rascals," Valter exclaimed. "This sweet lil' pumpkin is Eva, my granddaughter. Daisy and Harlee watch after her an' our flock, which is why they are usually playful. That don't mean they welcome strangers all the time, so that's somethin'."

With that, the two followed Valter and Eva onto the porch, greeted by Lili on her rocking chair. Or that was what Valter had called her as they approached the old woman. Lili needed some help to get up, so Guren kindly wrapped his arms around her shoulders, grabbing her cane from under the chair.

"Why thank you, dear," said Lili. "Your parents must have taught you manners. Valt can learn a thing or two from you."

Guren smiled, replying, "It's nothing. We should be thanking you all for graciously welcoming us into your home."

As they entered the house, Silva could sense a strange scent, not pleasant nor bitter. Surrounding the scent were dozens of decorations, their antiquity plastered on the wall, on shelves, and even on the wooden floor. Even though the farmhouse looked gray and dull on the outside, it felt homely on the inside.

On the right side of the room was a chimney and fireplace, its coziness and warmth mixing well with the scent. A ledge extruded from the gray brick, displaying miniature granite figurines. Some of them resembled animals or people, but others resembled angels. Religion stated that they were the heralds of God and accepted departed souls into Heaven. Silva pondered if these people knew of Catholicism, or if angels were a part of Czahunlian beliefs.

On the left side of the room were the usual household objects, such as the kitchen table, cupboards, sink, a coat rack, and patterned rugs underneath. Picture frames, flower and plant vases, and other antiques sat on shelves around the kitchen area. As well as these stationary things, toys, and newsletters were scattered on the table and floor. Lastly, a shelf with shiny glass bottles stood out from the rest, and Silva wondered what kind of liquids were inside.

Beyond the room was a tight hallway leading to a staircase, with some of the taupe wallpaper peeling off. Fortunately, the decorations hid most of the farmhouse's deterioration, but Silva wondered how old this house really was.

As if these new encounters couldn't add up more, a little boy descended from the staircase, appearing younger than Eva. In his hand was a small, wooden box with an ink imprint on the lid. The imprint read katóda, and Silva had no clue what the word meant. The boy's shyness was like Eva's, but he stood behind Lili as she placed herself on one of the kitchen chairs.

"We have visitors, Sebastijan," Lili stated serenely, her cane leaning on the chair. "Go on an' say hello."

Sebastijan fidgeted his hands a bit, and he put the box on the kitchen table. "Welcome to the Peltonen residence," he declared with a formal tone, and Silva was amazed by his courtesy. Along with his manners, the boy wore a blue, buttoned short-sleeve shirt and leather pants. There was little about Sebastijan that showed that he was a farm boy in the eastern countryside of Czésta.

He stayed reticent, sitting beside Lili, and staring at the katóda box. Lili sighed and grabbed a marble teacup on the kitchen table, taking a feint sip of its liquid before pursing her lips.

"You didn't put too much tatra in this, did you Valt?" the old woman said with a frown. "It tastes more like honey mead, not herbal tea. Bring me a lemon, would you dear."

She was talking to Sebastijan. He hurried to a fruit basket, which sat near the kitchen sink. As the boy grabbed a lemon from the basket, Silva recounted Lili's words in her mind.

Honey mead? she thought. Is there liquor in that tea? I've never heard of Tatra before, as Sister Tianna never drank it. What kind of herbal tea has liquor in it, though?

"Come, sit," Lili said to the two who were both standing by the door.

Valter and Eva walked to the opposite side of the kitchen table, and there were two chairs left for Guren and Silva. She noticed that Guren was hesitant to sit, and Silva wondered why. Nevertheless, she gave him a look that they should respect the family's wishes, even if it seemed too casual for two strangers. Perhaps this family was unlike the rest, having a certain kindness that drew people towards their farmhouse.

It certainly pulled me in, Silva thought.

So, they took their seats on the kitchen table, with the two grandparents, grandchildren, and Harlee sitting around them. Feeling a sense of awkwardness arise, Silva glanced at the granite figurines once more, observing that they weren't crafted by hand. The color of the granite was much different than Silva recalled. Was it made some other way, such as earth magic?

"Ahem," Guren stated, interrupting Silva's thoughts. "You all introduced yourselves, so I will do the same. My name is Guren Siegfried."

"My name is Silva Dreida," Silva added. "Pleased to meet you all."

It was as if a firecracker exploded in Valter Peltonen's head, as he gaped in awe at Guren while also dropping his tobacco pipe. It was like the contents inside the firecracker dashed inside his head as if he had forgotten them long ago. The only emotion that came out of this burst was a face of shock.

"Sieg...fried?" the old man uttered. "As in...Olaf Siegfried?"