So the Tree of Silver Wings was my favorite flavor text in D1, and when it came back in a D2 lore card I was really excited. And now it’s back in the Unveiling lore book. I have no idea what this is leading to, but I really want to know about this tree. Any lore scholars understand this better than I? Here are the actual lore references. Ruin Wings: In the Garden grows a tree of silver wings. The leaves are ruin, the bark disaster. Of the seeds we do not speak. Mk.44 Stand Asides: The tree in the Garden with silver wings. The air around it is oppressive and inspires violence in those who even breathe a little in. Shards of the disastrous bark peel from it and litter the ground, and nothing grows in its shadow. It scintillates faintly at dusk. It has achieved its entelechy with every body falling, every civilization laid to waste, every leaf forged into instruments of ruin. The Gardener is hard to bother; she is constantly amidst her weeds, kneeling in the tangent dust, gloves covered in a mix of distant soils and metallic saps. She is listening to the music of the insects amidst the flowers, the unguent as it begins to drip from the ferns, the slight scratch of the Worm beneath, and not to you, and certainly not to your cries for help. Unveiling: Gardener and Winnower: Once upon a time,* a gardener and a winnower lived** together in a garden.*** * It was once before a time, because time had not yet begun. ** We did not live. We existed as principles of ontological dynamics that emerged from mathematical structures, as bodiless and inevitable as the primes. *** It was the field of possibility that prefigured existence. They existed, because they had to exist. They had no antecedent and no constituents, and there is no instrument of causality by which they could be portioned into components and assigned to some schematic of their origin. If you followed the umbilical of history in search of some ultimate atavistic embryo that became them, you would end your journey marooned here in this garden. In the morning, the gardener pushed seeds down into the wet loam of the garden to see what they would become. In the evening, the winnower reaped the day's crop and separated what would flourish from what had failed. The day was longer than all of time, and the night was swifter than a glint of light on a falling sugar crystal. Insects buzzed between the flowers, and worms slithered between the roots, feeding on what was and what might be, the first gradient in existence, the first dynamo of life. Rain fell from no sky. Voices spoke without mouth or meaning. A tree of silver wings bloomed yielded fruit shed feathers bloomed again. In the day between the morning and the evening, the gardener and the winnower played a game of possibilities.