"I can't believed that my father was a great adventurer in this world. I think I need to know more about this world and learn how to become stronger." Danir said to himself with full of awe, curiousity, and admiration to the man he never met yet.
His glaring eyes full of dazzling amazement, and his heart beats with joy full of excitement, it was the 90th and the last day of summer will arrive tomorrow as the end of their lecturing days in the Scripthouse. They will took their autumn and winter break, the day that every children were waiting for. "Since I don't have a lesson in mother's Scripthouse tomorrow, I think I'm going in the town's library."
Danir drifted into sleep beneath a moon that hung high and luminous in the velvet sky. Its silver light slipped quietly through his window, spilling across the wooden floor before climbing the edge of his bed. It brushed against his face like a gentle hand, soft and pale, as if the night itself stood watch over his dreams.
Hours passed in silence, and the moon surrendered its throne to the coming dawn. The horizon blushed with the first strokes of gold and rose, chasing away the last shadows of night. Morning arrived not with silence, but with the sharp, stubborn crowing of a rooster from the yard below. Again and again it called, until Danir stirred, groaned softly, and finally opened his eyes to the newborn day.
When Danir stepped out of his room, the scent of fried eggs, warm bread, and hot coffee perfect for the cold autumn days greeted him before the sight did. In the kitchen, his mother moved quietly between the stove and the table, setting plates down with careful hands as though nothing in the world had shifted.
"Son, eat your breakfast now." Meliorra said gently, her back still turned to him.
Her voice was steady—too steady. It was the kind of calm that comes after a storm, when the wind has stopped but the air still feels heavy.
Danir pulled out his chair and sat down without a word. The scrape of wood against the floor sounded louder than it should have. Minutes passed in silence, thick and suffocating. He stared at the steam rising from his plate, his thoughts tangled.
He had hurt her yesterday. He knew that. The sharpness in his voice, the bitterness he couldn't swallow back—it wasn't truly meant for her. It was for his frustration. His fear. The weight of his past pressing too hard against his chest. Knowing that didn't make it right.
He tried to opened up his mouth, then closed it again.
Before he could gather the courage to speak, Meliorra turned to face him. Her eyes were softer than he expected.
"I'm sorry about yesterday." she said quietly. "I shouldn't have pushed you to become what I wanted. That was wrong of me." Her words fell between them, fragile and honest, breaking the silence at last..
"Mother…" Danir's voice wavered.
Before she could say another word, he rose from his chair and wrapped his arms around her. The embrace was sudden, clumsy, and tight—like a child afraid she might disappear if he let go.
"No." he said softly against her shoulder, his words breaking. "I'm the one who should apologize. I shouldn't have spoken to you that way." Danir cried.
Tears slipped free despite his effort to stop them. Meliorra's arms came around him in return, steady and warm, and for a brief moment the weight in his chest eased.
When they finally parted, Danir returned to the table and ate in silence, the food tasting different—less heavy, as though the air itself had lightened. Afterward, he stood and wiped his hands on his sleeve.
"I'll be spending some time in the library today." Danir said, forcing a small, earnest smile.
Meliorra nodded, watching him with quiet understanding as he turned to leave, the unspoken hope between them lingering like morning light.
"Alright, son. Just be home before lunch," Meliorra replied, her voice carrying a quiet warmth as he stepped toward the door.
Danir nodded and slipped outside, the morning air cool against his skin.
The countryside road stretched before him in a winding ribbon of packed earth. Wooden fences ran along both sides, weathered and uneven, guarding wide fields of swaying green. Grasses bowed gently beneath the breeze, and the scent of damp soil lingered in the air.
He walked steadily from their farmhouse, boots brushing against dust and pebbles, heading toward the distant town square where the library stood.
He passed the three hectares of their rice fields, the young stalks shimmering under the rising sun like a sea of emerald. The rhythmic rustle followed him as though the land itself whispered farewells.
Soon, the quiet hum of farmland gave way to the livelier pulse of town. The marketplace greeted him with color and noise—vendors calling out their wares, laughter rising in bursts, coins clinking against wooden counters. Stalls lined the roadside, overflowing with bright fruits stacked in woven baskets, skewers of sizzling street food sending curls of fragrant smoke into the air.
People moved past him in a steady stream—merchants, mothers with children in tow, farmers hauling sacks of grain. The path narrowed as he walked through the bustle, the energy of the town wrapping around him.
And beyond it all, at the heart of the square, stood the library—quiet and patient amid the noise—waiting.
"Whoa…" Danir slowed his steps, taking in the lively square. "This really feels like one of those isekai anime from my former world." The thought made him almost laugh.
"Back then, I hated the whole harem nonsense." Danir admitted bitterly.
The noise of the marketplace gradually faded behind him as he moved on. He passed the stone fountain at the heart of the town square, its clear water catching the sunlight as it splashed rhythmically into the basin. A few more steps carried him away from the crowds and into a pocket of calm.
Then he saw it. The library stood just ahead—solemn, still, and dignified, as though untouched by the chaos of the market. Its doors waited silently with promising answers to his unanswered questions.
Danir straightened his back and walked forward, as he took his step inside.
A soft bell chimed as Danir stepped inside. The bustle of the town vanished behind the closing doors, replaced by the hushed stillness of the library. Shelves towered around him, heavy with age and knowledge.
At the front desk sat a woman absorbed in her ledgers—the library's Loremaster. She lifted her gaze as Danir approached.
"Good morning, miss," he said, his voice a little louder than he intended. "Is there any book here about the history of Aetheria?"
She regarded him calmly before answering, her tone measured. "The Origin Section." Then, with a slight lift of her brow, she added, "And please lower your voice while you are here inside the library."
"Oh—sorry. Sorry," Danir replied quickly, dropping his voice. "Thank you." As he turned away, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Hmmm… a typical librarian." he thought.
"Different world, different title—Librarian—Loremaster—but the role's the same." His mind wandered back to his former life.
"Just like Mother. Back in my world. There, they were called as school teachers. Here, scriptors. Different names but still same roles, same quiet authority." Shaking the thought away, Danir headed deeper into the rows of shelves, drawn toward the origins of a world he now considered as his new home.
Beyond the front desk, the library opened into a wide reading hall. Long wooden tables stood at the center, their surfaces polished smooth by years of use. A few patrons occupied them in near silence, the only sounds the faint turning of pages and the occasional scratch of a quill.
Two adventurers sat hunched over a bestiary, their brows furrowed as they studied illustrations of horned beasts and scaled monstrosities.
Nearby, a stout man in a flour-dusted apron carefully compared notes between a thick volume of culinary lore and a smaller notebook of his own—perhaps a cook refining his craft.
At another table, several young scholars whispered among themselves, their academy robes folded neatly beside them, enjoying what appeared to be a brief reprieve from their studies.
Knowledge, in all its forms, breathed within those walls. Danir walked past them and made his way to the Origin Section, where older shelves loomed taller and the air smelled faintly of parchment and dust. He traced the spines with his fingers, scanning titles etched in fading ink.
Minutes passed. Then he found it. Origin of Aetheria.
The book was thicker than he expected, its cover worn and slightly cracked at the edges. Beside it rested another volume that caught his eye—The Origin of Magic. The title alone sent a quiet thrill through him.
For a moment, he hesitated. "History first!" Danir decided as he knoched headed three times with his knuckles slightly.
He pulled Origin of Aetheria from the shelf and carried it to an empty table. The chair creaked softly as he sat. Taking a steady breath, he opened the book—and began to read...
"Once upon a time, there existed a beautiful world known as Aetheria—a land where many races lived in harmony beneath open skies. In those distant ages, the goddesses walked close to mortals, offering guidance, protection, and gentle hands to shape the fate of the world.
Yet peace is fragile.
As generations passed, pride took root in the hearts of the people. Greed followed, and envy festered quietly, until they grew into wrath. Brother turned against brother. Kingdoms rose only to clash with one another, and war became a language spoken by both those who claimed righteousness and those who embraced darkness.
In the height of chaos, mortals sought power beyond their limits—power enough to rival the goddesses themselves.
Seeing her world on the brink of ruin, the Mother-Goddess—she who stood above all others—chose mercy over annihilation. She would not allow Aetheria to fall apart. And so, she made a sacrifice.
From her own divine essence, she forged a blessing known as the Grimoire of Power, bestowing it upon mortals so they might defend themselves against evil. At the same time, she laid a curse upon those who conspired with the devils, barring their passage into this world.
This act saved Aetheria—but at great cost. The Mother-Goddess faded from existence, destined to remain absent for thousands of years before she could one day return.
Her daughters, the remaining goddesses, continued her will.
The Goddess of the Moon chose the blood-elves as her followers, transforming them into what would later be known as the vampire race.
The Goddess of Shade blessed those elves who worshiped the twilight, giving birth to the duskborn.
The Goddess of the Hunt granted her favor to the high-elves, sharpening their senses and bond with the wild.
The Goddess of Beasts bestowed her strength upon worthy humans, allowing them to wield the ferocity of animals within their flesh.
Alongside these blessings, the elemental goddesses—of fire, water, winter, wind, earth, lightning, void, and light—joined the Mother-Goddess in the creation of the Grimoire of Power, shaping the balance of the world.
But not all were forgiven.
The whitkin race was cursed, for among them arose a secret faction—the Cult of the Hooded Illuminati Brotherhood—whose ambition sparked the calamity. Consumed by pride, greed, and envy, they sold their souls to a powerful devil from another universe, a realm long ruled by darkness.
This devil, whom they worshiped as the Demon Lord, crossed into Aetheria through a wormhole portal created by mad whitkin scientists in their desperate pursuit of power.
He descended upon the southern continent, claiming it as his domain. Though he sought to conquer all of Aetheria, he soon realized he was not alone in strength. Thus, he chose caution—striking from the shadows rather than marching openly.
From that day onward, no road was truly safe. The world learned fear, and solitude became dangerous.
The whitkins were betrayed by the Demon Lord they had summoned in the end expresing his evilness in nature.
Also, whitkins were shunned by other races and abandoned by the goddesses, they suffered greatly—despite the fact that innocents still lived among them.
Yet they endured.
In time, the whitkins rose again, forging the most powerful kingdom in Aetheria through advanced technologies unseen elsewhere.
With power came arrogance, and with arrogance came disbelief. Their faith in the goddesses faded, and they became a people without worship.
Meanwhile, the other races lagged behind, still dependent on divine blessings rather than invention.
After those many divine interventions, the goddesses fell silent. Ages passed, and people began to wonder—did the goddesses still exist, or had they abandoned the world entirely?
Even now, the Demon Lord's terror continues.
At last, the whitkins proposed a truce, offering unity against the darkness. They pledged to share their powerful weapons, and from this fragile hope the Alliance Empire was born. Kings from every kingdom became its members, and the emperor was crowned—the king of the Whitkin Kingdom, Dellemore Triumphland, founder of the Alliance."
"It's no wonder why this world is similar from where I came from." Danir said.