The Hidden Heart of the World

One month later…

"!"

A knock echoed against the door, slowly creaking open. From the gap emerged a familiar figure, slender, graceful, yet sharp in posture. It was Clara, bowing down in elegance.

“Master, it is dinner time,” she said softly, smiling. "Please follow me, and I will take you to the dining hall.”

“Thanks a lot, Clara. Let me just quickly put this aside.”

I closed a heavy tome lying on my desk, something I had been deeply invested in for the past month as I battled with recovery. And this tome wasn't just a stack of writing, but a manual, a manual to understand the mysteries of this new world that I now found myself in. Within its pages were the histories, myths, and the very map of the motherland I now lived in.

And yes… elves do exist!

— Insert Reaction Guys meme.

Maybe I should consider finding myself an elf wif—

“!”

A chill struck me ever so suddenly. For a fleeting moment, the face of my late wife from my former world surfaced in my mind.

— I was only joking, dear… haha…

“Are you well, Master?” Clara asked, with worry clouding her eyes.

“A-ah! Yes, I’m fine. Sorry for the delay. Let’s get going, Clara.”

“Of course, Master.”

We left the room and stepped into the hallway, walking across a velvet-red carpet framed by pastel yellow walls. Paintings of ancestors, beasts, and radiant sunflowers, which seemed strangely familiar, watched from their gilded frames as we strolled by.

Over the past month, my image within the household had greatly shifted. Clara grew more at ease in her speech, comfortably exchanging chatters during our time together, and even Tessa, who was once timid and always hiding nervously behind Clara, began to stand on her own, no longer shrinking away in fear. As for the rest of the staff, they often murmured quietly that I, Elias Vandrelis, had been reborn, kinder and more considerate than before. Some even whispered that perhaps the old Elias had finally returned.

This often made me wonder, what kind of person had the old Elias Vandrelis been? Was he kind? Cruel? Or had there been an event that changed him, shaping the household’s wary reactions?

"..."

But setting those thoughts aside, I have also come to a better understanding of this new world, Aurelia.

Aurelia was unlike Earth. Its continents were clustered tightly together, as though the land had never splintered from its primordial Pangaea. At its heart was the Shambhala Isles, encircled by the violent ocean current known as the Redline. Within Shambhala rose Mount Urem, a sacred peak said to pierce the heavens themselves. It was said that only those with pure body, mind and intellect could enter, and at its summit dwelled demigods and departed souls, residing in bliss until the accumulated merits of their past lives ran dry. Then, they would descend once again into mortal flesh. Many have tried to breach the Shambhala Isles by force. But none have been successful, nor have they ever returned. The Redline was rummored to be seethed with storms, sea monsters, and calamities, something that no mortal could ever withstand.

"..."

To the west of Shambhala sprawled Nagalok, a volcanic continent ruled by dragons, serpents, and their kin. Its fertile volcanic soil birthed gemstones and rare minerals prized across the world.

Northwest of Nagalok, beyond the Obsidian Sea, lay the rugged lands of Kharadun. Here, the dwarves, masters of stone and steel, carved kingdoms deep into their mountains, and their craft in weaponry was second to none. Sharing their land were beastfolk, hybrids of man and beast, who excelled in agriculture and the weaving of fine textiles. Together they thrived in snowcapped highlands and fertile valleys. Pragmatic in trade, the dwarves kept close ties with Nagalok while treating the rest of the world with merchants’ caution.

East of Kharadun, across the Azureline Sea, rested Aureth, the so-called 'heartland of humankind'. It was here that I, Elias Vandrelis, resided. The tome referred the humans as the 'favoured race of the Supreme Lord', though having lived long enough on Earth, I could argue otherwise.

South of Aureth lay Elandor, connected by a narrow corridor through the mountains known as the Vale of Veyra. Elandor was said to hold nearly half the forests of the world. Towering trees stretched skyward like pillars, their peaks linked by rope bridges where elves built their dwellings aloft, basking in sunlight filtered through leaves older than kingdoms.

Their diet was simple.

Fruits, roots, and vegetables drawn from the bounty of their forests. Sustained by such fare and bound in harmony with nature, the elves were said to live for thousands of years.

Yet for all their grace, peace was never found between them or humankind. For centuries, elves and humans have clashed over the fertile highlands and ancient groves of the Vale of Veyra. Even the tome admitted plainly: the two races were not merely strained, but openly hostile.

— So much for my chances of ever getting an elf waifu…

But the elves’ pride extended beyond humankind. They even reviled their own kin, the dark elves of the south, scorned for their skin and their intimacy with the Demon Continent of Tenebris.

At the south of the Shambhala Isles, Tenebris sprawled, a vast and foreboding land riddled with caverns said to plunge endlessly into the earth. It was whispered that the cruellest of creatures, demons, dwelled there, sworn enemies of the Supreme Lord, living by deceit and cruelty. Tales claimed that they warred endlessly among themselves, seized the wives and children of each other, preyed upon innocents, and gorged on flesh and wine until madness took them. No one could reach an agreement on their true form: some swore they were giants ten meters tall with many heads and countless hands, others insisted they were squat, goblin-like wretches.

It was also in Tenebris that five thousand years ago, a Demon King arose to unleash ruin upon the world. And his greatest crime was the abduction of a great elven hero's wife, a hero that was said to be the blood descendant of the Supreme Lord himself. With his armies of elves and other races alike, he raised an immense stone bridge from southern Elandor into Tenebris, marched across, and slew the Demon King. In doing so, he rescued his wife and delivered the world from ruin. Among elves, his deeds became the pinnacle of their history.

But memory divides. To this day, dark elves are reviled as traitors, accused of consorting with demons and sullying the hero’s legacy, even though some tellings say he showed compassion to those who surrendered to his lotus feet. Humans, meanwhile, dismiss the tale as a mere myth altogether, refusing to believe an heir of the Supreme Lord could ever be of an elf-blood. To them, such lineage must belong to humankind alone.

All continents, more or less, share faith in the one true Supreme Lord, the source of vitality for the demigods who rule the heavens, sustainer of the material world and its countless universes. Yet even so, this material realm is said to make up only a quarter of His creation, the rest belonging to the spiritual domain. Only those who sever every last attachment to the mortal coil may ascend into His true abode. Not even the revellers of heaven, nor the demigods themselves, are deemed worthy. 

Yet faith does not always unify. Time and time again, the continents have clashed in countless crusades, each proclaiming its own way as the sole path to salvation. Humans and elves, in particular, have drenched the land in blood under the banner of the Supreme Lord, while tyrants in the shadows reap the spoils. And as ever, it is always the women, children, the elderly, and the powerless who bear the true cost. A cruel irony that a message meant for devotion could be twisted into a weapon to blind the masses.

I cannot speak much of the elves, but it would not surprise me if mankind were the first one to strike a blow, unwilling to accept the elven tale of their hero descended from the Supreme Lord. The humans claim theirs is the only race with divine favour, or so this biased world tome tells me. But, fortunate that I am, I have learned otherwise, through reading and through bitter experience from my previous world.

"..."

Farther still, beyond Aureth and Kharadun to the north, lay the frozen continent known simply as the Land of the Unknown. Many races had once sailed to claim it, but none had ever returned successful. Its merciless cold was said to slay the unguarded within an hour. And during those failed excavations, no signs of life were found either, and so most abandoned it as a myth. Yet some whispered of relics from ancient wars buried deep in the ice, while certain zealots believed that the Supreme Lord Himself descended there to rest and observe His creation from afar, time to time.

To the far east, beyond Aureth and Elandor, stretched a scatter of islands and archipelagos, a haven for pirates, criminals, and exiles, where law was carved only by the sea.

Daring as they were, these marauders rarely strayed toward the world’s centre of the Shambhala Isles. For the Redline was not the only mystery encircling them. Beyond it lay a second current, the Golden Gyre. Together they formed twin rings around Shambhala, the inner Redline, a chaotic stream of shifting patterns, and the outer Gyre, a steady flow. Every six months, the currents reversed, clockwise for half the year, counter-clockwise for the next. Mariners lived and died by this rhythm. Dwarves sailing east toward humankind or the elves rode the Gyre outward, then lingered in foreign ports for months, awaiting its reversal to carry them home. Few dared the alternative, venturing farther south into the demon continent’s waters. Likewise, humans and elves bound for dwarves or dragon-kin endured the same cycle of patience.

Even the sky was subject to this law. Airships and wind-vessels followed currents that shifted in step with the seas. The twin tides had become the hidden heartbeat of both ocean and heaven.

Thus, the map of Aurelia was drawn, clustered continents, myth-laden isles, frozen wastes, and storm-wracked seas. Small enough when traced by ink on parchment, yet as I turned the pages, I could only marvel at the vast, perilous, and utterly mad world.

“…”

“Are you ready, dear Master?”

“Yes. You may open the door, Clara. Let us proceed.”

“As you wish, Master.”

The great gold-plated double doors, crowned with handles wrought in the shape of wyvern heads, loomed before us. Clara carefully pressed them open with a bow, one hand extended in a formal gesture. Beyond waited my family debut, or rather, a re-debut.

— I wonder what faces await me as I enter the dining hall…