Author: Alec Location: Branhal, Western Holdings Time: Night – Day 12
The stars here are wrong.
That was one of the first things I noticed on the night I awoke in this world. The constellations bear no relation to any I was taught. No Orion. No Cassiopeia. Just endless unfamiliar scatterings of light — and too many of them, as if this planet orbits under a thinner veil of atmosphere, or further from its sun.
I still don't know the name of the world I've landed on.
No one else does either.
To them, it is simply the world. A closed loop. A stage upon which gods once walked, kings now parade, and peasants live and die without ever asking if there's anything beyond the next river or the next harvest.
They are content with what they have.
I am not.
I have chosen the family name of Alenia to better blend into this primitive world, a name on which an empire will soon be built.
Geography and Political Entities
I've mapped what I can from rumors, trade routes, and idle conversation:
I currently reside in the village of Branhal, situated in the western lowlands. It belongs to the Kingdom of Edenia, a loosely managed monarchy governed by King Theren II, a ruler whose power seems derived as much from marriage as military might — three wives, each from different noble houses, all bearing children to secure bloodlines and keep rival houses in check.
To the southeast lies the Duchy of Midgard, technically a vassal of Edenia but one that behaves with increasing autonomy. It is currently ruled by a widowed duchess whose name I have yet to confirm, though her influence appears far-reaching. Her forces do not wear the king's colors. They collect their own taxes. Even the villagers whisper that Midgard is a kingdom waiting to shed its leash.
West of here? Unknown.
South? I hear only of mountains, distant salt plains, and a dead city swallowed by ash.
This place is fractured. Old alliances hold like dry mortar. One good shake, and this entire continent may crack.
And I may be that shake.
Branhal and Its People
Branhal is what I'd classify as a proto-feudal agrarian village, population approximately 200-240. Primary economic activity revolves around grain farming, livestock, basic textiles, and minor blacksmithing.
Trade is minimal, with caravans appearing every 8-12 days depending on season and weather. Coin exists, but barter is still prevalent — especially in the lower class. Standardization is rare. Tax collection is performed by appointed riders from either the nearest county seat or directly from Edenian lords depending on crop yields.
There is no written codex of laws. Justice here is local, situational, and arbitrary, determined by the ruling council, headed by Headman Harwin, a man of experience and little imagination. His niece, Lysa, has political instincts. The rest of the council shifts like sand depending on fear, harvest, or rumor.
The people are resilient but afraid of change. I've noted a pattern: they work hard, complain little, and gossip frequently. They accept suffering the way one accepts the weather — as something inevitable.
But I've also seen something else: curiosity.
It starts in the children. Then the laborers. Then the elders, grudgingly. They see me build irrigation channels, revive old tech, speak with certainty… and they listen. Not because they understand, but because results bypass belief.
Culture, Religion, and Tradition
The dominant religion appears to be centered around a solar deity called "Auron", often referred to as the Sun-Father, and a lunar counterpart, "Velistra", called the Moon-Mother. Auron represents law, harvest, fire, and masculine protection. Velistra embodies healing, wisdom, shadow, and feminine endurance.
Temples are rare in small villages but ubiquitous in cities. The local chapel is manned by Father Wren, a weary man whose faith seems more performative than profound. He prays loudly when people are watching and quietly when no one is.
Religious symbols are integrated into daily routine, not just worship — sun-marked bread, moon-blessed births, ritual washing before harvest. But faith here is more habit than fervor. They fear the gods more than they love them.
Festivals mark seasons and life transitions:
First Fire in spring: planting season.
Sunward Eve in midsummer: a night of drinking and public courtship.
The Ember Vigil in autumn: honoring the dead with offerings and candles.
Moonwake in winter: a day of fasting and quiet renewal.
Marriage is typically contractual, based on land, fertility, and alliance. Love, from what I've gathered, is accidental — and rarely relevant.
This is a world where survival shapes every decision.
Technology and Knowledge
This world stands somewhere between our Earth's 12th and 14th centuries, with staggered development depending on region. Edenia's cities may approach pre-renaissance infrastructure, while its countryside stagnates in medieval stagnation.
Gunpowder is myth. Steam is unknown. Wheels and gears exist but rarely in complex form. Printing is nonexistent. Medicine is herb-based and ritual-heavy. Astronomy is confused with astrology. Mathematics rarely extends beyond coin-counting.
Written knowledge is scarce, stored only in monastic scriptoria or held tightly by noble scholars. Books are handwritten, bound in hide, and more prized than gold.
I built a crude level from a reed and water bowl, and they looked at it like a magic relic.
I showed a child how to use triangulation to measure a wall, and he thought I'd spoken with the gods.
And yet…
When I repaired the watermill, they understood what they saw.
This world isn't stupid.
It's starving for structure.
Social Hierarchy and Gender Roles
Nobility rules everything, but unlike Earth's medieval past, there's a strange layer of matrilineal strength in Edenian culture. Women often manage estates and court politics. The King of Edenia has three wives who attend council regularly, each wielding land and men in their own right.
In villages like Branhal, however, men dominate physical labor and public authority, while women keep homes, raise children, tend the ill, and pass knowledge quietly between generations.
Inheritance is patrilineal, unless no son exists — which is when problems start. I've heard whispers about the widowed Duchess of Midgard, ruling with no husband and a child. The fact she still holds her duchy suggests she's either brilliant… or extremely dangerous.
(That deserves further investigation.)
Language, Expression, and Intellect
They speak a derivative of old High Edenese which itself is a mixture of European languages from my own world, with heavy consonants and natural inflection. To my surprise, I understood the base structure quickly — their grammar is surprisingly efficient. Few metaphors. Short declarative sentences. Their dialect lacks higher technical vocabulary, but I've begun introducing new terms in common speech.
They've begun adopting my words without realizing it.
Already, I hear farmers referring to "rotational laying" and "channel feed" like they've always known the terms.
Language, like fire, spreads without asking.
My Role in This World
I arrived here not by choice.
I don't know if I can return.
But already, the world shifts around me.
I've been called many things: a fallen god, a cursed spirit, a prophet, a spy.
The truth is simpler. I am the future their world forgot to create.
I carry knowledge not born here. Ideas that will disrupt every corner of their world — agriculture, energy, communication, warfare. I don't need armies. Not yet. I need only tools, time, and trust.
And they are beginning to give me all three.
I don't care about their thrones. I don't want their crowns.
But I will build something here.
Not for them.
For me.
Because if I am to die in this world, it will not be as a visitor.
It will be as its architect.
To be continued....