After my mother finished introducing Dareal and Vick they were knight of my father, I decided to take a short walk around the house. The air outside was cool, the kind of gentle chill that clears your mind but doesn't sting your skin. It felt refreshing.
The manor's backside opened into a quiet yard bordered by a low stone wall. Beyond it stretched a forest—dense, tall, and still. A small garden filled the space before the wall, its flowering plants swaying softly in the breeze. The grass was neatly trimmed, and even the soil around the flowerbeds looked well cared for. Whoever maintained this place had done so with love.
I walked slowly around the house, taking in every detail. The structure itself was small, built mostly of wood with stone columns supporting its frame. It looked old but sturdy, and every creak of the floorboards seemed to hum with history. From the front, the view was breathtaking. The house sat on a small hill, overlooking the village below—rows of cottages, trails of smoke from chimneys, and distant chatter carried by the wind. It felt peaceful, almost unreal.
When I returned inside, I found my mother waiting for me near the doorway. I hesitated a little, then asked, "Mother… can we go to the village?"
She blinked in surprise, then smiled softly but shook her head. "Not now, Arnold. You've only just recovered. Let's wait a few days, all right?"
Her gentle tone couldn't hide the firmness of her refusal. I nodded quietly, though I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. For someone who'd spent his entire life locked in labs and lecture halls, the outside world—any world—felt like freedom.
We went back inside, and one of the maids soon brought in a pot of tea. The warm scent filled the room as steam curled up from the cups. My mother poured for both of us, her movements graceful and calm.
As we sat together, I decided it was time to confirm something that had been bothering me ever since I woke up.
"Mother," I began cautiously, "which country do we live in?"
She looked up from her cup and replied, "In the Kingdom of Harmando."
I nodded slowly. "And… who is the king?"
"That would be King Arean Harmando," she said with a faint smile, as if the name itself carried pride.
So far, everything could still fit into the history of Earth. But then my eyes caught the shape of her ears—longer, sharper, and undeniably pointed. My curiosity got the better of me.
"Then… why are our ears so pointed?" I asked hesitantly.
For a brief moment, my mother looked surprised, almost puzzled by the question. Then she chuckled softly. "Because, dear, we are elves."
Her words struck me like lightning. Elves? My mind went blank for a second. That single word confirmed what I had secretly feared—and hoped—at the same time. I wasn't in the past. I was in another world.
I swallowed, my thoughts spinning. "Are there… other races too?"
My mother nodded, her expression softening. "Yes, there are. Humans, dwarves, beastkin, and many more. This world is vast, Arnold. Much larger than you can imagine."
Then her eyes lit up slightly, as if a memory had stirred. "That reminds me," she said, setting her cup down gently. "I never told you how the Harmando Kingdom came to be, did I?"
I shook my head.
She smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Then listen carefully, my dear. It's a long story—one worth remembering."
My mother took a slow sip of her tea before continuing, her voice calm and steady.
"A long, long time ago," she began, "there were no kingdoms, no great cities—only small tribes scattered across the land. People lived in small groups, trusting only those close to them. Each tribe had its own customs and its own laws—some fair, some strange, but they worked for the people who made them."
She paused for a moment, her eyes distant, as if she could see those ancient days.
"But constant small-scale battles would break out between them—over farmland, rich mines, hunting grounds, and countless other reasons. The victorious tribe would take everything: their land, their tools, even their lives. The defeated were often made slaves or simply wiped out. It was a brutal age."
Her tone softened slightly. "But among them, there was one man who refused to accept such chaos. He dreamed of uniting people under one banner—a world where no tribe had to fear another. So, he founded his own tribe and created laws that treated everyone equally. At first, he fought other tribes, but unlike the rest, he didn't enslave or destroy the defeated. Instead, he offered them a place in his growing tribe."
"Slowly, more and more joined him. His tribe grew stronger, and others began to imitate his ways. Over time, small scattered tribes turned into large towns, and from those towns, kingdoms began to rise."
My mother's expression grew proud as she continued, "But none matched the strength of his people. He was said to be powerful enough to cut a dragon in half with a single strike—but more importantly, he was righteous and just. He never sought power for himself; he used it to protect others."
She leaned back slightly, her voice lowering with respect. "From his legacy, many kingdoms were born, but the three greatest among them were the Harmando Kingdom, the Holy Empire, and the Demonic Kingdom. The descendants of that man carried on his will, and his name became immortal."
She looked at me with a small smile. "That man's name was August de Harmando—the first King of Harmando, and the founder of this very land we call home."