The map still lay between them, its edges pinned beneath enchanted weights that shimmered like stardust.
Raelus leaned over it with wide eyes and a crooked smile, as if it were a treasure map leading to sweets and secrets. His silver-white hair glinted in the warm light spilling through the stained glass windows, casting streaks of red, blue, and gold across the floor.
Serelienne, meanwhile, pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Alright," she muttered, "you know nothing. Let's fix that."
She tapped the outermost regions first.
"These are the sixteen major kingdoms—each tied to one of the sixteen dominant races. They're not just borders. Each has its own ruling class, magical philosophies, divine traditions, and political headaches."
Raelus nodded along, clearly trying to look serious, but his tail betrayed him with small, excited flicks.
"Let's start with the obvious," she said, circling Virellia with a gloved finger.
"You're in the Kingdom of Virellia—ruled by humans, militaristic, conservative, proud."
"Capital city's called Luminaris. That's where the Highblood Court sits—their nobility, king, and war council."
Raelus traced the name with his finger. "Virellia sounds… shiny."
"They think they are," she said dryly.
Then she moved clockwise on the map, her voice more like a battle instructor now.
"To the north, through the glacial passes, lies Frjorheim, homeland of the Frostfolk. Towering warriors, icy blood, live for tradition and strength. Capital's Skaldgarde. Cold as death, even in summer."
"Further northeast: Obscuron. Home of the Shadowkin. Covered in eternal twilight. Nobody trusts them, but their assassins are unmatched. Capital's called Umbracrest. Sounds poetic. Isn't."
Raelus squinted. "Why does that one look like it's… leaking?"
"That's the Abyssal Reach. Their border touches one of the Old Wound zones—scarred by the last great war between the gods."
His eyes sparkled. "Cool."
Her eyes narrowed. "Dangerous."
She pointed toward the sea.
"Next: Neravell. Home to the merfolk and aquatic kin. Capital city's Thalorion, beneath the Sapphire Shelf. Half of it's underwater. You'd drown trying to walk in."
"Then there's Sylvanthyr, kingdom of the elves. Forested paradise. Beautiful, timeless, pretentious. Capital's Lunathel. Everything smells like flowers and smugness."
Raelus snorted. "I like flowers."
"You might like them. They might like you. The nobles? Less likely."
She moved across the central regions now.
"Kaelmyrr, kingdom of the Firefolk. Mountains blaze day and night. Their capital's Embervault. You'd burn to ash stepping outside during noon if you're not protected."
"Thundros, home of the Oni. Brutal, disciplined, and proud. Capital city's Warspire. Most outsiders don't survive their trials unless invited."
Raelus blinked. "Do they have good food?"
She hesitated. "…Unmatched. But they eat raw boar heart with morning wine."
"Sounds like a challenge."
"Gods help me."
She slid her finger to the east.
"Aetheros, homeland of the Avianfolk. Floating cities, air temples, and storms that sing. Capital is Skyrend. You'll need wings—or favors—to even reach it."
Raelus made flapping motions with his arms. "I'm gonna make friends there."
"Bloomveil, land of the fairies. Pure mana, floating flowers, music in the air. Capital's Petalhaven. It looks delicate. It's not."
Her finger moved southwest now.
"Terragryn. Dwarves. Stone halls, magma rivers, unbreakable forges. Capital: Grumndar Hold. They're the finest smiths in the world. And the grumpiest."
"Faeyndral, home to the Natureborn—dryads, nymphs, guardians of growth and balance. Capital's Floracant. More tree than city. Alive. Literally."
Raelus tilted his head. "Like, it breathes?"
"Sometimes it talks."
He paused.
"I want to go."
"Of course you do."
She gestured next to the west.
"Zarkhal, land of the giants. Tall mountains. Tall people. Capital's Stonegrasp. They're slow to act, but when they do? Whole valleys move."
Then her voice grew quieter as she circled two final kingdoms.
"Drakoryn. Your people's homeland. The dragonkin. Once the most feared and respected race alive. Their capital, Auralith, hasn't been seen in years. Some think it vanished."
Raelus looked down, his smile dimming slightly.
"And last… Noctheris. Home of the demonkin. Capital: Umbravelle. Shattered ruins now. No rulers. No known survivors."
He was silent for a long time.
"…But I'm still here."
Serelienne met his gaze. "Which is exactly why you need to understand what you represent."
He looked up again, brow furrowing.
"I just… want to help people. Eat snacks. Make friends. And get strong enough to protect everyone I care about."
"You'll get your chance."
She tapped the center of the map once more.
"That's where you're headed eventually—Academis. The Grand Academy. Students from all sixteen kingdoms attend, train, and compete. It's neutral ground. No politics, just power. They don't care where you come from—only what you can do."
Raelus practically vibrated. "When do we leave?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You're still weeks out from your birthday. You'll need gear. Experience. Travel papers. And—preferably—some basic knowledge of the world beyond 'look, a pretty butterfly.'"
"…It was a very brave butterfly."
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but… I'm going to teach you everything I can."
Raelus blinked. "Really?"
"I have a feeling the gods didn't keep you alive for sixteen years just to wander into a bakery and get stabbed in an alley."
He grinned.
"Well… muffins are worth dying for."
She groaned.
⸻
The gentle crackle of the fireplace in Serelienne's private study painted the room in hues of amber and gold. Shelves filled with ancient tomes and magical scrolls loomed around them like quiet sentinels, steeped in centuries of knowledge. The space was quieter than the streets below, separated from the bustle of Elderglen by thick walls and enchanted glass.
Raelus sat cross-legged on a plush cushion, twirling one of his new badges between his fingers, gaze drifting toward a carved wooden globe that spun slowly in the corner. His eyes shimmered with innocent wonder.
Serelienne poured herself a cup of tea and leaned back into a velvet armchair across from him. She observed him silently for a moment.
"Hey," she finally said, "can you read this?"
She tossed a parchment across the table—just a simple bounty posting, written in the Common tongue.
Raelus picked it up.
Squinted.
Tilted his head.
Then slowly turned it upside down.
"Uhhh…" he mumbled. "So this is a really pretty map?"
Serelienne choked on her tea.
"You're telling me you can do all that," she gestured vaguely toward the window, where the aftermath of his fight still had adventurers talking, "but you can't read?"
"Nope!" Raelus said proudly, smile unfazed. "I was raised by creatures who don't really… do writing. Unless you count claw marks or dream-vision prophecy scrolls that vanish when you blink."
Serelienne blinked.
Twice.
"You weren't kidding about being from a sanctuary, were you?"
"I don't even know what that word means."
She pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something about needing stronger wine.
Then sighed.
"All right. Time for a crash course in civilization, you magnificent chaos gremlin."
She stood, crossed the room, and returned with a thick, leather-bound tome—ornate golden letters burned into the spine: Linguæ Mundi: The Living Tongues of the Sixteen.
"This," she said, setting it in front of him, "contains written scripts, grammar basics, and pronunciation for the Common tongue—used by nearly everyone—and the native language of every major race. Sixteen languages total."
"Sixteen?" Raelus asked, eyes wide. "That's, like, fifteen more than one!"
Serelienne raised an eyebrow.
"Can you even write your own name?"
"…Not confidently."
She groaned and slid the book toward him. "Fine. Lesson one. These are letters. These make words. You use words to not sound like a confused tree spirit when people talk to you."
She started explaining. Slowly at first, using magical projections from the book to show the different scripts—swirling Elvish, jagged Dwarvish runes, fluid Merfolk sigils, roaring Oni glyphs, the graceful calligraphy of the Celestials, and the rhythmic syllables of Beastfolk growl-script. Raelus watched. Absorbed.
Something began to shimmer in his eyes—an instinctual understanding blooming behind the surface.
Ten minutes passed.
She paused mid-sentence when he finished a passage aloud in flawless Greenwood Elvish.
"…Wait. Did you just read that?"
Raelus nodded, flipping the page with growing excitement. "I think so. I like this one! It tickles my tongue."
He read the next phrase—in Dwarvish. Perfect inflection.
Then Shadowkin tongue. Then Frostfolk script.
Serelienne stood frozen.
He kept going. Effortlessly switching languages like flipping a coin. Soon he was writing in celestial starlight glyphs, then beastfolk growls, then dark demonic sigils.
"I didn't know I could do this," he said, wonder in his voice. "It's like… I just see it, and now it makes sense."
Serelienne sat back down, slowly.
"That's not normal," she whispered.
Raelus looked sheepish. "Oh. Sorry?"
"No. I mean—that's insane. Even most scholars can't read more than three or four of these fluently! You just… absorbed it?"
"I guess so. Is that bad?"
"No, it's… It's impossible."
Her voice was almost reverent.
"…You're not just strong. You're something else entirely."
Raelus smiled, but it was smaller this time.
"I was always told I'd be different."
Then he stood, walked over, and gently handed her the book—open to a page where he'd written a sentence in every major language:
"Thank you for teaching me. I'll treasure this."
Her breath caught.
And for once, Serelienne Kaelis, S-rank Guildmaster of Elderglen…
Was speechless.
⸻
End of chapter 19 "Words of the World"