The Tapestry of Faith and Knowledge

Chapter 22: The Tapestry of Faith and Knowledge

The Hall of Scholars was grand and imposing from the outside, but as Alden stepped through its massive wooden doors, he was struck by its quiet, contemplative atmosphere. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, stretching toward vaulted ceilings painted with intricate frescoes. Soft light filtered in through stained glass windows, casting colourful patterns on the floor. The scent of old parchment and ink filled the air, a sharp contrast to the noise and magic outside.

He had come here with a singular goal: to prepare for the introduction of his genetic theories to the scholars. Yet as he ventured deeper into the library, Alden's curiosity got the better of him. This was not just a place of learning—it was a repository of the kingdom's knowledge, of its history, its faith, and its view of the world.

He approached one of the massive bookshelves, running his fingers along the spines of the books. Some were labelled in languages he didn't recognise, their covers adorned with strange symbols. Others seemed older, their pages brittle and yellowed with age. He pulled out a thick tome titled The Origins of Kingdoms: A History of Eryndor, hoping it might give him more insight into the political and social landscape of the kingdom he now called home.

Flipping through the pages, Alden quickly learned that the kingdom of Eryndor was part of a larger political entity known as the Concord of Sovereigns, an alliance of powerful kingdoms and city-states that had existed for centuries. The Concord had been formed to fend off ancient threats—namely the warring tribes and monstrous creatures that once roamed the untamed lands. Though the alliance had brought peace and stability, it was clear from the text that not all kingdoms within the Concord were equal. Eryndor, Alden's adopted home, was a minor power, overshadowed by its wealthier and more magically gifted neighbours.

Economically, Eryndor relied heavily on agriculture, but in recent years, it had struggled under prolonged droughts and internal political disputes. The nobles of Eryndor, much like Alden's family, wielded little influence compared to those in the more prominent regions. It was a society where magic granted status, and those who lacked magical talent often found themselves marginalised.

This made Alden's dream of transforming the world through science all the more important. Eryndor needed something new—something that could rival the powers of magic and make it thrive even in a world where spells shaped reality.

Alden's curiosity shifted toward the realm of religion. He knew little about the faith that governed the lives of the people around him, yet religion was a force that shaped societies as much as politics or economics. He found a small collection of books detailing the spiritual beliefs of the kingdom. One title stood out: The Song of Aeloria: Myths and Faiths of Eryndor.

As he leafed through the pages, Alden quickly realised that the faith in Eryndor revolved around a goddess named Aeloria, the Weaver of Stars. Aeloria was believed to have spun the universe into existence, crafting each star, each world, from threads of magic and light. She was worshipped as the creator of both the physical and magical worlds, her influence stretching far beyond the borders of Eryndor. Temples dedicated to Aeloria dotted the landscape, and her priests wielded magic as part of their divine mandate.

But what fascinated Alden most was the concept of The Loom, the cosmic tool Aeloria was said to use to weave life itself. It reminded him, in a strange way, of the genetic code. Just as the Loom wove the threads of existence, so too did DNA—though invisible to most—determine the traits of every living being. He saw an opportunity here: if he could frame his discoveries in terms that aligned with this world's faith, it might make his work more acceptable to those who saw magic and religion as the ultimate truths.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. A young scholar, her robes rustling softly as she walked, approached Alden with a warm smile.

"You seem new to the Hall," she said. "Can I assist you in finding something?"

Alden hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "I'm looking for information about the wider world—the kingdoms beyond Eryndor, their faiths, their magic."

The scholar's eyes lit up. "You've come to the right place. This library contains knowledge from across the Concord and beyond. Follow me."

She led him through winding corridors, past rows of scrolls and ancient texts, before stopping at a quieter section of the library. "Here we keep the accounts of travellers, explorers, and diplomats who've ventured to distant lands. You'll find what you're looking for here."

Alden scanned the titles. Many spoke of faraway kingdoms with names he had never heard before—Yvenlar, a desert kingdom ruled by fire mages; Rhezin, a forest realm where the people could commune with the spirits of the trees; and Caalis, an island nation where alchemists were revered as gods. Each kingdom had its own unique take on magic, some blending it with religion, others treating it as a science in its own right. It was a dizzying array of cultures and practices, each one as foreign to him as the magic itself.

But one book in particular caught Alden's attention: The Secrets of Metal Magic: A Treatise on the Iron Arts of the Capital. He grabbed the book and found a quiet corner to sit. The text explained the origins of metal magic, a rare and highly coveted form of magic practised by a select few. Metal mages could manipulate metal as if it were an extension of their own body—forming weapons, armour, or even bending the elements to fly, much like the sword rider Alden had seen earlier. It was a precise and dangerous magic, one that required intense training and an iron will.

This form of magic had originated in the capital itself, a legacy of ancient metallurgists who believed that the manipulation of metal was not just a craft but a divine art. Alden couldn't help but marvel at the parallels between these mages and the blacksmiths and engineers of his former world, each group transforming raw materials into tools that shaped society.

The day grew long, and as Alden sat surrounded by books, a profound sense of wonder washed over him. This world, with its magic, its religions, and its intricate societies, was far more complex than he had imagined. Yet in that complexity, he saw an opportunity. Magic might dominate this world, but science—his science—had a place here, too. If he could navigate the complexities of this society, if he could align his work with the beliefs and needs of the people, he could introduce genetics as a force as powerful and respected as magic itself.

He closed the last book and stood up, his mind buzzing with new information. There was so much more to learn, so much more to uncover. But for now, he had what he needed. He had seen the capital's wonders, explored its religion and history, and learned of the powers that shaped its people. Now, it was time to take his next step.

Alden gathered his satchel, his papers securely inside. Tomorrow, he would begin presenting his work to the scholars. But tonight, as he left the library and stepped back into the night, he looked up at the stars—just as he had done many nights before. Here, under this foreign sky, he felt more certain than ever that his dream of bringing the beauty of genetics to this world was not just possible, but inevitable.