The fire in Hari's chest refused to go out.
Since the night of the conversation with his mother under the stars, something had taken root in him—an ache not of sorrow, but of hunger. Not for food, but knowledge. There was something vast and ancient in the stories she told, something unspoken. A silence that stretched between her words when she mentioned the tribes.
He had never seen an elf. He had never met a dwarf. He had only seen carved puppets of orcs—grotesque, green, and grim-looking—in that strange puppet shop that vanished the next day.
He wanted to know more.
He had to know more.
Hari began to ask around, softly and carefully at first. He walked up to old Malathi, the one who told the kids stories during the harvest nights, and asked, "Ajji, do you know about elves?"
She chuckled, half-toothless, as she stirred a pot of herbal tea. "Elves? What would a village boy need to know about elves? They live far away, past the eastern hills, beyond the frost line. Some say they don't even exist."
Hari tilted his head. "But if they don't exist, then how do people know what they look like?"
Malathi paused.
"That… is a good question."
He next went to Govind, the blacksmith.
Hari stood near the forge as the older man hammered a bent blade back into shape. "Uncle, have you met a dwarf?"
Govind laughed, the sound ringing louder than the hammer strikes. "A dwarf? Hah! Do I look like someone who's traveled beyond the mountains? All I know is they're stout, hairy, and make better blades than I ever will. That's enough to make me jealous."
Hari nodded slowly.
Everyone had heard of the tribes. But no one seemed to know them.
Later that evening, Hari sat on the veranda, arms crossed, brows furrowed.
Ravi noticed the look on his son's face and approached. "Still thinking about those tribes?"
Hari looked up. "Yes, Father. I want to learn more. You said they are part of the world. But nobody really knows them. Not even the elders."
Ravi looked thoughtful. "Wait here."
A few minutes later, he returned with a bundle wrapped in worn cloth. "Your grandfather passed these to me. I never had much interest. But I think you'll love them."
Hari opened the bundle and his eyes lit up.
Books.
Old, cracked, but lovingly preserved. Their titles etched in fading ink.
One said: The Stone-Rooted: History of the Dwarves.
Another: Grace of Leaves: The Ancient Ways of the Elves.
And the last: Wrath and Glory: The Bloodlines of Orcs.
Hari ran his fingers over the covers as though they were treasure. "Can I keep them?"
Ravi nodded. "Just don't lose yourself in them. The world outside is still yours to live in."
That night, by the warm glow of a lantern, Hari opened the first book.
The Elves
The words flowed like poetry.
He read of the elves—tall and graceful beings with eyes like the sea and hair like moonlight. They lived in cities that grew out of trees, where buildings breathed and blossoms never withered. Elves didn't age as humans did. Some lived hundreds of years. They were keepers of ancient knowledge, protectors of harmony, and wielders of silent magic woven into music and nature.
They see time as a river, the book wrote, not as a ticking clock. They listen to wind and leaf before making a decision.
Hari whispered aloud: "Like Amma."
He imagined what it must be like to walk in a city built inside a forest, where trees sing and streams murmur secrets.
The Dwarves
Next, he opened the book about dwarves.
It was a completely different tone—solid, straightforward, practical.
The dwarves lived underground, in massive stone halls beneath mountains. They carved their cities from the earth's bones, and their pride lay in crafting. From intricate jewelry to monstrous machines, they were the masters of metal and stone.
They worshiped fire, not out of fear, but respect.
They were not as cold as stone; in fact, the book described their laughter echoing through halls, their feasts going on for days, and their loyalty being thicker than blood.
Never challenge a dwarf to a drinking contest, one page warned. Hari grinned.
The Orcs
The final book felt raw, filled with passion and thunder.
Orcs were powerful beings, warriors of unmatched ferocity. They were often misunderstood, the book argued—not mindless brutes, but people of deep emotion and unshakable codes of honor.
They lived in wide open plains, cherished strength, and lived by action more than words. Their songs were war chants, their dances were storms.
Hari read a passage aloud: To fight is to prove you're alive. To protect is to prove you are more.
He closed the book, awestruck.
The world was far bigger than he had ever known.
And yet… something stirred inside him, something oddly familiar. As if these weren't just stories. As if some part of him recognized them. Not through memory, but… through instinct.
Was it possible he wasn't just curious about the tribes? Was it possible that he had some connection?
He closed the books and hugged them close, eyes wide open in the candlelight.
He didn't understand what was happening to him, or why the dreams had stopped. But he knew something had begun.
Something big.
——
Just before handing over the old cloth-wrapped bundle of books, Ravi had gone into the back of the house, rummaging through the wooden chest that hadn't been opened in years. Mrudhula, upon seeing what he was looking for, hesitated.
Her voice was soft, edged with concern. "Ravi… do you really think it's time for him to know all this? He's still just a child."
Ravi turned to her with calm eyes, but there was firmness in his voice. "He's not the same boy he was even a few moons ago. You've seen it too. He's… changing."
Mrudhula looked away, uncertain. "I have seen it. That's what worries me."
Ravi placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Let him ask questions. Let him wonder. He needs answers, or at least the freedom to look for them."
For a moment, she stood there, quiet. Then she gave a slow nod, her fingers tightening around her apron. "Just… be there with him while he reads them. Don't let him wander too far in thought. He's still finding his place."
"I promise," Ravi said.
Moments later, Hari sat cross-legged by the hearth, his eyes wide as the first pages opened—his fingers brushing against illustrations of long-bearded dwarves and towering orcs carved into ancient battles. Unaware of the quiet exchange between his parents, he was already lost in a new world.