I hadn't been to Mount Serana in a while. It wasn't because I'd stopped worshipping the gods of Mount Serana, but because life kept me too preoccupied. Still, I never stopped praying. Every day, I prayed for peace—prayed for a better future for my people, just as they did.
Mount Serana is home to seven gods: Armie, Rulha, Delka, Serana, Uyen and Guyen, and lastly, Tulmin. Armie is the goddess of everlasting love, as I mentioned before. Every couple in love comes here once a year to receive her blessing. My brother and Misty went too, and Salime and I followed them. They promised to be together until death tore them apart. And they kept that promise.
Rulha is the ancestral god—the high god who rules over the rest. He is the Dragon, the one who cursed our blood. I never liked him. His statue radiated arrogance—pride beyond human comprehension. He was depicted as a dark, long-haired man who barely covered his lower body, seated on a throne and looking down at us like we were ants—insignificant. Yet he was worshipped fervently. Out of fear.
Serana is our mountain goddess. The mountains and the people of the north are inseparable; they are our livelihood. Our livestock graze on the mountain's rich vegetation, and we grow our crops along its slopes. She breathes life into us.
Delka is the god of the moon. We relied heavily on the moon to tell time, predict weather, and guide our days. His statue is that of a tall man with silver hair, holding the moon in his hands.
Uyen and Guyen are the twin goddesses who represent family and siblinghood, mischievous and playful, always depicted holding hands.
Tulmin is the god of death and disaster. His statue shows no face; he wears a black hood that hides almost all of him. When a northerner dies, their body is burned, and half of their ashes are offered to Tulmin, representing the soul, while the other half is buried in the ground, symbolizing the body. It is said that he guides them to the afterlife—the paradise above Mount Serana. But he punishes wicked souls, casting them into the eternal abyss. His face is hidden because of an old northern saying: "You'd have to die to see the death god's face." People use it as a proverb, meaning you must experience something yourself to know whether it's good or bad.
I introduced our northern gods to Arvid, who marvelled at the huge caves carved into the mountains and the craftsmanship of the statues. He was amazed—not by the gods, but by human capability.
I found this adorable. When I told him the families of those ancient crafters still existed and passed their knowledge down through generations, his eyes gleamed with excitement.
"Can I meet them?" he asked earnestly.
I smiled at his enthusiasm. He was a man of passion.
"Of course," I answered.
We then reached the massive statue of Armie, the goddess of everlasting love. She wore a veil, just as I remembered. Her eyes still shone beneath the stone-crafted veil—because they were enormous diamonds. Arvid looked at the statue, completely inspired.
"It's beautiful. I'd love to have this knowledge passed down to the South," he said openly.
"Why not?" I replied. The answer made him visibly happy. But before he could say anything more, the Priestess of Armie approached us. She wore a veil, imitating her goddess.
"Please come this way," she said, gesturing to the altar beside the statue. We walked over. Fruits and vegetables had been offered to the goddess on the altar. The Priestess stood behind it and faced us.
"Hold each other's hands," she instructed.
We obeyed, and a strange tingling spread through our intertwined fingers. It felt ticklish and electric at the same time—a once-in-a-lifetime sensation, indescribable in words.
Then she began chanting, using the ancient Rothiya language—the language the gods were said to have spoken. I learned it when I was castle-bound. The language itself sounds like a song—its meanings are gentle and beautiful.
"Oh, Goddess,
Mother of Northerners,
Goddess of everlasting love!
Here stand two children
Who wish to be bound together.
Like our goddess and her human husband,
Who now rests in her heart—
Never to part,
Never to hate,
Bound like a vine twined
Around the tree it chooses.
Let their love be pure,
Heartfelt,
Emotional,
A legend among legends.
May they be together,
Forever and ever,
For eternity."
When she finished, she asked us to hold our hands forward. She took a jar from the altar and poured honey over our hands. Arvid looked surprised as the sticky sweetness seeped through the gaps in our fingers, binding us together. Then the Priestess took a handful of flower petals and tossed them over our heads, creating a soft rain of blossoms—the final blessing.
From the northern tradition, we were now married.
The Priestess left us then.
"This is it. We're married," I told the still-confused Arvid.
He smiled.
"That was simpler than I thought," he said.
"Yes. But there's another part—we have to walk down all the thousand steps we climbed, still holding hands."
His eyes brightened instantly.
"I'd love that," he said, voice softening—as if this was the best news he'd heard all day. He looked even more excited than when I'd told him about the cave crafters.
And so we started down the long staircase, hand in hand.
"What language was the Priestess chanting?" he asked when we were halfway down.
"Oh, ancient Rothiya. I learned it when I was young. I can tell you what she said, if you'd like."
He nodded, interested.
After I translated it, he smiled gently.
"It's beautiful—like the north itself," he said.