"The language is called Ancient Mithul, and now it's only used in ceremonial settings," Sagar explained as he placed a heavy, leather-bound book carefully on the wooden table between us. It's the language Arvid's Aunt used yesterday at the Sun god Temple.
*Ancient Mithul for Beginners*, the worn title read in faded gold lettering.
The book began unexpectedly with a heartfelt message thanking whoever picked up the text, as if the author knew how rare such readers would be. According to the detailed introduction, Mithul was a dying language—the people who knew and spoke the language fluently had become increasingly rare after Arthia was officially declared the imperial language centuries ago. Mithul now existed only in ceremonial settings, preserved in ancient poems about the southern gods and in traditional folklore passed down through generations. Even the priests and priestesses who used the sacred words in prayers didn't really understand what the words actually meant anymore—they simply recited sounds their teachers had taught them. The passionate author reminded the reader again and again throughout the introduction not to let this ancient language die out completely, to preserve this piece of cultural heritage.
Well, author, you're genuinely in luck, I thought with determination. I, Rhiaenne of Draga, a dedicated language enthusiast, will learn your dying language. With the invaluable help of my remarkably intelligent ten-year-old brother-in-law, no less.
That's exactly what I did for the next several focused hours. Young Sagar helped me with such infectious enthusiasm and patience that I couldn't help but be motivated. By the end of our intensive session, I had already learned the complete alphabet system and memorized some of the most common words and their pronunciations.
When we finally broke for lunch, my wandering mind drifted inevitably to that morning's departure.
Arvid had left at dawn with the hunting party that morning. He had decided firmly that it would be better and faster to hunt bountifully if he personally attended and led the hunt. I couldn't agree more now that I had witnessed his extraordinary bow skills firsthand. But despite understanding the logic, I had felt deeply reluctant to let him go. We had been together constantly since our journey to the south had begun weeks ago—I knew the hunting grounds weren't far away, just the woods near Gorei castle, but still, I didn't want him out of my sight for even a moment.
"We will be back before the sun goes down, I promise," he had said gently when I stubbornly refused to release his arm from my desperate grasp. I had been hugging his arm tightly without even consciously realizing what I was doing, clinging to him.
"Do you really have to go?" I had asked, placing a small, lingering kiss on the shoulder of the arm I was embracing. "Please stay with me instead."
He had just smiled at my plea, that warm smile I loved. His eyes had shined with obvious delight at my possessiveness. He reached out with his non-imprisoned arm and caressed my face softly, his touch gentle. And I had leaned into his touch like a bee irresistibly drawn to honey. Inevitable. Natural.
"I'll be back before you even know I'm gone," he had said softly, reassuringly.
So I had reluctantly bid him farewell, watching him ride away.
I missed him already, achingly.
After we finished our lunch, Sagar had thoughtfully recommended to me a children's book written entirely in Mithul. He said it would be relatively easy for me to understand given my morning studies, and if any difficult questions arose, I should simply ask him for clarification.
*Folklore for Children*, the simple title read.
It was a collection of stories about Southern gods and their mythological exploits. The first story detailed how the Sea God was born into existence. The book explained that long ago, the powerful Sun God had fallen deeply in love with the a gentle River Goddess. But since they were polar opposites by nature—fire and water—every time they met, the Sun God's insane, uncontrollable heat vaporized her liquid form, causing her tremendous pain. So she had cried her heart out in anguish until eventually the Sea God was born directly from her endless tears.
'That's why human tears are salty,' the book explained matter-of-factly. Since we humans were considered the sons and daughters of both the River Goddess and Sun God, we had inherited her salty tears as part of our nature.
It was an interesting story from a cultural perspective. But I genuinely could not for the life of me imagine that apathetic Sun God as depicted in the temple statue actually falling in love with anyone. And if he truly loved her as the story claimed, he wouldn't have continued causing her pain by staying near her and letting her vaporize repeatedly. At the very least, he should have gone away when she started crying in obvious pain. He was apathetic by nature—he couldn't feel others' sadness or pain. The story made no sense. I closed the book with some frustration.
"Any hard words or confusing passages?" Sagar asked attentively.
"No, it was actually a really easy read," I told him honestly.
"What did sister think about the folklore of the south?" he asked me eagerly, his young eyes glistening with genuine interest to know my opinion. Should I answer him completely honestly or just give him a pleasing, diplomatic answer that wouldn't offend? I chose honesty.
"I thought the Sun God was deeply selfish," I admitted. "Why did he keep staying near the River Goddess when he knew his very presence would hurt her? That's not love."
Sagar's eyes absolutely sparkled with vindication **(vindication: proof that something is true or right)**.
"I knew my sister would agree with me!" he exclaimed happily. "When I told this exact opinion to my mother, she made me go pray at the Sun God Temple for seven days straight as punishment. It was so unfair!" A visible ping of remembered pain showed in his expressive eyes.
"Yes! God or human, what he did was morally wrong!" I agreed enthusiastically with him.
"But sister absolutely cannot tell my mother about this conversation, please promise me," he said quickly, suddenly afraid. He held out his small pinky finger solemnly.
"Well, this will be our little secret," I said, intertwining my pinky with his in a binding promise.
Then it suddenly dawned on both of us simultaneously—Katherine was there too, sitting quietly reading a book in the corner. We both looked at her with concerned expressions.
"I heard absolutely nothing," Katherine said without taking her eyes off her book. She simply turned to the next page and answered neutrally.
After another successful study session concluded, we decided to take a leisurely walk back to our respective chambers. Sagar insisted on accompanying us, his ever-present servant and Katherine following respectfully a few steps behind.
"Does the north have such folklore and creation myths?" Sagar asked me curiously as we walked.
I started thinking carefully. Well, there definitely was northern mythology. A brutal kind of tragic love story that had cursed an entire bloodline for generations. Was there a child-friendly way to share it without traumatizing him?
"Well, there is one famous story—the tragic love story between the first queen of Draga and Rulha, our ancestral God. It ended in tragedy and curses," I told him carefully. "Do you want to hear it?"
He nodded excitedly, his curiosity fully aroused.
"Hmm, let's see, how should I begin properly—" I organized the complex story in my mind, deciding what to include.
"Long ago when dragons still freely roamed the world, there lived Rulha, a powerful dragon who had transcended into godhood by cultivating his mind and spirit for a thousand years of meditation. He became truly immortal through this discipline. He became the acknowledged leader of all dragons, the dragon god they all revered. He lived a simple, ascetic life in the caves of Mount Serana, until unexpected visitors arrived from the western world. Humans, our ancestors, desperately trying to find suitable land to settle down and build a civilization. Among them she was—back then she was no queen, just an ordinary young girl." I paused as we took a turn to the left in the corridor.
"They saw the incredibly fertile lands at the foot of Mount Serana and decided to settle down there permanently. But the dragon living in the cave didn't like the idea of humans encroaching. Rulha came down from his mountain to chase them away, but when he finally saw her, he just fell instantly in love—she was his destined mate. Rulha had long given up on ever finding his mate, focusing only on cultivation, living like a monk. Because it was extremely hard for dragons to find their mates—only one person in the entire world matched them. When he finally found her after centuries of loneliness, he fell hard, impossibly in love." I paused, considering how to phrase the next part appropriately.
"But she didn't feel the same way at all," I continued. "She had long been in love with someone else, another human. But the people had pressured her relentlessly to accept Rulha's persistent courting. Because if she didn't, they all worried the dragon would chase them away from the fertile land. So she married Rulha purely out of duty to her people. She even drank his blood as part of the traditional ritual. But she had made Rulha drunk on strong alcohol on their wedding night, and spent that night with her actual lover instead. She lied to Rulha afterward, saying that they had spent the night together as husband and wife. But when she became pregnant with her child, Rulha knew immediately it wasn't his offspring. Because the child growing in her didn't have the distinctive scent of a hatchling, a new dragon. When he discovered she had betrayed him so completely, he cursed her bloodline in his rage and pain. Even though it was absolutely forbidden for dragons to curse humans. He cursed that since she was repulsed by his black hair and black eyes, her bloodline would only be able to marry someone with those same traits. And since she hated dragons, a dragon soul would always be bound to her kin. The Dragon blood she swallowed became her curse. If they married anyone with other colors of hair and eyes, the curse would activate and a monster would be born to destroy the bloodline that birthed it." I took a breath.
"So what happens next to Rulha?" Sagar asked urgently, his young face cloudy with worry and a bit of fear.
"As I said, it was forbidden for dragons to curse humans. Since he broke those sacred binding rules, the cosmic law threw him into the Abyss to repent for his crime. That girl became the first queen—Denera Celia Draga was her name. She killed anyone who opposed her ascent to the crown, consolidating power. Her argument was that it was because of her sacrifice in marrying the dragon that they ever got to settle in Draga at all. Well, she did have a valid point. She eventually married her actual lover and ruled Draga until she died of old age." I ended the story.
We walked quietly for a moment, the story settling over us.
Sagar clutched my hand tightly.
"The curse, it wasn't real, right?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly. "Just part of the story?"
It very much is real, or at least we don't really know for certain—because our ancestors always immediately killed anyone who tried to marry someone with different colored hair or eyes. What prompted them to be so vigilant, I honestly have no idea. But this innocent little thing doesn't need to know this dark truth.
"Of course, it's just a story," I lied smoothly. "Just folklore."
---
When I finally got back to my room later, I walked to the window in my quarters and looked out for a moment—the light was noticeably fading, evening approaching. Arvid must be on his way back by now. Deep longing resonated painfully in my heart.
Then it came completely out of nowhere—a sudden, sharp pain in my right arm like it was being sliced open by a sword. The sensation was so intense I grabbed my arm instinctively and bent over in shock, gasping.
Then a familiar voice came urgently in my head.
Aiona.
"Arvid is hurt," her panicked voice told me.