The next week passed without anything of consequence. The only notable event was Tekla leaving with Ninali and Vivien, and even that ended without disruption. She planted the seeds I had given her, while Vivien ensured the winter's cold touch would not harm them.

But quiet days did not mean I was free of problems. In fact, the stillness only highlighted another matter that had been bothering me for some time.

The Velmoryns' lack of hygiene.

I had long discovered that they treated the forest as their bathroom. It hadn't caused much trouble when the tribe could move freely beyond the settlement, but with the everlasting night and the snow piled higher each day, everyone was confined to their homes. Now, all their filth was gathered in buckets and left outside their doors.

The freezing air kept the stench from spreading, but that did little to change the truth - it was no way of life. Not for my Velmoryns. Not for the civilization I intended to build.

And with the Yellow Tribe's arrival, this crude practice would only grow into something far worse. What had once been tolerable among a few dozen would become unsustainable once two tribes joined together in the same snowbound cage.

Primitive toilets, the kind built over deep pits, were not something I wanted to replicate here either. With magic and divine power at my disposal, building such crude structures felt like a waste. I wanted something refined, something closer to an elegant but effective system.

I even had a plan in mind. The idea came from fragments of memory from my past life, inspired by cultures that had used water to channel waste away. Japanese canals filled with koi fish came to mind. The fish hadn't exactly purified anything back then, but here? Here I could create species that might. Perhaps even plants.

But problems stood in my way. The most immediate one was the snow - horribly deep, piled over the entire settlement. Even walking across it was near impossible, let alone digging the canals that would split the village into tiny islands connected to the passing river.

The seeds I had given Tekla would eventually grow into trees, and when they did, the snow would no longer smother the settlement the way it did now. But that would take time. At least a year for the saplings to mature. Until then, the sewage plan would have to wait, perhaps until spring.

Yet I became hopeful when the tribe suddenly grew lively. Unlike the usual nights, where only the insides of homes glowed faintly from torches and fire, this time Velmoryns spilled into the open. They carried torches of their own, the flames scattering light across the endless snow, their bodies swaddled in every layer of fur and cloth they possessed.

Even for them, adapted as they were to the long winters, their skin accustomed to enduring the frozen air, there were limits. The cold still bit.

"I was worried I'd be the only one outside," Avenor chuckled, though his voice was muffled beneath the furs that covered him from head to toe. He was helping Rodon clear snow with a wooden shovel. His movements were clumsy, weighed down by cold and perhaps even reluctance.

"God, this snow is too heavy. Why couldn't it be dry snow instead of this drenched, wet shit…" He grumbled, lifting another sluggish heap of slush.

"You complain too much, Avenor," Rodon replied. He paused, leaning against his shovel and staring at the man whose eyes were the only thing visible between furs.

"Since when do you mind my attitude?" Avenor shot back, his contempt growing sharper when Rodon unfastened his heavy coat and shrugged it off, his body steaming against the frigid night air.

"I usually don't," Rodon admitted, flexing his shoulders and nodding in satisfaction as the biting cold felt pleasant on his hot body. "In fact, I find it amusing. But today we are celebrating, and it's forbidden to spread negativity when blessing a new couple!"

He then folded his coat and hung it neatly on the extra shovel he had carried, now thrust into the snow like a stake.

"A new couple?" Avenor asked, caught off guard. He paused, watching Rodon shovel snow, expecting an answer. When none came, he pressed, "A marriage ceremony? In this weather? In the endless night?"

His tone was discontent, but the look on his face stiffened only when Rodon shot him a glare.

"Alright, I'm sorry. I'm just unfamiliar with the tradition, that's all…" Avenor explained quickly. He forced a warm smile, though Rodon couldn't see it beneath the cover.

The man gave a single nod and returned to his work, his shovel scraping steadily through the snow. It was a clear dismissal, and for once Avenor didn't press. Normally he bombarded the Velmoryns with questions, eager to learn every fragment of their culture, but this time he allowed the silence to linger, content to shovel at Rodon's side.

"Are you really leaving today?" Rodon broke the quiet. "It's a great tradition - you might even find a mate." His voice carried a strange excitement, and when Avenor glanced at him, he found the same expression etched on the man's face.

Rodon's eyes burned with a peculiar fire, and his cheeks were flushed. One might have blamed the exertion, but Avenor knew better. For Rodon, this much labor was nothing. His gray skin only colored that way when Nia was involved.

"I'm going to participate," Rodon muttered, almost to himself. "It's time I found my other half." He drove the shovel into the snow with such force that the handle sank down to his wrists.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Avenor laughed aloud at the sight. Everyone knew how hard Rodon tried to impress Nia. Yet despite the closeness they shared, it seemed more like a friendly bond than romance.

"And how does that work?" Avenor asked, still smiling.

"You fight, of course," Rodon replied with a grin. "All the males who seek a mate fight, and the one who wins may ask any woman he desires to dance. If she accepts, they'll marry the following winter."

"Anyone?" Avenor raised a brow, smirking. "Even a woman who already has a husband?"

"Yes, you can," Rodon answered with a laugh. "And then you can accept death as she slits your throat for the insult."

Both men laughed at the image, their shovels idle for a time. When the humor subsided, Rodon returned to clearing the path. Another Velmoryn further along was working in the same direction, and soon their shovels would meet, creating a trail that connected the homes across the tribe.

"Rodon, why winter?" Avenor asked, his tone curious now. "Why get married in the season when everything is so inconvenient?"

"Because it's inconvenient," Rodon replied without hesitation. He smiled proudly as he straightened, resting the shovel against his shoulder. "The bond between man and woman is eternal, but it will be tested many times by our harsh world. What better way to begin than in the hardest season?"

His eyes gleamed with conviction. To him, the tradition was not only sensible but noble.

"Starting tomorrow, the new couple will live there." He pointed toward a spot where four Velmoryns worked together, clearing snow to form a square of open ground.

"But there's nothing there," Avenor said, genuinely bewildered.

"They will build it together. Their families provide the essentials, but the rest is on them. They must prove they can endure the winter side by side. If they can't, then they were never meant to be."

They weren't meant to be?

Until now, I had enjoyed their conversation, learning something new about my people. But this particular tradition struck me as foolish.

From what Rodon said, it seemed only one couple could marry each year - at least through this ritual. Only the victor of the fight, whatever form it took, earned the right to ask a woman to dance.

It's good that their culture is rich with rituals and customs… but anything that hinders the growth of the Velmoryns, or puts their lives at risk for the sake of spectacle, I will abolish.

I froze.

I was truly worried for them. Not because losing believers would weaken me. Not because fewer hands would slow the tribe's growth. But because they mattered. I had begun to care for my followers more than before.

Is that a weakness? Or is it better to care than not? As long as I don't become like the Goddess and be willing to sacrifice myself for them, it should be fine.

Still, the thought lingered. Caring for the Velmoryns was not the problem. Letting them shape my judgment, my emotions, my very self - that was.... I would need to find a way to control it.

…

"Priestess, what brings ye down to me humble forge?" Gundir's gravelly voice rumbled, though he made an effort to soften it.

"I came to ask you to forge two crowns for today's ceremony," Tekla replied with a warm smile. "Actually, you don't need to make new ones - just alter these."

From within her long coat, she pulled two thin yet elegant headpieces and offered them to the master blacksmith. Both were fashioned of white gold, with cyan stones set at their centers. One was thicker, marked by rough ornaments, while the other was slimmer, etched with delicate carvings.

"What'd ye have me change?" Gundir asked, studying the crowns closely. "Elven work, these, eh? I recon the craft… they must be from…"

He cut himself short, realizing that finishing the thought would only sour the air between them.

"I'd like the carvings replaced with leaves of the Divine Tree," Tekla said gently. "And the gems - replace them with these."

She opened her hand. Two red stones glimmered on her palm, familiar in some way, though I couldn't figure our why.

"What are these, Priestess?" Gundir asked, his eyes widening as he examined the gems. For all his pride in his craft, he never bristled when faced with something unknown. In such moments, he set pride aside, unafraid to ask questions and seek knowledge.

"I prayed to the Divine Tree, and it gave its sap to us," Tekla replied, drawing my symbol on her chest with her index and middle fingers. "It hardened into these gems. Though I am uncertain whether they hold any unique properties."

Gundir lifted the stones to his right eye, turning them slowly as he tested them against the light, then bit into his thumb and smeared his blood across their surfaces. The Drukyr muttered something under his breath until both gems began to glow faintly.

"There's mana hummin' in 'em," he said at last, his tone shifting with interest. "But no property o' their own. I could carve 'em, aye… inscribe runes to bind some effects. But that'd take time - a week at the least. Longer still, if the stones prove fussy work."

His eyes gleamed, the unmistakable light of a craftsman stirred by exciting possibility.

"Perhaps after the ceremony, then. I will need them today…" Tekla answered with a bright smile and a nod. She had already learned that Gundir didn't appreciate unnecessary words, and she respected his desires.

The Drukyr saw her off with a warm gaze, then turned on his heel and strode toward the anvil, his short, heavy steps quick. A low hum rose in his throat as he began his work.

Despite my earlier displeasure with the ceremony itself, I had to respect how hard the Velmoryns worked to bring it about. They had carved paths through the settlement, connecting every house, the temple, and even the Crimson Guardian.

They hadn't only cleared a way to the Orrvyn, they had opened the entire space around it. The snow there was lighter, sheltered beneath thick branches that still held their leaves even in the depths of winter. Beneath that canopy, they had raised an arch woven from Orrvyn's own roots, or rather, Tekla had asked the tree to form it for them. To my surprise, the red oak obeyed.

Her requests were always for the good of the tribe, and always framed as something that would please me, yet I was still taken aback at how readily Orrvyn bent to her will. More than that, it seemed to grow better at understanding her desires each time she asked.

…

"You stayed?" Ninali asked Avenor, as he handed her a torch to light.

While the Velmoryns had their own methods to spark flame, winter made it difficult even for torches to catch. That was why Ninali had become the tribe's firestarter.

"He stayed because he plans to fight in the ritual!" Rodon called out from nearby. There was no need for him to shout, but the mischievous man never missed a chance to amuse himself.

And he succeeded.

"Really?" Ninali asked, her cheeks coloring.

"N…" Avenor began, but Mirion silenced him before he could finish.

"The ceremony is about to begin. Light the torches and bring them to the arch!"

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