The Golden Rams

OVERVIEW

The rams choose their riders. The Golden Rams, descended from the divine Chrysomallus who carried Phrixus to safety, bond with Kriosian warriors through mutual selection, not ownership. The partnership is sacred. Since King Haemon the Proud tried to claim them as property and they vanished for three generations, every Kriosian king renews the ancient compact at coronation: We fight together; we share glory; we honor choice. If that compact breaks, the rams will walk into the mountains again and let Krios fall.

THE SUNFIRE HERD

A group of Golden Rams is called a Herd, though the military formations call themselves by rank: a Charge (12 rams), a Thunder (60 rams), a Sunfire (300 rams). The largest gathering of Golden Rams in living memory numbered 847 and was called, simply, the Wrath.

They speak in a language that sounds like bleating to human ears until you learn to hear the subtle differences—pitch, duration, the space between sounds. Their written language doesn't exist. They have perfect memory and consider writing an insult to their gift. Every ram can recite its lineage back 40 generations.

They're larger than mortal rams. A male stands six feet at the shoulder. Their fleece gleams like hammered gold in sunlight, dims to bronze in shadow, and in the dark of the new moon, they shine with their own light: soft and warm, like glowing coals. Their horns spiral in patterns that shift with age, each curve recording a year, each notch a battle survived.

Their eyes are wrong for animals. Too knowing. Too old.

THE COMPACT

According to legend, Chrysomallus the Golden Ram bore Phrixus to safety and then ascended to the heavens, but this is only half the truth. He ascended, yes, but not before siring a line of mortal rams blessed with speech, intelligence, and his divine fire. These were his children, born to serve Phrixus and his descendants in exchange for a promise:

Instead, partnership. Alliance. Service given freely and withdrawn just as freely.

The first Kriosian kings honored this. They treated the Golden Rams as allies, not animals. They fought beside them, not atop them. They shared spoils, not scraps.

Then came King Haemon the Proud, who decided "partnership" meant "property" and tried to claim the Sunfire Herd as royal assets. The rams left. Every single one, in a single night. They walked into the mountains and didn't return for three generations.

Krios nearly fell.

Without the rams, cavalry charges failed. Mountain passes couldn't be held. The kingdom that had never known defeat learned what losing meant. King Haemon's grandson finally sent envoys to the high peaks, carrying an offer: the original compact, written in stone and blood.

The rams returned.

Since then, every Kriosian king renews the compact at coronation. Tyrus spoke the words five years ago, kneeling before the Herd's eldest, a ram named Melas whose horns bore 63 spirals. The compact is simple:

CULTURE & COMBAT

Golden Rams don't have commanders. They have Firsts—the eldest, wisest, strongest who speak for the Herd in council. Currently, there are three Firsts:

MELAS (63 years) - His fleece has darkened to old gold, almost amber. He speaks rarely. When he does, even Tyrus listens.

XANTHOS (41 years) - Younger, faster, aggressive. He pushes for more raids, more battles, more glory. The young rams follow him. The old rams watch him carefully.

IONA (38 years) - The only female First in living memory, smaller than the males but twice as fierce. She advocates for the Herd's independence and reminds the humans, constantly, that the compact can be broken.

In battle, a warrior bonds with a single ram for life. The ram chooses the rider, never the reverse. The choosing ceremony happens once a year at the summer solstice. Young warriors stand in a line. The rams walk past them. Sometimes a ram stops. Sometimes they all walk by.

Warriors who are never chosen serve in the infantry. It's not shameful, exactly, but everyone knows cavalry is where glory lives.

The rams fight with horns, hooves, and teeth. Their horns can punch through bronze armor. Their charge can shatter shield walls. And in desperate moments, when the battle turns dark, they can ignite, their fleece burning with divine fire that doesn't consume them but immolates everything they touch.

They use this rarely. Fire costs them. Each ignition shortens their life by a year.

LANGUAGE

Humans who bond with rams learn their language, or try to. Most manage basic communication: commands, warnings, simple concepts. True fluency is rare. The language requires hearing ranges humans don't possess and making sounds human throats can't shape.

The rams understand human speech perfectly. They speak it when necessary, with voices that sound like gravel sliding down a mountain—deep, rough, alien. They prefer their own language. Human words, they say, lack weight. Lack memory.

A human can say "I am brave." A ram can say it in a single bleat that contains the entire history of their courage, every battle, every choice to stand when fleeing was possible. The word carries its own proof.

This is why they have no written language. Writing can't hold weight.