The mountains in the north are called The Dragon's Mountains. There is only one dragon known in the north. Its name is Okzelkal. Its sovereignty is eternal. The mountains in the north are The Kingdom of Okzelkal.

In the Secret History of The Sers, they say it has brown gnarled fur, and twisted ram's horns. That its face is like a wolf's, and its wings like a bat's. For all Seroons are its children, and its childrens' childrens' children. And the Seroon, we know, is a great wolf with bat's wings as its fore-arms. So, though these descendants have forgot how to breathe flame, their ancestor shall remain imagined in their image.
And how large is the dragon Okzelkal? You may say that the song which sings it was the size of a mountain may conflict with those verses which claim the mountain as its home. But, to my knowledge, no Phylosopher has standardized the size of the mountain. So it may be that Okzelkal is the size of a small mountain, and made the big mountain its lair.

And there were hearths, so The Sers sing, great and carved into caves, which Okzelkal still lights with its fiery breath, each winter, so its people may keep warm. And so they sing, in The Sers' Secret History, that all through the desolate seasons of those peaks which know nothing but varying heights of snow, the people worshipped The Dragon Okzelkal, their fire-bringer.
There are gods; Ossiah, we call them here. And the mountain people knew about some of these Ossiah. But the mountain people held the Ossiah below their dragon. They made stone pendants, found often in ruins today, to some Palenthean beings. A stone for Aira, The Starry Magi. A stone for Erniv, The Hearth. A stone for The Forgotten God. And a stone, of course, for The Name of The Snows.
The valleys between those tall northern mountains are endless from within, but circumnavigable from the foothills and icy coast; so it can be surmised that a spell is on these valleys, a spell like that in The Southern Ria, the labyrinthine spell of The Labyrinthian Ossiah. So it was that no foreigner came to the mountains of Okzelkal, not even a divine messenger. And none of its people left. For its mountains are closed. Its mountains are guarded by an immortal faej.
They say a storm once came to these peaks and valleys, a storm unlike any other, arrhythmic to nature, and all too supernatural. As if The Thundering Ossiah himself had dared enter this well-guarded range to reek his bright havoc. A storm too fierce even for the mighty Okzelkal. For though the dragon crawled from cave to cave, winds too great for its wide wings, lighting hearth after hearth to keep its people warm, there were many who went without fire, and froze within those rising mounds of snow and miles of thick mist charged by lightning and scored with quaking thunder.
The Aeorae Clan, second largest of the range's clans, were named for the pink apples which still grow in the shade of low caves by thawing streams. It was in this terrible storm that they lost half their people, and their princess too, was thought to have perished, their princess whose name was Soraeus.
Soraeus was lost deep in the white sheets of frost which bear ferocious teeth within the very air. She clung to her stone pendant. Her stone inscribed for The Name of The Snows. That name which is too sacred to speak. That name which I will not dare write, but the ancients wrote on this pendant she clung to. And behold she found a crevice in the cliffside, a thin cave to shield from the storm. And she crouched here, rubbing her stone. Praying to The Name of The Snows, for now, she knew, Okzelkal would not come. Only the snow could stop such a storm which wielded itself. She pleaded with that accomplice of thunder, that arbiter of cold, who, she was sure, had been tricked into doing the deadly bidding of the storm.
Exhausted, she shielded her eyes from the thick white film, and between her fingers, through solid mists of running snows - she saw their name. The Ossiah took form before her, hearing her plea. The Ossiah, cloaked in white wool, hooded by eternal crystal. He came here, deep in the labyrinth of valleys, despite their dizzying form, because of the persistence of her mantra, and the passion of her faith.
He took his cloak, woven by the original weaver, devised by the original dreamer, and pulled it around her. His cloak was warm beyond all winter wishes, and cooler than coveted spring-water in dry summertime. He wrapped her close, in that narrow cave.
"Let me sing you a tale to keep you warm," he whispered, under the harsh vehement wind, and beating drums of thunder which still played between the mountains.
"when slow

solar systems

being born

suns pieced together

families from surrounding

dust. only one place far

enough from

the Sinol (original hearth)

and cold enough

to form ice.

thus I was born

here on the edge of everything

and froze as soon as a body

formed.

my siblings heard of me,

safe in their palace forest  warm.

the wind has seen a child in

the snowed-in ice, and told

whispered rumor to Palenthean Ossiah. “

And of course he continued with the tale of his birth and the birth of Erniv. How, with his unrelenting newborn power, he caused a storm even greater than this one, near the beginnings of time. How young Ossiah came to calm him down. How the bison saved the godlings from the storm, and Erniv, eternal name of the hearth, was born by the fire the godlings made when they took shelter.

So by this tale, he sung softly, summoning the faej of his sister Erniv. And warmed Soraeus. For twelve days, they say, the two found refuge in this thin cave. Then the storm came to a close; The Thundering God must have found his way out of those labyrinthine valleys, never to return in his supernatural form. And in the settling snow, Soraeus left The Name of The Snows, and The White Ossiah returned to Palenthean stars, or the deep snows, or wherever gods truly reside.
Soraeus returned to her Aeorae Clan, and they rejoiced at the miracle of her return. The Name of The Snows had kept their princess alive, so they carved more pendants, and even monuments, hidden in deep caves—hallows to the divine name. This was their god now, held high above the dragon who could not save them from a deadly storm.
So they sing, in the Secret History of The Sers, that The Name of The Snows returned when Soraeus sung for him. That they met, again, and met again. Whenever he could find her in those valleys where so many foreign animals, and even foreign gods cannot find their way. Singing to one another, they fell fast in love. And some years coming and going, she bore a half-divine son. Prince Makatus, who would name his clan Ser.
So they call Soraeus, Snowmother, and Soraeus Mother of The Sers. For all the red-eyed Sers who rule The Boreal are of her line, and all the red-eyed Sers who rule The Boreal may call The Name of The Snows their greatest grandfather, for he was father of Prince Makatus, who first tamed The Seroon. And the Seroon is a great wolf with bat's wings, we know. And the Ser clan rode on these flying beasts, who know no labyrinths, and only sky. And the Ser tribe rode on these Seroons, out of the valleys, never to return to the kingdom of Okzelkal.
But that is more history. And this is only a verse.

depicted here is the imperial map. the northern mountains are northwest of the red boreal, inscribed: "rrūmas'zelkal" - the mountains of okzelkal.

the cover depicts soraeus ser of the boreal, who begets his name from this verse.