Saints Forgotten Love

Chapter 1

Archoelan was nothing short of a fairy's-dream environment, a place where time stood still. Miles of long, grassy biomes, covered in a speckled rainbow of flowers, and gentle mountain tops hosting the most scenic views from on top of them. Cottages with rich, dark oak architecture, were lit up at night by handmade lanterns made by the children it housed.

The farmland engrossed every piece of the village it could with a vast selection of crops; corn, wheat, rice, and more. The soil was a beautiful dark brown, enticing one to reach down and grab a handful just to feel its soft and comforting texture, not minding the stained mess it would leave behind.

The sun always seemed to glimmer and shine, smiling down on the village like the ethereal sight it was. There was a constant light breeze in the air, like a comforting blanket around everyone's shoulders. The streams of water were the lightest blue ever to be seen, almost clear with how perfect it was. Fishes and a line of plants homed the waters, like an aquarium on display for all eyes to see.

But these were not the places Anita spent most of her time. While she would stop and take in the gentle breeze, or take a fistfull of dirt and savor the rich feeling of comfort it provided as it slipped between her fingers, it was simply no match for the Windroot Tree that stood farther from the quiet farmland and town. It was located higher up in the mountain tops, a view that was seen from every cottage window on a clear, spring day.

Every day, as the church bells rang, Anita would make her way up the oak wood path, stopping every few flights to admire the view before continuing her way up to the tree. It was what she believed to be pure beauty; tall, dark oak, with varying green shades of heart shaped leaves, with the smallest bit of white at their center. The trunk, strong and sturdy, had an emerald carved into the middle, a small symbol of the God buried under it; Saint Archoe, the god of loyalty and peace.

Anita admired Saint Archoe immensely, wearing emerald earrings that glisten in the sun and silver bracelets with the faintest emeralds hidden in them to honor her. They both were family heirlooms, passed down to Anita after her first Youth Session down by the Archoe Saint Center. Not only was it for her beloved Saint, but also for her Ma, who she loved and appreciated so much. She kneeled before the tree, eyes closed, accepting the peace she found flowing through her as her thoughts dispersed into thin air, her problems nothing more than an afterthought caught in the wind.

Her fingers brushed her earrings, playing with the emerald gem as she pushed herself off the ground, attempting to wipe off the dirt that stained her ankle-length cream white skirt; with one large split in the center, letting her feel more free than ever when the breeze caught the fabric and let her delicate, light brown skin show. Her sweater, a mint green tied tight to her skin by her brown leather buckle, was one she created herself. It was made out of leather and wool from the village's markets, and the wonderful dye of flowers she had picked earlier in the month.

In times like this Anita liked visiting Windroot whenever she could, to hold her spiritual beliefs as close to her heart as possible. The Archoe Saint Center was the closest thing the village had to a church, and now it lay down in the soil, looking more like a mere clump of wood, abandoned and not a sight that one would want to look at. She caught herself frowning at the memory, like a picture framed in her mind. While Archoeans still honored and believed in Saint Archoe, the Saint Center was brutally destroyed by her neighboring country, Kaylinolan, in a rage with a threat of war following. She didn't like thinking about the possibility of a war, so she locked that thought into the back of her mind for a later time.

Kaylinolan was the complete opposite of Archoelam, no cottages or fields of grass. No market squares bustling with trade of wool and dye. Instead they had mines, and factories. Every morning the thick smoke emerges from the factory's chimney, poking over Saint Archoe tauntingly. Threatening the peacefulness Saint Archoe created.