For satyr Thepa Warbol, the world of Sainta has been at war for as long as she can remember. Savage beasts ravage the land, and the once-strong alliance of the five nations is crumbling under the growing horde's onslaught. As resources dwindle and c...
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The Chronicles of the Matriarch's Daughter
By: Wilran Stillfond 500 Completions AV
It doesn't matter if one studies history, astronomy, cartography, or even religion, all come to the same conclusion of the world Sainta. It is diverse. It is vast. It is wondrous. From its snowcapped mountains, to its lush forests filled with trees, all who gaze upon its beauty find themselves in a state of shock and awe. Bards sing songs of its glory. Artists paint its landscape in vain, their brushstrokes youngling play against the land's vast canvas. Historians write tales of its splendor, but the wisest scholars cannot fathom its hidden depths. It seems the more one explores Sainta, the more one realizes its wonders are without end.
And yet, as wonderous of a world Sainta may be, its origins are shrouded in mystery, leaving scholars and dreamers alike to speculate on its humble beginnings. Some theorize Sainta's nearest star exerted its gravitational pull, gathering dust and rock from the vastness of space until they fused, growing like cosmic snowballs. Others believe Sainta isn't real at all—merely a dream, a figment of a man's imagination, conjured in a desperate bid to carve a name for himself.
Some may guess, but there is a truth. It was at this very spot I now write, some five hundred completions ago in my snow-covered cabin, where I uncovered the true origin of Sainta. The world I had sailed across for countless generations, the world I had nearly given my life to protect, the world that had given me everything—it wasn't the product of a star's force or a man's delusion. Sainta is created and sustained by a divine being known to all as El.
Once I understood his truth, his truth set me free.
Sainta is more than just a world; it is a reflection of El's heart, a living testament to his boundless creativity, love, and providence. With careful hands, El divided the world into the western and eastern hemispheres, each location reflecting the balance of light and darkness, land, and sea. Mountains rose at his command, their peaks piercing the heavens, while his valleys dipped low, cradling rivers that would nourish the terra for completions to come.
It was El who dotted the oceans with islands, each one a masterpiece in its own right. The oceans themselves were alive at his command, their currents weaving a complex tapestry of life that connected every shore, every island, and every continent. El used his might to filled the waters with fish of every size and hue, from the tiny silver minnows that darted in the shallows to the great leviathans that roamed the depths.
But El's love did not stop just below the surface. He breathed life into the creatures that inhabited Sainta, from the smallest insect to the most majestic beast giving them instincts, desires, and dreams. Each being, no matter how insignificant, had a place in El's grand plan. But it was in his final act of creation, El truly showed love by given Sainta something no other world had seen before or would ever see again: a piece of himself.
In the image of El, the five races were created. The first were the Younglings of the Stars. Elves—majestic and dexterous. Blessed with longevity and wisdom beyond all others, patience became their greatest virtue and reverence for the ancient ways their unbreakable bond. To friend an elf was to friend El himself.
Next came the Younglings of the Plains. Humans—adaptable and intelligent, with a capacity for creativity rivaled only by the creator. Ambition and determination fueled them to greatness, yet, despite their potential, some would tragically turn their gifts toward destruction rather than love.
The third race was the Younglings of the Sands. Galaks—the strongest and most different of all Saintians. Unlike El's other younglings, Galaks stood apart; the backsides of their body covered in fur, complemented by pointed ears and elongated tails. While vast armies of Galaks could conquer the world, their true strength lay not in their muscles, but in their tender hearts and kind dispositions.
Fourth were the Youngling's of the Trees. Halflings—the perfect embodiment of El's playful essence. Childlike in nature and stature, the smallest of all races found joy in all of creation, as if one needed to retain a youthful spirit to fully appreciate the gift El had given them.
Finally, there were the Younglings of the Mountains. Satyrs—El's chosen. Known for their commitment to sacrifice and harmony with nature, the satyrs possessed a fierce loyalty to their own above all else. Their bond with one another was so unbreakable some believe even El himself might have struggled to understand its depth.
El treated each one as his own. Nothing in all of creation would have stopped him from loving any single one of them. Still, despite his love, iniquity plagued them. A power never before seen would slowly pull them apart and into war. The whole lot of them might have died to its devastating toll had El not stepped in.
On one faithful day, hundreds of completions before I was born, El took one of his chosen to save the world from itself. The embodiment of that spirit would eventually become my friend and my sister.
