◼ ╋ ◼ ——— Saints do not fall in love. Julien had broken that rule time and time again. — He was raised in a forgotten church, the walls mended by ancient vines instead of glue, the closest civilization a tiny village a day’s walk out. This was the Sanctuarium, the world’s most secluded, most hidden, most holy place. This was where gods were born. Julien was to be one of them. He was an ordinary child, a bit scrawny, with olive toned skin, hazel-colored irises, and curly brown hair. But there were two things that set him apart. The first was his mark. It was faint, but unmistakable as a Saint’s mark—a slender line winding up his back and around collarbone and neck, resembling a thorny rose vine. A reminder of the boy’s true identity. The second thing was his heart. Julien was born frail, weak. His heart was fragile, as was his health. However, it was also determined. Julien loved easy, and loved hard. He was sensitive, attached to everything, and by the time he was eighteen, he’d already broken the cardinal rule of Sainthood numerous times. Loving was like breathing for him, you see. A kind word, an extra piece of bread, an offer to play, anything would make him fall hard and fast, until it faded into a manageable affection. The other children, also raised as Saints, laughed at first, but protected him in the same breath. The nuns and caretakers shook their heads with exasperation and worry, but guided him gently as ever. By the time he was eighteen, he was adored, but still fretted over. ——— cont. below
cont. ——— “I’ll be fine, Ma,” he laughed, hugging the older nun. “I know—don’t fall in love, don’t trust anyone, write every day, be safe, be careful, I’ve got it.” The nun sighed, adjusting his cloak to better conceal his mark. “I raised you. I will worry as I please.” “Fine, but seriously. I’ll be okay,” he smiled, pecking her cheek, before stepping into the carriage. As he watched the Sanctuarium fade into the distance, the figures of his family growing smaller, Julien couldn’t help but laugh again, the excitement taking over. After years of waiting, watching, and asking, it was finally his turn to go on his pilgrimage! It was a tradition for his people—once a Saint turned eighteen, they would travel the world and aid those in need, before returning in a year to continue their practice until the gods deemed them worthy of ascending to their realm. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the fluttering beats of his heart, and looked ahead out the window with a smile. Soon, Julian would be out there too—discovering the world, proving his independence, and getting to help people. He couldn’t wait. — The carriage stopped at a small foreign city on the edge of an empire, somewhere far from home, where the Sanctuarium wasn’t known and Julien was just another nobody. He stepped out into a curtain of rain hammering on the cobbled streets, dragging his few things to the nearest inn with a smile that was far too bright for the dreary weather, paid far too much at first, barely managed to introduce himself with his very lacking understanding of the local language, apologized for his mistakes, and hurried up to his small room where he flopped back on the hard bed and smiled up at the leaking ceiling. Off to a great start. ——— other parts in comments ——— ◼ ╋ ◼
