There was a time long ago when war broke out between two nations. Scarcity of resources drove men into desperation, until they turned on each other even for a loaf of bread. People feared that history had repeated itself once more, that blood would be shed again.
The holy shelters gathered more followers, and the hospitals were always filled with patients wrestling for their final breaths. It was not a good time to live, nor was it a time to die. Hunger spread, creeping toward famine, yet little was said about disease. Most likely it stayed confined within homes, when everyone was too afraid to step outside.
There were always loud, sudden bursts of gunfire somewhere. Screams would fall silent after a few shots, then canines would bark down the road along with the voices of men unfamiliar to the locals. Were they sent from the cities, or were they enemies disguising themselves as citizens of the Imperium Nicolaeis?
No one knew. Not a single soul held even a trace of curiosity that might kill them like the cat. There was nothing that could bring them back alive anyway. Dreams were what kept them clinging to the last strand of sanity amid the fears of war.
Able-bodied boys, those who had yet to lose their childlike features, were forcibly conscripted to replace the losses the military suffered at the front. Even older men were dragged from the grasp of their wives and children to serve as cannon fodder, or if fortunate, to remain in tents aiding the injured, all while knowing that a cannonball or worse could land upon their camp.
"Do you like it?" His eyes followed the motion of her finger as it traced the freshly carved piece. It resembled her, almost, if only he had been a little better with the chisel. The wood was still rough along the edges and uneven in its dips, yet to the young lady, it looked complete.
The struggle for survival was everywhere. In the hands of those who held weapons to end a life, and in the hands raised in surrender when caught stealing bread from another hungry soul. All of them trembled. Not one stood steady.
Her eyes gleamed with happiness. A smile curved upward, reaching her amber gaze. She did not look thin. Her skin was still smooth, though not like marble. She was no noblewoman to possess such refinement. Still, she had received a gift from the boy she loved.
It was rare to find a stretch of sky untouched by gray or black smoke. The air smelled foul at times. Bodies were burned, and sometimes even wood was scarce enough that warmth came second to necessity. It was better not to breathe too deeply.
"It's beautiful, ———! It's gorgeous and... and it's amazing! I love it so much. Thank you." She held the miniature version of herself as if it were a precious treasure. Wooden it may be, worth less than a gold coin, yet it was shaped by effort. Nothing could be more priceless, especially when it came from the heart.
So where could one find a place with clean air, a place that somehow felt untouched by the anguish of the nearby towns?
Simple.
Follow the long river, and keep an eye out for towering mountains. They would tell you if you were on the right path. There would be a dense forest on one side and a clearing on the other. A quiet, well-kept town breathed there, unbothered whether a limb was missing or whether a body had endured too much.
There was a farm. A golden one. Wheat swayed in the wind, not yet ready for harvest, stretching far across the land.
The townsfolk often wondered why visitors from other towns or cities had become so scarce. There used to be many who came for a change of scenery, or simply because Tinavel carried a sense of relief that wrapped around those who arrived.
But there was no need to worry. They had food from their livestock and gardens, clean water from springs and the river, and materials gathered from the abundance of nature around them. They could even bask under the sun when the day gave them nothing else to do.
Just like a young man who had spent days and nights carving a likeness of his beloved in the only way he knew. A pair of young lovers who had come to understand their feelings for one another. The daughter of a merchant who loved the carpenter's son. It was not like a tale of an imperial prince loving a goddess. It was not grand, but it was genuine, and perhaps a little foolish.
Everything done in youth is a glimpse of a fool's greatest play. It may end well, or begin in good and turn to ruin, or be born from folly and result in something worse.
Love makes fools of everyone. The greatest drug, capable of numbing even the sharpest mind into stupidity. Yet the way the heart races is something tender in the young. It is innocent. It is pure. It is romance.
How could a mere change in geography shape the lives of thousands so differently? How could one place live in laughter and ease while, just beyond it, humanity unraveled into chaos?
"I made something else too." He sounded happy. The smile lingered, and he brimmed with excitement. He stepped further into the room, retrieving another gift, holding it loosely in his hand.
Her eyes widened. A flicker of joy slipped, as if she had not expected what she saw. "A ring? What is with the ring, ———?" she asked, gripping the wooden sculpture a little too tightly.
It was as though he noticed the shift in her tone. She did not like it. Not what it meant, nor what might follow.
"It's not much. I had a piece of wood left from carving, so I thought I could make an accessory out of it," he lied. He had held his carving tool more carefully when shaping the ring, his hands slick with sweat as he tried to keep them steady. "It's just a ring."
The girl accepted the second gift with a faint smile, but she did not place it on her finger. Instead, she held it in her palm, alongside the small wooden sculpture. It rested in her grasp, waiting for her to decide whether to keep it, display it, or hide it away.
She got rid of it.
The ring.
It should have been silver, or gold. Set with a shining stone that would catch the light.
But this was all he could offer. A wooden piece, shaped by his hands through frustration and devotion.
And now it lay somewhere on a patch of dirt near her home.
Their love was not so ideal after all.
It was as if something had turned against them for daring to be happy while others suffered. As if unseen forces toyed with them for the sake of some cruel entertainment, like the kind of agony that could deafen even the willing to hear it.
What could the carpenter's son do?
Should he make everything out of wood as well?