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	Chapter 2 - The Past (Part I)
	12,000 years ago, a brave warrior known only by the name Saint sat atop a hill, gazing down upon a sunlit valley. The valley in question was a wondrous sight to behold, with trees of a green which could never be seen in the world we live in and flowers which could rival even the most beautiful ones of our time. Even the sky was not simply a pale blue, it was a vibrant, energetic shade of deep turquoise, but more importantly, it was alive. The whole world was alive. Standing out the most from these many factors though, were at least 50 hills of varying heights which still all seemed perfectly in tune with each other. As if they were somehow sensing that there was to be an immense battle taking place, they seemed to drift apart, creating a space which was the same size as it had been at any other time and as it ever would be, but from the distance he was at, only Saint could see that the land was preparing itself for battle. Even the earth must play its role in this fight if he was to win, and it was quite obvious that the earth and the skies were on his side. Saint was a warrior, unmatched throughout the land. Day upon day, he would receive challenges from daring young fighter, each one hoping to claim his title. None of them wanted it, thought Saint. There were times when even Saint didn’t want it, and now was one of them, but he had to push that thought out of his mind. He had to succeed with this task. His Last Task. He knew exactly what he had to do, he knew the severity of the consequences if he were to fail, and most importantly, he knew what he had to give up if he were to succeed. Despite all this, despite all the pressure that would have crushed any other man, He sat calm, unmoving, confident atop the hill and concentrated on the task at hand. He took a deep breath and cleared his thoughts, before reaching down to his waist, where his sheath hung, and drew his sword. It was a fine weapon, no more than 10 inches long, and incredibly sharp. Its potential in the hands of the right person was phenomenal. This sword was especially unique, because Saint had created it himself, along with 11 other proud weapons. Each day Saint would connect with his sword, picture it in his mind, every single detail, the pattern, the length, the weight, the texture of the handle and many more factors in a sword which even the most experienced in swordsmen would overlook. Saint held the sword out in front of him and swung it around in a figure-of-8 motion. Each rotation made the air around him seem calmer. Saint was a fighter, he only felt alive when he was using his sword. The grace of each motion entranced him; just the feel of the rhythm he created was enough to quell his inner soul. When he cut through something, it filled him with new energy. It was as if the calm motion of the sword’s movement mixing with the thrill he got from cutting into something was all he needed to survive. He stopped doing the figure-of-8 and started swinging it from left to right, occasionally stopping to jab it into the chest of his imaginary opponent. He would fight daily, whether against a real, flesh-and-blood opponent, An inanimate opponent, or even against an opponent which he created in his mind. He would build an opponent in his minds eye, visualising each and every feature, each attack, and every defence. His opponent swung his sword fast, but not quite fast enough, and Saint managed to hit all the crucial points on his invisible body. Saint tore the sword straight through his invisible opponent and put it back into his sheath. He felt it slide gently into place and turned to face the woods behind him Saint walked forwards until he was only feet from the trees, and whistled loudly. From the trees, he heard a swift galloping and within seconds a glorious white horse was standing at his side. His anisma was called Hester, and he was unique. Where all other anismasti were bound to one animal form, Hester could change freely between forms. His four forms each showed different skills and traits which came in useful during anything Saint needed him for. They were the white horse which stood beside him now, a black-furred wolf, an otter, and his favourite form, a White Hawk. Hester changed into his white hawk form and perched on his human’s shoulder. "Looks like we’ve got no choice then?” he stated. “Sorry Hester, but you know yourself it’s the only way we can stop him.” “Yes, True” Hester responded, his soft voice always gave Saint the encouragement he needed “We had better get started then, there’s one thing we still have to do before this happens” “The prophecy?” asked Hester, even though he already knew what Saint was going to say to it. “Yeah, I’ll probably regret doing it but there’s no hope for them if we don’t” Saint started walking, but Hester jumped from Saint’s shoulder, changed into his Black-furred wolf form, and stood behind him. Hester called to Saint who turned abruptly to face his anisma. “I’m with you” With that, Hester changed once more to his White hawk form and flew off north towards the shack to tell the Shaman Kawoir of Saint’s arrival. Saint waited another minute and started the short walk to the Shaman Kawoir’s hut and got one last chance to admire the beautiful landscape he was fighting to protect. He looked at the trees and at the intense, intricate patterns in the bark. He admired the fine grass, the sweet birdsong he could hear in the distance and the light air, which was diving into his lungs, supplying them with all the energy he needed so desperately. He could make out the hut of the Shaman Kawoir and he hastened his pace. Every second he was moving closer and every second the war grew more imminent.
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