"Legends are nothing but lies we tell ourselves to survive."
The words pounded in Evanna's head as she glared at the rickety stage in the village square. Briarmoor had always been a quiet place, nestled too close to the Wildlands for comfort but far enough from the kingdom to be ignored. But today, it was anything but quiet.
The entire village had gathered, their hushed murmurs swirling in the crisp air as if the forest itself was listening.
"It's nonsense, I tell you," Evanna muttered under her breath, tugging at the frayed hem of her only good dress. The pale blue fabric was barely presentable, but it was all she had. Her mother's anxious hands had tied a ribbon into her unruly auburn hair, but even that felt like a noose.
"You have to go," her mother whispered, clutching Evanna's arm. Her knuckles were white, her voice trembling. "You know what will happen if you refuse."
"What will happen is the same thing that's happened every year!" Evanna snapped, though she kept her voice low. "They'll pick some poor girl, send her off into the Wildlands, and we'll never hear from her again. It's a death sentence!"
Her younger sister, Lyra, peeked out from behind their mother, her wide eyes filled with fear. "But if no one goes... won't the beasts come for all of us?"
Evanna crouched down, taking Lyra's small hands in hers. "Don't believe those stories, Lyra. The beasts don't care about us. This 'Choosing Ceremony' is just a way for the elders to keep us scared and obedient."
"Evanna!" her mother hissed, glancing around. The villagers were already casting nervous glances their way. "Please, don't make this harder than it already is."
Evanna sighed but didn't argue further. Her family had already lost too much. She wouldn't add to their burden—not tonight.
---
The ceremony began as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. A wooden stage had been hastily erected in the center of the square, its surface creaking under the weight of the village elder and the relic.
The relic was the centerpiece of this grim tradition: a jagged shard of crystal, dull and lifeless except on this one night. It was said to belong to the Beastlord himself, an offering he had left behind centuries ago.
"The Beastlord protects us from the Wildlands," Elder Marcus intoned, his voice heavy with gravitas. "But his protection comes at a price. Each year, a bride must be chosen to appease him. This is the way it has always been. This is the way it must be."
Evanna crossed her arms, her jaw clenched tight. The words were the same every year, a rehearsed litany meant to justify their cowardice.
"Step forward, ladies of Briarmoor," Marcus commanded.
One by one, the eligible young women of the village stepped onto the stage, their faces pale and drawn. Evanna hung back, her feet rooted to the ground.
"Evanna," her mother urged, tears glistening in her eyes. "Please."
With a muttered curse, Evanna forced herself to move. The wooden steps creaked beneath her weight as she joined the line of trembling girls.
Marcus raised the relic high, his bony fingers curling around its jagged edges. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, a faint glow began to emanate from the shard.
The crowd gasped.
Evanna frowned. The relic's glow was weak, pulsing faintly like a dying heartbeat. She almost rolled her eyes. So much for ancient magic.
But then the shard flared brighter, its light narrowing to a single, piercing beam. The light stopped on Evanna, bathing her in an eerie glow.
"No," she whispered, taking a step back.
"It is decided!" Marcus declared, his voice triumphant. "Evanna of Briarmoor, you have been chosen as the Beastlord's bride!"
---
The aftermath was chaos.
"No! This isn't fair!" Evanna's voice rang out as she stormed off the stage, the crowd parting like waves before her fury. "This is ridiculous, Marcus, and you know it!"
"The relic chose you," Marcus replied, his tone unyielding. "This is not for you to question."
Evanna's father stepped forward, his face ashen. "Elder, surely there's some mistake—"
"There is no mistake," Marcus interrupted. "The light does not lie."
Evanna whirled on him. "The light is a trick! A parlor trick you've been using to justify this barbaric ritual!"
"Evanna, stop!" her mother pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "Please, don't make things worse!"
Evanna's voice softened, but her anger did not fade. "I'm not afraid to go. But I won't go because of some glowing rock."
"Then go for your family," Marcus said coldly. "If you refuse, the beasts will come. You know the price of rebellion."
Silence fell over the square. Evanna's defiance faltered as she looked at her family—their faces etched with fear and despair.
"I'll go," she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "But not because of your stupid relic. I'm going because I don't want Lyra growing up in a burned-down village."
Her words hung in the air as the villagers whispered among themselves.
---
That night, Evanna sat alone in her small room, staring at the meager belongings she had packed for her journey. A single candle flickered on the table, casting shadows that danced across the walls.
Her mother had tried to speak to her earlier, but Evanna had waved her off. There was nothing left to say.
As sleep finally claimed her, the dream came.
She stood in a forest, its trees impossibly tall and ancient. A cold wind whispered through the leaves, carrying with it a sense of dread.
Ahead, a great beast emerged from the shadows. Its fur was black as midnight, its eyes a brilliant gold that seemed to pierce through her very soul. There was sadness in those eyes, a sorrow so profound it made her chest ache.
"Who are you?" Evanna whispered, but the beast did not answer.
It stepped closer, its massive paws silent on the forest floor. Then, as it loomed over her, it opened its mouth—not to roar, but to speak.
"Come," it said, its voice low and mournful.
Evanna woke with a start, her heart pounding. The candle had burned out, and her room was plunged into darkness.
"Come," the voice echoed in her mind, and for the first time, she felt a flicker of fear.
---
The ceremony was over, but the nightmare was just beginning.