Prologue

As of 1353, a bubonic plague better known as Black Death has killed nearly half of the population of Europe.

Once upon a time, there was a secluded village tucked deep within the Kingdom of Denmark. That settlement was confined by a dense woodland; so high were the trees that their canopy seemed to swallow the sunlight for their own greed, making it seem as though night had fallen even during the brightest dawn. In that darkness, many ravenous predators hid, waiting for something to fall into their fangs. Because of these singular conditions, no outsider ever reached the village, and no villager ever dared to explore the woods. In truth, a few had ventured out, but none ever returned to tell the tale.

No map ever showed the village — it was like a wasteland God had forgotten to care for.

The villagers had not even named it, because, to them, it was their entire world. They believed they were the only people who had ever existed; and because of that belief, young men and women were constantly encouraged to be coupled. The pressure seemed to grow stronger with each passing winter, as it was the season when most people died. Vegetables and plants struggled to survive the blizzards, the icy winds, and the frost; and when the crops failed, the few cattle they had could no longer be fed. That meant there was little hope for new offspring to survive. People couldn't eat properly, nor could they clothe themselves in warm garments suited for the cold — they ended up dying from hunger or exposure.

These hardships collided like a chain of falling dominoes, continuing until spring arrived; but in that village, spring and summer lasted only about three months. In no time, night would begin to fall earlier, and with it came the tolling of the bell that marked curfew, signaling the inhabitants to retreat into the safety of their homes. Even owning cattle was considered a stroke of luck, as boars, eagles, and foxes constantly invaded the stables at night. Riots would often break out when neighbors stole goods from the poor farmers and ranchers. Hunger grew so extreme that some parents were driven to make the harrowing decision of tricking their children into wandering into the woods to die.

Out of sight, out of heartache.

Life was hard for the villagers. But worse was still to come: one day, wolves began to prey on humans as well. Over time, they started invading homes and feasting on innocent souls who had no way to defend themselves against those beastly fangs. The aftermath was always the same: a bloodbath of the dead, and endless tears from the living. One night, the village’s most influential men gathered and drafted a new set of laws. Early the next morning, in the central atrium, they declared: “Whoever breaks these rules shall be thrown into the forest, into the domain of the wolves, to be hunted down by those godless beasts. May they recognize these sacrifices and leave the rest of us unharmed.” From then on, thieves, rapists, murderers, any criminal of any sort, were condemned to be cast out and left to die in the mouths of those creatures.

In the first months, these measures seemed to work: the wolf attacks became less frequent. The bigger problem, however, was the sneaky foxes and other small predators that kept attacking the cattle. To reverse this situation, the villagers organized themselves into shifts to protect their food supply. Men began crafting weapons so they could hunt the foxes, using their meat for food and their fur for clothing.

It was a tremendous success.

After a few years, the men started raising their children to be little hunters. Every afternoon, it became mandatory for all children to attend classes in the atrium on how to handle a bow and arrow, throw an axe or a spear. Dogs were stationed strategically throughout the village, trained to bark if any inhabitant of the forest crossed the boundaries. After years of training, some children could even outrun a fox and wrestle with their bare hands and arms. The best candidates were scouted to become professional watchers, part of The Defenders.

Mia Hansen was one of them.

Strong, smart and speedy.

Resilient, ready, and righteous.

But Mia was also a girl, and with that came the traits of femininity: luscious, untamed fiery ginger hair; big doll-like eyes framed by thick, curled lashes; a small, round face; and an athletic yet slim build. Her voice was as sweet and fresh as the limpid water of a river to a thirsty wanderer whose lips had not touched a drop in days. It was a fact: among the men, Mia was like a rare flower blooming amidst a field of weeds. She was the only girl among the sentinels, which came as a great surprise, since women were now heavily pressured to have children soon after their first menstruation.

However, Mia’s father was Rune Hasen, none other than the revered chief of the village’s security: when he gave orders, no one dared disobey. Mia had grown up without a mother, raised solely under Rune’s stern watch. At first, he tried to distance himself from his daughter, hoping she would grow closer to her female friends and eventually develop an interest in gentler pastimes like sewing, cooking, the quiet crafts expected of women. But Mia, ever observant and determined, saw through him. In response, she only pushed harder — training in secret, mimicking his routines, learning to wield weapons, to ride, to fight. She did it not just to earn his approval, but to prove she belonged. By fourteen, she could mount and command a horse better than any boy in the village.

By seventeen, Mia Hansen had become an indispensable asset to The Defenders.

In the end, she won the one thing she had always sought: her father’s respect.

And with his respect came the respect of all.

Which brings us to the question…

Why is Mia Hansen now bound hand and foot to the main stake in the village atrium?