My name is Gwyneth, and I want to be the chosen one.

I practiced those words in my head as I paced back and forth in front of the doors to the council’s inner sanctum.

My name is Gwyneth, and I am destined for greatness.

Too aggressive? I like aggressive. But what if they don’t?

My name is Gwyneth, and I wish to protect the kindred from our enemies.

Subtle. I hate subtle.

I growled and glanced around for something to punch. I’d been waiting for figurative centuries in a cramped antechamber while the council deliberated over the farming dispute some random nobody was raising against some other random nobody. The anticipation was compressing my lungs into fleshy coal, and at this rate they would turn to diamond before I had a chance to present my case.

This was supposed to be my big moment. This was the moment I’d been training for since I could walk, and instead of basking in it I was pacing in a tiny stone box of a room.

Finn coughed lightly. “You okay, Gwyn?”

I whirled around to face my best friend and declared, “I. Am. Fine!”

The look on his face was not as gullible and trusting as I had hoped.

I sighed and flopped onto the nearest waiting chair. “Okay, so I’m not fine. This is my destiny, the purpose of my very existence. This is the moment that eclipses all other moments, the top of the mountain that is my life. This is the culmination of nineteen years of effort. You know the prophecy. You know what this means for me.”

He nodded. Of course he knew the prophecy; he grew up in the same cult I did.

I growled again and sank deeper into my chair. “I keep getting little stabs. Little pinpricks of something unfamiliar in my chest. Intrusive thoughts getting in the way, voices telling me that maybe I’m not the right choice.

“I think I’m feeling doubt. But I hate doubt. The chosen one isn’t supposed to doubt herself. But these little insect voices are gnawing at the inside of my skull and devouring my confidence. What if the council doesn’t think I’m strong enough? What if they think Duncan is the better choice?”

Finn shook his head. “They won’t.”

I waved a hand dismissively. “Obviously. That would be ridiculous, and it’s ridiculous to even consider them choosing her.” I frowned just thinking about it and started picking at the skin around my fingernails. “But that’s my point: this self-doubt thing is ridiculous and infuriating and I just want those doors to open so this damn anticipation can finally end.”

I let out another long, frustrated sigh and let myself sink down from the waiting chair to the floor. I stared up at the ceiling, but it was boring, so I stared at the walls, but they were boring too. Every other minute I looked around the room trying to find something new and interesting to distract me, but after twenty-seven tries I was still unsatisfied.

The council’s stronghold was carved into a mountain, and was arguably just a series of glorified caves. The antechamber to the inner sanctum had stone walls, a stone floor, and a stone ceiling; like every room in the stronghold, simplicity had been incorrectly deemed the best approach.

A few marble pillars and fur rugs attempted to provide variety, and an iron brazier gave light. In one direction, plain doors leading to the stronghold entrance. Opposite, tall doors of local pine carved extensively with images of life in the mountains.

In one carving, a huntress chased deer. In another, an alchemist mended wounds and hastened the growth of grain. There were lots of little markings here and there to represent the different villages in the mountains, but there wasn’t one for my village. It didn’t surprise me that the council had neglected to add our little hamlet. Most people liked to pretend we didn’t exist at all.

I lost interest in the door and returned to waiting.

After several more eternities, the sanctum doors opened. Two agrarian types shook hands and walked out through the exit doors, while a guard nodded for me to enter.

I took a deep breath, collected my thoughts, and strode in to the council’s inner sanctum.

The inner sanctum was much fancier than the antechamber. The room was vast and triangular, two points to either side of me and one in front. At least a dozen braziers lined the wall behind me, and there were more braziers flanking the three marble thrones sitting atop a raised dais in front of me. The ceiling was flat, but blue crystals grew down from the center of the ceiling like a diamond cocoon or a glassy stalactite. Stalagmite? Whatever it was called, it pulsed erratically with faint, cold light.

The council kept two guards on call, one by the door and one by the thrones. They didn’t call them thrones, but what else do you call elevated chairs made of a precious material? The only marble we had was all stored away in the council’s stronghold, because it wasn’t found naturally anywhere in the mountains. At least, not proper white marble.

The councilors themselves sat rigidly in their seats. Their identities were a closely-guarded secret, and when on official business they always wore their thick green robes and white masks. Each mask was shaped in the likeness of a different animal to signify their different roles. A wolf’s head on the right, an owl on the left, and a goat in the center seat.

The guard behind me closed the doors to the chamber, and everything was silent. The council seemed content to wait for me to speak first. I gathered my wits, played over my opening statement one last time in my head, and spoke.

“My name is Gwyneth, and I am the chosen one of prophecy. It is my destiny to protect the kindred from our enemies. I stand before this council that I might be recognized, and given the tools I need to keep us safe.

“Morgan believes fervently that I am the subject of the prophecy. The scholars tell me that the stars are right, and that the signs are clear. The chosen one must stand in defense of the kindred, and I must do so with your authority.”

My mouth and throat were dry, and it wasn’t from dehydration. Getting those words out was a relief, but there was more to come. Statement, interrogation, deliberation, judgment.

The councilors whispered to each other from behind their masks. Too quiet for me to make out, but paranoia kept me from being too optimistic. Panic threatened to infiltrate my veneer of confidence and I acted quickly to suffocate it.

This is my destiny. I am the chosen one. They will see the truth. This is my destiny.

The councilors stood up. Councilor Capra, the goat-masked man, posed the first question. “You claim our people must be defended, but from who? From what? No beast can challenge us, and the kindred are a united community. What threatens us that would call for defensive measures?”

This was one of the questions I’d prepared for. I cleared my throat and said, “The prophecy is very clear about this, councilor. The threat to our civilization will not come from within the bounds of our world, but from beyond it. Our enemies will open the Gates and send their legions through.”

Councilor Ibis tilted her head. The owl-masked woman said, “Your prophecy seems to believe in the impossible. The Gates are broken. Inert. If reactivation was possible, it would have happened long ago.”

“Has anyone tried?” I felt a little smug at the moment of silence my question produced.

Councilor Lupa, the wolf-masked woman, waved her hand dismissively. Her voice was the only to seem affected by wearing a mask, coming out gravelly and warped where the others sounded smooth and clear. “The Gate is irrelevant. Outsiders or no, our world is harsh and there are still dangers. We’ve survived this long by being cautious and preparing for situations deemed unlikely. The question is, what do you offer? We have huntresses and huntsmen, night watchers and attendants. Why should you be treated any differently from them?”

“The prophecy-”

“No.” Councilor Lupa cut me off and shook her head. “Not all of this council thinks your cult’s religion has merit. Explain your value as a protector in material terms, or say nothing.”

I suppressed a growl. Somehow, her calling us a cult seemed worse than me calling us a cult. Most of my arguments related to the prophecy. I was the chosen one, and she wanted me to just ignore that? I took a deep breath and let it out as I restructured the argument in my head. It was difficult to excise mention of the prophecy entirely, but I could change the context of those references.

I said, “Councilor, regardless of your beliefs about the prophecy itself, you must understand that I wasn’t chosen randomly. I am the strongest and fastest warrior at the temple. I am the most determined. The fiercest. I know the most about sorcery, and I have the most adept grasp of its use.” The attendants in the room stiffened at the mention of sorcery. Outside the temple, it was only known through suspicion and fear. “I have been training all my life to lead our people against terrible foes, and I have led other warriors of the temple in combat exercises and scouting missions. None of your guards have that kind of experience.”

She nodded. “A fair assessment. I withdraw myself from further interrogation.” Councilor Lupa sat down, becoming just as stone-still as she had been when I entered.

That was a good sign. Hopefully.

Councilor Ibis put forth my next question. “Appointing a protector suggests there is a need for protection. Heightened militancy will breed fear in the general populace, unnecessary fear if no threat is lurking in the shadows. How do you justify creating that atmosphere? Are you willing to escalate the use of force for the sake of a prophesied threat that might not come to pass?”

Her question threw me. It was an angle I hadn’t considered at all. I hesitated for a moment, but I had to find a counterargument; I was not going to let my destiny slip away from me now.

The councilor noticed my hesitation and pressed the point. “Have you truly considered the consequences of the action you are proposing? Our communities are happy and peaceful. You intend to prepare them for a war that may never come. Do you understand the scars that will leave on our culture? Would you sacrifice the contentment of your neighbors at the altar of your vanity?”

“They’re my people too!” I cried out. “I’m not doing this for my ego, I’m doing this because it’s what I am meant to do. I am the chosen one, which means I have a responsibility to protect us all. If that protection casts a shadow, so be it. I’d rather people be a little more afraid than see them butchered by outsiders. Survival is worth a bit of stress.”

Councilor Ibis made a disapproving “Hmm,” and folded her arms, but inclined her head and said, “Very well. Suppose this threat is real. You spoke of authority in your statement, and leadership in your response to Councilor Lupa. Who would you lead? The mountains hold not the infrastructure to support an army, nor is there a surplus of bodies to form one. Would you recall huntresses and herdsmen to serve, or draft a militia on short notice? Consider the potential disruption to daily life from training time alone.”

My frustration started to ebb a little; this was another question I had a ready answer for. “The temple has an ample supply of warriors ready to serve the kindred. We have the armaments and stores, we have conviction for the cause, and our scholars have devised a schedule for establishing outposts and defenses.”

I stepped forward and made an earnest plea to her. “All I need is your word, and we can start the process of preparing every village for what’s coming. With your authority the temple can begin securing the Gates, setting traps, and building barricades. I can win this fight, but I need your support or the people won’t let us help them.”

She gave no sign of her thoughts. “I withdraw myself from further interrogation.” She sat, and then only Councilor Capra faced me.

I was feeling a little better now. Lupa had accepted my arguments, Ibis seemed open to them if not particularly impressed, and Capra’s first question had been easy to deal with. My destiny was within reach.

The councilor asked, “What evidence exists in favor of the prophecy’s validity?”

I recoiled. “What?!”

He repeated himself and I cut him off halfway through. “I heard you the first time. What do you mean, ‘what evidence’? My entire village believes in the prophecy. It has guided our every action. The prophecy is ancient. How can you question that?”

“How ancient is the prophecy?”

I stood there trying to think of an answer, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know. I’d never thought about it. I started opening and closing my mouth to try and encourage words to come out, but he raised a hand and I stopped.

“Please, Gwyneth, do not mistake my questioning for hostility. I have been to your temple and found it comforting. I have seen your warriors and found them fierce. I do not doubt your faith. I simply find it curious that there are no other sources to corroborate the prophecy’s claims. Perhaps I am misinformed. Let me ask you: have there been any other prophecies or visions in the past few decades?”

I slowly shook my head.

“In all the time since the Gates broke, has there been any activity documented at the cavern Gate?”

I shook my head again.

He spread his hands. “You see why, though I enjoy your village’s culture, I must maintain reasonable doubt at the words of the prophecy. You maintain a personal library, yes? I have heard it is the greatest collection of writing in all the mountains.”

I nodded hesitantly. Greatest might be overselling it, but it was sizable.

“In all the writing you have collected from our time and the time of the fallen empire, is there anything to support the prophecy?”

I found my tongue and started babbling. “Yes! No. Maybe. I… I can’t think of anything specific but there has to be something there. I have hundreds of books. At least a few thousand, and lots of miscellaneous works. I know there’s something in there from outside the temple’s body of work that agrees with the prophecy. There has to be.”

He nodded. “I hope so. I withdraw myself from further interrogation. We shall think on your words amongst ourselves.” He sat, and the council returned to whispering.

My head hurt. I felt exhausted, like I’d run up a three-kilometer cliff. All my practice and pacing hadn’t prepared me for trying to argue about philosophy and practicality with three people who did that every day as their job. I felt like I’d done a good job of representing myself, but it just seemed inadequate compared to all the counterarguments they’d drafted after only a few minutes of thinking over my proposal.

I wanted to go home to my library, curl up with my cat, and read something light and fluffy. I wanted to just not have to talk to anyone for at least a few hours. Instead, I dug my nails into my palms and waited for the council to make their decision.

After a few anxious minutes they stood up again. Time stood still.

Councilor Lupa said, “I vote in favor of Gwyneth’s appointment as protector of the kindred.”

Councilor Ibis said, “I vote against Gwyneth’s appointment as protector of the kindred.”

Councilor Capra opened his mouth to speak, and then the crystal growing out of the ceiling unleashed a surge of light that blinded everyone in the chamber.

When my vision came back to me, a ghost was standing in the middle of the room.

She was ethereal, the space behind her just barely visible through her pale skin. She wore a golden sash over a voluminous white dress, and everything about her outfit seemed subtly antiquated. The ghost had a worn face, and steady eyes. She looked wary.

The ghost woman shook her head at me, then turned to the council and said, “The ancestor spirits have taken notice of this court and have concerns. It is our collected belief that Gywneth and her cultists should not be handed power, and their prophecy should not be respected in this hall. She is not of sound mind, and they are not of sound belief.”

Her voice shook with power, and I stood stiff as the shock washed over me.

The ancestor spirits are the ghosts of the dead, our dearly departed relatives. All ancestor spirits, weak or strong, coherent or mad, take their rest in the crystal Ossuary on the ceiling of the council chamber. They whisper to the council in private, and impart wisdom when asked. But an ancestor spirit only ever appears in person once in a lifetime.

And one had just denounced my faith, my destiny, and me personally. I got angry.

I walked straight through the ghost and whirled around to face her, pointing my finger in her face. “Who are you to make that call? I didn’t hear the council ask for your input, dead woman.”

She glared at me coldly and said, “I am Vesta, oldest of the ancestors. I brought our people from the fallen empire and saved the kindred. I built this council, and I have advised it for centuries. You are a brash, headstrong youth with an arrogant streak just shy of becoming narcissism. Step aside and let the adults talk.”

I wanted to punch the stupid dead woman in her stupid dead face. “You sound like every decrepit, blind bag of bones envious of the next generation. I will not let you take my destiny from me.”

“Gwyneth.” Lupa called my name with enough emphasis to make me turn and look at her, but it wasn’t sharp enough to be a reprimand. “We will hear her case. Do not sabotage yourself by giving her ammunition.”

I dug my nails even harder into my palms, and this time I drew blood. It was enough to give me a bit of clarity, and I reluctantly stepped aside.

Vesta nodded to the council and stepped forward. “My esteemed successors, you know that I only appear when the subject is of grave importance. The ancestors have spoken amongst ourselves, and we do not make this decision lightly. Gwyneth cannot become the kindred’s protector. Her cult cannot become the kindred’s army.

“We have traveled these paths before. It was pride then, and prophecy now. These precautions against violence lead only to an escalation of violence. There is no room for militarization in our culture. Make no mistake; handing such power to the temple would only be the beginning.”

Furious denials and heated accusations tried to claw their way up my throat, but I just barely kept myself under control and fumed in silence.

The councilors looked at each other and hesitated for a few moments, but they didn’t converse. Lupa was the first to grow a spine.

“The girl is strong and devout. I don’t care about the temple’s prophecy, but they would do a great service to our people. I think they’re genuine about wanting to help, and I think Gwyn would make a good protector.”

Vesta shook her head. “There is no need for a protector. There is no prophecy, no threat, no conflict but that which she would bring in blind pursuit of power. The kindred have survived by setting aside the trappings of war. We cannot return to the old ways. We cannot tolerate a new empire.”

I lost my temper again and snapped, “I don’t want an empire, I just want to protect my people!”

The ghost shot back, “So said Aurelius at the Sack of Garac, three months before she donned a crown. Power corrupts.”

I had feelings, but I didn’t have words. There was this burning red ball of hate and fury growing larger and larger, and I didn’t know how to express it. Every word out of her stupid dead mouth fed the fire. She was wrong, but I didn’t know how to prove it, didn’t know how to tell everyone. My tongue was useless. My vocal chords were useless. I was useless.

Vesta returned her attention to the council and said, “You have heard the advice of your ancestors. Please, heed it. Her prophecy is nonsense, her temple is militant, and her temper is dangerous. Do not let her ruin what we have built.”

Then she was gone, and my hands were still clenched fists.

Capra looked down at his feet for a long moment, and then he raised his head and said, “It is with regret that I vote against Gwyneth’s appointment as protector of the kindred.”

It was over. I lost.

I threw open the doors and stormed out of the council chamber before they could say anything else, and I marched right past Finn without a word.

How dare they? How dare they deny me my birthright? How dare they take the word of a ghost over mine?

“Gwyn!” Finn chased after me, calling my name. I kept ignoring him; my strides were longer than his, and he wasn’t the type to run in a place like this.

I picked up speed as I stomped through the long entry hall of the council’s ridiculous little cave. My hatred built with every step, and everything around me blurred into vague shapes and colors: brown below me, slate to either side, and little spots of orange. The ostentatious double-doors leading out of the stronghold were the only thing in focus, my singular objective.

The council’s precious attempt at a door guard turned to look at me as I approached. I shoved him aside and threw open the doors. The hot summer wind greeted me and carried the scent of sea salt.

“Hey!” The absolute idiot of a guard grabbed my arm and I whirled on him with a withering glare.

I got up in his face and growled. “Don’t get in my way.”

He curled his lip with unbearable smugness. “I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

I lost the last of my restraint and took a few steps back.

I reached inside myself, felt that burning core of anger, and shoved it out of my hands as sorcerous lightning.

The guard screamed as crackling red light arced across his body. He sank to his knees and I poured more of my anger into the magic. All of my hatred and fury went surging into the insolent whelp who had dared mock me, transforming into a miles-deep well of pain and suffering that tore into his nerves and brain. I pushed it further, wanting to see him collapse from the pain, wanting to see him suffer like I had suffered, wanting everyone to know my pain. A twisted, toothy smile etched itself across my face.

Finn shook my shoulders and shouted, “Gwyn! Enough, stop!”

The lightning flickered and died, and I stood there numb. All of the anger started to drain out of me, and I stared at the man lying on the ground with a heaving chest and an exhausted, scared look in his eyes. I didn’t know his name.

Finn knelt by the guard and started inspecting him for damages. I waved my hand and mumbled, “He’s… sorcery can’t injure, it just hurts. A lot.”

I didn’t feel good. There was a pit in my stomach, my adrenaline rush had turned to sickly withdrawal, and I just wanted to run and hide and not have to think about what had just happened.

What have I… no, what have they done?

I choked out, “I’m sorry,” and then I started running.

“Gwyn!”

I slowed down long enough to look back at Finn and say, “I just… I need some time to think.” Then I was running again, and gone.