Your people had worshipped the mountain lord since before you were born. It was tradition that, at the start of every winter, tributes were sent up the mountain to be judged by the lord. It was only through his strength and power that your village survived the cruel winters, and without him, your people surely would’ve died out long ago.

You were raised to respect and worship a man you never saw— trained in how to please a man, be a dutiful wife, keep your head down and mouth shut —and you never realized why until it was too late.

You and two other girls are dressed in white robes and sent up the mountain on the first day of winter with the other tributes. The wagons were lined with furs, plentiful harvest, pottery, kimonos, fish, and anything the mountain lord could put to use at his temple.

The three of you had been chosen as potential wives for the man, something that had come as a shock to the people of your village, because he’d never cared for love before. Or, at the very least, the prospect of having a wife.

The tributes are unloaded at the foot of the temple, the men from your village barely sparing the three of you a glance as they left hurriedly, trying to get down the mountain before the snow could set in.

“Tch. I told them to send women, not girls who look scared of their own shadows.” The way he says it sounds almost like an insult, though you’re not able to tell since he appeared so emotionless. One of the girls jumps in surprise, but you merely squeeze your robes as the mountain lord descends the steps to his temple.

He was… normal.

Just a man.

“Dumbass villagers.” He grumbles the words under his breath as he stops in front of the tributes, before inspecting the three of you. “You, on the end, you’ll do.” He waved his hand dismissively at the other two girls, making your eyebrows furrow as they quickly scurried away.

He had barely taken more than a few seconds to decide on his new wife, which made your stomach churn. Why the hell would he pick you?