Long ago, in an isolated country far, far away, there lived a little-known maiden in a little-known village. This was a village of sedentary farmers and their livelihood was at the mercy of the sky and the earth. The maiden was the spiritual leader of the village, a caretaker of the local shrine to their myriad gods. This did not mean they liked her, however. Rather, they respected her out of fear. After all, the shrine maiden was no ordinary caretaker. She did not simply enact rituals and guide prayers; she had true, observable, demonstrable power. For being different, she was an outcast. By being different, she existed outside the laws of man. Being immune, she invited the scorn of the villagers. Yet, they had could do nothing but respect her.

The shrine maiden earned her right to live in the great shrine that had stood in the village since remembering. This was not inheritance through family. Instead, she came to be its caretaker as she bore a mark. This is a mark, known by oral tradition, to be the label of one who would protect the village from certain destruction. So to the village, this shrine maiden was simultaneously both their only hope, and the reason for needing that very hope. Grudgingly, the small village accepted the cost of raising the shrine maiden, knowing she could never be sold, married off: a necessary burden. The family that bore her, in turn, was buried alive to compensate. The shrine maiden would never know of it.

In the village of scarcity, the matter of food was primary. Existence was an everyday struggle against starvation. Every day meant another compromise or sacrifice to ensure there was enough food, especially for the harsh winters.

Large families were maligned; the elderly were considered dead weight; thieves were buried as a family. First sons inherited the farmland and headed the family; following sons were made into virgin slaves, forbidden from having their own young. Worse yet, if the following son could not be afforded or was lame, they were drowned still infant. Daughters were kept to be married off if it could be afforded; if not, they were sold to salesmen from foreign lands for grain. Sometimes, the first daughter was affordable. Subsequent daughters rarely were. Villagers did not often speak of the fate of those daughters sold.

So what was it that so threatened the village so much that, for the sake of feeding this shrine maiden, they would sacrifice their sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, grandfathers and grandmothers? What calamity would convince a grandmother to drown her own grandson for the sake of surviving winter? What illogical, impossible obstacle would persuade the villagers to give away, for no immediate gain, the very commodity of life?
Why, illogical and impossible monsters of course. Fairies, demons, ogres, gods, spirits, and even unknown creatures of foreign folklore: since the day the young shrine maiden had matured from child to woman, these creatures began to trespass into the village. Against creatures that wielded a class of power humans had no mastery over, the village could do nothing—nothing, except to rely on the lone shrine maiden.

With inborn mystical power, the shrine maiden breathed life into the powerless, superstitious rituals that the village preserved through festival and prayer. What was once merely a tradition practiced with blank hopes of currying the mercy of a generous god or spirit, now allowed the violent use of mystic energy. An arrangement of tree branches once thought to provide a way home now revealed the dwellings of ogres. Specific preparations of water and herbs once thought to promote health became the acid to flush out parasites. Even the dance celebrating harvest and the traditional rhythm of the drums became a device to drive away evil spirits. By merely living, the shrine maiden came to know the ways to combat these creatures unimaginable, and did so successfully.

Yet, the more she succeeded, the more coldly the shrine maiden was treated. She was only benevolent rather than malicious. That was all. The villagers came to fear her more. Where once she may have received food in person, the villagers came to offer her food by leaving it in an offertory box. Where once she may have shared a meal with a family or joined in on the celebratory feasts, she now ate in solitude. Where once newborn children may have been brought before her to be blessed, she now became the object of fear—the demon that would come to punish them—that parents used to enforce compliance to the rules.

It was lonely for the shrine maiden but it mattered not to her. Despite their cold treatment, the shrine maiden never thought the villagers disliked her. She loved the village; it was almost all she knew. What little else she knew, was that she had to protect it. Even when she is faced with the reality of a newborn drowned, a daughter sold for food, or the conspiratory execution of a thieving family, the shrine maiden continued loving the village. By existing outside of law, the shrine maiden relinquished her right to criticize it. To do so would trample upon the sacrifices already made to for her.

One day, a god approached the village. Unlike the gods that came before it, this god meant no harm upon the village. It did not mean any good, either. Instead, it was only interested in the shrine maiden. Entering the shrine kept apart from everything else, the god was able to greet and converse with the shrine maiden without the villagers’ notice.

“Shrine maiden of the village of the twisted, brown mountain, what is your name?”

“I am merely known as the shrine maiden. I have never been given a name.”

The shrine maiden has never needed one. What purpose is there to give a name to a completely unique existence? There is no need to give as human a possession as a personal name to a creature inhuman. “And what is your name?”

“A god has no name with a people who do not know of its existence, so there is not a name I can give you. I can tell you, however, that I control borders and boundaries.”

The maiden’s ears could not help but prick up when hearing this. “Does that mean you could close the way allowing those vile beasts into my village?”

“I would not call them vile beasts, but yes, I can. I can certainly lock them out.”

“Please! Please do! Even with my protection, this village has seen much hardship at the hands of those creatures!”

Even with the maiden to do battle and drive off the beasts, a battle would often devastate the crops or even claim lives in the crossfire. The villagers often begrudged the shrine maiden for those incidents, but she knew nothing of that.

“Surely, you will be revered for generations to come for sealing the creatures off! I will make sure of it!”

“It is not faith that I am interested in, shrine maiden. I need no such compensation or reverence. Instead, answer me this: why do you continue to protect those humans despite the savage acts they commit? Despite the distant treatment you are given?”

“That is simple. I am human too.”

“And you believe this, even though the village does not?”

“Without a doubt.”

“And you will insist on this request even if though it will rob you of your purpose?”

“I will learn a new way of life.”

“Very well. I believe the next time we meet; I will be able to give you my name, shrine maiden. I’ll even contemplate a name for you.”

With light chuckle the god was gone, vanishing through a rip in space. The shrine maiden did not know what to think of the god’s final statements, but that wondering was forgotten. The shrine maiden made haste to proclaim the good news. There was much rejoicing and the shrine’s offertory box stayed full for a time.

As time went, however, offerings dwindled. Free from danger, the villagers no longer felt the need to make sacrifices on the shrine maiden’s behalf. She was neither related to them nor could she do farm work: a mere burden. She could not even be sold, for no one dared defile her. And they learned not to fear her, as they found her without the heart to harm them. When the shrine maiden finally came upon starvation for the first time in her life, the villagers averted their gaze, telling her to cultivate her own land, knowing the shrine was built on infertile land.

Inevitably, the shrine maiden came upon the necessity of theft. As unskilful with theft as she was with agriculture, the shrine maiden was caught easily. Found committing the gravest crime known to the small village, the villagers contemplated her punishment. Having no precedent of needing to punish an existence like the shrine maiden, the villagers defaulted to their best practiced method: live burial. Capturing the shrine maiden in her sleep, the villagers dragged her off, skilfully gagged and tied up, to a deep hole that had been dug in preparation. Shovel by shovel, handful by handful, the dirt was piled over the maiden’s body as it slowly covered her body and she was slowly crushed. That was the last the village spoke of the shrine maiden.

As promised, the shrine maiden met the god once more, at the border between life and death, and was invited to join it in the land where others like her lived: the Land of Fantasy.