The air in our small, secluded village hummed with an unusual tension, a stark contrast to the usual festive buzz that preceded the annual celebration. My eighteenth birthday, a day that should have been marked by joy, instead arrived hand-in-hand with a chilling dread.

This year was different. It coincided with the terrifying five-year raid, a grim reminder of the pact that bound us to the 'beasts' from the woods. The thought of it gnawed at me, a persistent, icy finger of fear.

Elder Miles, my combat instructor, had just finished our session, the grunts and thuds of practice still echoing in the training field. I approached him, my heart thumping a rebellious rhythm against my ribs.

"Elder Miles," I began, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands, "I was wondering, with all the training we do, why don't we stand up to the beasts when they come? It's our village. Why don't we protect it?" His gaze, usually so sharp, softened as he motioned for me to sit, and a long-held secret began to unravel.