Marked by the Moon Tyrant

I woke to the thin gray light of dawn pressing through the cracks in the cabin walls. My teeth still chattered from the river crossing, but the night's panic had dulled into a heavy ache in my limbs.

I sat up slowly, rubbing at the raw skin on my arms. Everything hurt. My feet were numb. My throat felt tight from breathing cold air for hours.

But I was alive.

Alive in a timeline where I wasn't yet claimed, caged, or condemned.

I pushed myself to my feet and peered out a narrow gap in the wall. Mist clung to the marsh, thick and quiet. No torches. No riders. No sign of pursuit.

They must have turned back before reaching the water.

Good.

I wrapped my arms around myself. First priority: warmth.

Second: food.

Third: find a place to hide long-term.

In my first life, I survived on fear.

In this one, I needed strategy.

I stepped outside, careful not to snap the rotting wood under my feet. The morning chill cut straight through my damp clothes. I scanned the treeline, listening.

Only birdsong.

I crouched beside a patch of tall grasses, searching the ground for anything useful. A few edible roots still grew here. I dug some up, wiped the dirt off, and forced myself to eat slowly.

My stomach twisted-too much tension, too little food-but I needed the strength.

When I finished, I wiped my hands on the grass and stood.

The kingdom was huge. Draven's men couldn't search every corner, not for one runaway girl. But they'd sweep the roads, the villages, the riverbanks.

I needed to disappear where no one would think to look.

The eastern mountains.

Abandoned wolf lands.

No patrols. Few travelers. Dangerous terrain-but safer than Draven.

My heart hammered at the thought of him.

The coldness in his eyes as he put a blade through me.

The flat, emotionless way he said, "Traitors don't get second chances."

I swallowed hard.

"I'm not giving you a first one this time," I whispered.

Wind stirred the marsh grass. Somewhere distant, a raven cawed.

I stepped back into the cabin, grabbed a long fallen branch to use as a walking stick, and tightened the torn edges of my nightshirt into knots at my waist.

It wouldn't last long. I'd need clothing, supplies, anything I could scavenge.

But for now, I moved.

One step out of the cabin.

Then another.

Then deeper into the marsh, towards the one future I refused to repeat.