Marked by the Moon Tyrant

Dawn crept over the mountains in pale gold streaks, warming nothing, simply revealing how cold everything had become in the night. I woke with a stiff neck, frozen toes, and a deep ache in my stomach that reminded me I hadn't eaten since the bitter berries near the stream.

My throat felt scraped raw.

I needed water.

Even from atop the plateau, I could hear the faint murmur of a stream somewhere below-a thin trickle weaving through stones. The sound tugged at me, a fragile promise in the quiet morning.

I crawled out of the hollow between the boulders, stretching my sore limbs. The air bit at my skin the moment I stepped into the open, and I wrapped my arms around myself, rubbing warmth into my shoulders.

The plateau glittered with frost.

My breath formed pale clouds.

It looked peaceful.

Calm.

As if the world below wasn't searching for me.

As if the Alpha King wasn't scouring his kingdom for a girl he hadn't even met in this life.

I descended the rocky slope slowly, wincing with every step. My feet were cracked from the cold, and the sharp ground stung with each shift of weight. Even so, I forced myself down toward the sound of water.

Survival meant pain.

But pain meant I was still alive.

When I reached the tree line again, the forest wrapped around me in thick, familiar shadows. Pines towered overhead, their needles dripping with morning dew. Moss covered the ground in patches, soft and forgiving.

I listened-long, careful breaths.

No voices.

No horses.

No metallic clink of rider armor.

Finally, I crouched near the stream-a narrow ribbon of icy water running clear over small stones. I cupped my hands and drank greedily. Cold rushed down my throat, shocking the dryness away. I splashed more water on my face and neck, gasping as the chill jolted me awake.

When the dizziness faded, I knelt back and scanned the area. The forest here was denser than the lower woods, full of tangled bushes, fallen trees, and thick underbrush.

Perfect for hiding.

Terrible for travel.

I needed food next. My stomach twisted sharply, reminding me that berries wouldn't sustain me for long.

I scanned the forest floor, searching for anything familiar: mushrooms, roots, herbs. The healers in the castle had taught me enough to keep me alive-but only enough to avoid poisoning myself. They never taught us sustaining survival.

We were pampered prisoners, not soldiers.

I hated that thought.

I brushed it away and moved deeper into the forest.

The sunlight filtered through the canopy in scattered beams. I reached a patch of thorn bushes and carefully pushed leaves aside, looking for edible shoots or berries.

Instead, the thorns bit into my fingers.

I hissed and pulled back quickly, sucking on the tiny cut at my fingertip. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

"Careless," I muttered under my breath. "You know better."

The thorn bush seemed to mock me with its harsh silence.

I stepped around it and followed the stream's edge. Eventually, I found small patches of wild sorrel near the roots of an old oak tree. Bitter, but safe to eat. I gathered what I could and ate slowly-forcing each mouthful down despite the sharp tang.

As I chewed, I looked around again, the hairs on the back of my neck lifting.

Something felt... wrong.

Not dangerous.

Not threatening.

Just... off.

It was the silence.

No birdsong.

No rustling.

No distant cracking of branches.

The forest was listening.

Watching.

I backed away from the stream, senses sharp. The hum under my skin flickered again-soft, quick, like a heartbeat stuttering. Not a shift. Not an awakening.

Just instinct.

I scanned the forest carefully, expecting a rider or a wolf or even a bear to emerge from the trees.

Nothing.

I exhaled, long and steady.

"You're jumpy," I whispered to myself. "Good. Stay that way."

I followed the stream uphill, the terrain growing steeper with each step. My legs burned. My breath grew ragged. But the forest began to sound normal again-birds calling, wind moving through branches, small animals scampering through leaves.

The wrongness faded.

By midday, I reached a cluster of boulders that created a natural overlook. I used the walking stick I'd found in the marsh to brace myself and climbed up.

When I looked down, my breath caught.

From this height, I could see the lower forests where I'd escaped. Tiny patches of smoke rose through the trees-campfires from search parties fanned out across the kingdom.

Draven's riders.

They were sweeping wider today.

Much wider.

I sank to my knees, gripping the stone until my fingers ached.

He was searching harder.

Expanding range.

Sending more men.

Was it because of the prophecy?

Because of the mark?

Because fate still pulled us like invisible strings?

Or because in this timeline, I ran-and he wanted what he couldn't find?

My stomach tightened painfully.

I forced myself to stand.

Staring at the plumes of smoke wouldn't help me.

I needed distance.

Higher ground.

Safe spots.

Food sources.

Escape routes.

And above all-

I needed to stay unpredictable.

I started walking again. The sun began to lower in the sky, turning the forest gold. By the time I found another decent resting place-a sheltered spot under the roots of a massive pine-my feet were bleeding and my arms were scraped raw.

I curled up in the cramped shelter, hugging myself for warmth. The night would fall cold again, but I knew now that the forest's voice changed with danger. I would listen to it.

I would survive this.

I had to.

Draven might have the kingdom, the armies, the power, the prophecy...

But I had something I'd never had before:

Time.

And I wasn't wasting a second of it.