Marked by the Moon Tyrant

The further I moved from the berry clearing, the more the forest shifted around me-trees growing older and taller, branches stretching overhead like protective arms. The air grew colder, the shadows thicker, and the quiet deeper.

Every few steps, I looked over my shoulder.

That disturbed patch of soil haunted me.

Whoever had been there was careful. Skilled.

Not a wandering villager.

Not a child.

Not a lost traveler.

Someone who knew how to move without being seen.

Someone like me.

I didn't want to think about it too hard, so I focused on following the stream uphill again, weaving through brush and ducking low branches. I let my feet carry me while my mind churned.

I had escaped Draven.

I had outpaced his riders.

I had reached a hidden valley deep in the mountains.

So why did I feel like I wasn't the only one running?

After an hour of steady climbing, the trees thinned again, revealing a small ridge overlooking a stretch of forest far below. From this height, the canopy looked like waves-green and gold, stirred by the wind.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to steady the rapid beat of my heart.

The mountain air was sharp and crisp. Much cleaner than the forests near the villages-no smoke, no horses, no sweat from armored men patrolling the woods.

For a moment, it felt like I was the only person left in the world.

Then the wind shifted, carrying with it a faint, acrid smell.

Smoke.

My eyes snapped open.

I scanned the treetops carefully, searching for any sign of fire. It took almost a full minute before I found it: a thin, wavering column rising just above the lower forest line. Barely visible through the thick trees.

Someone had built a fire.

Not in the valley.

Not in the open.

But close enough that the smoke drifted across the mountainside.

My skin prickled.

Riders wouldn't make a fire in a search grid-they were trained too well for that. Only someone stationary or hiding would risk it.

But who built it?

Someone living off the land?

A hunter?

The one who dug near the berry patch?

Someone searching for me?

My stomach tightened painfully.

I crouched low behind a boulder, watching that thin column of smoke for a long time.

It flickered.

Dissipated.

Reformed.

Too faint to be a group camp.

Too controlled to be an accident.

One person.

Maybe two.

My mind raced through possibilities, but none of them felt safe.

I pulled the berry pouch tighter around my waist and slipped back into the forest, careful not to leave a trail. I moved quietly, placing each step with purpose-on roots, on stones, on soft moss that wouldn't betray my weight.

Minutes passed.

Maybe an hour.

Time blurred into the rhythm of movement.

But no matter how far I walked, the smell of smoke clung faintly to the air.

Whoever had lit that fire wasn't far from my route. In fact... the more I walked, the more convinced I became:

They were somewhere in the valley, or just outside it.

They knew these mountains well enough to hide a fire.

Well enough to dig quietly near a food source.

Well enough to linger near my sleeping place without being heard.

The drizzle of fear down my spine was cold and electric.

I wasn't alone.

And whoever else was here was watching the land as carefully as I was.

Eventually, the forest thickened so much that the smell of smoke faded again. I let out a slow breath, then perched on the edge of a fallen tree. The bark was soft with age, covered in a thin layer of moss.

I took out my berry pouch and ate a few more, letting the sweetness calm my nerves. The forest hummed softly-wind rustling leaves, water trickling nearby, small animals moving through underbrush.

Normal sounds.

But then-

A faint snap echoed in the distance.

Not from a small creature.

Heavier.

A footstep.

My hand tightened around my walking stick as I lowered myself quietly off the log.

I crouched, listening.

Silence.

Too much silence.

Then another snap-closer this time.

A branch breaking under deliberate weight.

My pulse hammered against my ribs.

I moved backward slowly, keeping my breathing shallow. I scanned every shadow, every flicker of light between the trees. Was it an animal? The unknown person? A lost rider who'd wandered off a search path?

I didn't know.

And the not knowing made it worse.

The snap came again-then stopped.

The forest froze.

Not a single leaf stirred.

Something-or someone-was nearby.

Watching.

Waiting.

I swallowed hard and backed away until the trees grew thick again, my steps light and silent. I braced myself against a trunk, trying to steady the shaking in my hands.

My breath fogged in the cold air.

I couldn't stay here.

Not with someone stalking the woods.

Not with smoke rising not far from my path.

Not with footprints near the berry patch.

The valley was not empty.

Someone else had claimed part of it.

And the thought twisted deep inside me:

Were they hiding from the world, too?

Or were they hunting something-or someone-in it?

I turned sharply toward the steeper side of the valley, determined to put distance between myself and whoever moved in those shadows.

Hunger forgotten.

Thirst forgotten.

Survival first.

My steps grew quicker, more focused. The forest grew colder and denser with each passing moment, branches reaching low like skeletal hands.

But I didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

Not until the smell of smoke faded entirely.

Not until the forest felt normal again.

Not until my lungs burned and my legs trembled.

Only then-only when the trees around me settled back into familiar rhythms-did I let myself breathe fully.

But even as I rested beneath a low branch, my heart refused to calm.

Because no matter how the wind shifted, no matter how far I walked, no matter how much silence the forest offered...

I couldn't shake the feeling:

Someone had seen me today.

And they wouldn't forget it.