By The Moon's Blade

6. Fleeing the City, Two Years Ago

Faint grumbling in the distance jolts me awake. The sun is nowhere near rising. The hair is standing on the back of my neck as I hear the voices continue.

"Fuck, it's cold out here..." a gruff voice groans. "I swear they're doing this out of spite."

"Why the hell did they need us to go out in the middle of the night anyways?" another man questions.

"Dunno. There's been talk of wolves and ghouls in these parts, but I think it's just their way of punishing us. You did take a leak outside of a second story window."

"Doesn't mean all of us need punishing..." a third voice subtly chimes in.

Who are they? And who are they talking about? Curiosity gets the better of me as I shift silently off of my thin mat on the ground and crawl over to the opening flap of my tent. As I peek open, I see five human men off in the distance, carrying large torches and dragging along a wagon, presumably with supplies. The dim light of the flames flickers on them as their figures get closer to our camp, but I can't quite make out their faces.

I can see that they're all wearing the same uniform — thick brown pants and boots with a blue tunic, adorned with swirls of golden thread that shine in the firelight. They're also each wearing a plain, round golden helmet with an unknown symbol, the details of which are too far for me to see. I have to assume they're Goldstar Kingdom soldiers, apparently not much has changed in the past few hundred years. War is always an option.

Goldstar lies to the south of the Shattered Mountains, and if that map and these loud men are any indication, we're getting close to their territory now. And I don't know what worries me more, the possibility in getting wrapped up in a war for power or being mauled by some unknown beast.

I start praying to the moon that we're hidden well enough behind some trees, or that they're drunk enough not to notice. They continue their banter, volleying teasing remarks back and forth. I keep a small crack in the tent peeled open to keep an eye on our unwanted visitors.

I watch them crest a large hill about two-hundred feet away when a loud crack sounds from the woods down into the canyon below. The soldiers look in our direction and I resist the urge to pull my face away in fear. I keep my eye on our targets and can almost feel their eyes make contact with mine.

"You hear that?" the shrewd one asks, cowering.

The same gruff man I initially heard, the leader of the group, extends a hand behind him without taking his eyes off the forest ahead. He gestures for silence and takes a single step with the torch in front of him. Time stands still and muscles are frozen in place, mine included. After several minutes, the bearded man finally pulls back his torch and turns back in the direction of his comrades.

"Probably just a boar or something. In any case, not much we can do with the swift drop-off. Might as well keep moving, get to a warm bed."

The four others nod their head and they make their way down the hill and out of sight. I wait for half an hour with baited breath, and once I feel like it's safe to exit my tent, I creep out and make a full visual sweep of the area. My eyes have readjusted to the darkness but they still can't see far into the distance.

I take a risk and step quietly out of the tent, the small crunch of stone and dead grass beneath my feet the only sound. It feels deafening hitting the silent wall of air around us.

"Mom," I shout as a whisper.

I repeat this a few more times as I approach their tent and finally hear a racket between my parents. After a few moments, my father steps out of the tent swiftly, gleaming crystal knife in-hand.