The girl with two moons

Things don’t always go according to plan and, for some people, it never goes the way that is planned. At a certain moment in time, three hundred years ago, a girl was running from a small group of bandits in a vast forest, far from any village. Dodging around trees and leaping over fallen logs, the girl turned her head to see how far away from her they were, and it just happened to be a grave mistake. The bandits were just a few feet away from her; hot on her trail. Turning her head back to the path the girl was running on, she ran right into a fallen log and fell down. The girl’s blonde hair fell upon her face. The world swam for a moment, the green of the forest blurring into an indistinct haze. Pain blossomed in her ankle, a searing agony that stole her breath away. She gasped, trying to push herself up, but the pain was too intense. Her vision cleared, and she saw them standing above her already. Three figures, hulking and menacing, their faces obscured by rough spun scarves, their eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. They were close. Too close. Panic seized her. She scrambled backward, dragging herself across the rough earth, her injured ankle screaming in protest. The bandits advanced, their movements slow, deliberate, like wolves closing in on a wounded deer. One of them, the largest, a brute of a man with a scarred cheek, raised a hand, signaling the others to stop. He took a step forward, his voice a gravelly rasp that sent shivers down her spine. "Well, well," he said, his voice dripping with a cruel amusement. "Looks like we finally caught our little bird." She tried to speak, to plead for mercy, but her throat was constricted with fear. All that came out was a choked whimper. The bandit chuckled, a sound that echoed through the silent forest. "Don't worry, little one," he said, his eyes raking over her. "We won't hurt you... much." He gestured to his companions, and they moved forward, their shadows falling over her, engulfing her in a suffocating darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the inevitable as a tear silently fell down her cheek. The rough scent of unwashed bodies and stale sweat filled her nostrils. She could hear their heavy breathing, feel their presence looming over her. Then, a voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the air. "Hold!" The bandits froze, their movements halting and limbs hanging. The girl, her eyes still squeezed shut, didn't dare to open them till she realized everything went dead silent. Standing a few feet away, a figure emerged from the shadows. He was tall and lean, clad in dark leather armor, a long sword strapped to his hip. His face was hidden by a hooded cloak, but she could see the glint of steel-grey eyes, cold and assessing. "What's the meaning of this?" the figure demanded, his voice laced with authority. The largest bandit, the one with the scarred cheek, sneered. "Mind your own business, princess. This doesn't concern you." The figure took a step forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Everything concerns me when I see innocent people being held captive." The bandit laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Innocent? This little thief was trying to steal from us." The girl’s eyes widened. Thief? She hadn't stolen anything. She was running, yes, from them, but alas, from someone far worse than them. She was running from something else entirely, something far more terrifying. The figure didn't flinch. "I don't care what she's done. You will leave her alone." The bandit's face twisted with rage. "You think you can tell us what to do?" He gestured to his companions. "Get him!" The other two bandits lunged forward, their weapons drawn. The figure moved with incredible speed, drawing his sword in a blur of movement. The clash of steel echoed through the forest as he met their attack. The girl watched, mesmerized, as the strange man fought, his movements precise and deadly. He parried blows, dodged attacks, and struck with lethal efficiency. In a matter of seconds, the two bandits were on the ground, groaning in pain. The figure turned his attention to the leader, the scarred brute. The bandit hesitated, his bravado gone. He looked from his fallen comrades to the figure, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and grudging respect. "You... you're good," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. The figure didn't respond. He simply raised his sword, the blade gleaming in the dappled sunlight soaked in the bandits comrades blood. The bandit knew he was beaten. He turned and fled, disappearing into the dense undergrowth, abandoning his comrades' torn bodies. The figure sheathed his sword and turned to the girl. He approached her cautiously, his eyes still assessing. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice softer now. She nodded, still shaken. "Yes... thank you." He knelt beside her, examining her injured ankle. "It looks like a bad sprain. Can you walk?" She tried to move her foot, but the pain was too intense. "No." He sighed. "Alright. I'll carry you." He gently scooped her up into his arms, his touch surprisingly gentle. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. He was still hooded, but she could see the kindness in his eyes. "Who are you?" she asked. He smiled, a rare and fleeting expression. "That's not important. What is important is that you're safe now." He turned and began to walk, carrying her away from the scene of the attack, deeper into the forest. The girl leaned her head against his chest, feeling a sense of relief and a strange, unfamiliar warmth. She didn't know who he was, or where he was taking her, but for the first time since she started running, she felt safe. The forest, once a place of fear, now seemed to hold a glimmer of hope.