The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a silvery sheen over the tranquil village of Veridale. It was a serene evening, the air filled with the gentle whispers of the forest. In the heart of that forest, hidden beneath the canopy of ancient trees, a maiden stood alone.

Hair as dark as night, eyes as bright as stars, she stood with a sword in her clenched hands. Under the gleaming constellation of scales in the starry sky, Astrid sought solace and peace from her daily hustle and bustle of the village.

Astrid was a young woman of remarkable determination and hidden talents. She held a sword in her hand, the blade glinting faintly in the moon's ethereal light. Her movements were fluid, graceful, and every strike she executed was executed with precision. She had watched the soldiers at the nearby fort from the shadows, observing their training sessions with keen interest.

But tonight, as she practiced her swordsmanship in the depths of the forest, she knew her skills far surpassed those of the soldiers she had secretly watched. Her gifted hands, honed over countless clandestine hours of practice, held the promise of a future she dared not speak of.

For in the village of Veridale, where Astrid had grown up among the humble cottages and fields of golden wheat, there was an unspoken rule. A rule that dictated the lives of peasants like her: they were forbidden to wield swords. It was a taboo as old as the village itself, a rigid decree enforced by tradition and upheld by the ruling nobility.

So, Astrid practiced in secret, away from the prying eyes of her fellow villagers. Each night, she ventured into the heart of the ancient forest to hone her skills. Her nightly ritual was a dance of defiance and determination, a silent protest against the constraints of her birth.

As she lunged and parried in the moonlight, lost in the rhythm of her practice, Astrid couldn't help but remember the one person who had believed in her potential—a knight who had saved Veridale from marauding raiders when she was just a child. That knight, with his armor gleaming like a beacon of hope, had offered Astrid her first taste of swordsmanship. She cherished the memory, treasuring it like a hidden gem.

A twig snapped underfoot, the sudden noise shattering the stillness of the forest. Astrid's heart raced, and she instinctively tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword. She spun around, ready to confront the intruder, her senses on high alert.

"Who goes there?" she called out, her voice firm and resolute.

The moonlight revealed a figure emerging from the shadows—Marcus. He stepped into the clearing, grinning mischievously, his eyes alight with amusement. Marcus had been Astrid's closest friend for as long as she could remember, her partner in countless childhood adventures and mischievous escapades.

"Well, well," Marcus began, "what have we here? Astrid the Swordsman, practicing her secret moves again, I see."

Astrid couldn't help but smile, a mixture of relief and amusement washing over her. "You scared the life out of me, Marcus."

Marcus chuckled as he approached her. "You're lucky it's just me. Imagine if it were one of the village gossips stumbling upon your little secret. They'd have you burned at the stake for witchcraft."

Astrid rolled her eyes, though there was warmth in her gaze as she looked at her lifelong friend. "You have a vivid imagination, Marcus."

Their playful banter was a reminder of the bond they shared. Leaning against a tree trunk, they both caught their breath.

"So," Marcus said, his tone turning more serious, "why the late-night practice? Planning to challenge the tax collector to a duel tomorrow?"

Astrid's eyes clouded with worry, her shoulders tensing at the mention of the impending visit by the tax collector. "Actually, it's the tax collector's visit that has me concerned. I've heard rumors that they're taking even more from the villagers this year. We need to be prepared."

Marcus nodded in understanding. "I'll be there with you, Astrid. We'll face the tax collector together, just like we've faced everything else in our lives."

Their shared resolve bolstered Astrid's spirits. Yet, as they ventured deeper into the moonlit forest, secrets and determination binding them together, a question lingered in Marcus's mind. It was a question he had long pondered but had never dared to voice until now.

"By the way," Marcus began with a mischievous glint in his eye, "how is it that your mother doesn't know about your nightly excursions?"

Astrid sighed, a mixture of frustration and resignation in her voice. "Who knows? My mother, she's not a bad mother, but sometimes I feel suffocated. She doesn't listen to me, what I want at all. She's always telling me to conform to customs, to be a virtuous maiden. What's a virtuous maiden anyway? Being a good wife?"

Marcus chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. "You know, I'm a pretty virtuous man myself. I'm sure that I'm good husband material."

Astrid shot him a playful glare. "Piss off."

Marcus cleared his throat with exaggerated dignity. "Ahem, I don't recall foul language to be virtuous."

Astrid retaliated by playfully throwing a handful of leaves in his direction. Marcus laughed, their banter lightening the weight of the world for a moment.

"You know, to be honest," Marcus said as they continued their walk, "I think you're meant for much bigger things beyond this village."

Astrid's footsteps faltered briefly, her gaze fixed on the moonlit path ahead. There was a solemnity in Marcus's words, an unspoken truth that hung in the air between them.

This has always been at the back of Astrid's mind. She yearned for the outside world, dreamed of wandering the lands— fulfilling the duties of a knight. But what could she do? She has to help her mother in the village, and as a peasant, the dream of becoming a knight seemed impossible. Even if she ran away from the village, where would she go? 

But before they could delve deeper into that conversation, Marcus suddenly grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Race you back to the village!"

Astrid's eyes sparkled with playful challenge. "You're on!"

And with that, they both broke into a run, their laughter and the echoes of their footsteps filling the forest. 

The following morning, Astrid awoke feeling tired and unrested. It had been a night of fitful sleep, a restless journey through the realm of dreams. As she stirred in her simple straw mattress, she realized that something had troubled her during the night. She had experienced a nightmare, but the details of the dream had already slipped from her grasp, leaving behind only a lingering sense of unease.

Her mother, a formidable presence in Astrid's life, entered her room with a disapproving look. "Astrid, you were fooling around with Marcus again last night, weren't you?"

Astrid sat up in her bed, her expression defensive but also puzzled. "Mother, we were just talking and spending time together. There's nothing wrong with that."

Her mother's admonishment was stern and unyielding. "It's not advisable for a man and a woman to spend time together at night, Astrid. You never know what rumors might arise from such encounters, and you wouldn't want to invite speculation about your relationship. If you're as close as you seem to be, it would be wise to drop hints for him to approach the village elder and seek your hand properly. If not, it's best to avoid meeting, particularly in the middle of the night."

Astrid's brow furrowed in confusion. "Mother, there's nothing going on between us! And we're only 16 years old! Why would anyone think that? What do you mean by that?"

Her mother's gaze remained steady, her voice measured. "You know what I mean, Astrid. And 16 years is a perfectly normal age for this."

Astrid's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. Her mother's words were laden with implications that Astrid had not considered. The notion of marriage and the expectations that came with it were like heavy clouds on the horizon, and Astrid wasn't sure how to navigate the gathering storm.

"We're just friends, Mother," Astrid asserted. "There's no need to worry about such things."

Her mother's expression softened, revealing a hint of concern beneath the stern facade. She placed a reassuring hand on Astrid's shoulder. "I know you care deeply for Marcus, dear. But you must be careful. In this village, appearances matter a great deal. We can't afford any scandal, especially with the tax collector's visit today."

Astrid nodded, understanding the weight of her mother's words. She couldn't help but wonder if her secret nighttime practices and her close friendship with Marcus had already drawn more attention than she had realized.

As Astrid rose from her bed, her mind still troubled by the forgotten nightmare and her mother's admonishment, she couldn't shake the feeling that the world around her was shifting, like the leaves rustling in the wind outside her window.

Dawn turned to noon, and noon turned to dusk. The villagers of Veridale, despite their preparations for the tax collector and his entourage, anxiously scanned the horizon in vain. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the village in twilight, there was no sign of the expected visitors.

The day passed by uneventfully, and the villagers assumed that the tax collector was merely delayed. Such delays were not out of the ordinary, as they had happened before. Nevertheless, a sense of unease lingered in the air, a feeling that something was amiss.

For Astrid, the passing of the day was a welcome distraction from the morning's conversation with her mother. As night descended upon the village once more, she found herself drawn back to the forest, back to her secret training ground. How could she stop her training? It was her passion, her escape from the confines of her world.

With the moon hanging overhead, Astrid resumed her nightly activities, her sword slicing through the air with determined grace. Each strike was a reminder of her dreams, her aspirations, and her burning desire to become more than society dictated.

Her solitude, however, was short-lived. Marcus, as if drawn by an unspoken connection, appeared once more. He carried with him a bundle of wild beak mushrooms and honey, a rare delicacy found only in the deepest corners of the forest.

Marcus grinned as he presented the night's offerings. "I thought we could use a little treat tonight, Astrid."

Astrid's eyes lit up with appreciation as they settled by the small campfire she had lit. "You always manage to surprise me, Marcus."

They roasted the mushrooms over the fire, savoring the rich aroma that filled the air. In the company of the forest and each other, they felt a rare freedom, unburdened by the worries of the world.

As they enjoyed their impromptu feast, their conversation flowed effortlessly, like a gentle stream winding its way through the forest. They talked about everything and nothing, their banter as familiar as the rustling leaves overhead.

Suddenly, a chilling scream pierced the night, shattering their moment of tranquility. Both Astrid and Marcus jumped to their feet, their eyes scanning the forest for the source of the cry.

"Did you hear that?" Astrid whispered, her voice filled with alarm.

Marcus nodded, his brow furrowed. "Someone's in trouble. Quick, cover the flames!" He hurriedly scattered dirt over the campfire, extinguishing the dancing flames.

Before they could decide on their next course of action, the sound of hurried footsteps grew louder. Someone was approaching them, crashing through the underbrush with a frantic urgency.

Astrid's heart raced, and she exchanged a worried glance with Marcus. "Oh no," she murmured, "they must have seen our fire!"

"Run!" Marcus hissed urgently, his eyes wide with alarm. He wasted no time, turning and sprinting back toward the village with all his might.

Astrid, initially startled, followed Marcus as they dashed through the forest, their breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. But just as they were halfway to the village, Astrid abruptly slowed her pace, causing Marcus to glance back at her in bewilderment.

"What are you doing!?" Marcus whispered urgently, his voice tinged with frustration.

Astrid hesitated, a peculiar sensation tugging at her heart. It was as if the wind itself whispered to her, urging her to stay, to heed the call of the forest. She looked up at the starry sky, feeling a connection to the celestial heavens above, as if the stars were bearing witness to her actions.

"They could be hurt," Astrid murmured, her voice barely audible above the night's rustling leaves. "We should help them."

Marcus, his eyes wide with disbelief, shook his head vehemently. "Are you crazy? Don't be stupid!"

Astrid, however, clung to her resolve, her grip on her sword steady and unwavering. "I have my sword, remember?"

Marcus's voice dropped to a desperate whisper. "You can't be serious!"

Astrid's lips curled into a nervous smile, her determination shining through her fear. "I am."

Slowly, she began to turn back in the direction of the scream, retracing their steps toward the source of the distress. Marcus let out a frustrated sigh, his shoulders slumping as he realized that Astrid's decision was final.

"Astrid," he whispered urgently, but his voice was filled with resignation. "Astrid! You're going to get me killed!"

Astrid and Marcus approached their extinguished campfire slowly, their footsteps as light as falling leaves. As they drew closer, their eyes widened with trepidation at the sight before them.

A man lay on the ground, unmoving, bathed in the eerie glow of the moonlight filtering through the forest canopy. He was surrounded by a group of armed men, their weapons gleaming menacingly in the faint light. Their attire spoke of seasoned travelers, and their rugged appearances told tales of countless journeys through unforgiving lands.

One of the men crouched beside the lifeless body, methodically rummaging through the dead person's belongings. He seemed intent on looting whatever valuables the unfortunate traveler had carried.

As Astrid and Marcus watched from their hidden vantage point, the situation unfolded before them with mounting tension.

The man with the scar across his face questioned his companion, "So, did you find the document?"

The man who had been rummaging through the dead traveler's belongings replied, "Hold on... this damned tax collector carries too much with him... Ah, found it."

With the document finally in his possession, the man stood up and pulled down his hood, revealing sharp eyes and cropped hair. He handed the document to the scar-faced man.

Scarface nodded in satisfaction, asking, "So that concludes our deal, yeah?" He exchanged some gold with the sharp-eyed man.

"Indeed," sharp eyes replied, counting the gold. "Our business is done here. Please leave. The fort's soldiers will be here soon. I'll let them know that bandits had attacked our dear tax collector."

Scarface raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Bandits, huh? Are you sure they'll buy that?"

Sharp eyes responded with a chilling certainty, "As long as there's no proof."

Astrid and Marcus exchanged alarmed glances. They had unwittingly witnessed a sinister conspiracy, and it left them feeling helpless. Astrid, despite her initial bravado, now realized that her strength was no match for these armed men, who were, in essence, killers.

Then, one of the men suddenly said, "Wait, I think there's someone here."

Astrid's heart pounded in her chest, and she and Marcus remained as still as possible, hidden in the shadows.

The man continued, "Rats, huh? I'll lure them out."

With deft fingers, the man notched an arrow and aimed it toward the bushes in the direction of the hidden children.

Astrid and Marcus prayed silently that the arrow would not reach them, but their hopes were dashed as the arrow flew straight toward Astrid. She felt her arm being pulled, and she tumbled onto her side.

"Run!" Marcus yelled, his voice filled with urgency, as he helped Astrid to her feet.

With hearts pounding and fear coursing through their veins, they fled from the scene, leaving behind the shadows of the forest and the sinister figures who conspired beneath the moon's watchful gaze.