The river at night was a quiet, endless stretch of black. The moon hung above, pale and watchful, its reflection trembling on the rippling water. Crickets sang in the trees, and the crackle of a small campfire filled the silence where a family had gathered to rest after a long day of hiking.
Children laughed softly as they skipped stones across the water. Their voices faded when a shadow drifted past the reflection of the moon.
"Papa…" one of the boys whispered, his arm frozen mid-throw. "There's… something in the river."
The father turned, his sharp eyes narrowing. At first he thought it was driftwood. But then pale fingers broke the surface, catching the silver glow of moonlight. His breath stopped.
"Stay back," he barked, already tearing off his jacket before plunging into the icy water.
The river was merciless, the current dragging, but he reached her a fragile body floating face down. With a grunt, he hauled her into his arms, her soaked clothes heavy as chains. She was small, far too small, and cold.
On the bank, the mother dropped to her knees, her lantern casting trembling light across the girl's face. Wet hair clung to her cheeks, black strands streaked with hints of red that shimmered faintly in the firelight.
"Is she breathing?"
The father bent low, listening. A faint exhale ghosted against his ear weak, but there. Relief swept through him. He laid her down, covering her with his jacket.
Then the mother's gaze fell lower, to the torn fabric of the girl's skirt. She froze.
"The mark…" Her voice cracked as she pressed trembling fingers to the girl's thigh, where a birthmark shaped like a crescent moon marred the pale skin. Her own mother's mark the same one passed through blood.
Her hand trembled as she brushed the wet hair back. And under the lantern's glow, the girl's eyes fluttered open. Not brown. Not black. But green. Deep, fierce, forest-green, glowing like emerald fire in the night.
"No…" the mother whispered, tears filling her eyes. "It can't be… She's ours..."
The girl's lips parted, raw and hoarse. "Don't… hurt… me…"
The words pierced the night.
The father's throat tightened as he pulled her into his arms, her fragile body trembling like a leaf. Her skin bore bruises, lashes of cruelty. Even when covered with warmth, she flinched from every touch, as though pain had taught her to fear kindness.
But beneath her fear, the faintest hum stirred. A hidden vibration, tucked away in the rags she wore, something only she knew. Her secret, buried deep.
And as the river swallowed the last of the night's silence, the family realized this child carried not just scars, but a story that could change everything.