Archer weaved his way through the houses. His heart pounded in his chest. He was so close to reaching the outside. He needed to move quicker. There wasn’t much time. After the clatter he made in the house, it was only a matter of time before the guards were on his back.
The large log gate loomed over him. He looked to the wheel that would raise it. Quickly, he thought. He darted to the wooden wheel. He just needed to get the gate up a notch. And then he would be free from the confines of the Hunter tribe. And if he got free, he could save his friends, Naomi and Eren.
Archer clenched his teeth together as he struggled to bring the wheel towards him. The gate rose slightly from the ground, but not enough to let Archer escape. He pulled on the wheel again. It was impossible. It wouldn’t give no matter how much he tugged.
He abandoned the wheel and ran again towards the secret exit. He slid behind a house, crouching low to the grass. Torch light filled the alleyway. Feet pounded against the grass but didn’t turn into the path. He felt relief, but only for a quick moment. He had to move. He couldn’t stay here forever because soon they’d see he didn’t escape through the front or back entrance.
House after house passed him by. The closer he got to his goal, the more he relaxed. His hand tapped against the wall, searching for the escape path. It didn’t take long to find it. He pushed against the hallowed out wall, sliding through it with ease. As soon as he stood up, he leaned against the wall. He was finally free.
“Archer, you’re not supposed to be out here,” the familiar voice of Riven said. He wore leather armour and had a sword on his hip. He was a guard now. Archer had forgotten about that. A nervous feeling tugged at his stomach. It felt like butterflies floating around.
Archer swallowed hard. He looked Riven in the eyes. “You’d rather me be held captive by my family and tribe and that monster?” Archer hissed.
Riven’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Riven sounded the horn, cutting off Archer as he was saying, “No. No. Don't do this!” He sunk to the ground in defeat. Riven grabbed Archer by the elbow and dragged him to his feet. A few guards turned around the corner.
“I hate you.” Archer pushed Riven away from him and ran. He knew the attempt was futile, but he would rather have anyone else strike him down than the person he loved. A hand descended on him, gripping his shirt tightly.
“Hello, boy,” it said in that unearthly voice.
Archer swallowed the fear down inside him. “You’ll never win,” he said before the monster knocked him out.
===
Archer paced restlessly across the confines of his room. The attempt to escape proved how useless his endeavour would be. He might as well accept his fate of suffocating in the monotony that held him captive. He sat on the edge of his bed, casting a longing gaze at the vigilant guards outside his window. Sit, stare, or walk. The only options he could do in what was once his room. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.
He leaned back, falling into his bed. It brought little comfort. He thought of his equine companion. He closed his eyes, imagining the exhilaration of galloping through open fields, the wind tousling his hair in a playful dance. The absence of that wind echoed the void in his confined world. Yet, what he missed most was the freedom to wander, to chart his own course through the vast expanse beyond these suffocating walls.
Archer sat up abruptly, the monotonous rhythm of his foot tapping against the old wooden floor, resonating like a heartbeat in the silence of his room. As he considered Naomi's anguish at being separated from Baartholomew, he couldn't help but empathise. Unlike Naomi, he had the fortune of steering Sheila away before she could succumb to any rash decisions. The knowledge that his horse was safe brought a modicum of comfort, a luxury denied to Naomi.
Wistful thoughts of them—Baartholomew and Naomi—loomed heavy in his mind. He longed to see them, to break the oppressive solitude that enveloped him. This prison would be better if they were here, but he supposed that is what made it a prison. It wouldn’t be much of one if he could see his friends.
The door swung open, revealing one of the two people Archer had prayed never to encounter again after last night. His eyes locked onto the approaching guard, a simmering glare etched across his face. As the intruder drew near, Archer felt a surge of frustration and resentment. He longed to voice his anger, to unleash the pent-up words building within him. Yet, as he opened his mouth, he hesitated. What could he possibly say? The very mention of their name felt like a bitter taste on his tongue.
A tumult of emotions churned within Archer. If it weren't for what they did last night, if their shadow hadn't cast darkness over their lives, Sha'al wouldn't have captured Naomi, Eren, and him. Instead, they might have been seeking refuge in the welcoming arms of the Fisherman tribe, far removed from the clutches of the Hunter tribe's malevolence.
Archer resumed the rhythmic tapping of his foot against the unforgiving ground. Each repetitive thud echoed in the stifling silence of his room. He waited, the anticipation thick in the air, for the guard to unleash whatever news or commands he carried. Yet, deep down, Archer knew that no words from the guard's mouth could provide solace.
“You're requested to come down for supper.” The words flowed like honey, a familiar melody from a time when sweetness held a different meaning for Archer. His gaze reluctantly ascended to meet the guard. Silky blonde strands cascaded from the crevices of the helmet, revealing eyes of mismatched hues—blue and green. As the guard removed the helmet, Archer's heart betrayed him, its rhythmic thud echoing the conflict within. There, before him, stood the person who once spoke words of tenderness. The desire to reach out, to forgive the traitor, pulsed through him. Yet, a solemn reminder held him back—any absolution would be a betrayal to Naomi and Eren, a compromise he couldn't afford to make.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The thin lips of the guard curved into a sad smile, their eyes mirroring the pain etched across Archer's face. "Archer—" A tentative hand reached out toward the boy. "I'm sorry."
Those words, long-awaited, tugged at Archer's heartstrings. A week of confinement in this stifling room, with sentinels stationed outside his window to thwart any more of his escape attempts. A few weeks devoid of his friends' presence, marred by the recurrent appearance of the one who had betrayed him. His fists clenched, and his brows furrowed as the weight of the apology settled upon him.
“I am not the one you need to apologise to,” Archer ground out through gritted teeth, his voice laced with the bitterness of betrayal. Even though you did betray me, Naomi deserves it more.
Archer strode past the boy he had once loved, purposefully colliding with their shoulders. The action, though painful, was a necessity.
The torch-lit corridor stretched ahead, flanked by an array of guards, their watchful eyes fixated on him. A mirthless chuckle bubbled up from within Archer. The monster held him, Naomi, and Eren captive, treating them as if they were colossal threats. Three teenagers pitted against an ancient power, yet the absurdity of the situation was not lost on him. Perhaps the monster was nothing more than a farce, a theatrical display devoid of true menace. The grand exhibition of power at the Elka tribe's feast might have been nothing but smoke and mirrors. Sha'al, it seemed, possessed no proper bite—a mere cat toying with a mouse.
There stood Sha'al, an ominous presence awaiting Archer at the head of the dining room table. To his right sat Archer's mother—if he could still call her that—pledged in loyalty to the chief, now a betrayer beside the embodiment of the monster who wore the chief's face.
"Come, sit next to me, Archer," Sha'al beckoned, gesturing to the seat on his left. His voice, almost human, retained a lingering screech reminiscent of the haunting echoes Archer had heard by the fire.
Archer met Sha'al's gaze head-on. Though fear surged within him, he forcefully quelled it. "I will not sit next to someone who holds me and my friends captive."
With deliberate defiance, Archer yanked the furthest chair away from the table, the metal bits on its legs scraping against the floor. A triumphant smirk played on his lips, well aware that his act of resistance irked the creature. It was a small semblance of power, a way of provoking something incapable of retaliation. Yet guilt gnawed at his stomach as thoughts of Eren surfaced. Sha'al might be powerless against Archer, but the torment he inflicted on Eren was a haunting reality. Archer vividly recalled the gleeful expression on Sha'al's face as he returned from torturing Eren, relishing every detail of the suffering he had caused.
Sha'al pounded his fists against the table, the force reverberating through the room. "You'll rue this day, just as you have the ones before. The more you resist, the more excruciating your suffering will be when the time comes for me to feast." With a menacing aura, Sha'al impaled the piece of meat in front of him with his fork, refraining from cutting it. Instead, he lifted the sizable portion to his mouth. Archer winced as the succulent juices dripped down Sha'al's chin, staining his grey beard. The grotesque scene lingered in the air, a visual reminder of the malevolence that governed the dining table.
A plate adorned with a salad materialised in front of Archer, compelling him to redirect his attention toward the origin of this unanticipated gesture. Unsurprisingly, it emanated from the one individual Archer found even more irksome than Sha'al himself.
"We surmised that those herbivores might have accustomed you to their dietary predilections. Consequently, we've prepared a salad for you," Sha'al remarked, his voice resembling the sinister hiss of a serpent.
"They consume meat," Archer remarked, dragging his fork through the salad leaves. "You seem to overlook the abundant plains they inhabit." With a deliberate motion, he crushed a tomato beneath his fork, lifting it to his mouth. His mother's scrutinising gaze and Sha'al's watchful eyes bore into him. Undeterred, Archer proceeded to devour the assorted greens in a semblance of peace. Each encounter with a tomato was met with the force of his fork, as if he were obliterating an insignificant obstacle. Yet, with every crush, his mind couldn't help but conjure images of Sha'al meeting a similar fate.
Having finished eating the salad, Archer set his fork down and stood up, his gaze piercing past Sha'al as he fixated on the door. If only he could reach it, move with swiftness, or command the power of fire – then escape would be possible. In his mind's eye, he envisioned urgently calling for Sheila, rescuing his friends, and forewarning Sienna of the looming danger. Turning away, he proceeded to his room, where he would remain in seclusion until summoned for breakfast the following day. The guards stationed along the hall bore their watchful eyes upon him again. Their scrutinising stares penetrated deep into his core.
The white-painted door slammed shut behind Archer with a resounding thud. Leaning heavily against it, he sank to the floor. His nails dug into the palm of his hand, drawing blood. Uncharacteristically grateful for Sheila's obedience, Archer couldn't shake the haunting certainty that Sha'al, in retaliation for her defiance, would eventually compel him to consume the mare. Witnessing his mother's horse lose her ability to be ridden had been harrowing – Sha'al had ruthlessly forced her to break her leg. Despite Archer's attempts to mend it, the monstrous intervention left it healing incorrectly. Such was the monster's modus operandi – a relentless campaign of destruction to render everyone feeling diminished. After every meal with the creature, Archer found himself diminished, a shadow of his former humanity.
Sha'al's malevolent influence extended beyond mere physical harm; it seeped into the minds of both people and animals, rendering them feeble as he amassed strength. Archer keenly grasped that subjecting Sheila to the same fate would rob him of one of his cherished friends. Sheila was indispensable; her loyalty was unwavering, and she could be relied upon to carry the urgent message to the Fisherman tribe, alerting Sienna to the dire circumstances unfolding in Sha'al's sinister grasp.
The longing for Sienna tugged at Archer's heart. Her distinct black and white hair, perfectly split, served as a poignant reminder of the people he couldn't see while ensnared in this captivity. The blame rested squarely on the shoulders of that insidious guard. It was their treacherous revelation that exposed Naomi's location upon their arrival in the Hunter tribe. This guard, the sole keeper of the plan, had paved the way for Sha'al to discover them. The very person Archer had fallen in love with had proven to be the harbinger of betrayal. Amid the suffocating reality, he erupted into a maniacal laugh, the bitter irony of it all becoming too much to bear.
The guard, indifferent to the weight of shared memories, dismissed those precious moments as inconsequential. While they uttered the longed-for apology, the words that Archer had yearned to hear since the very betrayal, an agonising pain seared through him. The act of the guard handing him a salad was inconsequential; what truly mattered was the profound sense of betrayal and deceit. Archer felt a surge of frustration at the calculated events, especially when the traitor deliberately removed their helmet during the apology. It was a strategic move, revealing the face Archer had kissed the night before heading to Elka, a calculated gesture aimed at coaxing acceptance of the apology.
Life wasn't fair. Sha’al had snuffed out the vibrancy of Eren's home, stolen Naomi’s sanctuary, and tainted the minds of those Archer cherished. It wasn't fair, Archer reiterated in his mind. Amidst the injustice, one thing became glaringly evident to him: he needed to reach the chief of the Fisherman tribe before Sha’al could strip her of something precious.