Part Three
The Wells' Family Legacy
Stepping out of his room, Hunter was immediately greeted with a guard standing in front of his room. Just like Wells had said he would last night, he had seemingly ordered for Hunter to be watched constantly. As Hunter turned to his left, heading for the stairwell near the end of the hallway, the guard called after him.
“Stop! Advisor Wells said that you have to stay in your room!”
Hunter ignored him, continuing to walk down the hallway. It wasn’t until the guard grabbed his arm that he whirled around, using the hilt of his knife to hit him in the head. The guard fell to the ground, clearly unconscious. Then, Hunter continued making his way to the staircase, this time moving a little quicker. He didn’t know what time he had woken up, but judging from the sunlight streaming through the window on the right side of the door leading into the stairwell, it was sometime during the day, meaning that the people of the castle were up and about. It wouldn’t be long until someone noticed the guard that he had just knocked out, meaning that he didn’t have much time to get to Wells’ suite and kill him before the guards caught up to him. He had to move quickly.
Hunter ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time as he usually did. Stepping out onto the third floor, Hunter found yet another guard standing in front of the door with the pine wreath hanging on it. The guard straightened up as he saw Hunter approaching him, his eyes widening as he noticed the knife in Hunter’s hand.
“I can’t let you go in there,” the guard said, his green eyes flashing with fear as he looked at Hunter.
“Well, I’m going in anyways,” Hunter said, reaching out to grab the door handle.
The guard stepped in front of him, resting his hand on the sword at his side. “You can’t go in.”
Hunter turned his full attention on him, squaring his shoulders and looking the guard directly in the eye. Despite his obvious worry, the guard matched Hunter’s movements, though he still had yet to draw his sword. He held his ground, something that Hunter would’ve found impressive if not for the fact that he was filled with anger and on the cusp of achieving a goal he had been harboring for going on eleven years now.
Their silent exchange halted when a guard came through the staircase, running directly towards them.
“Stop him!” he shouted, his sword already drawn and in his hand. “He killed Private Piers when he came out of his room!”
Hunter rolled his eyes as the guard in front of him gasped, immediately pulling his sword out. He hadn’t killed anyone; he only knocked him out with the hilt of his knife. The new guard probably hadn’t even stopped to check and see if Private Piers was alive or not before rushing up here. Besides, there was only one man that he wanted to kill: Matheson Wells. The memory of the Aspayan soldier who had saved his life reminded him that not all people who wore the red uniform of the Empire were bad. Most of them were only boys who had been forced to fight for Emperor Elliott because of the Enlistment Act. They probably wanted to see the Empire destroyed just as badly as Hunter did. As such, he was loath to kill any of them.
Just then, the guard in front of Wells’ suite stabbed at him with his sword. Hunter stepped to his right, dodging the weapon. Upon meeting no resistance with his forward jab, the guard stumbled. Using that as an opening, Hunter went behind the guard, now standing directly in front of the door he wanted to go in, and kicked the guard’s right knee, causing him to fall to the ground with a shout.
“In the name of the Empire”--Hunter looked up to find the other guard running headlong towards him--“you’re under arrest!”
Before he could reach him, Hunter went through the door, closing it behind him as fast as he could and locking it to prevent anyone from coming in while he did what he had to. Then, he looked in the room around him, finding that Thomas was standing in front of him, staring at him with wide and frightened eyes. The boy glanced down at the knife in Hunter’s left hand and he immediately started backing away from him. Hunter could see the rise and fall of his chest increasing, to the point where Thomas was almost hyperventilating.
“Thomas,” he said, stepping forward.
“Stay away!” Thomas shouted, moving away from him as fast as he could. He hit the wall behind him, but he didn’t seem to fully register that fact as he continued to stare at Hunter and the knife in his hand.
He was acting the exact same way Hunter had sworn he would never cause him to behave just the previous night, acting even worse than when he had found out that Hunter had lied to him. He was scared of him, terrified of the knife in his hand, and was backing away from him, not in anger like the day before, but rather in fear.
And seeing his movements made Hunter doubt whether or not he should be doing what he was doing.
At that moment, Hunter heard a yell from outside in the hallway, a fist pounding hard on the door. It was a reminder of how little time he had, a reminder that he had to act now--he didn’t have time to second-guess himself.
“Thomas,” he said, trying to ignore the fear in Thomas’ eyes, “where is Wells?”
Thomas didn’t respond, his eyes flicking between Hunter’s eyes, the knife in his hand, and the door.
“Thomas!” he shouted. Immediately, the boy jumped, his eyes widening even more if that was possible and giving Hunter his full attention.
Then, some of his fear gave way to concern as he seemingly noticed Hunter’s appearance for the first time. “Hunter, what happened to your cheek?”
Hunter brought up a hand, grazing it across his cut and his bruise. “Your father happened.”
Thomas’ mouth dropped open and his face paled. He brought his own hand up to touch his own face, copying Hunter’s motions. “I-I--” he started to stammer out. Hunter spoke over him, his anger and the time constraint that he was in pushing him to move on, to not focus on why Thomas was acting the way that he was, why he seemed so pale, why he had touched his own face to mimic Hunter’s movements.
“Where is Wells right now?” he asked again.
Thomas shook his head. “I-I don’t know. He said something about a meeting with the other advisors, but I don’t know where that meeting is taking place.”
Hunter cursed, looking away from Thomas. A meeting with the other advisors most likely meant that it was a court meeting. The court met in the West Tower, directly opposite of where he was right now. And the only entrance into the West Tower was on the first floor, a whole two floors beneath Hunter. How was he going to get there when there were currently soldiers right outside the door, waiting to arrest him? He was running out of options and, more importantly, time.
“Hunter, are you okay?” Thomas asked, making Hunter look over at him. The boy still looked scared, but he could also see concern flitting into his facial expression, concern that based off of his question, was aimed at him. Despite the fact that Hunter had scared him and still was, for Thomas’ breathing was still irregular and his hands were shaking, he still cared for him. He cared about the marks on his cheek, cared about his feelings, cared about him, Hunter Wright.
Thomas saw him as a friend and, as such, treated him like one.
In comparison, though Hunter knew that he cared for Thomas as a friend, he had failed to treat him as such.
Hunter had only told him about his father so that he could use their relationship to avenge his parents’ deaths. He wasn’t doing it in order for Thomas to fulfill his greatest desire of meeting his parents, only his desire for revenge.
Instead of telling his friend the truth, Hunter had lied to Thomas about knowing who his mother was, trying to deny the boy an opportunity to meet her, so that his plan for bringing about the destruction of the Empire could be achieved.
And now here Hunter stood, trying to figure out how to kill the father of the boy in front of him, holding onto a knife that he would stab into the chest of the boy’s father, not caring at all about how his actions would affect the person in front of him.
And at that moment, Hunter realized just how much he hated himself.
He hated himself for what he had done, hated himself for what he had done to Thomas, hated himself for what he was about to do. But he didn’t know how to fix this, he didn’t know how to undo everything that had happened thus far. The only thing he could think to do was push forward, to avenge his parents, the soldier who had given his life for Hunter, Michael, and his dream of becoming a Tascelan Archer. All he knew how to do was to use the knife in his left hand to kill Matheson Wells.
Still, Hunter couldn’t help but be angry at himself.
“Hunter?” Thomas asked, bringing Hunter out of his thoughts. “What’s wrong?”
The concern that Hunter had spotted earlier had completely chased away the fear in Thomas’ face. And seeing just how much the boy cared for him made Hunter even angrier. He was mad at Thomas for being concerned when he had no right to be, not after what Hunter had done to him, what he had been planning, and what he was about to do. He was angry that Thomas was a better person than he was, than who he could ever be.
Above all, though, he was angry at Matheson Wells for what he had done to his parents, to the soldier, and to his plans for the future.
And all that anger came pouring out of him, aimed directly at the boy standing in front of him.
“What’s wrong?” Hunter asked. He laughed, though he knew there was no real humor behind it. “What’s wrong?” he repeated. “Let me ask you a different question: what isn’t wrong?” He took a step closer to Thomas, causing the boy to shrink away from him. “Your father, the one who just last night you were praising, saying how incredible he is, how thankful you are that I brought you here so that you could meet him, attacked me. Just minutes after we left you, he punched me in the face, choked me, belittled me, threatened me, and then slapped me. Yeah, Thomas, he sure does sound fantastic to me.”
He rolled his eyes, looking away from Thomas as he continued speaking. “And you want to know what dream I just woke up from?” Hunter glanced at Thomas, who was staring at him with wide eyes, his mouth parted slightly. “I had the most pleasant flashback of my parents’ deaths. Of how a soldier had been ordered by his captain to kill them and myself. How my father stayed behind to protect my mother and me with just a dagger. How the soldier drove his sword into my father’s chest, killing him. How his captain charged at my mother with his horse and stabbed his own sword into her stomach, also killing her. How the captain then turned upon me, cutting open my forehead, about to kill me when the soldier appeared, blocking his sword. And how the captain then beat him to death for saving my life.” He paused, his eyes staring directly into Thomas’ eyes. “Do you know who that captain was? Do you know what the soldier called him? Do you know who he looked exactly like?” Hunter paused again, enunciating every syllable of his next words. “Matheson Wells. Your father.”
Thomas shook his head. “No, that can’t be true.”
“It is, Thomas, it is. He stood directly in front of me when I was six-years-old, holding a sword above my head. He--”
“No, I don’t believe you,” Thomas interrupted, looking down at the ground. “No, that’s impossible. He wouldn’t do that, h--”
“Thomas, look at me.”
“--e would never, yo--”
“Thomas, look at me!”
Immediately, Thomas went silent, his head snapping up to look at him, fear again flashing through his eyes.
Hunter gestured at the cut on the top of his cheek, the dark bruise surrounding it, the dried blood tracking down from the cut to the bottom of his face. “Your father did this.” Then, he pushed away his hair, pointing directly at the scar across his right eyebrow. “He did this.” Bringing his hand down by his side, he continued speaking. “Look me directly in the eye and tell me I’m wrong again.” Thomas stayed quiet, looking away from him.
“It’s time for you to wake up, Thomas,” Hunter said, taking a step towards the boy. “You need to realize exactly who your father is. He’s a murderer, Thomas. He works for an emperor and an empire that doesn’t care at all about their subjects. He doesn’t care for anyone or anything, save for himself and his own agenda.”
Thomas shook his head again, quickly speaking up. “No, that’s not true. Yeah, the Empire is bad, but that doesn’t mean Father is. Emperor Elliott forced him to work for the Empire; he didn’t willingly help them take over Malin or Tascela. And he cares for me, he told me that himself. H-he loves me, I know he does.”
This time, it was Hunter that shook his head. “Thomas, he’s lying to you. I saw how he acts around you. He doesn’t love you and he doesn’t care for you. He’s using you for something, he’s hiding his emotions and his true intentions from you. He has some bigger plan that--”
“Some bigger plan?” Thomas echoed. “What, like the ulterior plan Braya accused you of having just yesterday morning? No, you’re wrong about Father. You’re the one lying to me, just like you did about Kathleen. You’re the one with the bigger plan, you’re the one using me for something.”
Hunter opened his mouth, seconds away from lying to Thomas, telling him that he was wrong, that he didn’t have some hidden plan, but for the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours, Braya’s words echoed in his head.
“Do you ever tell the truth? Tell me, Hunter, does it make you happy to know you’re lying to everyone? Do you feel even the slightest bit remorseful whenever you utter a lie? Do you take pleasure in hiding your intentions from your friends?”
Hunter was exhausted by the omissions and the lies. He was tired of hurting Thomas. He was tired of seeing the boy back away from him, whether it be in anger or in fear. He was exhausted from it all.
And so he opened his mouth, saying two words that hurt him just as much as they seemed to hurt Thomas.
“You’re right.” He said the words softly, as if that would help to alleviate the pain they brought upon Thomas, as if saying them quietly would stop the boy from blinking back tears. “Braya was right. This whole time, I’ve been trying to use you to destroy the Empire. I was hoping to use your relationship with Wells so that I could get close to him and get a high position within the Aspayan Army. And from there, I was going to take down the Aspayan Empire. It was never about helping you meet your parents; it was always about defeating the Empire and avenging my parents.”
Silence greeted his words, a silence that stretched for several seconds. Then, his eyes wide and brimming with tears, Thomas breathed out, “I trusted you.” Louder this time, he continued speaking. “I trusted you. No one wanted to bring me here, except for you. And you lied to me? About everything? This whole time, it’s been about you and your plans, never about me. All of this”--he gestured around himself--“has been in an attempt to achieve your goals. And the horrible things you’re saying now about my father are just a step in that.” Then, Thomas paused before asking, realization dawning in his eyes. “You never saw me as a friend, did you? That’s why you haven’t visited Ridgecrest ever since becoming Michael’s apprentice. You’ve never cared for me. It’s all been a lie.”
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Hunter shook his head. “That’s the thing, Thomas: I do. I’ve always seen you as a friend and I still do. I still care about you.” He chuckled as he continued speaking. “My plan was never going to work because of that. I can’t betray you, I can’t lie to you, I can’t hurt you, not again. I--”
“Really?” Thomas asked, interrupting him. “You still see me as a friend? You can’t lie to me? You can’t hurt me? Here you are, lying to me again, hurting me still. You’re saying terrible things about my father, a man that I love, and trying to tell me that you’re my friend. Hunter, you ran in here with guards after you and a knife in your hand! A knife that’s still in your hand! Why should I believe anything you say?”
Hunter opened his mouth, about to speak, when he realized that he had no idea how to answer Thomas’ question. Thomas had finally realized the kind of person Hunter truly was, a horrible person who had been using him for days now and was currently trying to kill his friend’s father, and now, Thomas wanted nothing to do with him.
“You shouldn’t,” Hunter replied, stepping away from Thomas. “I don’t even trust myself. I hate everything about me and it was inevitable that you would one day hate me as well. But, Thomas, please forgive me for what I’ve done. And forgive me for what I’m about to do.”
With that, he turned, heading for the door. The pounding had stopped, but he figured that the soldiers on the other side were looking for a key, trying to break in to get him. Behind him, he could hear Thomas calling after him.
“Hunter? Hunter, where are you going?”
Hunter stopped, answering Thomas’ question without turning around. “Thomas, your father is a horrible person and it’s time someone stops him. I have to avenge my parents, my dreams of becoming a Tascelan Archer, and Michael.” Then, he turned around, looking Thomas in the eye. “Understand this, Thomas, Matheson Wells doesn’t care for you nor does he love you. He’s planning something just like I was and, if I fail, you need to get away from him.” With that, he continued walking back to the door.
“Hunter?” Thomas asked. “Hunter, what do you mean stop him?”
When he ignored him, Thomas grabbed his left arm, effectively stopping him from opening the door. Immediately, Hunter was reminded of past times when someone had grabbed him.
The soldier stumbled up, dragging Hunter up with him. Hunter fought briefly with the motion, trying to get free and get to his knife while the soldier struggled with standing up. But the soldier applied more pressure to his throat, making it hard for Hunter to breath. On top of that, he felt the knife slice his throat, blood quickly welling up at his wound.
Just then, a fist hit him on the side of his face, whipping his head to the side. He could feel a cut opening on his cheek and he tasted blood in his mouth. Before he could react to what had just happened, he found himself pinned up against the wall by his throat, an arm cutting off his air supply. He choked, trying and failing to breathe. Fixing his eyes on his attacker, he was met with the angry face of Matheson Wells.
And so, before he could stop himself, Hunter yanked his arm out of Thomas’ hold, driving his left elbow into Thomas’ diaphragm, thus pushing the boy back away from him. He whirled around to face the boy, raising his knife.
Only to be met with the sight of Thomas laying on the ground, clutching his stomach and gasping for air. It seemed that Hunter had shoved him hard enough to knock the wind out of the boy.
Hunter blinked, his eyes widening as he realized that he had hurt Thomas. He stepped forward, then stopped immediately when Thomas hurriedly backed away from him, his eyes focused only on the knife in his hand. With a start, Hunter dropped his knife, letting it fall to the ground with a clatter.
“Thomas, I--” Hunter broke off, unsure what to say. He had hurt Thomas. He had made him scared of him, yet again. He opened and closed his mouth several times, simply staring at the boy on the ground.
“Y-you’re…” Thomas tried to say, still gasping for air. “You’re no…better than…him.”
“What?” Hunter asked, confused as to what he was saying. “Who are you talking about?”
“Father,” Thomas answered, sitting up from his position on the ground, his left arm wrapped around his stomach while his right propped him up.
Hunter tilted his head, still trying to understand what Thomas was saying. Then, it hit him as he thought back on the past few moments.
Then, he looked in the room around him, finding that Thomas was standing in front of him, staring at him with wide and frightened eyes. The boy glanced down at the knife in Hunter’s left hand and he immediately started backing away from him. Hunter could see the rise and fall of his chest increasing, to the point where Thomas was almost hyperventilating.
“Thomas,” he said, stepping forward.
“Stay away!” Thomas shouted, moving away from him as fast as he could. He hit the wall behind him, but he didn’t seem to fully register that fact as he continued to stare at Hunter and the knife in his hand.
He was acting the exact same way Hunter had sworn he would never cause him to behave just the previous night, acting even worse than he had when he found out that Hunter had lied to him. He was scared of him, terrified of the knife in his hand, and was backing away from him, not in anger this time, but rather in fear.
Hunter had come into the room clearly angry, knowing full well how that emotion was obviously present in his facial expression when he walked in. Thomas had noticed that and became frightened, though Hunter had never done anything before that moment to make him scared. No, he was simply fearful because he had seen the anger in Hunter’s face, an emotion that Hunter himself had just faced the previous night.
“Hunter, what happened to your cheek?”
Hunter brought up a hand, grazing it across his cut and his bruise. “Your father happened.”
Thomas’ mouth dropped open and his face paled. He brought his own hand up to touch his own face, copying Hunter’s motions. “I-I--” he started to stammer out.
Why had Thomas copied his mannerism when Hunter had told him that his father had caused the mark, bruising, and blood on Hunter’s face? Was it because someone had hit Thomas in the face as well? And was it the very same person that had hit Hunter, too?
Hunter gestured at the cut on the top of his cheek, the dark bruise surrounding it, the dried blood tracking down from the cut to the bottom of his face. “Your father did this.” Then, he pushed away his hair, pointing directly at the scar across his right eyebrow. “He did this.” Bringing his hand down by his side, he continued speaking. “Look me directly in the eye and tell me I’m wrong again.” Thomas stayed quiet, looking away from him.
Thomas hadn’t told him that he was wrong when Hunter showed him the marks Wells had given him. At the time, Hunter had thought that it was simply because Thomas had just realized that Hunter was being honest, but maybe it was for a different reason. Perhaps Thomas knew that Hunter wasn’t wrong about what his father had done to him because he himself had seen the physical violence Wells exhibited at times firsthand.
And just now, he had physically hurt Thomas. He had done the same thing that Wells had done to him last night and probably also did to Thomas if Hunter was right.
“Thomas,” Hunter said, nervous to get the answers to his questions. Still, he had to know, had to understand the consequences of him bringing Thomas here to the castle. “Did Wells hit you?”
Slowly, as if he knew the hurt his response would bring onto Hunter, Thomas nodded.
And just like that, every fiber of Hunter’s being filled with anger.
Wells had hit Thomas. He had abused his son. He had attacked him just like he had with Hunter. Fathers weren’t supposed to do that. Fathers weren’t ever supposed to hit their sons.
Just like how Hunter’s parents shouldn’t have been killed. Like how he shouldn’t have a scar on his eyebrow from when, at six-years-old, he had been attacked by a captain in the Aspayan Army. Just like how a sixteen-year-old boy should have never given his life to save a six-year-old from the blade of his captain’s sword. Like how Michael should have never left this world. Just like how the Tascelan Archers shouldn’t have been banned.
But all these things had happened, and all because of one man: Matheson Wells.
And Hunter’s plan and his desire to kill Wells solidified itself with the realization that Wells had hit Thomas.
Hunter was going to use the knife in his left hand to kill Wells, to kill the man that had taken everything from him and the father that had hit his son. He was going to hit him in the face, just like what he had done to Thomas. He was going to slice into his eyebrow, giving the man a scar to match the one on his own eyebrow. He was going to drive his knife into his chest, just like how his father had died. He was going to stab it into his stomach, like how his mother and Michael had died. And he was going to do all of it with the silver sunflower head pinned onto his left collar, reminding Wells of everything he had failed to be.
“I’m going to kill him,” Hunter stated, turning on his heel and striding over to the door.
“H-Hunter!” Thomas called after him, still gasping for air. “Stop!”
Hunter ignored him, focused only on his goal. Then, Thomas threw himself in front of him, throwing his arms wide to block the door.
“I’m not letting you hurt Father!” Thomas shouted.
“Thomas,” Hunter said placidly, letting Thomas stay where he was, despite how much he wanted to run out the door and find Wells. He knew that he could easily overpower Thomas in a fight to the door, perhaps using his knife to intimidate Thomas into willingly letting him go. But the thought of him hurting Thomas and causing him to look at him in fear for a second time in less than ten minutes created a horrible mental image. “Your father is no father.”
“He is!” Thomas insisted. “He is, Hunter. He told me that he did everything as the Aspayan Hero for me, to get a chance to find me again and have a relationship with me. That shows how much he loves me, how much he cares for me.”
Hunter shook his head, feeling more anger towards Wells as he heard Thomas speak. Wells truly was skilled at twisting words and hiding his true emotions with people. It seemed that he had done a good job at manipulating Thomas into getting what he wanted, though what that was, Hunter had no idea.
“Thomas, he’s hiding things from you. If he truly does love you and care for you, why did he hurt you?”
“I-I--” Thomas stuttered. “H-he told me not to do something and I did it anyway. So it’s my fault that--”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Hunter interrupted, trying to completely shut down that train of thought before Thomas could utter it. “There is no world where it’s your fault that this happened.” He paused, then said, “Which is why I’m going to kill him.” With that, he strode closer to Thomas, reaching his hand to lightly push the boy away.
“No,” Thomas said, keeping his stance despite Hunter’s hand on his shoulder. He pushed his chin up, looking defiantly at Hunter. “Maybe what he did was wrong. But killing him is also wrong. And it’s not the solution here.”
Hunter tilted his head. “Not the solution? Then what is? Because all I see is a man who has killed numerous people in the past, plans on killing more, and a father who has abused his son. He deserves to rot in hell for everything that he has done.”
“Who are you to be the judge for that?” Thomas countered. “Y-you lied to me, you used me to get what you wanted, doesn’t the same thing apply to you? Perhaps you should also rot in hell for what you’ve done.”
Hunter opened his mouth, unable to say anything to that. He took a step back, feeling almost as if Thomas had punched him in the stomach.
Thomas’ eyes widened, seemingly realizing what he had implied with what he had said. “No, Hunter, I didn’t mean it in that way. I-I wa--”
Before he could finish that sentence, the door opened, admitting guards into the room. Thomas was shoved out of their way as they ran at Hunter immediately and, before he could do anything, he found his arms held behind him by two guards. Wells then stepped into the room and Hunter fought against the guards holding him as the man ran to Thomas’ side, murmuring to him. He looked exactly like a father concerned for the safety of his son, making Hunter feel sick, knowing that the opposite was reality. Thomas tried to move away from his father, but he kept a hand on his arm, preventing him from moving.
“Get away from him!” Hunter yelled, pulling away from the guards. Still, they kept a firm grasp on his arms, preventing him from launching himself at Wells. “You hit him!”
Immediately, Wells looked up from Thomas and at Hunter. The concern in his expression was replaced suddenly by anger and he stood up to his full height. “I did no such thing.” He glanced down to the knife he had thrown to the ground, his eyes flicking back up at him. “What were you planning with the knife, Apprentice Wright? Trying to kill my son?”
Thomas gasped, opening his mouth to speak. Wells glared at him and Thomas immediately cut off whatever he was going to say.
“Well, Apprentice?” Wells asked, turning his attention back to Hunter. “Are you going to answer my question?”
Hunter lifted his chin, staying silent.
Wells smirked. “I think that’s my answer.” He walked towards Hunter until he was standing directly in front of Hunter, mere inches away from his face.
“We had a deal, Apprentice Wright,” he said, keeping his voice low in a clear attempt to prevent Thomas from hearing what he was saying. “You weren’t supposed to tell him about our little conversation and you weren’t supposed to leave your room without my permission.”
Hunter’s face contorted in anger. “That was before I realized just how much of a terrible father you are. And before I realized that it was you that killed my parents.” He narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, Advisor Wells, do you remember them? Do you remember that Malin farmhouse that you burned down? The family that you ordered a sixteen-year-old boy to kill? How that boy killed the father and how you killed the mother? How you sliced open the son’s head with your sword? How you raised your sword to kill that little six-year-old child, only for it to be blocked by your very own soldier? And how that child escaped because you were too busy beating your soldier to death for saving that child’s life to notice?” Hunter paused before continuing to talk. “I remember. I remember that moment vividly, for it was the exact moment my family was torn to pieces. So, tell me, Advisor Wells, do you remember?”
Wells chuckled, tilting his head as he seemingly pondered Hunter’s question. “I do not, I’m afraid. When the Empire took over Malin, there were many farmhouses I helped burn. There were many families I killed, many children I orphaned, and many more that I actually did end up killing.”
The casual tone in Wells’ voice made Hunter even angrier. Somehow, his parents’ deaths hurt even more when he realized just how little their murderer cared about their lives, going so far as to have forgotten that he had killed them.
“I hate you,” Hunter spat. “I want to kill you. I want to see you burn in hell.”
Wells smiled triumphantly, glancing at the guards surrounding Hunter as he stepped backwards. “The feeling is mutual, Apprentice Wright.” Speaking at a normal volume, he said, “Hunter Wright, you are under arrest for threatening a member of the Tascelan Court. You are under arrest for attacking a son of a member of the Tascelan Court.” Then, he glanced at the silver sunflower pin on Hunter’s collar. “And you are under arrest for breaking the Archer Act. As such, you are accused of treason against the Aspayan Empire and are to be hanged for your crimes after a trial before the Tascelan Court.”
Behind Wells, Thomas made a choking sound, though he didn’t say anything.
“Take his officer pin,” Wells told one of the guards.
“No!” Hunter shouted, fighting against the people holding him once again as a guard stepped forward and unpinned the sunflower and handed it to Wells. “That’s mine!”
Wells shook his head as he stared at the pin in his hand. “This is a symbol of a Tascelan officer, Wright, a position you no longer have.” Then, he tossed the metal pin into the fireplace in the back of the room.
Hunter gasped, staring at it as the fire consumed it. He knew that the silver wouldn’t fully burn, but it would be charred and would never again be the same.
“Throw him in the dungeons,” Wells said, turning his back on Hunter and moving so that he was next to Thomas again.
As the guards put handcuffs on him, Hunter screamed at the man, trying to get the guards off of him. “You’re a murderer! You killed my parents! You took everything from me!” Then, noticing Thomas eyes’ trained on him, he added, “And you’re a horrible father! You hit your son! Thomas, get away from him! You ha--”
Just then, one of the guards covered Hunter’s mouth with his hand, preventing Hunter from speaking. He fought against the guards even more, causing more guards to hold his arms as they tried to drag him out of the room. And as he tried to pull away from them, trying to scream at Thomas to get away from Wells, to yell at Wells about what he had done to him, to curse the guards taking him out of the room, Hunter began to realize that, for the one of the first times in his life, he had completely and utterly failed.
He had let his friend get close with his abusive father, allowing his friend to be harmed by his father. In doing so, he had failed to protect Thomas, failed to be a good friend to him.
He hadn’t been able to kill Wells, meaning that he had failed to avenge his parents, to avenge Michael, and to avenge his dreams of becoming a Tascelan Archer.
He hadn’t kept Michael’s dying promise, doing the one thing Michael had never wanted to happen: bringing Thomas to meet his father. He had failed his mentor, a man that, for years, he had looked up to.
He had failed to become a son that his parents could be proud of. A son that had their full approval of his actions. A son that, if they were still alive, they would still love.
Above all, though, he had failed his oath as a Tascelan Archer. He had failed to become a Tascelan Archer. He had let his pin be taken from and tossed into a fire as if it was meaningless.
Through his racing thoughts, he heard one of the guards sigh, saying, “Knock him out.”
Another guard raised their sword, bringing its hilt down on Hunter’s head. And the world around Hunter turned black as unconsciousness claimed him.
Part Three
The Wells' Family Legacy
End