Part Three

The Wells' Family Legacy

Hunter stood at the edge of the fields, watching mesmerized as fire consumed his house. The flames were rising high above him and, even from several yards away where he was standing, he could feel the heat of the fire. Smoke rose higher and higher, embers and ash being carried with it, flying through the air. The smoke stung Hunter’s nose and his eyes, making them water. The fire roared and cracked, acting like a living, breathing entity as the walls and the roof of the house were being consumed by its flames.

“Jaime!” a woman’s voice screamed, snatching Hunter out of the trance he had been in while watching the fire grow. Immediately, he placed the voice as belonging to his mom and he ran towards the direction of it. His mom was standing next to the flaming house and as he ran up to her, he brought himself closer to the fire, closer to the smoke and the embers. The smoke stung his eyes even more and he started coughing as he inhaled it.

“Mamá!” he yelled. She turned around quickly, her auburn hair falling out of its braid, her frightened green eyes falling on him. He barreled into her, causing his mom to stumble backwards a bit. Still, she held him tight to her side, almost as if she felt that her life depended on keeping him close to her. Hunter could smell the smoke on her dress, but he didn’t care, simply hugging her just as tight as she was holding him.

“Oh, Hunter, mijo,” she whispered in his ear, rubbing her arm along his back. They stayed hugging for only a couple of seconds, way too short in Hunter’s mind, before she was standing upright, scooping him up in her arms. She walked backwards away from the burning house.

“Jaime!” she yelled again, her voice tight with worry. The fear in her tone caused Hunter to become even more frightened and he tightened his arms around his mom’s neck.

“Marina!” a voice shouted back. Turning his head, Hunter found his dad running towards them.

“Papá!” Hunter shouted, squirming in Marina’s arms. Upon his shout, it seemed that his mom had also spotted him, for he could feel some of her tension easing away as he ran up to them.

When he reached them, Jaime pulled both of them in a hug and Hunter, just like with his mom, could smell the smoke on him. Gray ash was clearly visible in his blonde hair, making him look older than he really was. Same as the hug from before, Jaime ended the hug far too quickly in Hunter’s opinion. He held onto Marina’s hand, dragging her away from the house engulfed in flames and instead to the field where Hunter had just been playing minutes ago, before he had smelled the smoke, before he had seen the fire, before he had heard his mom shouting for his dad.

“We have to go,” Jaime said. Hunter turned his head, noticing the fear in his dad’s blue eyes. Fear gripped inside of Hunter as he watched it overtake his dad’s normally calm temperament. What was scaring his dad so bad? What was so frightening to him? “Aspaya’s here.”

Marina gasped, tightening her hold around Hunter. She immediately broke into a run, following behind Jaime. “Where ar--”

“Stop!” a voice shouted. Marina froze mid-stride, letting go of Jaime’s hand. Hunter turned to look at the owner of the new voice. He found himself staring at a man with a red uniform, a color that clashed horribly with his red hair, and he held a sword in his right hand. He stepped forward, causing Jaime and Marina to step backwards. The soldier, for that was what he had to be, hesitated, his dark brown eyes flashing with fear. Hunter didn’t understand what that meant, but Jamie stepped in front of Marina, hiding her and Hunter from the soldier’s gaze, his hand coming up to shield them from the raised sword.

“Son,” Jaime said, making Hunter realize that the soldier was much younger than his parents. “Put the sword down.”

The boy shook his head, simply adjusting his grip on the weapon.

“Jaime,” Hunter’s mom whispered, placing her hand on his shoulder and pulling him backwards.

But he simply shrugged her hand off of him, keeping his eyes on the frightened boy. “Son, please.”

Still, he shook his head. Then, his eyes moved away from Jaime and fell upon Hunter. His eyes widened and suddenly, the sword was falling, his posture relaxing as he seemingly spotted Hunter for the first time.

“Soldier!” a voice shouted. The boy immediately snapped to attention, his sword raised up high again. Behind him, a tall, brown horse was trotting up, another soldier in a red uniform astride him. His cold, blue eyes seemed to stare into Hunter’s soul and Hunter shifted under his gaze. Wind blew past them, making the flames of the fire rise higher and making the soldier’s blonde hair appear curlier than it was. “Kill them.” His two words sounded simple, hiding their dark implication. His tone made Hunter shiver and he hid his face in his mom’s hair.

“But--”

“Now, soldier!” the soldier on the horse snapped, interrupting the boy’s complaint.

“Yes, Captain Wells.” The fear that had been in the boy’s eyes had disappeared, replaced with resolve. He stepped forward towards them, causing Jaime to back away, pushing Marina as he did so. The grip around Hunter’s waist had tightened, making it hard to breathe. He found himself not caring about that, not when the red-haired soldier was walking towards them, his sword ready to attack them.

“Run,” Jaime whispered to Hunter’s mom. “I’ll hold him back.”

“But, Jaime, you’ll di--”

“Now, Marina!” his dad snapped. It was the first time in his life where Hunter heard his dad speak with such a firm tone to his mom. “Protect Hunter!”

Marina nodded, yet Hunter still noticed the slight hesitation in her step and the glance towards the soldier and the captain before she turned and ran towards the fields.

Hunter twisted around, watching as his dad stepped forward, facing the soldier. He stopped, standing with his feet spread apart and his right hand slipping a knife out of his belt. For a moment, Hunter marveled at the size difference between his dad’s weapon and the soldier’s weapon, but that only lasted a moment as the soldier’s silver blade of his sword glinted in the light of the fire raging behind them. It was a reminder of just how deadly the weapon was and the danger Hunter and his family were in. Then, the sword was cutting at Jaime and his dad raised his knife to meet it. There was a clang and Hunter watched with awe as each slash of the sword was blocked by the knife. The light of the fire danced across the blades, making them appear like they were made out of fire. The fight itself looked like a dance, each man moving gracefully and in sync with the other.

The dance was ruined when Jaime stretched too far to block the soldier’s slice with his sword. The move exposed his left side, leaving it open to attack. The soldier jabbed with his sword, driving it into his dad’s chest. With a cry, Jaime fell, his knife falling into the grass next to him.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion the second his dad fell to the ground. The soldier stood, frozen, staring at the bloody sword he had just struck Hunter’s dad with, almost like he didn’t quite understand what he had just done. Silence had blanketed around Hunter, blocking out everything around him. The only thing that mattered to him was his dad on the ground, gasping. Jaime seemed to be saying something to the boy with the sword, words that he couldn’t catch from this distance. Whatever he said made the boy look up, his wide eyes staring into Hunter’s eyes. The fear was back this time in them, along with what Hunter thought was sadness.

Then, he said two words that, even from this distance, Hunter could make out.

“I’m sorry.”

Those two words drove deep inside of Hunter and he imagined that the pain he felt in his heart was the same pain his dad had experienced when the sword had gone through his chest.

“Papá!” he shouted as loud as he could, struggling against his mom’s hold on him. “Papá!”

“Hunter!” Marina exclaimed, trying to keep him in her arms.

“Papá!” he continued to scream as his mom ran away, away from the boy and his bloody sword, away from his dad, away from their burning house.

“Hunter, mijo, stop!” Marina said, holding him tighter. But he continued to fight against her hold around him, continuing to scream as they left his dad behind them.

Then, he heard the sound of pounding hoofs and he finally looked away from his dad’s body to see Captain Wells galloping up to them, his sword raised high, clearly ready to kill both of them.

“Mamá!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. Marina turned just in time to see the horse and she changed course quickly to avoid the sword swinging at her. Her movements caused her to fall to the ground and Hunter tumbled, scraping his hands and his knees as he hit the ground.

Hunter got up quickly, looking up just in time to watch the captain run his sword through his mom’s stomach, causing her to scream. All the air left him and he fell back down to the ground, staring wide-eyed as the captain pulled his sword out. The captain looked up, his cold eyes looking over at Hunter. He stepped forward, walking towards Hunter.

Immediately, Hunter scrambled back up, turning quickly on his heel and sprinting into the fields, pushing his way through the wheat, heedless of the way the straws cut his arms, his legs, and his face. The only thing that mattered was running away, getting away from the captain’s cold, icy blue eyes, away from the sword that had gone through his mom, away from the people that had caused his parents to cry out in pain, away from their bloody swords.

He looked behind him, seeing that the captain had followed him into the fields. Facing forward again, he willed his legs to move faster. He knew these fields better than anyone, had played in them for what felt like his entire life. He knew how to disappear in them as his parents never seemed to find him in here when they played hide-n-seek, he knew their hidden paths through them thanks to his dad. The captain running after him didn’t. He didn’t know how good Hunter was at running and hiding. He wouldn’t be able to fo--

Suddenly, Hunter’s foot hit a rock, sending him sprawling to the ground. He could taste dirt in his mouth and he knew that he had yet again scraped his knees and his hands. He started to get up, but quickly froze when he realized that the captain was just a mere foot in front of him. Before he could do anything, the sword came at him and he ducked, bringing his hands up to block the blow.

The sword cut into his forehead, causing him to yell in pain. Blood poured down his face, down into his right eye, making it hard to see. Still, he watched as the captain raised his sword again, about to bring it down towards Hunter, perhaps about to kill him, just like what had happened with his dad and with his mom.

Then, out of nowhere, the boy from earlier appeared, stepping in between Hunter and the captain. He brought his sword up, blocking the sword that had been about to hit Hunter. There was a sharp clang as the two blades met and the captain’s sword went flying somewhere in the fields, lost to sight. The boy tightened his hold on his sword, staring defiantly up at the captain.

“How dare you?” Captain Wells asked. He looked angry, his eyes no longer cold but rather filled with rage. He brought his hand up to smack the boy in the face, causing him to stumble and to lose his grip on his sword. It fell down next to Hunter and he scrambled away from it, remembering how the flames had danced on it, remembering his dad’s cry of pain as it stabbed his chest, remembering his mom’s scream as a different sword identical to this one had gone through her.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“How dare you attack me?” the captain shouted, backhanding the boy again. This time, he fell to the ground next to Hunter.

He looked up, his eyes looking intently at Hunter. “Go!” he yelled. “Run!” The captain yanked the boy up by his shirt, glaring at him. He punched him in the face and Hunter scrambled away as he fell to the ground yet again. Still, the boy seemed to not care about that, only staring at Hunter. “Get away from here!”

And as the captain reached for the boy’s sword on the ground, Hunter turned around, starting to run yet again. Behind him, he could hear the boy screaming for him to go and those screams eventually turned into ones of pain. Still, he ran, pushing through the wheat. The straw was once again cutting into him and the cut on his forehead was bleeding profusely. He could feel tears streaming down his face, confusing him. When had he started crying?

He made it through the fields, but he continued to run, his feet carrying him into a forest. Any thought of stopping brought back memories of a burning farmhouse, of his dad’s cries of pain, of a sword sticking out of his mom’s stomach, of a captain raising a sword above him, of a boy’s desperate plea for him to go, to run, to get away.

And so he did.

>>========> <========<<

Hunter woke up with a gasp, sitting up quickly in his bed while he tried to get his breathing under control. He ran his hands through his hair, blinking away the dream he just had. It had been awhile since he had relieved that particular memory, the memory of when his parents had died, when that Aspayan soldier had given Hunter his life so that he could live, when that officer raised his sword up, pre--

Wait, what had the soldier called him in the memory?

“Yes, Captain Wells.”

Hunter’s eyes widened, realization hitting him, driving away all the air in his lungs. There was simply no way.

But, no, he had known that. Somewhere, deep inside of him, he had known. He had recognized it just last night, when he had been faced with his angry face.

Fixing his eyes on his attacker, he was met with the angry face of Matheson Wells. For a brief second, he felt a flash of familiarity run through him before he quickly shoved it away, focusing on the moment at hand.

“How dare you?” Captain Wells asked. He looked angry, his eyes no longer cold but rather filled with rage.

He should have seen it sooner. He should’ve known exactly who he had been looking at when he met the man. Physically speaking, the man hadn’t changed at all.

A tall, brown horse was trotting up, another soldier in a red uniform astride him. His cold, blue eyes seemed to stare into Hunter’s soul and Hunter shifted under his gaze. Wind blew past them, making the flames of the fire rise higher and making the soldier’s blonde hair appear curlier than it was.

Hunter turned his attention fully on the man, taking in his appearance. He had curly blonde hair that was identical to his friend’s, but just a few inches longer. The eyes that were filled with apprehension and caution were the same shade as Thomas’ as well.

Hell, he should’ve seen it even sooner than that, he should’ve known when he had first met Thomas, when he had found out who Thomas’ father was. Thomas looked exactly like him; why had he never connected the fact that Thomas looked identical to the Aspayan officer that had ordered a boy to kill his father, that had killed his mother, that had used the same sword that had killed his mother to create the scar on Hunter’s right eyebrow? Why, when that recognition had come easily to both Kathleen and Michael?

Then, Michael looked over at Thomas, taking him in for the first time. “You look exactly like your father.”

Suddenly, she stepped backward, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. Then, she blinked, returning back to normal. “Forgive me, but you look very much like someone I used to know.”

“Oh my God,” Hunter breathed out, standing up. He paced his room, holding tight onto his hair, tugging at it as his thoughts started to run.

Matheson Wells was the captain from the Aspayan Army, the man that had haunted his dreams for years, that had ruined his life in under an hour. Thomas’ father had ordered his father to be killed, had killed his mother, had almost killed Hunter himself, and had killed the soldier that had saved him.

He didn’t know what to think now that he actually knew his parents’ and his savior's murderer. He didn’t know what to do, how to--

No, he knew exactly what to do, Hunter realized as anger began to surge through him. He always wanted to avenge his parents’ deaths, didn’t he? And ever since the Archer Act had come into being, he had been wanting to avenge his ruined dreams of becoming a Tascelan Archer, right? What better way than to kill the man that had killed his parents, that had destroyed his plans for the future in order to get his revenge? It would be perfect, fitting even, when he thought about it.

So, he strode over to the chest in the corner of his room, the one filled with his Tascelan Archer supplies. Opening it up, he found himself staring at an old bow of his, several dozens of arrows, and old cloaks. Ignoring the bow and arrows, he rummaged in the chest, grinning with satisfaction as he grabbed what he wanted: a knife. He had lost his knife during his altercation with Wells and he finally felt complete as he held it in his hand.

Hunter stood up, glancing at his reflection in the mirror in the corner of his room. What he saw there made him pause. Just like he had known last night, he had a cut on the top of his left cheek, right along the cheekbone. It had bruised as well, a dark mark surrounding the small cut and spreading across his cheek and under his eye. He hadn’t cleaned the cut before falling asleep last night, meaning that dried blood tracked down the cut to the bottom of his face. Coupled with the anger flooding through his body and flashing in his hazel eyes and the knife in his left hand, he looked almost insane.

Hunter smiled to himself. He was insane--insane with anger and his thirst for revenge.

Then, Michael’s words echoed in his head, making him hesitate.

“Put away your emotions, Hunter, and think. The worst plans are the ones decided with your heart; the best plans consider both the heart and the mind. Logic is a tool, Hunter, and it makes a good weapon. Learn to use it to your advantage. I know you’re smart, Hunter, just let your heart listen to the facts.”

Maybe he should take a second to think things through, to come up with a plan, to let some of his anger go in favor of using his intelligence. Perhaps he should try to listen to Michael’s advice. He was his mentor, after all.

Hunter shook those thoughts away. Michael wasn’t here, was he? He was gone, killed by the Aspayan soldiers. He would never again hear the wise words of his mentor, would never again be reminded to think logically and not emotionally, all thanks to the Aspayan Empire, an empire that wouldn’t even exist if it hadn’t been for the actions of Matheson Wells, if it hadn’t been for the great Aspayan Hero.

Besides, he was thinking. He was thinking about how he was alone in this world, his dreams for the future crushed. He was listening to the facts, the facts that Matheson Wells had commanded his soldier to kill his father, that he had driven a sword through the stomach of his mother, that he had a raised a sword above Hunter’s head, slicing into his eyebrow, nearly killing him, that he had beaten the soldier that had given his life to save Hunter’s.

And he did have a good plan in mind: he was going to Wells’ suite on the third floor, tell him about how he had ruined Hunter’s life, and then he was going to kill him, either stabbing his knife into his chest, killing him the same way his father had died, or perhaps driving it into the man’s stomach, just like what he had done with his mother and what had happened to Michael, or maybe even slicing a cut in his right eyebrow, giving him a scar to match Hunter’s. If he was lucky, he could do all three. And when the guards caught up to Hunter after he accomplished his goal, for there would be no way he was going to escape them, not if Wells had made good on his promise from last night to keep constant surveillance on him, he would let them kill him, giving him the chance to be reunited with his parents and his mentor again in the afterlife and so that he could avoid the pain in Thomas’ face when the boy realized what Hunter had done, so that he could never see how deeply his actions had hurt him.

It was a simple plan and Michael had always told Hunter that simple plans had the best chances of success for they had less parts that could go wrong.

He turned away from the mirror, then paused. He felt as if he was missing something, almost like he was forgetting something. He looked back at his reflection, his eyes immediately falling on the empty spot on his left collar. The sunflower pin in his pocket increased in weight and Hunter grabbed it, staring at it for a few seconds in his palm.

Then, he pinned it on his left collar, straightening his posture and rolling his shoulders back. Standing at attention, he stared at the reflection in the mirror. He wore the officer pin proudly and he would die with it in its rightful place. Besides, it would be one last act to spite Wells, one way to prove that he was better than him, that he did belong in the castle. For Wells had failed to become a Tascelan Archer while Hunter had been well on his way to becoming one before they had been disbanded.

He wasn’t a nobody orphan as Wells had stated that he was last night. He wasn’t just some commoner, son of a farmer in Honeywich Fief of Malin Kingdom. No, he was Hunter Wright, a Tascelan Archer, apprentice to Senior Archer Michael Johnson, an officer in the Tascelan Army, a title that few sixteen-year-old boys could claim. And he was going to prove that to Wells. Furthermore, he was going to avenge his parents, Michael, and his dreams. And he was going to do that by killing the Aspayan Hero with the knife held tight in his left hand.

With that in mind, Hunter turned on his heel, heading to the door leading out of his room, letting his anger take hold of him, allowing it to dictate his next moves, putting his thirst for revenge at the forefront of his mind.

Nothing else mattered to him.

Memories of the day before played in his mind, trying to get in the way of his plan and his emotions.

>>========> <========<<

“You lied?”

Hunter sighed. “I did and believe me when I say th--”

“I asked you point-blank if you knew about her and you said you didn’t!” Thomas yelled, stepping away from Hunter.

“I know,” Hunter said, looking mournful. “I know and I apologize for that.”

>>========> <========<<

“Do you ever tell the truth?”

Hunter’s jaw snapped shut. Her words hit close to home for him and he didn’t know how to answer her question. He wanted to tell Braya that, yes, he did tell the truth, but he knew that would just be another lie.

Braya turned around, her brown eyes flashing with anger. “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?”

At the end of her questions, Hunter felt like all his air had left him. Each question felt like a punch to the stomach, driving hard into him and knocking the wind right out from him.

>>========> <========<<

He cared about Thomas as a friend. He had been his friend for years and, while that friendship had been ruined the instant he decided to go through with his revenge plan, he still saw him as one. He cared if Thomas was hurt by his father. He cared if the delighted expression on Thomas’ face was replaced by the same hurt expression that had been present when Thomas had discovered that Hunter had lied to him. He cared if Wells used his son to achieve whatever he was trying to do and if Wells betrayed Thomas. For if Thomas was hurt or in pain, Hunter knew that he would feel the exact same way.

And if that was true, then Hunter couldn’t go through with his plan. He couldn’t bring himself to be the one that caused Thomas to be hurt. He couldn’t be the person to bring pain into Thomas’ world. He couldn’t cause Thomas to step away from him in anger, hurt and pain washing over his facial expression, yelling at him for what he had done. He simply couldn’t, not again.

>>========> <========<<

“You are not going to tell Thomas what happened tonight, do you understand me? If you tell him, I’ll tell him how you really feel about me. How you hate me and how you want to see me burn. You care about him, don’t you? You’re his friend, after all. How do you think he’ll feel about your true feelings about his father?”

Hunter froze. He knew exactly how Thomas would feel. He would hate Hunter. He would push him away, just like what he did to his mother when she stated that she didn’t want him anywhere near his father.

“He won’t believe you,” Hunter said, trying to hide his fear.

Wells raised his eyebrow. “You don’t think so? Do you think he’ll believe you when you tell him about what I did? Whose word will he believe? Mine, his father, the Aspayan Hero, or yours, a nobody orphan?”

Hunter opened his mouth, about to say his childhood friend when he hesitated, thinking back on what happened just that morning.

Hunter had already lied to him once. Perhaps Thomas would actually believe Wells’ words over his. And if that was true, then he could never tell Thomas about what had happened between him and his father.

>>========> <========<<

Hunter was beginning to feel that Braya’s theory about him being abusive was bound to prove itself true anytime now. And if that happened, Hunter would never forgive himself for allowing that to happen. For enabling Thomas to meet and have a relationship with an abusive father. Both he and Thomas had to get out of here. They were in danger, especially from Wells. Hunter had gotten both of them in too far and they were beginning to drown in the situation they were in. Thomas in the honeyed words and actions of his father and Hunter in…whatever the hell had just happened between him and Wells.

>>========> <========<<

He shoved away all of those memories. No, nothing else mattered to him more than watching the man who had ruined everything for him die. To watch his eyes turn empty, like Michael’s had been after he died. To watch the blood pour out of him, like it had out of the bodies of his parents and his mentor, like it had poured out of the cut on his eyebrow. To see him look at the silver sunflower head pinned on his left collar, reminding the man of how he had failed to become a Tascelan Archer.

Nothing at all.