The Archer

Prologue

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The guards pushed through the massive doors of the manor, having their swords on the ready with their metal vests and armors. They surged the corridors and rooms, shuffling over everything. A girl sat up from a sound sleep and walked towards the door, still dreamy, to check on the horrendous noise that woken her up. Upon the click of the knob, her doe-like green eyes registered horror that thundered her soul. Swords slashing, daggers stabbing and on cue, her mother suddenly appeared out of the hallway, rushing towards the location of her room.  Blood spurted and oozed from her mouth. Blood pooled around her kneeling stature before even reaching the girl's door. The woman's eyes fell at the sword stabbed through her own chest then moved her gaze into the girl's horrified look with a gasp. She stared at the child and for a moment, tears rolled down her bloody cheeks, her eyes reflecting what could have been an agonizing apology for leaving her at a young age. She watched her child darting to her and mouthed her name before her body slumped down the floor. A screamed agony echoed through the entire manor as the child helplessly held her mother on her lap, and watched as the life slowly faded on that familiar bluish green orbs.

Blood. She saw blood all around. Bodies slumped down the floor were sharply registered on her mind to be the servants of the house. Fear flashed into her eyes and more tears came rolling down her cheeks. She's running. Running to somewhere, anywhere... .to someone.

Six soldiers came upon her view holding the man of the house. Without a second thought, she ran towards him. A soldier from the group came to grab her. "No. Not her. Not my child," she heard her father's voice quiver."Please let her go", he begged and she saw a tear tumble down from his eyes. Her father, who possessed superiority on this house, who have been her best friend, who promised to protect every piece of her is now being dragged by the soldiers leaving the manor. Her brave and strong father, she thought as she stubbornly tried to wriggle free from the grasps of her captor.

"Father, w-what are they doing ? Fight them, you're strong right ? I'll go get your sword in your room," she cried stubbornly. "Or would you want your bow and arrow? " her high pitched voice echoed through the corridors then glared at her captor. "Let me go, father will beat you. He's a swordsman and the best swordsman in town. He will beat you so bad and break your bones. I know he will definitely kill you for hurting me." She hissed. She continued to babble as she fought her tears from falling. She heard the men on armors laugh.

"Your father won't be able to defend you anymore kid, he would be dead within an hour."

The town's folks were glancing their way as they walk towards the palace. Still she cried and tried reaching for her father which is a good five steps ahead from her though the guards keep her away from him, grasping her so hard that she was sure it would bruise but she didn't care about it though.

They'd reached the gates that were opened for them to enter. They were dragged across the corridors and in a few minutes, they were facing yet another giant doors.

"The traitors have been captured, you're majesty", she heard one of the soldiers who was leading the group called loudly against the doors. With a flinch, she heard the creaking sound of the doors then they were pushed forward.

Inside the room, she's facing a man sitting on a throne, a golden crown decorated with blue, red, and green stones resting on top of his head. He have an authoritative air whipping around him. A prominent jaw and high cheekbone dictates superiority but his smirk made him less respectable.

He raised a finger signaling the soldiers to move forward. Glancing at her father being dragged harshly at the center of the throne room, the dryness of her mouth prevented her to scream her defiance. She swallowed the slump on her throat so hard, her gaze following the back of her father, on the rope that was holding his wrist back in place. He was forced on his knees. He looks so vulnerable, so not his father. She felt a pang on her chest.