Desire, when left to fester beyond love, can twist the soul into something unrecognizable—unimaginable. Some are left heartbroken and pitiful. Others become heartless. Inhuman. Cruel. King Arthur, consumed by obsession for a village girl whose beauty stirred whispers across the kingdom and had every man talking, became the latter.
It was the year 750 A.D., during the grand celebrations of King Arthur’s birthday. Villagers from every corner of the kingdom gathered at the palace—dancing, feasting, offering tribute. The air buzzed with music, the scent of roasted meat drifting through torch-lit halls. Smiles lit up every face as villagers eagerly awaited this celebration.
Word spread of a breathtaking girl whose beauty stirred rumors and disbelief. Some whispered she wasn’t of this world—too perfect to be human. Her name was Liza McCain. My older sister.
Arthur summoned her. And the moment she stepped into his presence, something inside him snapped. He couldn’t believe what stood before him. It was love at first sight—obsessive, immediate, blinding.
Liza: graceful, strong-willed, and dangerously irresistible. Her beauty wasn’t just seen—it invaded the senses. More than that, I Knew her quite well. She was my sister and her beauty was from inside out. To the king, her body was temptation, her presence a spell no man had ever resisted.
But Liza, despite her parents urging her to accept the king's proposal, she stood firm. Loyal to the boy who had promised her love, she rejected Arthur without hesitation. She left not only King Arthur wounded but the entire hall stunned into silence. I was only a kid back then, and honestly, I was terrified by what my sister had just done to the King.
Humiliated and enraged, the king tried to force her hand—but her defiance only deepened his fury.
The next day, in a storm of vengeance, he ordered our village destroyed. No soul was to be spared. No home left standing.
When the king’s knights arrived, chaos erupted. People screamed, flames soared high into the sky, and terror swallowed everything I knew. These knights weren’t just heartless—they slaughtered villagers like they were chickens.
Their long, gleaming swords sliced through necks with horrifying ease—as if our bones were made of air. One blow, and the head was gone.
After my sister saw our parents killed, she grabbed my hand and we ran for our lives. I had no idea we could run that fast—honestly, if it had been a competition, I swear we would’ve won. We sprinted toward the village well, just a few yards from our home.
But before we reached it, an arrow tore through my sister’s chest. She pushed me—hard—and I flew toward the well, clutching my father's bow as I tumbled inside.
My sister groaned in pain, her voice barely above a whisper and cracking as she called out, “Ethan.” But before she could say more, I heard the sound—one quick chop—and her head was severed.
I trembled with fear. I could’ve cried, but I knew that call wasn’t for comfort. It was a command: hide. No matter what.
I dove deeper into the well. The air grew thick—black, damp, and foul. It reeked of mildew and forgotten rot. A place long abandoned, yet it cradled my small body like a grave not ready to close.
Footsteps echoed above me. Heavy boots. Scuffed leather. Someone cleared his throat and growled in a voice so deep it made the stones shiver, “No one’s here. Let’s go. Make sure everything burns.”
I slowly surfaced above the water, gasping for breath as cold clung to my skin like mourning cloth. I blinked at the gray sky, the smoke-streaked clouds. The village was gone. The screams had burned into silence.
I tried to speak, but my throat was raw—no one would answer me now. I clutched the bow, my father’s carving still rough against my fingertips. I had survived. But I was alone.
No food. No shelter. Only fire in the distance, and a forest that might hold mercy… or monsters. I struggled to climb out of the well. It was hard—and much harder for a little boy. But I don’t know where the strength came from. I crawled up with aching limbs, fighting the stone and my own exhaustion, until I reached the top, wasted and trembling.
I grabbed my bow—still warm from my grip—and ran toward the forest, the same one where my father used to practice his shots in silence. There, under the old tree where his boots once stood, I found his quiver.
It was still hanging where he'd left it, half-hidden by vines and dust. I reached for it with trembling hands, as if touching it would bring him back. Inside were arrows—some weather-worn, others still sharp.
I didn’t know how to use them yet. But I held them close. Because even if I didn’t have a home anymore… I had a mission. Then I ran towards the dense forest.
Looking back now, I realize: I was fleeing danger… only to run straight into more of it. The forest was so dense that a child’s chances of survival were almost zero. But the Lord kept me.
I lived off wild fruits, bitter and unfamiliar, but enough to keep me breathing. When night fell and the sounds of claws and growls echoed through the trees, I knew I couldn’t sleep on the ground. So I built myself a treehouse—fragile, crooked, but mine. If I didn’t hide above, I would’ve become a favorite meal.
My daily routine was simple. I woke each morning to the chirping of birds and their soft melodies rising with the mist. I climbed down from my crooked treehouse and began searching for wild fruits—berries, bark, anything the forest offered.
To avoid getting lost, I tied small branches onto tree trunks along the way, marking a path back to my shelter.
One day, as I wandered deeper than usual, I heard rustling. Not the wind. Not birds. Something heavier. I froze. My feet rooted to the soil. I tilted my head, straining to listen—but the sound came from behind me.
When I turned around, I locked eyes with a wild dog. Its body was lean, its fur ragged, its eyes red and glassy like bloodied glass.
I stepped back slowly and it charged. I ran—barefoot, breath shallow, heart pounding. The beast was faster. I could hear its snarling breath just behind me, closer with every stride. And in that moment, I knew It could kill me. I regret not having mastered the bow and arrow.
But that was the only weapon I had—if I wanted to live. So I ran towards a big tree with a big round trunk like a small village hut in the remote areas of Africa. I took an arrow hastily in my quiver and put it on my bow. And the wild dog kept coming. My heart was pounding so loud that maybe the animal felt my fear.
My stomach growled as the beast jumped—its body airborne, its teeth flashing. I drew the bow and released.
To my surprise, the arrow struck true—piercing its neck just below the ear. The dog collapsed mid-snarl with a loud noise, skidding against the leaves with a final, broken growl.
I stood there, trembling. Around me, a pool of blood spread like a dark flower. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. And I couldn’t believe I had killed this animal.
It felt… unnatural. As if something deeper had guided my aim. The way my fingers moved—the timing, the strike—it wasn’t mine alone. I was possessed, maybe. Or protected.
I felt relieved. But something more, If I was going to survive, I had to learn the bow. Not just use it—master it. And to master it, I need more practice since I had no one to help or guide me.
The wild dog lay still. And I walked away changed—my thoughts, my spirit, no longer the same. From that day on, I began a new life. A life born not of comfort, but of necessity. Each morning, I woke to the hush of leaves and the chorus of birds. I hunted. I practiced. I trained.
At first, I missed more than I hit. But soon, the forest became my teacher. I learned how the wind bends a branch, how a squirrel moves before it leaps, how silence is as sharp as sound.
I grew—not just in age, but in skill. My hands no longer trembled. My arrows flew straight. Sometimes, I didn’t even need to look. And later… I could loose three arrows in a single breath.
Two weeks passed, and the silence stopped feeling safe. Thoughts crept in—whispers I couldn’t ignore. Why would a king destroy an entire village… just because a girl said no? Just because Liza rejected him.
My mind raced. The deeper I thought, the angrier I became. I cried for a long time. Alone beneath the trees, fists clenched around the bow, teeth gritted at the sky.
Then I stood, and practiced the whole day, arrow after arrow and breath after breath. Every shot was a scream. My sister had died protecting me. So had my parents. As I practiced, tears never stopped dripping slowly on my cheeks.
Liza once told me, “Revenge isn’t necessary. If you’re consumed by it, you’ll become a monster, the very thing you hate just like King Arthur."
But those words felt hollow now. Burnt and blown away by grief. I wanted to kill this king. So I gathered my staff, packed every fruit I could carry, and tied up the meat I’d hunted. I ran toward the city—toward revenge.
I passed through the first village by dusk. People glanced at me, unsure. I didn’t stop. When night fell, I found myself back in the forest just beyond the village. As always, I chose safety over comfort. I climbed a tall tree and built a temporary shelter from branches and leaves—my usual way of sleeping now.
High above the ground, hidden from beasts, I closed my eyes to sleep. But sleep refused to come. It was still early evening, and my mind was spinning—plotting revenge, replaying screams.
Then I heard more of them—real screams, not memories. A blaze lit up the sky behind the village. This village too was being burned. I didn’t need a messenger to know: the king had struck again.
I ground my teeth. Rage clawed up my throat. But I was alone and I knew nothing of this village, no maps, no allies. So, I held my breath and made myself ready—for anything.
Minutes later, I heard footsteps, fast, and uneven. I looked down, the moon shining like a spotlight through the branches and you could see even an ant on the ground. That's how bright it was.
Two young girls running for their lives. Behind them, a group of the king’s knights stormed forward—torches blazing in their hands, eyes cold.
Compassion stirred in me. And instinct. I drew my bow and fitted three arrows. As they passed beneath my tree, I loosed them and three men fell without a sound.
Before the others could react, I fired again. Two more dropped. I climbed down the tree and ran after the girls. They didn’t stop. They didn’t look back. So I shouted, "Stop! Please—stop! Let me help you!"
They halted, and both bent forward, hands on their knees, their breathing ragged. That posture said everything: We’re just trying to survive.
I quickly guided them back to the tree where I’d built my shelter. The thoughts of revenge had escaped me, and now all I wanted to do was help these girl. I knew we had to move fast before the knights found us. And somehow, we did.
I still don’t know where I found the strength to pull the girls up into that towering tree. My hands moved without thought, my legs aching with every climb. We reached the shelter, breathless.
We sat in silence, our ears tuned to every twig snap, every shift of armor below. I handed them some fruits—soft, bruised, but enough to quiet hunger. A few hours passed with no words, and no coughs. Just breathing. And then, sleep took us. Not because we felt safe—but because exhaustion had won the night.
I woke up early and scanned the forest, hoping not to see movement. But it was empty, quiet and still. Fear tugged at me—what if the knights were still searching for survivors? I chose to stay in my tree shelter for a few more days before taking any action.
When the girls woke, I handed them fruits and dried meat I’d kept. My voice was low, almost hesitant. “My name is Ethan, by the way… the only survivor from Ngundu village.”
The older one, her smile gentle and breathtaking despite the pain in her eyes, replied, “Thanks to you… they could have captured us. We’re indebted to you. Thank you. Sam is my name, and this is Amanda, a friend of mine.”
She paused, her voice cracking as she went on. “I have no idea what happened to our families. We weren’t home when we heard screaming—then saw fire rising into the sky. We ran. The knights saw us and chased us…”
As she spoke, tears began to fall, slow and silent. And I didn’t know what to do, I had grown up alone. Comforting someone wasn’t something I’d learned. I just watched her cry, my hands still, my words trapped in my throat. But something told me that just being there… mattered.
The next morning, I knew what needed to be done. These girls deserved more than just safety—they needed strength. So I began teaching them how to survive.
We spent the day wandering through the forest. We picked fruits, hunted small animals, and in between, I showed them how to handle a bow—how to string it, draw it, and feel its balance.
Later that day, we came across six others—two men, two women, and two young boys. At first, fear gripped us. But soon we realized… they were survivors too, from the same village the girls had fled.
We worked together, building tree shelters before nightfall. And as we sat around a quiet fire, we came to an agreement—this wasn’t just survival anymore.
It was preparation. I trained the boys next. Their hands were unsure at first, but I taught them everything I knew. How to aim with silence. How to let memory guide your arrow.
And with each passing day, I began to notice something. There was more to my bow than wood and string. It moved with me. It responded. As if it carried a will of its own—a force bound to my pain, to my purpose. It wasn’t just a weapon. But was becoming a legend.
The next day, while out hunting, we crossed paths with the king’s knights. They were scouting the forest, searching for survivors—those who had fled during the raid.
We hid behind thick bush and low trees. Every footstep echoed like a threat. With each knight that passed, I drew my bow in silence and loosed arrows. A few fell before they even saw us.
But then one of them spotted movement. The forest exploded into chaos. Steel clashed, and war had begun. At least this time... I wasn’t alone.
We moved like shadows through the trees and the way we were fast was like we had become speedsters. We knew the terrain—they didn’t. The forest was ours and their armor slowed them. Their noise betrayed them and ours was the advantage.
Several knights caught sight of me and charged. I bolted into the underbrush, heart pounding, lungs burning. My bow gripped tight, I crouched behind a moss-covered bush, eyes locked on their legs as they closed the distance.
I fitted two arrows. Released. Both struck—clean, fast. The last one lunged, blade raised. But a young girl from our camp had followed me—brave and quick. She struck the final knight down before he could reach me.
We turned and sprinted back to help the others. The battle stretched into dusk. That day, we took many of them down. But we didn’t leave unscathed, I lost two of the boys I had trained. Two young lives whose courage had outgrown their years.
I was silent. Grief twisted inside me, but anger sharpened it. All I wanted… was the king. Even if that felt impossible.
Then a new thought crept in. If we stayed in the forest, we could strike them all. The knights—one by one. Every scout sent to find us would meet silence… and arrows.
And that’s what happened. We hunted them as they had hunted us. Each time they came, we were ready. And with every fallen knight, something changed—we discovered we weren’t alone.
Deep within the forest, scattered among the roots and thorns, were others. Survivors we hadn’t known existed. Families. Fighters. People who still breathed… and still hoped.
Together, we became an army of archers, trained, silent and Precise. Our arrows never missed—not because they were enchanted, but because they were drawn from grief, rage, and resolve.
We ruled that forest, and the king’s scouts never returned until one day, they didn’t send scouts. The king himself came with a full battalion. We used to climb higher tress to see each movement and we saw them coming. I ran and called out to the others letting them know what was coming.
With a commanding voice, I cried out: "Today is the day we avenge our families—slaughtered by the king. Stand your ground! No matter how many they are, we fight. Our traps are ready. This forest is ours—we know every root, every shadow. We won’t run. Let’s end this. No survivors. No mercy."
The crowd roared in unison: “Let’s kill them!”
And then—Sam ran to me. She embraced me tightly, her breath trembling. Then came the kiss—urgent, honest, shaking me to my core.
“I’ve loved you since the day you saved us,” she whispered. “I didn’t know how to tell you. But if I’m to die today… I want to die having told you.”
I pulled her close, kissed her deeply, tears sliding down our cheeks like silent vows. For the first time since the flames took my world… I had someone. I wasn’t alone.
Minutes later, the king's army entered the forest. Steel rang out, Leaves trembled and It was time. They were ready, and so were we.......
............the end............
