Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue:

Darkness before light.

Relief before pain.

Stars exploded behind her eyelids and she forced them to open only to blink them harshly. The light that pierced them was too white, unlike anything she had witnessed. As if the harsh snows of her homeland had gained their own luminescence.

And then the pain hit, centered around her head but radiated down her bones to her feet. It wouldn't have been her first head wound much less injury - she was too used to pain anyways - but this seemed different. Every twitch and involuntary movement seemed to heighten the pain she felt belatedly, her thoughts sluggish and reflected in her movements.

Her voice whimpered against her will as she tried and failed to open her eyes again despite the harsh snow-light. Beside her, she felt hurried steps echo through the floor much easier than she would have dirt or wood but it sounded much different than footsteps on stone would have.

Then a hand was running through her hair she now realized was untied from it's usual ponytail and a voice, motherly and nurturing, was whispering at her to calm her. Another hand, this one rough and much too large to be anything but beastial, took her own hand and held it tight.

"Easy, Clarke," a voice different from the motherly one said. It most likely belonged to the one holding her hand. "You're safe; just try to keep still."

It took her a second for the words to settle in her mind and she stilled once they did. But not because the male voice said so.

But because her name wasn't Clarke.

After a second of still silence she tried to open her eyes again, now more than ever sure that she was dreaming. And deeply hoping she wasn't. Nothing good had ever come from Dreams for her; they all eventually turned into Nightmares.

Her eyes burned as she opened them to the snow-light before she immediately turned towards the kind, soothing voice that had been whispering assurances into her ear. She was a pretty woman with brown hair with streaks of pale blonde and brown eyes. A smile blossomed on the woman's face as she met her eyes.

"Hey, sleepy head," the woman whispered. "You gave us quite a scare there for a while."

Scare? Us?

Eyebrows scrunched in confusion, she let her head roll to look at her other side where a rather handsome man sat, his hands in hers. His face was square where the woman's was angular, his hair a dirty brown, and eyes a deep blue. He gave her a relieved smile though it seemed to dim when her expression didn't change.

"Abby?" The man said, not taking his eyes off of her. "Something's not right. Clarke, baby, say something. Anything."

She swallowed, unsure, but began.

"What-"

She had to stop, her jaw clenching.

That wasn't her voice either. It was young. Too young. Near childlike. And it lacked the heavy accent that she had picked up as a result of being around her mentor for so long, though her grammar had always been better than his despite his influence. Her tongue moved in a way unfamiliar to her and it took everything she had to stay still and calm. Her panic would do nothing but put her in danger and throw her skills out the window.

Forcing herself to take a steady breath, she continued to ask her question.

"What happened?" The young voice that spoke from her mouth asked. There. At the end, the voice had taken on a bit of familiarity. Not heavily, no, but enough to bring her a small comfort. It didn't seem like it brought the two at her bedside any comfort, however.

"All types of side effects come from head traumas," the woman - Abby - said to the man. "There have been recorded instances where someone could start speaking languages they didn't even know. Even strokes could cause accent changes. It's rare but not unusual, especially in a developing mind, Jake."

Abby the Woman grabbed her hand, seeking her eyes. "What's the last thing you remember, Clarke?"

Her eyes scrunched involuntarily as she sought her memories of the last things she saw. Before the snow-light and the pounding pain in her head - the snow-light, which she now saw, was spread throughout the entire room which was made to look like a steel trap without bars. By her bedside, next to Abby the Woman, was a ringing machine giving a sound unlike any bell she ever heard while a line rose and fell on a pane of black glass. Next to Jake the Man was a thin metal pike of which a floating shape of water was held - no, not floating. The water which was clearer than any lake or pond she had ever seen was being held by a covering she could see through.

It amazed her as well as reminded her that this could be nothing more than a hysterical delusion in her throes of death.

Death.

Yes, she was dead. But she'd been that way a long time. How long was mystery to her as time had no prevalence in that hell of her own making. But that death had no other effect than to assuage her guilt. It was her second death that brought forth more. That evoked the harsh feelings that had ruled her during her tenure as both prisoner and guard.

Her second death would have been more honorable than the first, if she still held some belief in honor and disgrace. If that belief hadn't died the day she threw beloved weapon away from her in disgust. But her second death brought out a feeling of peace, in the end. After that, it had been nothingness until she woke up to the snow-light.

"D-dark?" She said haltingly. "Some pain and…" Here she had to gather her thoughts. She was 'Clarke' to them. How did she explain to these strange people that she wasn't who they thought her to be? She didn't know them. She didn't-

"Urgh!" Her vision blackened as her eyes slammed closed and her hands flew up to her head as images swam on the forefront of her mind. She saw through eyes that weren't hers as she ran with a body that wasn't hers with a dark-skinned boy she didn't recognize but was sure (not) she held in high esteem. The hall was much like the metal cage, with snow-lights lining the ceiling instead of the wall lamps she was used to. (Not) Her feet carried her swiftly, (not) her heart beating thunderously as laughter bubbled up from (not) her throat. Then the floor rocked from beneath and (not) she was thrown to the side as a room (not) she had passed burst into fire.

"Fire," she gasped, looking at concerned brown eyes. Both Jake and Abby had all of their attention focused on her. "S- I was running," she continued, careful. "I was laughing and I passed a door, there was fire… and there was Nothing." Frowning, she asked Jake the Man, "I was with someone, I think. Is he okay?"

"Wells is fine, Clarke," Jake the Man answered. "He was farther from the blast than you and was thrown farther from it. You were the only one really hurt."

"You cracked your head against the opposite wall," Abby the Woman said as she shared a glance with Jake the Man. "It was… It was touch and go there for a while. We were so afraid that we were going to lose you, Clarke."

Tears had developed in those brown eyes and she wasn't sure how to comfort Abby the Woman. Jake the Man came to the rescue instead, moving quickly and quietly over to the left side to wrap an arm around the distraught woman's shoulders.

"Why don't we let her sleep," Jake the Man suggested. "You're probably tired, Clarke; we'll come back first thing in the morning to see when we can get you out of here. I know how much you hate hospitals," he said with a sardonic grin.

"Alright," she whispered, unable to say anything else. Her mind was a mess and she wasn't sure when she was going to wake up in the Nightmare again.

She very nearly startled as Jake the Man brought his face down to hers and kissed her forehead in a way that felt like something she had forgotten. It hit her then, that Jake the Man was Jake the Father of the one they call Clarke and Abby the Woman was Abby the Mother. His lips warm on her forehead caused her to close her eyes, savoring the affection she hadn't felt since she was a child. The man who took her in, her mentor, was too distant for her to look up to as a father figure.

With her eyes closed, it was easy enough to fall back into the nothingness called slumber. In the last moments of consciousness, she hoped for darkness. Instead she lived as thirteen year old Clarke Griffin, daughter of Councilwoman and the Head of Medical, Abigail 'Abby' Griffin, and Senior General Engineer, Jake Griffin. Clarke Griffin, the fifth generation of the ARK, a collection of space stations orbiting a radiation soaked Earth. Clarke Griffin, the Doctor's Apprentice, one of the Privileged.

No longer would she be who she was. No longer would she be a dead woman seeking penance for her crimes. No longer was she bound to the Nightmare, to the Elder God of the Sea Kos and its Orphaned Child.

No. Lady Maria of the Astral Clock Tower, apprentice of Gehrman the First Hunter, was gone.

She was free to be… Clarke.

She was free.

Chapter Text

Arc One: The First Years

Chapter One:

"Perception colored reality.

It is a fact of the universe. Reality, whether physical or philosophical, is only truth because enough of the masses had perceived and agreed that reality to be true. It was why such things as moral ambiguities and deviations from what others perceive as truth would cause the general populace to paint those as insane, ignorant, or naive.

It has been said that sanity is simply the most common perception of what was acceptable in reality. It has also been said that there are always two sides of a story. A man who steals bread may be a thief or he could be a provider for his children. Two sides of a truth that a person only accepts if they do not see the other side.

Time itself was a perception as many experienced the same amount of time but felt it differently. Time could be said to be a dictation of reality, an indisputable factor that could not be impeded. The same could be said for death. Indisputable constants of reality.

This is a lie.

Does a being that does not age experience time? Does a being that does not die experience life? Do they not, then, impede what you would perceive as reality? If these beings convince your sight that the moon is not red, do they not dictate our reality?

Could it be said, then, that these beings are dictations of reality themselves?

Would these beings not be superior to mankind?

Would they not be Gods?"

• Provost Willem, Head of Byrgenwerth, Academical Institute

Clarke grimaced as her eyes were assaulted by the harsh overhead lights of Medical Station, the smell of antiseptic and bleach invading her nose. While she had long gotten used to such things due to her mother's occupation, she had never enjoyed such smells. Especially not waking up to them.

Groaning, Clarke did her best to sit up despite her protesting ribs. That was a mistake as her head began to throb behind her eyes. Why was it so bright? Did it have to be?

'The fault lies with the snow-lights.'

Pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes, Clarke tried to think. Tried to remember. She was… She remembered Wells and…

'It helps to start at the beginning.'

Taking a breath, Clarke closed her eyes as she thought back. It… It had been a Thursday, a pop quiz had been given out for Earth Survival which had been taken as a joke by everyone besides her, Wells, and a few others. It was the last class of the day. She thought she had done pretty well considering her lack of time studying.

She ignored the few scrutinizing looks she received as she waited outside the class for Wells to get done asking the Earth Survival Skills teacher, Charles Pike, a question he had about the quiz. Then she had stolen his vintage pencil case his father had given him and ran. It was something they had done since they were kids; as they grew up, it had always been Clarke that had to make the much more serious Wells let go a little.

They'd been traversing the ARK since they were in diapers. Before Clarke had been enrolled in kindergarten, there were days when her father took her to work with him and she had gotten to play engineer with him. For as long as she and Wells had been playing as children, she knew that section of the ARK to always be empty during school and work hours so it was often their most used route when chased.

They'd only been running a few minutes when there was suddenly pain and then darkness.

"Clarke?"

Her head whipped up to see Jackson, her mother's assistant standing in the doorway of her room. Room? Blinking, Clarke took a look around, just now realizing that she was in one of the rooms used for coma patients. There wasn't much in the room, aside from a chair, an IV drip, and a heart monitor. The door itself wasn't much either. Coma rooms weren't used often as coma patients were seen as a drain on resources. So the coma rooms went unused for the most part.

Looking down at herself, Clarke realized that she was in her own pair of sweatpants and a loose, plain shirt. Thank God, she hated the paper sheets Medical used for coverings.

"Jackson," Clarke said, relieved. "Good morning."

For a second, her mother's assistant didn't say a word, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. Then he blinked and his open jaw closed so he could smile.

'Shocked and surprised, or something else? Watch this one.'

"Morning," Jackson said back before his head tilted. "Well, technically afternoon; it's almost 3." Jackson chuckled as he came a bit closer, taking a look at her vitals on the monitor as he did. "Your mom and I nearly had a heart attack when Wells brought you in."

"Wells brought me here?" Clarke asked. "How long have I been asleep? What happened?"

There was a hesitation before he answered. "Three days," Jackson told her as he took a seat in the only chair. "The accident caused severe trauma to your head… We were afraid that we'd missed something in your CAT scans when you didn't wake up for the first two days. You would not believe the amount of worry that rolled off Abby and Jake when you woke up yesterday. They were pretty scared."

Clarke hadn't even realized she had begun shaking her head until Jackson's brow furrowed. "What?"

"I… I didn't wake up yesterday," Clarke whispered. "Or if I did, I don't remember. I barely remember what I was doing before, much less the event that caused me to be here." As Clarke spoke, she gestured to the bed before she suddenly froze.

"Jackson… Jackson. Jackson, Jackson, Ja~ckson." Clarke suddenly looked up at the unnerved apprentice. "Jackson, something's wrong with my voice. Jackson, something's wrong with my voice!"

'Nothing is wrong. Do not panic in vain. '

Hands gripped her shoulders as Jackson sought her eyes, his grip tight enough to get her attention. Her breathing had shortened, near hyperventilation as her mind tried to understand what was different. It was in the tilt of a syllable, a pronounced vowel of certain words, the way her tongue moved strangely in her mouth . All of it didn't make a lick of sense to her but came naturally all the same.

"Clarke, I need you to breathe!" Jackson snapped. "Listen to me and take slow, deep breaths," he ordered. "With me, alright? Ready?" Jackson kept eye contact with her as he slowed his breathing and she struggled to match. Her heart rate had spiked during her panic and she could feel it thundering in her veins.

'Slow, deep breaths. Three seconds in, six seconds out.'

It took half a minute for her breath to even and for her to become deaf to her heart once again. She stared at Jackson as he looked at her and did her best to follow his own breath. As she calmed, three in and six out, she closed her eyes to help her even more.

"Injuries with head trauma come with all types of side effects," Jackson said calmly. "While rare, Foreign Accent Syndrome can be caused by a number of factors. Even strokes and depression can cause FAS. That you noticed it is an amazing feat within itself as many don't and have to have it pointed out to them."

"Foreign Accent Syndrome?" Clarke repeated. "That's not possible! There were only thirty cases within forty years of its discovery!"

"I know," Jackson replied with a small smile. Clarke blinked as she realized that as her mother's apprentice, Jackson probably knew everything she said already. "Congratulations, Clarke," Jackson said, "you're the first documented case of FAS on the ARK; you've made history."

Clarke gave a small laugh, unable to help it as it was forced through her throat. She made history at thirteen for an accident and unwillingly developing the accent version of a stutter.

"Do you recognize it?" Clarke ended up asking, unable to keep her curiosity at bay.

'Curiosity; a fault of the both of us, I'm afraid.'

The corner of Jackson's lips turned down slightly as he answered. "Not really," he told her. "It sounds British, sure, but also old. All queenly, puffed up, and stuffy, y'know? From those action movies."

Clarke eyed him, her blue eyes boring into his brown. "I hope you aren't calling myself stuffy," Clarke said innocently, forcing levity in her tone.

Jackson, thankfully, made no mention in her slightly strained tone and laughed. "Of course not, Ms. Griffin," he joked. "I would never call such a woman as yourself stuffy."

"Mhm," Clarke agreed. "Puffed up, however…"

"Well that's another story," Jackson insisted. Clarke felt another laugh bubble from her chest and she had no intention of stopping it. She laughed with him as he checked her chart and started writing.

"Is my mother here?" Clarke asked, feeling the words that rolled differently off her tongue.

Jackson never looked up as he answered in the affirmative. "She's with a patient right now," Jackson explained. "I'll let her know you're awake as soon as I finish up here. You're welcome to come with me if you're feeling up to it."

Clarke took the offer eagerly, barely pausing to allow Jackson to prod the bandage wrapped around her head she hadn't noticed and carefully pulling the IV that had been in her right forearm. Before he was even done and as soon as the needle was out, she was striding through the door looking for her mom while the older man shook his head exasperatedly. While she had played it off with Jackson, her speech changing had deeply affected her. Something as deeply rooted into her psyche that helped make her Clarke was suddenly gone. FAS wasn't curable either, so she would forever have a different speech pattern and lilt than her parents.

Than the rest of the ARK, actually. While completely different languages persisted the last near-hundred years, it was mostly because of families that passed it down from parent to child. They were almost exclusively used in families as well. English as it was in the United Kingdom, however, was practically gone as English taught was more than likely American. It persisted through the ARK and British articulation faded by the way through the school system.

It would be as if Clarke was suddenly speaking with a Germanic accent - and seeing as Germany never had a station much less one that became part of the ARK, it couldn't be any stranger. She couldn't have stood out more even if she had tried.

The main part of Medical Station would be better aptly named if it was called Medical Hall. A singular rectangular room lined with beds and sheet dividers for privacy. Each bed had one IV stand and one monitor. The front of the hall was covered with two sliding doors. As for the back, after the four coma rooms, there were two paths; one led to surgery and examination rooms while the other led to the machines, such as the CAT and X-ray.

When Clarke saw her mother, Abby was checking over a patient with a stethoscope in her hand and ears. The patient, a boy a few years younger than she was, was breathing deeply and listening as Abby whispered instructions. Clarke guessed that he had a lung bug, seeing as the boy was using his mouth to continue a breath his nose had started. She'd done that as a kid too.

'Very astute and observant. Good. That'll help in the future should the skill be cultivated. Continue to keep an eye out.'

Clarke walked bristly to her mother before halting a few feet away, casting an eye around the room and seeing the hall strangely empty. Not that too many people on the ARK got hurt; everyone had been doing their jobs for years and were taught by people who did them for their entire lives. The average day held no more than five people who had ignored instructions and had gotten hurt for it.

It seemed to be a slow day.

"I'm going to give you over to Dr. Jackson, okay, Tyler?" Abby told the boy - Tyler. "We're going to give you an x-ray, see what's going on. Jackson?"

"I have him, Abby," Jackson replied as he brushed past Clarke and took the boy's hand as he led them away from the two blondes.

The relief in Abby's face was shared by Clarke as her mother engulfed Clarke in a tight hug. Clarke tried to match it as she squeezed, unaware that her hug had gotten several times stronger than what Abby could comfortably handle. The older blonde said nothing however, content to relish in her daughter's embrace.

"My voice is different," Clarke mumbled into her mother's shoulder, causing Abby to let out a choked laugh as she hugged her daughter tighter.

"That happens with Foreign Accent Syndrome," Abby replied, her head still buried in her daughter's hair. "Nearly gave your dad a heart attack yesterday; he grilled me for every FAS fact I could remember after we got home."

"Yesterday?" Clarke asked into her mother's shirt.

She felt Abby nod into her head. "After you went back to sleep."

"I don't remember," Clarke confessed. Abby pulled back a little and smiled gently at her.

"I'm not surprised," Abby replied. "You were completely disoriented. You barely recognized your dad and I. Didn't seem to remember Wells' name for a second, either."

"Really?" Clarke asked. She couldn't imagine that scenario at all.

"Yep," Abby affirmed, "and you fell asleep just as we said goodbye, too. Besides some disorientation, you didn't seem to have a concussion. You talked well and didn't slur your words." Abby cupped Clarke's cheeks in her hands and locked her gaze with her daughter's. "I am so happy to see you awake, Clarke. I'm so, so relieved."

"So am I," Clarke whispered back as she gave Abby a smile.

"You're dad was going to be here this morning," Abby said as she wiped her eyes with her thumb, "but you were dead asleep and an emergency came up in Farm Station."

"That's more than alright," Clarke assured. "I'll be sure to see him later."

"Listen to me," Abby commanded sternly. "As your doctor and your mother, I am ordering you to go home and sleep. Don't take off your bandage and don't take a shower just yet. Do you understand?"

"I do," Clarke replied, nodding. "I will, I swear."

"Then what are you still doing here?" Abby mock asked. She leaned down and gave Clarke a kiss on the crown of her head and said, "Now get going before I make you."

"Yes, ma'am." Clarke saluted as she turned on her heel and left through the double doors.

As Clarke walked through the halls, she thought about ignoring her mother's instructions and going to class. Wells was no doubt worrying himself into an early grave and she really wanted to see him. Not to mention she had a day of class work to make up.

'Do not ignore orders of a physician. They will know.'

Despite her thoughts, Clarke continued on to her home, sure that her mother's sixth sense would let her know that Clarke had disobeyed. Both mothers and doctors were like that. Besides, she was tired, even if she had slept for days on end.

Entering the Griffins' living quarters consisted of no fanfare, Clarke barely pausing as she quickly and quietly went to her room, and collapsed into her bed. Her heavy eyes began to shut as soon as she landed, limbs turning to lead against the comfort of her mattress.

Not once did Clarke Griffin think of the voice that talked in the back of her mind.

Not once did she think to acknowledge it.

But as Clarke Griffin was pulled under sleep, she did not dream a 13 year old's dream. No, she dreamt of a place of snow and blood. Of Beasts and Hunters.

In her dreams, Clarke dreamed of the life of Lady Maria of Cainhurst, the First Hunter's Apprentice.

What used to be Lady Maria of the Astral Clock Tower quietly glided through the small, living space, her fingertips just barely touching the surfaces around her. Everything was a marvel, whether it be something she recognized or not. The snow-lights weren't as harsh in the main quarters of the Griffin home; to be easier on the occupants' eyes, Maria guessed.

When she had awoken that morning, she woke with two expectations. One: that the day before had been nothing more than a dream. The second was that the dream hadn't ended and she would continue the charade of being a prepubescent girl and live a new life. Somehow sharing the body of said girl wasn't a possibility Maria had considered.

Her mind woke before her body did. And then she was seeing as her body moved of its own accord. Except it wasn't moving on its own but rather under the direction of someone else.

It was an unsettling experience, being privy to another's thoughts, feelings, and whims. When Clarke (because who else would it be?) complained about the snow-lights, Maria had spoken - or thought, however that worked. While Maria went unacknowledged directly, the more Maria had said, the more Clarke seemed to be listening. The girl had heeded her advice in both her memory and during her panic. She had even watched her surroundings when Maria established it would be prudent to do so.

Why Clarke did not speak to her, Maria had no inkling, but it was not as if Maria had tried to get the girl's attention. The advice she had given Clarke had been common sense in Yharnam and Cainhurst.

Maria thought she had been trapped. That her new prison was to be a girl's conscience - of which she had no doubt she would fail spectacularly. Maria thought she was to be an observer instead of a guard this time. Another prison, this one with a view.

That notion ended when Clarke closed her eyes and Maria opened them.

It was almost as if Clarke had completely disappeared, no thoughts or emotions that Maria could feel distinctly separate from her own. Confused and slightly worried that she had accidentally just killed a child, Maria had closed her eyes again and tried to feel.

They were fuzzy, Maria had found. If those thoughts and emotions of Clarke Griffin were a tangible, physical presence, then there was a thick curtain separating the two. Maria couldn't feel them anymore, as if she was trying to lip-read from over ten meters away. All she knew was that Clarke was safe. Possibly asleep, as it was what Clarke had gone to do when Maria had gained autonomy.

Content that the other blonde was as safe as she could be, Maria found herself unwilling to sleep herself. She was curious about the world she found herself in, so unlike Cainhurst and Yharnam. Curiosity had always been a weak link in her; a fault that had led her to join Provost Willem and his school to the Fishing Hamlet and Kos. Through what she had seen of Clarke's memories that she had witnessed after she had fallen asleep the previous day, she knew that Clarke held that same fault as a child, though it had been tempered by her environment. Her own curiosity had been tamed through her guilt and her penance as Secret Keeper of the Hunter's Nightmare.

Clarke, her parents, and nearly twenty-five hundred others lived in a floating box in the sky, floating above a planet too toxic to live on. Their own Nightmare, separated from reality, where every person was distributed what they needed and executed for the smallest of slights. A thief and a murderer shared the same punishment, here in this ARK.

Still, despite the ugliness the ARK tried to cover, Maria found herself fascinated by the bibs and bobs that littered the Griffins' living space. Seeing these things through memories not of her own was very different from seeing these things for herself.

Maria's fingertips halted on a sky-lit pad she had seen frequently in Clarke's memories. Halting, Maria pressed a single finger to the top right corner and watched as the empty air opposite to her was suddenly filled. Maria looked on in amazement as the vibrate colors flitted between shades. A living picture with a whole library of stories to tell.

Television, Maria remembered it was called.

Touching the remote again, Maria watched as the pictures and colors changed. Her eyes danced with mirth, even as her facial expression never changed. Eventually, Maria stopped pressing the remote as the picture landed on two women fighting in a ring. The two showed more skin than Maria ever had and they were fighting in a way that was completely foreign to her.

Before being a guard in the Astral Clock Tower, Maria could confidently say that she was a very competent Hunter. She was fit, her skill with Rakuyo was unmatched as a fighter as the only one who had a chance at beating her was her mentor Gehrman, and she was more than capable of wielding her beloved Evelyn one-handed despite her recoil. The closest to hand-to-hand combat she had ever come was the Visceral tactic that Gehrman had taught her.

These two women were throwing punches and kicks at each other in ways Maria had never seen before. There was a fluidity in their movements that Maria admired. While she didn't know the styles or skills the two were using, she recognized the tactics each employed.

The one on the left was initiating a blitz. Hunters that used blitzes were often ones that rushed in quickly, determined to end the fight before it really began. Gehrman was one such Hunter; his speed and damage was near overwhelming. The woman on the right used a guard-break strategy. These types of Hunters were unusually patient and waited for the right moment to do the most damage to their opponent. Ludwig, Maria had heard, was one such Hunter in his prime. Maria used a combination of the two strategies herself. Being fluid in her styles had helped keep her alive during Hunts.

Maria watched, mesmerized, as the battle was revealed to be a sport. An advocate came from the side as the second woman waited for the right time, grappled with her opponent, and slammed her onto her side on the floor of the arena. The advocate slammed his hand down on the cushioned arena floor ten times before declaring the still-standing woman the winner.

Cainhurst had its own share of sports, Maria remembers. Watching as Cainhurst Knights fought to the death from the stands as a child, Maria was well aware of blood sports. It had been a regular sight, especially when the entire kingdom would celebrate every Victor that came from the arena. Their laurels rested high in the Queen's Court should the champions bathe in enough blood.

Queen Annalise had made sure of it, after all.

Turning from the television as the two women began another round, Maria felt the call of nature and proceeded to where she knew this bathroom was. The idea of an indoor outhouse was displeasing, but it somehow worked.

These people took much for granted, apparently.

The bathroom was small - the size of a closet, really - but much cleaner than the outhouses that Maria was used to. It was a pristine silver, resembling the rest of the ARK, and the snow-lights were thankfully dull. There was a well polished mirror above a silver cabinet, both opposite to a shower and it's curtain. What had drawn her attention, however, was the reflection in the mirror.

Clarke's visage was one of a familiar stranger. Maria could see her Cainhurst nose, her cheekbones, in Clarke's face while her lips and eyes were foreign to Maria. It surprised Maria much to see that Clarke looked more like a Vileblood half-ling than a complete foreigner. Maria had expected something of Yharnam-blood or possibly Byrgenwerth. That Clarke would have a passing resemblance to the royalty of Cainhurst was mystifying.

Clarke's skin tone was darker than Maria's had been, despite the lack of sun. While Maria's skin had looked near-porcelain in both smoothness and skin tone when she was living, Clarke's skin was smooth and was a more common color. Her hair, too, was different from Maria's. It was a golden color though there were several pale locks that reminded Maria of her own hair. It also reached her shoulder blades and parted the same way Mari's had. All that was missing was the black ribbon she used to tie her hair.

Maria had forgotten her eye color after all those years in that Nightmare, but she did not believe it matched Clarke's. Her eyes were a deep and dark blue that brought Maria back to the Moonside Lake in Byrgenwerth. These eyes seemed to change with the snow-light. It was all so surreal to see a face so close to her own but not the same.

Vileblood Nobles were easily identifiable due to the features they shared with Queen Annalise. It was a fact that made it easier for those at the Healing Church to ostracize her when they saw she had been a Vileblood of Cainhurst. Not that Maria could exactly blame them for the wariness and hate. The people of Cainhurst worshiped the Old Blood, death, and all the violence that came with the Beastly Scourge.

The face could pass as noble, Maria was sure. The Lady Clarke Griffin did feel apropos, seeing as Clarke was the daughter of two incredibly influential individuals. Clarke's mother was a member of the Chancellor's Court, an advisor to help rule the ARK despite her occupation as physician.

Maria's own parents never worked before their deaths, being Cainhurst Nobles themselves. She barely remembered them now; their faces nothing more than blurs and vague feelings of comfort and sadness after all these years. Her family name was lost as well. When they died, Maria was too young to understand the importance of the second name that tied her to the family she had lost. Maria had only given her first name to her savior and, later, mentor Gehrman when she had introduced herself in the hours after that. She was easily identifiable as a Lady of Cainhurst due to her appearance as she grew older but her family name became irrelevant as by that time, she was known only as Lady Maria.

Maria doubted that would change even if she did remember the family name she'd unintentionally cast aside.

Maria left the bathroom, hands still wet despite wiping them on the cloth the bathroom provided, and once again turned her attention to the television. The same two were still fighting, possibly a different round than the one that had started when she left.

Exhaustion swept over Maria and covered her mouth with the back of her hand as yawn forced its way out. Carefully, Maria tapped the remote again and watched as the television blinked out of existence. Maria couldn't help but shake her head at such a device before turning back to the bedroom and heading to the bed.

The mattress dipped as Maria lowered herself, collapsing onto her side, and her eyes closed heavily, slumber once again taking her under its influence.

If you made it this far, congrats and thanks for putting up with any mistakes or ramblings. I wrote this on my phone as my computer broke during a move.

Please review. I love hearing your guys' thoughts and opinions on what has or could happen.

I'll try to get Ch 2 out sometime next week, promise. I think Wednesdays could be a sort of deadline for me if I can stick with it.

Anyways, thanks for reading, please review, and I hope you guys still live when I post next week.

- Scribble

Chapter Text

Arc 1: The First Years

Chapter Two:

"The Blood has cursed them. Tainted and tarnished by the Blood, they took for granted what the Blood had given us. We are to fear it, to be made men by it. We are undone by it.

Their indulgence had turned them against us; turned them feral and enemies of Man. The Beastly Scourge that infects them has them no more than monsters.

Monsters that need to be purged from Yharnam. We have all seen what happens when the Blood goes unchecked, when the Scourge reigns. Cainhurst and its Vileblood Queen that relish in their beastial carnage, uncaring of its effects on the greater population.

The Monsters here in Yharnam are purged, their Blood spilt so they may not spread their disease. The Divine Blood saw them corrupt, and exposed them. It is the duty of this able body, this Healing Church, to purge those that have found themselves unworthy of the Old Blood.

They will run. They will hide. They may even pray. But it is our duty as the Chosen of the Blood and the Hunters under our employ, to Hunt those which have been Corrupted.

They will be cut down.

They will be Hunted.

Starting, first, with the Vilebloods that desecrate our sacred Blood."

- First Vicar Laurence, Founder of the Healing Church of Yharnam

She couldn't believe she was doing this. It was ridiculous and she was being incredulously ridiculous for taking it seriously. She felt like she was a kid again; her imagination running wild once again and badgering her father over the breakfast table about what she'd done the previous night.

Except it hadn't been a normal dream that had consumed her mind two nights before. She hadn't woken up giddy like she used to, eager to recount her adventures to her parents. In, fact, she found herself extremely predisposed to never telling her parents what she had experienced the night before.

'Experienced' was a strange word to use but Clarke could think of nothing else that could possibly fit. Because unlike the last few years, where Clarke had woken up peacefully from a dream she would not remember, that morning Clarke had jolted out of bed to dry-heave over her floor. The dream had not gone away as the others had, either.

Instead, it seemed burned into her skull. The bright and cold snow, the sound of crowds as they cheered for their champion, the blood… There was so much blood; more than Clarke had seen in her year of being a Doctor's Apprentice. More than should be possible to come out of a body.

Clarke had dreamt up both wonders and horrors that shouldn't have been possible for her. She had dreamed of Earth, of course, as has every child. But she had always dreamt of what movies and shows had displayed, of the world before the bombs. Dreamt of lush forests or busy city squares.

She had never dreamt of being someone she wasn't. It was always Clarke that visited these places in her dreams. It was always Clarke that found herself in sprawling forests, oceans, and cities.

In the nightmare, Clarke wasn't herself. She was someone else, an observer and participant in actions too gruesome for Clarke to have thought of. Too detailed, as well; Clarke could feel the blood that stained her skin, see the individual hairs in an insane man's beard, and hear the high pitched screams of victims devoured by beasts Clarke had never seen.

Nearly everything Clarke had seen through her eyes was horrific.

Her. Maria.

Lady Maria.

Which brought her in front of the mirror some hours after she awakened drenched in her own sweat. Her dream consisted of a thousand different events, each longer and more detailed than the one that came before it. The last Clarke had seen was a bladed battle of such intensity it frightened her. It had ended in Maria's death though she had only lost by a small margin. As Maria's body faded into white ash and dispersed, Clarke thought that the end until her eyes opened once more.

It was the period of time Clarke hadn't remembered; the time two days ago Jackson had said she had been awake for and talked to her parents. Clarke wasn't herself, but not Maria, but also both and neither. Trying to comprehend the nuances to make some sense of it had given Clarke a massive migraine instead of any sort of clarity.

Clarke's desperation to know that she hadn't been struck insane by the accident had led her into the bathroom, staring at her reflection, studying the face in it. Maria looked more aristocratic than Clarke did, with sharper lines and paler hair and eyes. Her skin was flawless, Clarke noted with a bit of jealousy-

Which was ridiculous because Maria was a figment of Clarke's imagination brought on by a severe blow to her head. Clarke just knew how to prove it, too; it was the reason she was in front of the mirror.

So why did she keep hesitating?

She knew the answer, of course. Because if she followed through with her intentions, that meant the urges she had throughout that day and the day before and the nightmare she had were real. It meant that Yharnam, Cainhurst, Hemwick, and Pthuremu were real places. That there really was a Lady Maria of the Astral Clock Tower living in her head after she'd died a second time, the first death having been through suicide to deal with guilt for dissecting a living God and its unborn child for blood and flesh in order to reach a new stage of human evolution . Not to mention torturing and killing villagers that were fish-people simply because they found the body of a dead god and worshipped it.

It was too fantastical to even consider being remotely true - and she didn't mean it in a good way. But she also wasn't creative enough to forge it. She lived in a metal tin box that floated in the vastness of space, above an irradiated planet. Her environment wasn't very conducive to developing imagination. Especially not one with such eccentricities as gods and pocket dimension Nightmares. As Vicars or religions based on Blood.

Clarke could draw, yes, but she couldn't imagine such things.

"Maria?"

Clarke's voice was shaky, hesitant. She was actually doing this. Trying to prove her dream wrong by calling it out. By calling to the obvious hallucination known as Hunter Lady Maria. She didn't know of any other way. Not without sounding crazy when she told her parents, which was her only other plan.

Being thirteen, Clarke really didn't want her parents calling her crazy for seeing, hearing, and feeling the things she had. She didn't want any more of the ARK to glare at her or whisper about her behind her back. She didn't want to be isolated from her best friend, Wells, or put through the dozens of tests her mother would no doubt force her to go through. She didn't want to be ostracized more than she already was.

So she needed this to work. She needed to prove-

'Hello, Clarke.'

Oh, God, no.

'It's a pleasure to finally talk to you.'

She was hyperventilating. Everything came crashing down around her as Clarke gripped the sink, her knuckles and fingers turning white with the force. Everything in her mind was beginning to numb as the only thought she could think echoed on repeat, getting louder and louder.

'It's real,' her mind repeated. 'It's real it's real it's real it's real!'

'Calm yourself!' Maria's voice snapped at her as Clarke tried to breathe. Her lungs wouldn't hold anything and her vision was turning blurry around the edges. 'Remember: three seconds in, six seconds out. You must be calm.'

Clarke's head lulled as she crossed her arms and closed her eyes. Her head gently laid on her arms, bent over at the waist so she could rest on the edge of the sink. Her thoughts were still numblingly chaotic, unable to think more than that one thought while at the same time unable to calmly accept it. Her lungs fluttered more than once as she tried to breathe evenly and deeply, but she kept trying.

Maria was silent once again, but now that she had spoken Clarke was more than aware of her presence in her mind. It wasn't a tangible thing, not like a headache or a migraine, but Clarke could feel her there. As if Maria was nothing more than a feeling or a stray thought Clarke would have had on any other day. As if Maria was right there along with Clarke's common sense.

"How is this real?" Clarke whispered to herself. "How is any of this possible?"

'You know how,' Maria's older voice softly echoed in her mind. 'You are aware of the Blood now, along with those that reside on a higher plane.'

"Amygdala, Flora, Rom… Kos." The names Clarke whispered into the space of her arms made her shiver. Fear - true, childlike fear - erupted from her belly, nearly sending her breath away again. Gods. Actual, living and breathing gods. Or beings with so much control over reality that they might as well be considered gods. They were real.

All of it was real.

'Yes,' Maria whispered. Somehow, she sounded both tired and resigned. 'The life I lived was as real as any other. As real as yours.'

That was what scared her.

Things did not magically get better after that first meeting between the two. There was no sudden epiphany or understanding that came with either of their sets of memories. There was no magic word that allowed Clarke to cope with the sudden knowledge or released Maria into an unknown peace.

Clarke did not call on Maria again that day or the weeks afterwards. Maria did not volunteer information in that same span. For all intents and purposes, Clarke pretended that her life had never changed. That her world-view hadn't shattered with the introduction of Maria and what she had brought with her memories. Maria, still so fascinated with the world she found herself in, respected Clarke's boundaries and distance, even when she found herself the one walking instead of Clarke.

Clarke did not acknowledge these acts. Maria did not bring them up. Clarke went to school and did her work. Maria learned quietly, paying attention to the history of a world she'd never heard before. Clarke spent time with Wells and her parents, desperate to erase what she'd learned. Maria interacted with Abby and Jake, hardly allowing herself to relish in the feeling of parental affection but unwilling to let the chance pass her by

Despite their efforts to distance themselves from each other, they were still bound by forces they could not control. At night, when they were asleep and resting, they lived each other's lives once more. Maria once again remembered how Clarke started drawing with charcoal. Clarke once again saw Maria begin her training under Gehrman. They witnessed each other's past for the six weeks they remained as split from each other as they could be. They remembered memories that weren't theirs, felt the other's emotions, and heard what the other had heard.

An understanding came to pass at the end of that sixth week, after a dream of their thirteenth year. It was one that both had put off as long as they could but it was there all the same when they woke from the memories. That morning, as Maria dressed and Clarke's thoughts and feelings blearily awoke, the two minds of one body had to admit that despite their worlds and upbringing, they had more similarities than differences.

Like Clarke, Maria had been ostracized in Yharnam for her heritage. Like Maria, Clarke had thrown herself into her passions and studies as a result of that ostracization. Their apprenticeship was important to them, as were their friends. It wasn't their lives, however, where they found the most similarities, but rather in their morals and thought processes.

Before, when only Clarke Griffin resided in her body, her morals consisted of a strong sense of justice and responsibility. Even then, unaware of her future, Clarke was sure that there was no limit when fighting for those one loved. That the punishment had to fit the crime but knew nothing other than the capital punishment the ARK employed. That violence was never the first answer to anything but violence.

Maria had been of the same vein. That punishment should fit the crime. It was why she had taken her own life and remained in the Astral Clock Tower. That she had a responsibility for what she had done but also a duty as a Hunter. That her loved ones and those she was responsible for deserved the most Maria had to offer. That violence should only be done to those who had committed violence upon others.

This understanding between the two was the start. Later, neither or both would remember who asked the first question; only that it started a debate of philosophy and morality. While having the same viewpoints, there were some key differences, such as Clarke's 'Do No Harm' oath that all doctors had taken as opposed to Maria's debate of killings of Mercy.

By the second week of their debates, they had moved on to religion and death itself. Of afterlives of which Maria had witnessed or of Heaven and Hell which had been taught to Clarke and believed for thousands of years. Their discussions and debates over God or gods stretched days as both explained points of scripture or the happenstance known as miracles.

Eventually, the both of them discussed where Yharnam, Cainhurst, Hemwick, and Byrgenwerth resided. Clarke and Maria had both agreed that Maria's time had to have been long before Clarke's due to the sheer difference in technology (which Maria still marveled at). They were sure they would find their answers in the ARK's historical records.

What they weren't expecting was the fact that Yharnam simply didn't and had never existed. There was no record of a city known as Yharnam, of the Fishing Hamlet, of Cainhurst or Byrgenwerth. Maria's world simply did not exist.

Clarke and Maria could not find themselves to be upset at this notion. The Old Blood had never existed or had never been found. It had not tainted those that abused the Healing Blood. It had not caused a Scourge that had those infected slaughter their neighbors, friends, or family. It had not allowed the Nightmares a foothold into the world.

Maria and Clarke were content with this knowledge.

That wasn't to say that all was well between the two. There were still moments the two became angry or frustrated at the other. When the differences between the two were glaring. One such instance happened nearly a month after the two began to talk and debate.

It was a Saturday morning and the ARK was humming above what had previously been North America at what was approximately 6 a.m. In the bedroom of Jake and Abby Griffin's only child, was their daughter. Unlike most weekend mornings, where the blonde would be fast asleep, this morning had the blonde raising herself up to the top of her door jamb and slowly lowering herself down only to quietly repeat the process.

Clarke, however, was still asleep. The blonde currently in control of the body they now shared was Maria. For the last few weeks, Maria had been the one to get up first and began to exercise when she found herself with an uncertain amount of time to herself. Exercising was a habit she had gotten into when she was part of the Hunt and one she no longer needed when she was a corpse. After she'd died the second time, she hadn't expected to do it ever again. And yet, the chance to do so presented itself.

Maria took a moment to breathe after she lifted herself up, holding herself there for quite a few seconds to feel the burn she hadn't known she missed. Before, Maria had exercised not just because it helped her mind calm itself, but because she refused to be dependent on the Blood. Maria had already been altered by the Old Blood she had naively taken but she did not rely on the strength it gave her.

Maria let out a long breath as she slowly lowered herself, her mind full yet peacefully blank at the same time. Maria had yet to broach the subject with Clarke but Maria could tell that the body they now shared was no longer like it was. Like Maria's memories, she believed that some of her strength and reflexes were present in Clarke's body. It wasn't to the degree of when Maria was alive, the ex-Hunter noted, but it was still noticeable to those who looked for it.

Shaking her head slightly, Maria focused instead on the sweat running down her skin and the thumping of her veins underneath her skin. She focused on the cloth of the exercise bra that bound her chest and the snug running shorts she wore to work out in. Both articles of clothing were more than a little worn and repaired as well as they could be, though Maria was more than used to ripped clothing.

Adding another step now, Maria curled her legs to her stomach and stretched them out as she pulled herself up. She pulled them back to her and let them fall as she lowered herself and then repeated the motions. This would work to strengthen her legs as well as her arms.

So wrapped in her head and exercise, Maria did not notice when Jake had come into the room, intent on waking his daughter. Seeing his daughter doing pull ups in her closet door jamb brought the engineer up short. For a moment, all he could do was stare at his daughter, who he was sure wasn't picky about exercising.

Maria nearly startled when Jake cleared his throat behind her and knocked slightly on the door. Looking over her shoulder and seeing Clarke's father, Maria allowed herself to drop down, bouncing slightly as her feet landed.

"Good morning," Maria greeted him quietly, unsure. She was an adult coexisting in the mind of a newly turned teenage girl who lived in a machine that floated in the vastness of space.

Somehow interacting with parental figures made Maria feel more out of depth than anything else.

"Morning," Jake responded, an eyebrow raised. "Getting a workout in?"

Maria nodded, hesitant at how she should react to his lack of one. "I thought… I read it would make me feel better."

"And do you?" Jake asked. Maria nodded. "Then I don't see a problem. Just don't use all the hot water when you shower. Sore muscles can be a bitch."

"I won't," Maria promised, smiling slightly. Jake had been the calmest of the parental pair since Maria had awoken; Abby being slightly more conscientious about the changes that inhabited her daughter. It was mainly when Maria was in control though some of Clarke's mannerisms that changed caught Abby's attention. "I will meet you out for breakfast in a little while."

"I'll save you some pancakes," Jake told her. Maria grinned at him and said her thanks. Pancakes were a novelty that didn't exist in Yharnam and Maria found she quite liked the treat with its sweet syrup. It had slowly become one of her favorites.

Maria watched as Jake left the room, still smiling, before she grabbed a towel and headed to the family's shared bathroom. The shower was heavenly on her sore and growing muscles.

'Ow.' Maria smirked slightly at Clarke as the blonde woke. 'Do you have to exercise? Don't we draw enough attention to ourselves?'

"It will keep us in fit form should anything happen," Maria said quietly, eyes closing at the heat that spread through the shower spray. "We still do not have an idea as to why I am not dead. My homeland may not exist here, but I have no reason to doubt that the Old Gods remain in this world."

'Why did you have to say that?' Clarke complained. 'You might be worrying for nothing. Who's to say that the Old Gods live here? If Yharnam doesn't exist here, maybe they don't either.'

"We should be prepared for anything," Maria argued quietly. "It does not matter if they do not live on this plane. They may not be done with me, as only they have the mystical forces powerful enough to send me here."

'It's possible they think you to be dead,' Clarke argued back. 'If you prepare for doom, then that's what you'll get. This isn't Murphy's Law. This is paranoia.'

"Paranoia has saved me plenty when on a Hunt," Maria shot back, slightly frustrated at Clarke's naivete.

'You are not in Yharnam any longer,' Clarke pointed out heatedly. 'Those rules have no application in my world. There is no Hunt. The Old Blood has no hold. Get used to it.'

Maria growled, her blood bubbling at Clarke's purposefully obtuse way of thinking. Yes, the two were similar in many ways, but now more than ever were their differences obvious. Despite sharing a body, Maria had forgotten how young Clarke was. Maria had lived a full twenty-five years and perhaps decades in a hell of her own making. Clarke was only just thirteen, her birthday more than six months away. Clarke might as well have been but a babe compared to Maria.

Maria could feel Clarke's obstinate and stubborn mind metaphorically dig its heels into the ground, ready to continue the argument. Sighing slightly, Maria allowed her feelings of frustration and resignation to flow to Clarke. Clarke's mental hackles lowered and Maria felt the apology come her way just as Clarke voiced it. Maria accepted, sure that Clarke was only slightly apologetic for arguing.

Clarke's mind fell asleep once more, allowing Maria to finish her shower and head to the kitchen for some pancakes.

Maria doubted that it would be the last time the two would disagree on something, such as the Old Gods. But she would take it in stride.

Surprisingly, when Clarke and Maria did argue, it seemed to only to be due to Maria's cynicism or Clarke's stubbornness. Each were sure of their thoughts even when the other put in their doubts. The respect the two had gained for the other kept there from being any hard feelings and usually an introspective debate could cut through much of any tension the two felt.

Which was how, after another argument (this one about the necessity of keeping a makeshift weapon under their bed), the two found themselves contemplating exactly what their relation was. Was Clarke sharing her body with Maria's mind or soul? Ignoring the implications of the soul bit and what it meant, did Maria come from a different dimension or was Yharnam from an era completely wiped from history?

It wouldn't have been a stretch to say that the world might have banded together because of the Beastly Scourge. Much like World War Two, in that vein.

In Clarke and Maria's research, they looked for mentions of spirits inhabiting a new body. Besides a large selection of the term 'possession', they found the most answers in Hinduism and, with shock, Japanese fiction. Apparently, before the bombs dropped, there was a two decade long surge of a genre of Japanese animation style known as Isekai which served as entertainment on television. The genre was perhaps the entire opposite of what Maria was going through. The main character, usually some rather boring protagonist, was killed and sent to a fantastical world - usually in a different body, or sometimes species - where they became very powerful in a short time to stop the antagonist. Maria was an already powerful and intriguing Hunter that was killed and woke up in a pubescent body that was already inhabited.

Despite that one correlation between the genre and Clarke and Maria's situation, the two thought to at least see various ones in an effort to find some answers that might be plausible. Many were like the others of their genre, too many had too long of a name, and others were more than subpar or had poor animation styles. Still, they watched plenty of what was called Anime; hours upon hours.

The closest to their situation was an anime they found about a female villain. This villain had hit her head and suddenly remembered her 'past life' though it seemed the personality that inhabited the body was gone and replaced. Clarke suffered a head injury that caused Maria to appear. Though Clarke didn't lose her personality or thoughts like the character on TV did, it was clear that the two situations were as close as they were going to get.

Greek mythology had a tale about reincarnation but the loss of memories. It brought a lot of questions: was Clarke and Maria's soul the same? Did the only thing that differentiated them happen to be their memories and personalities? Was Clarke just Maria born into her reality? Was Clarke's personality and mind supposed to disappear like the anime and was she an accident or was the anime wrong? Was Maria in Clarke's body the entirety of her life like a genetic memory or was Maria transported into Clarke at the time of the accident? Who was supposed to be in control?

For all their searching, the two did not find an answer that felt like an answer. It only ended in more questions and doubts. What the two could decide on, was that Maria must have been a part of Clarke like the anime. Maria didn't feel as if she was an ancestor but neither was the villain in the anime when she remembered her past life. Maria could only guess as she was no scholar, but she felt as if the anime had gotten it wrong and that Clarke was supposed to be there too.

Maria's assurances helped Clarke sleep in the weeks to come.

Unknown to the two, something had changed in those weeks. It was only four days from the ARK's Unity Day Festival, three weeks after the end of their isekai research, that the two noticed the start of it.

Clarke was standing by the wall next to the entrance, sipping on her punch as she watched the crowd. This year, the festival had taken the form of a (tame) party. Recycled red solo cups, streamers hanging from the ceiling, and a large punch bowl on a long table. It was as if the ARK council was trying to bring those old shows to life.

Wells had not attended this festival. An attempt to aggravate his father into paying more attention, Clarke supposed. Unlike Clarke whose mother paid attention to her for Clarke's apprenticeship, Wells' father was Chancellor and a voted for Official. It was the one office besides council members that couldn't take apprentices to prepare the next generation. Heads of Departments were usually passed down through family lines, which was how Clarke became an apprentice at thirteen. If Clarke had been uninterested in medicine, then she would have expected to apprentice under her father, as he was a Senior General Engineer.

Clarke had flunked that aptitude test, however.

'You could pass it now,' Maria said, a general feeling of boredom coming from the back of Clarke's mind.

Clarke let out a short sound of agreement. Because of Maria, Clarke understood the mechanics of the things of Yharnam and Cainhurst, as she had learned as Maria had even though Clarke had no hands-on experience. Just as Maria theoretically knew how to draw. Clarke doubted she could pass that test, however. The mechanics of a saw-blade or Rakuyo were very different from a water purifier or a grav-ring. The only thing that came close was the Whirligig Saw and Maria was still baffled at how it worked. But now the building blocks were there. The base so Clarke could learn and build off of.

Like math. Can't multiply without learning addition - or the saying goes.

Taking a sip of her punch was the only way for Clarke to keep from sighing. This Unity Day, despite the music and large gathering of teenagers, was shaping up to be just as boring as the year before it. Coincidentally, Wells also didn't attend that year. As each of the festivals were age restricted, such as the adult festival happening several floors below her feet, Clarke thought that being allowed into the teens' festival would have made it more fun. Clarke had been so ready to grow up a year ago; desperate to move out of the children's festival and be a big kid. An adult.

Now, with Maria and her memories, Clarke felt old. She knew she was only thirteen, halfway to turning fourteen, but it didn't feel that way. Maria had felt the same but for Clarke, it had nothing to do with experience.

'Do you truly not have the experience?' Maria questioned. 'You remember it, do you not? You have felt the rush of victory as it coursed in your veins. You have heard the cries of a Cleric Beast. You have seen Rom. You have smelled the copper scent of dried blood and decaying flesh. Have tasted the Healing Blood and the Old Blood that all of Yharnam employs. Does that not mean that you have experienced it?'

Clarke supposed that it did. The two experienced the other's life though they still had different opinions on things. If anything, Clarke thought that made them sisters. Clarke felt a warm burst of emotion from Maria at her thought, though it was highly likely that Maria was Clarke's past life.

Still, she felt close to Maria. More than she felt to Wells or her parents, even. She shared a body with Maria. History, memories, and experiences. They were closer than sisters, Clarke was sure. Closer than twins.

This time, Clarke couldn't hide the sigh that escaped behind her solo cup. To be perfectly honest, she'd rather be asleep than be standing in the festival. The festival, however, is mandatory unless an individual's parent(s) were able to watch them. Needless to say, Maria would rather be exercising, again, rather than be at the festival. Clarke couldn't blame her; celebrations in Yharnam may have been few and far between, but Maria had found that she could drink with the best of them. It just wouldn't be safe for anyone who got her angry.

Clarke listened to Maria's rebuttal with half an ear, mainly focused on the memories of those celebrations when Yharnam wasn't consumed with fear and distrust.

So consumed by their thoughts, neither Clarke nor Maria noticed the girl that had idly walked up to her from the side. She stood quietly for a moment, seemingly content to watch Clarke stare off into space, swirling her red solo cup. She waited for a second before giving a little cough.

Clarke's entire body jerked as she was torn from memory lane and her conversation and into the present. Blinking, Clarke looked up before her eyes widened by a fraction.

Something happened in that moment. For a single moment, the two had let their guards down. For a single second, the two ceased to be and there was only one.

And it started with one thought:

"Pretty."

Quick side note - I put bold quotations for both of them thinking and an emphasis. She didn't actually say anything.

Read and review, sheeple!

-Scribble

Chapter Text

(A/N: The character Clarke meets uses the name of a main character in the books but might as well be an OC with how I've changed her. This includes looks, personality, and history.)

Arc One: The First Years

Chapter Three:

"Hunt.

An apt word for what we do. When the Blood has consumed the people of Yharnam. Whem the Blood we so naively relied on has turned into a scourge of filth and muck, hiding behind the faces of those we knew. When strangers attack, when Neighbors become feral, when parents turn against their children.

That is when we are called. When the sun is setting and blood fills the streets. The Hunters of Yharnam, the only cure to the disease that spreads through the masses. An infection, that Scourge of Beasts is. One that's only cure is death.

But haven't you heard?! We Hunters are just as susceptible. We Hunters are worse off. Because should a Hunter ever fall to the Scourge, to the Blood, you can bet your arse that he'll become a beastie badder than any other.

Look at Ludwig. At Laurence. At any other Hunter that's become Blood-Drunk. The Blood sunk its claws too tightly into their flesh, bleeding them of what ever purity they had until all that was left was corruption. Watch them howl at the Moon.

If you thought Hunters couldn't be Consumed, you'd be wrong and stupid. The Blood doesn't just leave us crazy and desperate for more, but better - as much as a bloodthirsty Beast could be.

But you didn't come to listen to an old man ramble…"

- Gehrman, The First Hunter, Independent

"A corpse should be left well alone."

Wells blinked down at her, his hand still raised just inches from her shoulder and suspended in her tight grip, almost tight enough to hurt. Chuckling as he met her eyes, he could only smile sheepishly, as he always did when she caught him trying to wake her. Which she did every time he had tried. He had yet to learn his lesson.

Despite her rather morbid words, Clarke Maria Griffin was a lively and soft-spoken girl with a strange lilt in her voice. She didn't always have an accent; she received it after a great deal of head trauma four years prior. It was a time of great change for her. Her voice had changed, she became ambidextrous, and an entire person named Maria had taken residence in her head.

Maria was gone, now. After nearly a year of being together, it tore Clarke's heart open to think that her companion was disappearing. That Maria was vanishing; dying. It wasn't until Maria's voice and feelings were gone from her head that Clarke realized that wasn't what was happening.

It was strange to think that she was two people at once. The migraine that came with Maria and Clarke becoming Clarke Maria Griffin was almost too much. She'd spent three days in bed, throwing up and trying to separate thoughts and feelings that had become a part of her. At the end, it was better to think that she was Lady Maria of the Astral Clock Tower before being born as Clarke Griffin of the ARK, and just couldn't remember until later.

She had been Maria. And then she was Clarke. And then she remembered and became both. It was hard to reconcile the memories, to bend them into some kind of order until she could function and stop questioning who she was.

She was neither. She was Clarke. She was Maria. She was both. She was Clarke Maria Griffin, previously of Cainhurst and now of the ARK.

Becoming who she was changed a lot about her, physically and mentally. Clarke hadn't expected it when she thought Maria had vanished. But she and Maria had only gotten closer. Clarke was more soft-spoken now, content to remain in shadows while others tried to be loud and intimidating. She had only gotten more clinical, understanding that not everyone was good or bad or either; but also understanding that she couldn't be in one category or the other. That wasn't who she was anymore.

Her appearance had changed more slowly over the years as opposed to her mental and emotional states. Her hair stayed a honey blonde for the most part while several of her locks had turned pale and near-white, especially two locks of hair that fell on either side of her face. Her blue eyes remained their deep blue though her skin tone had become a shade or two paler. She had also grown, becoming five feet and six inches as opposed to Maria's old five feet and eleven inches.

The largest change, however, had taken place inside Clarke's body and one she discovered by accident. Her blood was like Maria's. Contaminated with the Healing Blood and the Old Blood. She'd cut herself on accident only for the wound to nearly close up completely. Her blood's color became paler than the bright red it had been; pinkish rather than human. Clarke had made sure no accident like that could happen again.

Shaking her head slightly to rise from her thoughts, she looked up at Wells as a grimace formed on her face. She hated being woken up; sleep always seemed to be the best thing for her. When she couldn't exercise, at least.

"Then a corpse shouldn't be taking up the entire sofa," Wells returned, raising his right brow as he gestured down her body. Clarke raised her head a bit as she looked, her eyes narrowed as if to scrutinize the validity of his accusation.

And immediately blinked as she realized he was right. Before, she and Wells had been sharing the large, unfairly comfy seat as they watched a movie the night before. It seems that when she fell asleep in the middle of it, she'd somehow stretched her legs past the arm while the rest of her body migrated into the center. Her arms, in spite of the rest of her body, went up past the arm rest closest to her head. She had effectively claimed the couch.

"It's no fault of mine," Clarke suddenly said, her gaze returning to her best friend's. He merely chuckled.

"Oh, really?" Wells asked.

"It's not," Clarke insisted. "It's yours, for not waking me at the appropriate time."

"You hate being woken up. And getting you is like reanimating the dead," Wells returned. "The moment you're done, you get bit."

"I have never once bitten you," Clarke pointed out smugly.

"You've thrown a knife at my head! That's worse!"

Clarke sniffed, thumbing her nose and stretching her arm just the right way. "I have no recollection of that."

"That's because you were half-asleep when you did it and then laughed about it for an hour!" Wells returned hotly.

"You deserved it for interrupting my nap!" Clarke retorted. "There is no peace for the dead with you, is there?"

Wells stared at her with a deadpan expression as though he had found something wrong with what she had said.

"You were asleep on the kitchen floor."

"No one was using it!"

"Because you were asleep on the floor."

"No one needed to use it!"

"It was the one time a week our families have dinner."

"It was my floor!"

"You were in my apartment."

"That does not-"

"GIRLS!" Jake Griffin, Clarke's father suddenly shouted from the next room over. "You're both pretty! Now tone it down! Some of us want to sleep in on Saturday mornings!"

Clarke shared a look with her best friend before he broke out laughing and she chuckled. Despite the amount of times they'd had this argument, it never ceased to entertain. The exchange happened enough that Clarke knew exactly what Wells was going to say before he did. Clarke assumed the same went for Wells.

Letting out a groan, Clarke stretched as much as she could, twisting as she did so and hearing several satisfying pops come from her spine. Wells flinched and groaned, turning away from her as he lamented the freakish nature of her bones popping. Clarke grinned again as she sat up.

"Jealousy isn't very befitting of you," Clarke teased as she stood. Wells mimed her, his voice set at a ridiculous falsetto in an order to imitate her. She couldn't help the smirk that spread across her lips before a yawn interrupted.

"What time is it?" Clarke asked, noticing that Wells was dressed in a clean shirt and jeans.

"Almost ten," he answered.

Clarke's eyes widened before she bounded past Wells, over the chair, and into her room in less than five seconds. Letting out a hearty laugh, Wells only watched as Clarke rushed into the Griffins' shared bathroom with a bundle of clothes in her arms, nearly running into her mother in the process.

"Sorry!" Clarke yelled as the door slammed shut, leaving Abby to blink at the door confusedly. Turning to Wells with a raised eyebrow, his only response was to laugh harder.

"We're supposed to meet Glass in a few minutes," Wells explained to Abby. The woman only sighed and nodded.

"I swear, that girl…" Abby muttered as she made her way to the kitchen. Wells could only quietly agree as he thought about the final member of their trio, Glass Sorenson.

It took him a while to get used to the addition. It had been only him and Clarke for years - since they were kids, actually. They'd spent years being as close as family. Clarke had spent years being ostracized and becoming self-sufficient on just him for social interaction. So it was surprising when she brought Glass to their library table after classes.

Wells had actually met Glass first, surprisingly enough. He had been separated from Clarke in their history class and moved to the one the grade above. He'd always enjoyed history, starting when his mom used to tell him tales about the Roman empire as bedtime stories. After she'd died, it was a way for him to be close to her; to share her passion. It had gotten him into the advanced class, working on a project with Glass.

He could see how Clarke and Glass had become fast friends. Glass was born in Phoenix Station and was considered one of the privileged, just like him and Clarke. Glass was also incredibly kind and charming, able to tease without being hurtful. It had taken him a while to adjust to her bubbly personality and teases, but he'd managed and the duo became a trio despite the one year age gap between them and Glass.

It took him even longer to adjust to the knowledge of just which way Clarke swung when he caught the two of them in Clarke's room. He had been very tempted that day to bang his head on the wall to rid himself of the memory.

He never wanted to see his pseudo-sister that way ever again.

In the shower, Clarke had hurriedly scrubbed her skin with her soap and rinsed off before drying. Clarke dressed as quickly as she could, the thought of being late causing her to hurry. The last time she was late, Glass had given her the silent treatment for three straight hours. Glass had only stopped when Clarke had given her a sincere apology in the longest way possible until her accent was thick in the way that Glass loved.

Clarke had only been fifteen minutes late; and she did not want to experience those three hours again.

Clarke pulled her gray long-sleeved shirt over her black exercise bra and finished buttoning her jeans before rushing out the door. She gave Wells a glare as he continued to laugh at her misfortune while she continued on to her room to search for a pair of socks and her only pair of shoes. Grabbing a pair and her boots, she headed towards the living room to put them on.

"I don't see why you are laughing," Clarke told Wells as she sat down. "Glass will be just as upset at you for being late."

"Maybe," Wells shrugged. "But she won't give me the silent treatment."

Clarke growled low in her throat at that, knowing it was true. Glass and Wells got on like a house on fire, their mutual love of history just the starting point. The fact that Wells was more than willing to tell Glass embarrassing stories about her childhood only seemed to endear him to her more. Clarke let out a huff and ignored Wells' still grinning face to finish putting on her boots. Just as Clarke knotted the last lace, she was up and at the door, looking back at Wells.

"What are you waiting for?" Clarke demanded as she impatiently waited for Wells to follow. Wells' only reaction was to laugh harder at her and her impatience as he stood and followed her out into the hallway.

"Relax," he told her. "We have some time."

Clarke decided not to listen as she hurried down the hall, eyes automatically flitting to everything that might have been important. The couple down the hall was scolding their five year old son. Three guards made their way down past Clarke and Wells for a routine inspection; the lead guard's expression was more anticipatory than the two at his flanks. Clarke watched them pass out of the corner of her eye as she took most of her hair into a tie except for the two pale locks framing her face.

Clarke spent most of her time like this, when she was walking down the populated hallways of the ARK. To keep her mind sharp. She wasn't a Hunter anymore and the Beastly Scourge had no hold in these floating stations. Besides the guards and upper echelons who have let their authority and privilege define them, there wasn't what Clarke would call a true threat aboard the ARK. The guards left her alone as she was the Griffin Daughter and the "rebels" of the ARK, angry at their social situation and believe in expressing their anger, were nothing more than flies to her.

Their anger gets them floated more often than not and placing blame on the wrong people.

Even if she hadn't known the way to the Observation Deck before she met Glass, she would have memorized it by the time she and Glass had gotten together. The Observation Deck, better known as the Window by the teens, was a sort of lounge that teens and kids inhabited whenever they weren't occupied by schooling or apprenticeships. Clarke had often gone there with Wells to hold their chess matches. Clarke goes to the Window more now, Glass having claimed a couch for the two for their meet-ups.

It took Clarke four minutes to enter the lounge and couldn't help but look up. The ceiling, much unlike the rest of the ARK, was twenty feet above her head. Also unlike the rest of the ARK, the entire ceiling was made of a special tempered alumino-silicate glass pane several feet thick. Behind this, was the planet Earth. This was the Window. Not the most creative of names, Clarke had to admit, but it was apt.

Forcing her head down from the magnificence of the green and blue planet, she cast her eyes over the heads of numerous teens and several children. She searched for the familiar head of hair for several seconds before finding it resting on a couch among several other unfamiliar heads. Clarke wordlessly caught Wells' attention and pointed out the unfamiliar characters before bringing a finger to her lips. Wells gave her a look that she ignored and she disappeared into the crowd, taking a route that would leave both Glass and the Unfamiliars ignorant of her approach.

Glass, despite her disposition of being the nicest person on the ARK, was not popular by any standard. Being born in Phoenix Station made her privileged to the ones without but the complete mystery that is her father - or rather who he was - caused her to be little more than hot gossip to the so-called privileged.

'There are some people that don't care about who I am or my mother,' Glass had told Clarke. 'But that's because they don't want to get involved. They don't care to.'

'I care,' Clarke had whispered, one of her hands running through Glass' hair as she rested her head on Clarke's lap. 'I will be involved, even if I do not need to be. I swear.'

Clarke had made many promises in her long life. Many of them were broken. She was not going to break this one. She had spent the decades(?) before her second death repenting for what she had done, the lines she had crossed, and the oaths she had forsaken. Letting this third life devolve into her first was something Clarke refused to let happen.

'Where is she?' Glass Sorenson thought.

She had gotten to the Window early, nearly ten minutes from ten. Knowing Clarke, she would have slept longer than Glass had and it was only with the knowledge that Wells had been over at the Griffin's for movie night that Glass felt that Clarke would get to the Window on time.

Still, Glass was getting impatient. She may have been older but Glass often felt like the younger of the two between her and Clarke. Where she was excitable and liable to burst with energy, Clarke was patient and calm. When Glass was loud and brash, Clarke was soft-spoken. While Glass put her feelings out there and made sure people knew, Clarke was content for people to look at her for her feelings instead of announcing them.

Glass often wondered how Clarke could handle being with her. It wasn't just the differences in personality that confused Glass but their physical aspects as well. Glass, despite being a year older, was shorter than Clarke and while slim, had nothing on the blonde. Clarke had been exercising for years, which gave the blonde a musculature that Glass could never hope to match.

Clarke had abs. Glass had seen them. Felt them.

Shaking her head to get her mind out of the ducts, Glass ignored the sudden swell of heat in her stomach and focused her mind on other differences between the blonde and herself.

Clarke didn't seem to act like a teenager. She was a joy to be around; funny and sarcastic in a way that encompassed the people around her. But she didn't act like any of the other girls Glass had known growing up. She didn't gossip. She wasn't obsessed about looks. She wasn't hormonal, either.

Glass found herself blushing as she remembered the time she discovered Clarke had been on her period. Clarke had seemed as normal as she ever was. Glass wouldn't have ever known and forever kept kissing Clarke had the blonde's mother, Abby, walked into the room without knocking as she announced she had managed to score some chocolate from farm station.

It was, coincidentally, the first time Glass had met Abby as Clarke's girlfriend.

And the way Abby found out Clarke liked girls more than she did guys.

Glass frowned. That seemed to be a recurring thing, what with Wells discovering them the same way Clarke's mother had. Wells had taken it much better than Mrs. Griffin did, as the doctor had immediately called in Mr. Griffin away from work and to a family meeting. A meeting Glass herself was not allowed to leave. Mr. Griffin told her to call him Jake but Glass never had the stomach to do that. He was still Mr. Griffin. Always would be.

Stretching out on the couch she had claimed, Glass once again looked towards the entrance of the Window, hoping to see a head of pale blonde hair. That was another thing that was different between herself and Clarke. Glass had grown into her looks over the past few years and still had a few more years to grow at seventeen. Clarke, however, had completely changed in the last two and a half years. She looked strong and fragile at the same time. Her jaw had sharpened until it looked like it could cut through rock. Her height had shot up like a beanstalk until she was nearly Mr. Griffin's height. Her skin paled a few shades; it wasn't white, exactly, but it was close.

Though Glass could only say that it made her think Clarke was more beautiful than when she first saw that blonde standing alone at the Unity Day Festival.

Glass was still looking for Clarke when a voice came from her other side.

"Hey there," it said. "You're sitting in our seat."

"There are no assigned seats in the Observation Deck," was the first thing that Glass said. She knew what they were doing, she wasn't that socially inept. She may not have had any close friends before Clarke and Wells, but she had plenty of bullies from both the Privileged and the Rebels.

The teens were her age, she guessed, and Privileged judging by their less-holey shirts and pants. Two were girls and the other three were boys. She recognized the two girls and one of the boys from the same Earth Skills class she was in. The other two looked vaguely familiar but who didn't on the ARK?

"You know what," the lead boy began, "you're totally right. There are no assigned seats." Then he dropped onto the cushion next to Glass with a large grin as one of the girls sat next to him and the other teens began to encircle her. There was a dull feeling in the back of Glass' head, warning her that she didn't want to be there and she couldn't help but agree.

When she tried to stand up however, the lead boy snatched her wrist as another boy shoved her down by the shoulder. Glass felt fear climb the back of her throat as her eyes widened. Glancing around at the other teens around the Window, she saw how many of them were purposely staring away from the couch she was on, and what was happening.

"Where are you going?" The leader asked rhetorically. "We thought you could give us some company. Never hung out with a redhead before."

Glass' throat tightened as he spoke. Her red hair had always been a sore subject for her. Many saw it as freakish, as blondes and brunettes dominated the ARK. Others, however, saw it as exotic, almost as much as Clarke's accent. Her red hair, along with being fatherless, had led to a lot of jeering in her childhood. For being different for the rest of them, Glass had always thought.

Her red hair was straight and flowed to the blades of her shoulders. It was also a dark red, nearing a borderline purple. Her mother had said that her father's hair had been dark and that Glass had his hazel eyes. That was the only things that Glass had heard about her father.

"How about no?" Glass forced herself to say. Violence on the ARK, despite the capital punishment held in place, was common. If no one reported it… Well, it wasn't anyone's business, then, was it?

"I bet you know how to have a good time, don't you?" The leader said, his grin widening into something that shook Glass to the core. "What, with that mother of yours."

Glass flushed in anger as it tried to King-of-the-Hill the fear that had wrapped around Glass' heart. Her mother had been labeled a whore because she never mentioned the man that had given her a daughter. Whenever someone tried to bring the subject up, Glass' mom would start a new conversation to avoid it. She'd been called far worse names for that. A guard or two even tried to get her tried for prostitution even though there was no evidence. Glass had been saddled with Whore's Daughter for years.

The only ones who hadn't cared were Clarke and Wells.

"I bet she taught you just the right things," the leader said lecherously, the boys laughing at the joke.

"Of course she did," the girl on the couch agreed, raking her eyes dismissively over Glass' form. "Just look at how she's dressed. She's a Whore-In-Training."

Glass tried to not let the embarrassment get to her. Her clothes were of good quality due to her being on Phoenix Station, but they weren't talking about that. They were talking about how she wore a long-sleeved half-shirt over a sports bra in order to show of her stomach and jeans that hugged her legs but not her hips. Her shoes were negligible for being regular shoes.

What had her embarrassed was that she had worn it for Clarke. Though not quite as fit as Clarke who'd been exercising for longer than Glass had known her, Glass had taken some initiative to get herself in shape. Glass had wanted Clarke to see her, impress her even…

Glass could feel the tears coming, that itching behind her eyes as she tried to force them back. She should be used to this by now

"I think she looks rather beautiful," Clarke's accented voice said as the girl herself was suddenly in between two of the teens. "Now I suggest you remove your hand from my girlfriend before I start to break it. And you."

So this chapter was originally going to be longer but as I'm only sorta happy with this chapter, I nixed that idea and decided to split it into two parts.

Arc One: The First Years is almost done. As of now, I'm guessing two more chapters but, eh, we'll see.

So this is Glass Sorenson, the name of a character in the books but who I've completely changed for my own purposes. Yes, this is still a Clexa story but, I think, Glass will be a prominent character. Who knows? I sure as hell don't.

Anyways, thanks for the reviews.

-Scribble

Chapter Text

(A/N: I'll address reviews at the end of the chapter.)

Arc One: The First Years

Chapter Four:

"If you need anything at all, just ask the Messengers. You should be able to see them now.

They're curious little creatures. Always happy to trade, sell, or buy. Obsessed with the little hats and ribbons of no real value. I find them innocent in the shortcomings of the world. The horrors inflicted by and to the people of that world.

That thought may just be mine, however.

Still, a Hunter like yourself cannot do anything in this life without them. They see all. Listen to everything. Should you find yourself in need, the Messengers are who you should look for.

The Dream? Now why would they be bound there? They were here before we were and they will remain long after the Dream fades from your memory. They are not like the others, those of the Blood. If they were, if they served the Moon or Sea or Him, we would be having a very different conversation, I would see. 

No. They remain as they have been and always will be. It is odd, is it not? That they would be the purest things to walk these lands? I find myself jealous, bound to the Dream as I am. Is it normal? To be jealous of such innocence, freedom?

I watch them sometimes; coming and going at all hours of the Dream without a care that they might not be able to leave. Though I suppose that it is just myself and him; you certainly have no problems with leaving nor the ones before you.

They act like children sometimes. Or what I assume is the behavior of a child. What I imagine them to be; I have never met one. They are curious and excitable. Have you not seen the way they present their gifts? They worship Hunters, I'm told. Not you, not just yet, but you won't have to wait long. Always at the Hunters' service, they are. Ready for a trade.

Everything you or any Hunter could need.

All for the Blood staining your clothes."

- The Plain Doll of the Dream

Anger. Rage. Absolute wrath.

Her vision was nearly tinted red as she stared at the boy who was tightly grabbing onto a teary-eyed Glass’ arm. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest as her blood pumped adrenaline and thrill and rage and other through her veins. She could feel the healing blood, the paleblood that wasn’t hers, forcing her to ball her hands into fists to ignore the way that it pulled at her mind. To ignore the beastial instincts that pulled at her mind and soul that wanted to rend and tear and bathe in blood.

Instead, Clarke put all of her attention at the appropriate prick and his possé though her anger only heightened in response. Clarke had only heard the tail-end of the conversation. The stuck up bitch on her right, the blonde, had called Glass a Whore-In-Training after commenting on her clothes which made the others laugh. She had heard the boy who had his hand on Glass’ arm comment on her mother, something the redhead was still sensitive about.

“I’m not about to tell you again,” Clarke said. The group had nearly jumped out of their skins when she spoke the first time but now that the shock had worn off, the sneers had come on. The four teens still standing were a pair of girls and a pair of boys, the odd one out being the ring leader on the sofa that still had Glass in his grip.

“And who the hell are you?” The ring leader questioned. He forced Glass’ arm a certain way, causing the girl to bite her lip. “You know this little whore?”

Clarke Maria had never been an angry person. Not since she was a teenager working under Gehrman, working through the loss of her parents and home, and her hatred of the Beastly Scourge. There wasn’t much anger behind that hatred for the Scourge; only multitudes of disgust and duty. After that, she was relatively normal, if not slightly arrogant because of her abilities and the prestige of being the only one of Gehrman’s students with the ability to stay on as a partner to the grizzled Hunter. 

Her anger came to her after the Fishing Hamlet; disgusted, disheartened, and despaired at what she had done under the orders of a false scholar. It wasn’t anger to one specific person. No, it was anger at herself. For doing what she was bid, for buying Willem’s lies, for turning the god child into the Orphan of Kos. And for Kos’ Nightmare. While she spent however many days, weeks, years sitting in that chair angry and wrathful, it fled her eventually and her second life had been spent as nothing but a walking corpse resigned to her duty as Lady of the Astral Clock Tower. A gatekeeper, nothing more, and certainly nothing deserving of a name.

Her third life was different, nonviolent. The trauma she suffered as Maria of Cainhurst and Lady Maria did not affect her life as Clarke until her trauma that woke her memories, and even then there was a buffer as both of her lives took over a year to reconcile as one. Clarke had been protective of her only friend Wells as the two best friends were often teased and ostracized for being part of the Privileged by those seen as ‘lesser’. The other kids who were Privileged were only nice to the two because of their parents’ positions; Wells more so than Clarke. Besides that unfairness that was the human social system, Clarke didn’t have much to be angry about in her first thirteen years of life. Her family was well off compared to the rebels and she had many avenues of which to tread when it came to her future. Her protective streak led to avoidance of her peers and classmates, but it had never been accompanied by anger; just a sense of indignation that the last of humanity could treat one another so horribly over something that shouldn’t be a problem.

No, she had never been an angry person.

Which is why it not only surprised Glass but also herself when she was suddenly in front of the boy who dared insult and hurt the girl that Clarke had grown to care deeply for. Her right hand was on his throat before she knew what she was doing, her left knee planted on the cushion in the free space in between his spread legs. When the boy started, the hand that wasn’t holding her Glass rose up on instinct and Clarke’s left hand shot out, gripping his hand by the wrist and twisting it the wrong way mercilessly.

He let out a short yell before Clarke squeezed harshly, cutting it off and his hand left Glass’ arm to grab onto the threat: her. His grip hurt, slightly. It was tight, to be sure, but Clarke had more than enough experience taking punishment from things far deadlier than a pitiful little boy. No, Clarke didn’t think that there was anything as deadly as the Beasts of Yharnam or the Witches of Hemwick Charnel Lane. This boy did not even begin to compare to the dangerous beasts she used to hunt.

He had, however, obtained her wrath far faster than a beast ever had.

A shuffle of feet caused Clarke to glare over her shoulder at the four teens who had been about to make a move to separate their leader from her. Gazing her cool blue eyes over at them, she was sure that they understood how bad of an idea that would be should they continue. Just in case…

“Even begin to try to help him,” Clarke said in a low, dangerous voice, “and I’ll make sure breathing comfortably is something that will be beyond his capabilities for the rest of his life.” They froze, as Clarke intended; they weren’t stupid despite evidence to the contrary. They were the worst kind of the Privileged, the ones that believed that they were the best of the last. That the circumstances of their birth proved without a doubt that they were above those less privileged . Clarke was itching to put them in her place.

Returning her attention to the boy at her mercy, Clarke felt a savage grin pull at her lips as her eyes met his. There had been very few instances in her lives that Clarke Maria had genuinely enjoyed the pain and suffering of another human being. Very few had enraged her enough to wish harm on others. Even less had her acting on those desires. It was safe to say that now Clarke had no trouble doing.

Taking a breath before she did something she would regret, Clarke turned her head to look at the woman she’d come to care for tremendously. The redhead was staring at Clarke as if she was seeing her for the first time, sitting as close to the end of the couch as possible - though that only put a few inches between her and Clarke at the most. Her wide hazel eyes met Clarke’s, scared and confused, and it took everything in Clarke not to squeeze the life out of the boy that caused Glass’ fear.

“Are you okay?” Clarke asked, her voice as soft as it usually was. “Did they hurt you?”

“N-no,” Glass stuttered, her voice cracking.

Clarke let out a sigh. “Good,” she breathed before turning back to the boy who’s life was in her hands. Without warning, she snarled and slammed his head onto the back of the couch as she applied pressure to his neck and hand. “Tell me why I shouldn’t rip out your trachea. Hm? Tell me why I should give you any mercy when you decided to threaten my girlfriend!”

She could feel it, the Scourge, in her veins as it rejoiced at the prospect of violence. A strength that had been so oft-a part of her life as a Hunter  She could feel part of her blood thrumming harsher than the rest, an excitement that Clarke had forgotten about. It felt…

Quicker than many of the Beasts of Yharnam, Clarke removed her hand from his throat only to grab onto the hand that he had put on her wrist and forcibly bend his appendage back. With both of his hands restrained, Clarke moved the knee she rested between his thighs further up until it rested on his pelvis, between his groin and stomach. An incentive to keep from moving. Digging her knee there caused him to let out a hiss of pain as he tried to back deeper into the couch to escape her. It didn’t work.

“I didn’t hear an answer,” Clarke snarled as she pushed her knee.

“‘Cause you’d get floated, bitch!” The boy snarled, his aggression quickly subdued as Clarke twisted both of his wrists again.

“Wrong!” Clarke retorted. “Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Clarke Maria Griffin, sixteen years old and daughter of the Chief of Medical Station. She’s also part of the Council.”

Seeing the boy’s eyes widen sent a thrill of satisfaction through her stomach. He should be afraid. Clarke and Glass hadn’t kept their relationship a secret and had often displayed affection in public. It was gossip of the highest order given who they were in relation to the ARKers. Glass being the daughter of the Whore and Clarke being the daughter of a Council Member and Jake Griffin; their relationship caused a lot of gossip for the Privileged adults.

“I see you’re starting to understand,” Clarke continued. “Now, even if my mother wasn’t on the Council, do you know why I would receive a review when I turn eighteen?” When the boy shook his head, she removed her knee only to slam it back into his pelvis, causing him to gasp and choke. “My review focus on one fact and that fact only: that I was defending my girlfriend from a low life who thought he could get away with sexual assault.”

“I never did anything!” The boy argued hotly. Letting go of his wrist, Clarke quickly slammed her fist into his throat, making him choke and gag as he tried to breathe.

“Liars don’t need to breathe,” Clarke snarled as she caught his hand on its way up to his throat and bent his finger back hard enough to snap. The sound of his finger breaking echoed in Clarke’s ears and for a second, she was back in Yharnam. For a second, she didn’t see a boy in front of her, but a beast that needed to be put down. It was tempting. Beyond tempting. Even if she didn’t have Rakuyo, even if she didn’t have any of the Hunter weapons that Gehrman had trained her in, it would be so easy . To start hitting and never stop. To bend and break the being in front of her. But…

But Glass and Wells would look at her differently. So would her mother and father and the people in their lives. Callie, her mother’s best friend, Jackson, Sinclair. Clarke had decided then that she’d live out her life as Clarke, that she was done being the Hunter. She had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t fall to what she used to be and stay as who she was. Over these last few years, she’d become Clarke Maria but Clarke was her first name, the life she lived now. Maria would forever be a part of her, a basis for the person she was today, but Clarke was who she was.

Killing or crippling this poor excuse of a human boy, no matter how justified she felt or how much her blood would sing at his death, would put her Clarke life behind her.

“Let me make this clear,” Clarke whispered as he struggled to breath. “If you come near Glass again - if you or your sycophants even look at her - you won’t have to deal with the guards or a trial or anything else ever again. Because I will be the one to float you. Do you understand what I’m telling you? If you try to pull anything like this ever again, I’ll make sure that you spend your last moments in pain and suffering before you’re gone.”

With a grunt, she pushed herself to her feet while using her hand to push the boy’s head into the cushion and away from Glass. Without looking back at the four other teens, Clarke stepped away. She didn’t meet Glass’ eyes when she walked next to her and grabbed her by the waist, leading her towards Wells who had been watching from some distance away. His face was awash with worry and he clearly had some questions, but like the good person he was, his attention was on Glass first.

Her heart was beating wildly and every one of her senses were dialed to eleven. She felt every vibration under her feet as the ARK kept running and every color was brighter and more vibrant than it had been. Her blood - the Healing Blood, the Beastly Scourge, the Old Blood, the Paleblood that rested in her veins - was bursting to be free. But it came with a certain clarity:

There was more of her old life in her new one than Clarke Maria had thought.

Clarke pulled Glass along by the waist, Wells by her side with Glass’ arm in hand. Her arm was red where that boy had gripped her though he didn’t hold it hard or long enough to leave his handprint. That was for the best. If he had, Jackson might’ve had to report the incident to the guards. If that boy had left such a mark, Clarke wasn’t sure she could stop herself from turning around to slaughter him and his friends.

Clarke was quiet as she led the two through the halls, towards Medical. Glass needed ice at the least. Thankfully it was only Jackson in Medical now rather than Abby. Clarke knew more than most about Abby’s unrelenting interrogations. She’d lived with them for years. If there was something that her mother wanted to know, the questions wouldn’t stop until her curiosity was sated. Something they had in common though less so than when Clarke remembered.

Nothing stopped them as they traversed the halls to Medical. People went on their way and none were curious about the pale faced red head, the concerned boy, nor the pale haired girl with her mouth set in a hard line.

If they were, Clarke's hard eyes that promised pain dissuaded them.

Glass was silent through the walk and Wells did his best to follow her example, though he couldn't help but murmur under his breath as he checked Glass' arm over. He wasn't a doctor in any capacity but he fretted. Always and forever it seemed. He did it with everything when he and Clarke were kids. When he began growing up it lessened to the most important things, school work, injuries, and the like. Sometimes more geared towards politics now that his father was the Chancellor.

Clarke was the one supposed to be checking over Glass' red arm, both as the girlfriend and a doctor-in-training. She didn't, only keeping a hand on the redhead's waist to steer her in the right direction and a single glance to see whether it was just bruising or broken. Because as minor as it was, Glass was instinctively keeping a bit of space between them. Clarke had hoped, for a moment, that it was just the shock of being assaulted by what amounted as little more than a vagrant but one look towards Wells shattered that miniscule hope.

No, the shock was seeing Clarke. Seeing the beast she hid behind kind smiles and a soft voice. At seeing Clarke's less-than-kind instincts replace the strong yet determined personality that Glass had always known. If Wells had been there, watching and listening as Glass had been, Clarke had no doubt that he would be in shock at seeing the Blood rear up within Clarke.

Already Clarke could feel the Old Blood, the Paleblood, retreating back into its slumber. Waiting to be awoken once more for promised violence. Her canines normal once more as the Beastly Scourge left her teeth and hands and mind to scratch, claw, and tear in the deepest recesses of her mind until her next prey presented itself. Even after minutes, her heart slowed and began to shrink after being engorged on the Healing Blood that sustained her for so long, the pulsing beat hadn't left her ears and the honeyed smell of fear in her nose.

So Clarke followed Glass' wish, allowing the few inches between them that felt tremendous. Despite the almost overwhelming urge to press her body to the girl wrapped in her arm. Despite never feeling anything like what she felt with Glass with anyone else before. She stayed her hand despite every bone in her body demanding she did not.

There had been others before, that Clarke knew. They were muddled to be sure, either from drink or the adoles of time. She'd spent so long in that Clock Tower, in the Orphan's Nightmare, that some memories as frivolous as those she had been with were the first to fade. Clarke remembered an infatuation with her teacher, Gehrman, when she was a young girl a few years into his tutelage. It passed, eventually, as more familial ties developed between them. Clarke had a crush on Wells before they cemented into those of brotherhood (siblinghood?).

And then there was Glass.

Beautiful and the first she had met that cared neither for her parents, her privilege, or what she could be. Simply talking to a lonely girl that found a party dreadfully boring and wanting to cheer the blonde up. It sparked something new, in all three of Clarke's lives. Something she had never experienced. It excited her, an emotion entirely foreign to her in her second life, rare in her first, and held with a child-like joy in her third. The excitement she held for Glass, the affection, was entirely different and Clarke never wanted to lose it.

'I may just lose that,' Clarke admitted to herself as Wells set Glass' arm aside and went to open the Medical doors ahead of them. Neither Clarke nor Glass looked at one another as they passed through the doors but Clarke did cast an eye about as she tried to find Jackson.

There wasn't a soul in the Medical Bay, each and every cot pristine, white, and empty. It spelled good news for the three of them as there were none to overhear or ask questions. Many in the ARK were nosy busy bodies, mostly the Privileged, and rumors was their trade and currency. Something like an assault would be too juicy for one to not try to take a bite.

Clarke was mostly concerned what she'd do to the poor fellow, tenuous as her current hold on her emotions as it was. She was sure that she'd snap at any one person who dared pry into a business that had nothing to do with them.

Jackson spotted them from his place across the hall, sitting at his desk which resided in front of Abby's office and the private rooms. One of which Clarke had resided just over three years ago, when she remembered the lives she lived. Clarke looked back at that time fondly despite being two different people that differed in so many others and were too alike in others.

Now she was Clarke Maria, a former Hunter and now a doctor-in-training. She was to be a physician after taking an apprenticeship under her mother when she turned eighteen. There was something cathartic, Clarke supposed, about being one who heals.

'A Hunter and then a guard,' Clarke mused as she lead Glass towards the one cot Jackson had pointed at, letting Glass sit at the end instead of insisting she lay down. 'It makes a macabre sort of sense that I become a physician in this life.'

"Her arm was hurt," Clarke said, her voice as soft as ever. It was at that when Glass turned her eyes upon Clarke for the first time in nearly ten minutes and Clarke's rage for those vagrants nearly took over once again. If it hadn't been for those monsters poorly disguised as humans, Glass wouldn't look at Clarke with such ill-disguised bewilderment, such honest, raw confusion that it made Clarke's skin itch. Clarke forced the Beast back into hibernation, back from behind her eyes that began to look for lambs to slaughter, awoken by her rage.

Clarke forced her eyes from Glass' bright hazel and continued, her voice never leaving that soft lilt. "There's already some bruising along the ulna though I don't believe it will be worse than it looks."

Her accent was thicker now, something which Jackson may have noticed but Clarke's attention wasn't on her mother's helper. No, it was on the girl that stared still, eyes begging for answers to questions Clarke never wanted asked. Eyes that asked, asked, asked. It was only Clarke's knowledge that Glass, flirty, funny, ferocious Glass, was nothing like Willem and his ilk that allowed Clarke to keep her calm and her wits. Glass did not have that burning greed for more in her eyes, the same one that Willem and his scholars held as they poked and prodded that which they could never understand in order to transcend humanity as if being human was merely a stepping stone to something greater.

Glass did not have that manic gleam that so many held as they looked upon Kos the Sea Itself and murdered her Child after Clarke had so foolishly pulled from the being from the belly. Glass did not have that want, that desire to havebecomebe that which she wasn't. There was only honesty and a plea for answers that Clarke knew that she had to answer or keep her lips sealed tight.

Neither option was pleasant and both may result in Glass no longer being a part of her life once again. And though Clarke could live with such a decision, she did not want to.

"Looks like just some ice will do," Jackson said as he set Glass' arm down gently. "Some bruising, too, but nothing worse than that," he agreed with Clarke. Giving the two a smile, Jackson quickly asked Wells to help him with a jerk of his head. Her best friend hesitated for a single moment, turning to look at the two, before nodding and leaving with the nurse.

There was silence for a moment before Glass broke it. Her voice was uncertain, tinged with too much hesitation for Clarke to be comfortable with. Eyes wide, pleading as they looked up at her.

She asked, "What happened back there? With the guy? You're not like that, Clarke. You threatened him!?"

Clarke's lips nearly curled into a snarl as she forced herself to whisper. "He threatened you. He hurt you ," she replied. "Would you rather I'd done nothing? That I stood by and watched as he humiliated you for his own amusement?"

"You broke his finger!" Glass whisper-shouted, her eyes disbelieving.

"He shouldn't have touched you then," Clarke snarled furiously, eyes narrowed. "I cannot believe you're defending that- that plague ridden rat for what he did to you! For what he tried to do to you!"

Glass flinched at nearly every word that Clarke threw at her but still looked at Clarke in the eyes when she was done speaking, her own hazel eyes narrowed in response.

"I am not defending him," Glass hissed. "I'm not worried about him, either, I'm worried about you , Clarke. I have never, ever seen you angry and you snapped him in two like a twig. It- it scared me, Clarke, okay? It fucking scared me. You-

"You're Clarke, and I know that doesn't make any sense but it's the truth. You're sweet and gentle, and yeah, you've got some really dark sense of humor, but you aren't violent ." Here, Glass hiccuped and Clarke found her anger melting away as her red haired lover closed her eyes and hung her head. "You aren't the kind of person to just threaten to kill someone and then break their finger just because you were angry."

"It wasn't 'just because'," Clarke insisted as she stepped closer and pulled Glass' head into her chest. "I love you too much to see you hurt, Glass Sorenson," Clarke confessed into her hair, "and no one will ever hurt you so long as I am here. Ever ."

She was sure of it now. Clarke had never, not once in either of her three lives, been in love. But she was sure love was something like this. Something that rendered the flesh of her heart with every word, every look that Glass deigned to send her way. It felt like thousands of needlepricks in her throat every time she swallowed and a cacophony of winged insects in her stomach that grew and fester each and every time Glass caught her eyes.

It was a protective urge to slaughter every beast in Yharnam and every Witch in Hemwick if it meant seeing Glass safe from harm. It was in defiance towards whatever gods wished for her to suffer that she loved this girl and refused to stop. She wasn't going to. It was frightening, it was exciting.

It was…

It was a teary eyed Glass that pulled away from Clarke's grasp, whispered four words, and sealed them with a kiss that sent Clarke's heart racing.

"I love you, too."

The day ended nicely, a disaster averted, and Clarke walked away from Glass' unit with a heart full of something she didn't know how to quantify and a satisfied smile. Though the trio didn't spend the day the way they had originally wanted, Clarke was more content with how they passed the day by.

Her, Glass, and Wells traveled back to Glass' unit and spent the day watching old movies. Entertainment from before the bombs fell though not anything that would remind the blonde of Yharnam or the Nightmare. Clarke and Glass spent the time spooned together on the sofa as Wells sat at their feet as he was wont to do. Clarke's fingertips glided up and down Glass' arm all the while, trying to reassure her paramour with her presence.

Clarke was unsure if her touch helped any but every so often Glass would glance at her with a smile that could shatter the stars and blind the moon. Clarke could hardly remember what they had witnessed because of those smiles. All she knew was that the villain was once good, caked in red (like Yharnam), and Glass was once again smiling at her.

She and Wells stayed for dinner, Glass' mother, Thalia Sorenson, feeding them some generous rations she had stashed away. After that, Thalia retired to her room and Wells returned to his own unit, convinced his father would never leave the desk if Wells didn't drag it from him every so often. It happened more than Clarke would think, he had said.

Clarke had been just on her way to prepare to go see her parents when Glass had grabbed her hand softly and began to lead her to her bedroom. There was a pout upon her lips, begging for Clarke to stay. Not that Clarke would have ever dared to deny the beautiful girl.

An hour and a half later, with an earful of delicious sounds ringing in her ears and a sharp, sweet tang upon her tongue, Clarke left Glass' home to head to her own.

Things that night had been different, Clarke reflected. There was something that was harsher, slower than their previous couplings. There was no race but more teeth than there had ever been, Glass' nails leaving track marks down her neck and over her back. If Clarke ahd bled at any point, the wounds were already gone by the time she took a shower.

The Paleblood, the Old Blood, had been quiet in her veins during the time. There was no violence to be had so the Beastly Scourge within her blood had no hold. There was no promise of tearing flesh and snapping bones for the Blood to hold onto, though Clarke knew it was no excuse.

For a long time, she'd seen even the most peaceful of Yharnam turn mad and change into beasts only to set upon their fellows. Clarke used the Healing Blood but had been skilled enough to not rely or indulge in it like most Hunters had. She and Gehrman were the only two at the time of her death, she believed. Her penance at the top of that Clock Tower, guarding the Fishing Hamlet she had once helped lay waste to, was only part of it. Another was the Old Blood that consumed her like fire in her veins. For so long she sat in that chair, Blood-Drunk and nearly insane, fighting every Hunter that dared survive the Research Hall.

There hadn't been many, some even more Blood-Drunk and insane than she was, but each and every one was killed by her hand and sent back into the bottom of the Nightmare, to rend flesh or be rended of their flesh. No one Hunter ever came to her again, except for the last. The one that killed her, the moon-scented one that she'd kill only for them to show up again not five minutes later.

Clarke forgot how many times she had slain that particular Hunter. She supposed, in the end, it didn't matter. The Good Hunter had won in the end, sliced her well enough that not even the Healing Blood, choked up full of it as she was, wasn't enough to heal her. Clarke wondered whether-

Ah, yes! The Messengers, she saw them in the infinitesimal seconds between life and death. They'd tugged at her blood-soaked clothes, though she doubted they were interested in the echoes that permeated her blood. They must have taken her clothes as the body supplied by the Nightmare began to vanish.

Clarke couldn't tell if they were trying to help or just greedy, although there was little to complain about now.

The Messengers did visit her once in a while, Clarke remembered as she turned down the hallway to the Griffin Family unit. She didn't talk to them most of the time as she did not speak any language they did and vice versa. Instead, they brought her the strangest assortments and items. Weapons and shards of hardened blood. They had even once brought her a shining coin, as if she had any use for it.

(She took it anyway.)

Actually, she could have sworn in the days leading up to her defeat by that Good Hunter, the Messengers were wearing tiny, little top hats. Black, of course, but all sized to fit each and every head no matter how they differed from normal-shaped heads or each other's.

For a measly second, Clarke was able to stifle the chuckles that erupted from her throat at the thought of the Messengers wearing such a thing. Those numerous, other-worldy beings with such infatuation to bartering wearing top hats as if to distinguish them as upper class much in the same vein as Laurence. What was next? Red and white bows to discern the ladies from the gentlemen? It was at this thought that her stifled chuckles became full-blown laughs that lasted until she was a few doors down from her family's door.

It was nearing this door that evaporated any good mood she had found herself in. Discernable to none but her, raised voices and shouts - an argument - came from in the apartment. Her parents were arguing as they had been for the last week, but this seemed to be the climax of their conversations. Clarke still didn't know what it was about, respecting their privacy and seeing what untamed curiosity could do to others. They hadn't wanted her to know as evidenced by then stopping the conversation whenever they realized she was near.

But if it was getting this bad…

Clarke found herself in the unit with the door closed faster than most. She'd lost most of her speed after her second death. While exercising helped with gaining some of that speed and strength back to her, there was something tangibly different about being in synthesized gravity rather than on a planet - if that was where Yharnam and Cainhurst were. Her strength was severely dampened as well, and her skill rusted without a sword a foe to practice on. Not that she could, or would, become a Hunter once again.

"-stupid decision!"

"Jake!" Abby shouted. "The Council has made their decision, you can't change it!"

"Their decision is to do nothing but buy time," Jake argued. "Their solution isn't an answer! At most, it gives a year, maybe six more months after that. Then what!? What is the great master plan that the Council threw together without me there. Abby, I can't fix it!? No one can fix it!"

"There are more engineers on this station than just you and Sinclair, Jake," Abby responded harshly. Clarke held her breath as she melded into the dark close to the wall and sidled closer to get a view.

Her father was standing in front of the television, hands on his head as if he ran two football stadiums and back. The bags under his eyes were more prominent than ever and his eyes were red, likely from staring at some kind of screen for too long. Her mother on the other hand was sitting down on the couch Clarke had slept on the night before, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. The tension that filled the room was thick and uneasy.

"Reyes is barely eighteen, barely starting out her official internship and is studying to be a zero-G mechanic," Jake retorted. "And we don't have a year for her to go over every hundred year manual and every note on every system that we changed or added to! For every piece of code added to the program, for every circuit we rewired, it'll take two times as much time and materials to unravel it all and change it back to the original.

"And then we're stuck back at the same problems that caused me and the mechanics before me to change the entire thing!" Jake revealed, his fingers white as the grip on his hair tightened. "There isn't a work around this time. There isn't some code or cog lost in storage that are just what we need to solve this. This is Life Support we're talking about here! A system so fully ingrained into everything in the ARK that I can't pull a wire without something across the station going haywire. I can't solve this by myself and we're running out of time."

"There must be-" Abby tried before Jake cut her off with an errant wave of his hand.

"There isn't!" Jake shouted. "I've looked. I've looked until I had blood leaking from my eyes and Sinclair collapsed from a week without sleep - we can't find anything, not in the timeframe we have! If we worked together - if all of the ARK worked on this, maybe - maybe - we might have a shot at solving this before the timer runs out. But we can't since Thelonious and the Council put out a gag order!"

"It would cause a panic, Jake!" Abby screeched.

"We need a little panic!" Jake yelled back. "Because last I checked, the Ark had two years before it ran out of air and everyone on this station died!"

There was a hitch in her throat as those words slammed into her worse than any giant ever could have. Two years? There was something wrong with the air, with life support? Was she set to die at eighteen?

Clarke wasn't afraid of death. She took her own life the first time and spent her second life in a hell of her own making. After she died there, she spent thirteen years as Clarke Griffin before a freak accident involving a half-closed oxygen tank and faulty wiring gave back her memories as Maria. And then she was Clarke Maria. So death did not frighten her, and neither did not knowing what lied beyond. She'd seen gods, felt their wrath, too. It was possible she could be someone else if she died, that they all would be.

Yet, there was a difference between afraid to die and ready. Clarke wasn't ready to die, to leave this life as Clarke Maria Griffin behind. To leave her parents, Wells, or Glass behind. It was a life bereft of gods, of Oedon, Flora, or Kos. A life bereft of knowledge that could treat men's minds into pieces with only a glimpse.

So lost in her thoughts that she hardly noticed her parents finish their conversation with angry affirmations of their arguments. Abby fled to their room, skin pale, while Jake sat down on the couch his wife just vacated with a tired, having sigh. His hand came up, rubbing his eyes tiredly and it was then that Clarke left the shadows of the hall.

"What are we going to do?"

"JE-sus Christ!" Jake shouted as he stood, turning to look at her. "What have I told you about sneaking up on people?"

"Don't change the subject," Clarke responded. She wasn't going to let her father distract her. Normally, she would. Normally, she would behave as a daughter would to a father. But not then. "What are we going to do? The people need to know."

"No, we aren't going to do anything," Jake argued with her. "I am not putting you at risk, especially going against the Council."

"I am sure as hell not going to let you do it alone," Clarke said as she took a step towards him. Life flashed in her mind, both of her past and the one she lived now. The secrets Willem had kept at the cost of everyone else, the lies he and Byrgenwerth had spun. The ARK would not be the same, if Clarke could help it.

Jake let out a soft chuckle, coming to stand in front of her and looking down at her with the spare few inches that he held over her. His hands landed on her shoulders, his grip strong but not tight. Blue met blue, one more pale than the other but blue all the same.

"I am so proud of you," he told her. "You've grown up so fast. Sometimes I think you'll be married before I can blink." He let out a small laugh at that and she followed.

"I'm going to help you," Clarke insisted. "Just tell me where we start."

She felt it, as she was dragged away.

She had felt it before during her life as Maria, just before she died.

As she died.

And she felt it here too, as she watched him die.

Dark and foreboding, in the dark recesses of her mind, something opened.

Something saw.

End of Arc One

So. This is way late. I'm sorry. I rewrote this sixteen times before I was even remotely happy with it. I don't think this is perfect, hell to the no, but it's the best I have after so many weeks. I believe I developed the characters and story as much as I could.

I don't know why this chapter in particular was so difficult to write. Nothing in particular strikes out at me, you know. I think it flowed from scene to scene, thought to thought, without too many jumps or breaks. Please let me know what you think.

Another reason this chapter is late is because I had to sort of 'refresh' my Bloodborne obsession. I read 'Touched by the Arcane' by lisbeth000 and replayed the game, currently in the Forbidden Forrest on New Game + 1. Of course, this also introduced other crossovers into my mind such as Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, and RWBY.

I have kept my attentions on Penance, however. This story will go on even if I have to drag my ADD by the bootstraps.

Anyways, that is the End of Arc One. Next is the prologue to Arc Two: Brave Old World. I don't know how long each Arc is going to be but I'm thinking an average of four or five ought to be enough.

Reviews!

Noitaerc: If I were to answer all of your questions, that'd be spoilers. You did bring up such situations I didn't think of and I will gratefully take it under consideration. Also, I did read that story Spacebattles wrote. Well, most of it. I became distracted playing God of War. But what I did read was good and well thought out. And yes, it was a 'My Life as a Villainess' reference I put in the last chapter. Good catch.

Chapter Text

Arc Two: Brave Old World

Prologue:

“Do you believe in miracles?"

It was a question she asked multiple times in the sixteen years they knew each other. A few instances each year where she would get it in her head to ask. To question. It was always that question, where in a world of violence and brutality and blood, miracles were few and far between.

Her companion paused after she asked, her gaze never straying from the moon high in the sky and sharing its light with the city below. Long spindly fingers hesitated a second over black cloth, a needle and thread pinched between two fingers. For a second, the quiet she had broken was established once again only to be quickly rebroken by the other.

“I do not believe in miracles, no." She answered slowly, her voice like none alive. Thick and lilting at odd places and words though that wasn't what she paid attention to. No, it was the answer.

It was the same answer her companion always gave but it wasn't the answer which Lexa wanted to hear; she wanted to know the reason behind the answer. The answer was always the same but it was the reason for that answer that changed every time Lexa asked. It evolved as her companion watched life pass by. By the second, by the minute, by the day, week, month, and year.

"Why?" Lexa asked, her green eyes never leaving her companion tall form. Still, her companion continued to stare out to the sky and the city reflected below, the people of Polis bustling even during the night. Here, on the forty-sixth level, the Commander's personal floor, the city below looked far and yet the stars were further still.

"If the world, if the people in it, were good, they wouldn't be called miracles," she answered. "It would be a normal occurrence in such a world, I would think. The cruelty of this world only heightens that which would have been precieved as normal. Naming them as something godly one should be grateful for. As divine intervention that could have never happened any other way. As miracles."

There was a pause as her companion considered her next words, this time a question, as she tucked a lock of pale, near-white behind her ear. "I must wonder, yet again, why you ask me this question. My answer has never changed, not in all the years you or any of those before you have known me. And still you ask.

"So tell me, Good Hunter," the Doll asks as it turns her teary blue eyes to meet Lexa's forest green, "why do you question me so? Why insist on a question you know the answer to?"

Lexa considered the Doll, the gift it was from Becca Pramheda. Despite it being more than a century old, it was still naive in some instances and yet more than wise in others. Even Titus, an expert of the Old World in his own right - even his knowledge paled in comparison to the Doll's. Though she never seemed to notice that her reason of why changed with every instance.

The reasons never repeated, either. At least as far as Lexa knew. Built off of each other, certainly, but always different. Never the same words, never the same order, never the same phrases. Lexa was seven when she first asked the Doll. She was only an initiate then, one of sixteen Natblidas, and yet when all the others laughed, the Doll answered her seriously and explained when she asked why.

Lexa asked her a few months later, after a shameful excuse of a warrior redeemed himself on the battlefield. Her answer was the same still, even as she and Lexa stared into the fire of his pyre. But when Lexa asked why, the reason had changed. And it still changed.

Her own answer hadn't seen that same conviction. As a child she believed yet that changed after the Conclave. She believed during her first year as Commander yet began to flag after her steps of forming the Coalition were halted by those selfish enough to say no. She believed in miracles when she had Costia. She didn't anymore, not even after two years.

"Why do you call me that?" Lexa questioned in lue of answering. " Good Hunter, " Lexa repeated, putting an effort into copying the Doll's odd and unique way of saying words.

"Are you not?" The Doll questioned, head tilted slightly in curiosity.

"There are many who would call me evil," Lexa said to the Doll. "Many who would see my head on a pike rather than see me sit on the Throne of Commander's."

"Would you not say the same?" Came the question. "Say the same of the Mountain that you strive to fight or the one they call Queen in the north who you look at with such contempt. Does that make you evil? Them? Or is the opposite of good something different? Should those well liked simply be called good? Or perhaps I was simply sharing my opinion of your skill and strength, and not your moral definition?"

Lexa didn't think she was but getting into an argument with the Doll would just have Lexa, despite being Commander, being lead around by the nose by the Doll's words and ways around them. If there was one thing the Doll had, it was the patience that could outlast the stars. Titus had fallen into that trap; while he became more agitated, the Doll's patience had the old Fleimkepa tripping over his words in just an hour.

"I haven't been a hunter in a long time," Lexa said instead. "The last was a catch with Anya nearly a year ago, a two-headed doe that we chased for nearly four miles."

"I speak of other beasts when I call you Hunter, my Good Hunter," the Doll told her and Lexa's blood ran cold. "You forget that I can feel it, deep in your blood. It's not the same, that I know, but it's close enough that I can feel the Echoes. Buried in the marrow of your bones and flowing through your heart."

Lexa was frozen as the Doll stood from her seat by the window, rising to her full height, nearly six feet tall. Her figure was lithe but dainty, as if she would crack if one would so much as touch her. Lexa knew better, however. She had seen the Doll take much more than even a warrior could. The Commander before Lexa, Slytek, had taken his stress and anger out on the Doll once; enough that the entire tower knew what became of the Doll after he had tossed her out the window from the balcony outside the throne room. Lexa had watched as the Doll simply picked herself up off the ground, cracks in her porcelain simply disappearing before she calmly walked back to the tower, back to the Commander.

Lexa had never raised a hand to the Doll herself. It was pointless and despite the doll made life being just a doll, she still exuded a sense of life. Not one so harsh as the many of the Coalition but something different, softer. Now, standing in front of Lexa, all that softness was simply a thin veil that hid something else. Something harder.

"You seem to forget that there were cities of you before what you call Praimfaya scorched the air." They were close, only a foot of space between them. Lexa's face had settled, her mouth and the ridge of her brow set in a hard line. "Your blood may be different but I can feel the same come from the Beasts of the Blood you have slain. A Hunter must Hunt, and though the Night has gone, the Moon still remains. The Blood still remains, just as I still remain.

"You have the Blood - new that it is - yes, but you do not See as those who live beneath do not See. Driven to the madness of Beasts before they even take a step, doomed to forever live in a hell not of their own making. Many have killed and you've returned in kind; the Blood clings to you, it does, but safe from the Madness it brings just the same as those before you and the ones after you have fallen."

Lexa was trying to control her breathing, every one of the Doll's words seemingly screaming in her mind as something and nothing and everything all at once. Yet Lexa couldn't grasp it. It was oil slick in her mind, refusing to allow her thoughts to follow what the Doll was saying.

"But just as it saves you from madness, it stops you from Seeing," the Doll continued, her strange way of saying words making Lexa dizzy. "And you cannot Understand that which you don't See. But you do not need to See for you to use me as was intended. No longer am I restricted to the Dream the Moon once held. And yet you do not. I am simply here."

The Doll gave a hum of quiet contemplation as she and Lexa stared at one another, though the Commander could feel her mind slowing. 

"Such strange way of doing things, away from the presence of the Moon, Sea, and Nothing," the Doll commented. "No longer do they ask for praise or your hearts as you do not See. I wonder if my Old Master has left the Moon behind to seek out the Sea once more, as poor as a decision that might be. Though I suppose that is a consideration for another time."

Her hand was between them, palm facing up and Lexa could only glance at it. She felt sluggish, her mind tired and the lids of her eyes heavy.

"Your hand, Good Hunter," the Doll insisted. "I grow tired of leaving my purpose unfulfilled, watching quietly as those below go through life as blind as newly born babes. As you fight but do not See what you need, as if you have not earned that which you have taken. Strength wasting away as you go about with no way around your New Blood. So give me your hand, Good Hunter, and be the first in many long years. Go on."

It was with a shaking hand that Lexa did as she was bid, her limb uncharacteristically heavy and unwilling to listen to her. Yet she did slide her hand into the Doll's cold, smooth palm and unnervingly aware of the blonde's lack of a pulse. The Doll's lips pulled into a gentle smile and that was the last Lexa saw before her vision was covered in blood.

Red and so, so bright. Pale as it washed over her eyes, leaking behind her sockets and thrumming in her veins. It infected her, inflicting a kind of euphoria upon her as her muscles, already sculpted through years of vigorous training and experience, tightened, grew, and hardened. Her insides were burning and cooling and burning again as she felt things she'd never noticed move. Muscles she didn't know were a part of her writhe and twitch and toughen.

It was glorious.

It was hideous.

It was pain.

It was pleasure.

It was everything.

It was nothing.

And when her eyes cleared and her mind sharper than it had been before, what she saw was the Doll. Wide eyes stared up at a brightness Lexa couldn't remember and she struggled up from knees she didn't remember falling to.

"The Moon speaks," the Doll whispered. "Not angry yet less than amused. Years upon years upon years, and now there is one. A single one, a lonely one to be sure, but one nonetheless."

"One what?" Lexa manages to question with a gasp as she tried to fill her lungs with air. "One what, Doll?"

"Someone who Sees," the Doll answers with a breathless whisper. "Someone who Saw, the first in such a long time. And yet… Yet I feel them and they feel so close and so far, further and closer than ever. And I know them, I feel. The Moon knows, I know, but her Secrets have always been beyond me, just as they have been for my Old Master."

Lexa stumbles forward despite her groggled mind, determined and desperate to make the Doll speak sense when she stumbles on her own feet and her eyes locked upon the sky. The brightness that bathed the Doll was that of the moon but one larger than the one the night before. The Moon bathed Polis in light and Lexa put her hand up to shield her eyes.

Only to find that her palm was the same size as the moon that rested in the sky.

"Someone who Sees," the Doll whispers just barely audible enough for Lexa to hear it. "I wonder what the next Hunt will be like, now that there is one among the Blind that Sees. I suppose I will have to wait. Though this feeling in my chest… I would question this want to throw away my patience if I hadn't already felt joy.

"What is this feeling I find in my stomach?" The Doll asks as she turns to Lexa who's breathing had grown harsh. "Like thousands of tiny bugs fluttering about. And this thumping in my chest, pounding as if a knocker on a door?"

"You're excited," Lexa whispers in disbelief. For all those years they'd known each other, the Doll had never once shown any emotion beside quiet joy when partaking her hobby of making tiny hats. Not that Lexa ever saw what she did with them; they all seemed to just disappear, never to be seen again.

"Am I?" The Doll asked… excitedly, clapping a little with a smile stretching her lips. "I suppose I am! Oh, how marvelous!" The grin fell as she took notice of Lexa's shaking form, despite the warmth of the night.

"You must be tired," the Doll commented as she frowned. "The first time is a toll on all Hunters no matter where they came from. And you did have quite a few before you took my hand."

"A few what ?" Lexa tried to snarl as her vision swam and she fell to all fours, hands clawing at the ground beneath her.

"It would be best for you to sleep," the Doll said instead. "You won't remember this last conversation once you wake; none of those before you did. Every time I spoke, they refused to See, though it was never their faults. It is inevitable, unfortunately: you'll wake and think this just a very bad dream."

"A few what?! " Lexa snarled, looking up at the advisor who had stood by the Commanders since the First and wondered if the Doll was ever on their side.

"Echoes, of course," the Doll finally answered. "Echoes left from the Blood of the Beasts you've slain. Though the Blood had been washed away, their Echoes still clung to you deep beneath the surface of your skin. In your flesh, in your bones, in your Blood, as resistant as it was to the change."

"What did you do to me?" Lexa demanded, battling against the darkness that consumed her vision. It was a losing battle.

"I gave you strength, Good Hunter," was the last thing Lexa heard as her eyes closed and she slumped to the ground.

The next day, Lexa woke and spent every hour of daylight in her throne room, dealing with petty squabbles. Titus and the Doll at her right and left as always, with Gusts standing slightly behind the throne on her right. By any and all rights, it was a day as normal as any other.

Though there was something…

As Lexa once again intimidated the Ambassadors of the Twelve Clans by playing with her knife, an Ambassador - the one from Shallow Valley - made her angry by acting like a petulant child. She had only meant to scare him, slamming her knife down on her throne like she'd done a thousand times. No one, certainly not Lexa, was expecting for the blade of her favorite knife to go through the arm of Commander's Throne all the way up to the hilt.

As Lexa played it off, her mask well in hand, she could swear she saw a hint of a grin on the Doll's face. It was barely there and her attention was fully on the black clothing she was creating, but something deep within Lexa whispered.

As the Doll looked up and met Lexa's eyes, she smiled.

There we go! Arc 2; Brave Old World Prologue done! I did not mean for Ch 0 to turn pit this long but it got away from me.

So as many probably figured, 'Penance' will mainly follow Clarke's perspective with a few switches here or there but I might start switching between Clarke and Lexa later.

Anyways, doubtless you guys have questions, I'm going to do my best to avoid answering them. Spoilers!

Reviews:

Anikky - Hope this answers your question! Ha! I kill me!

Eon - Glad you're loving this and thanks, man. Even though this is a Celexa fic, I have no inclination to throw away a character such as Glass for a while. I don't know ow what's in store but I have no immediate plans for Glass' dismissal. Celexa is endgame though.

Which brings me to this: Celexa will happen. However, I wonder if you guys might want more girls to join Clarke and Lexa. I, myself, am on the fence about it so I would like your guys' input. If you don't, let me know. If you do, let me know who.

If I do start this there are two things. One, it will be a Clexa x Girls. Clarke and Lexa are soulmates, I won't have anyone tell me otherwise. And two, this will be realistic. None of the girls will get hit with the magic love stick and fall for Clarke and Lexa instantaneously. It will be messy. It will be harsh. In the same vein as Clarke and Lexa.

Alright that's it. I'll try to get Arc 2: Chapter One out soon.

-Scribble.

Chapter Text

Arc 2: Brave Old World

Chapter One:

"You'd dare defend them?! You would speak of them as people?!

Have you not seen the corruption they bring with just their presence?! Have you not seen the bodies they hang off the rafters as if they were clothes to dry?! People, you say! People!

No, they are not people. They are not human. They are Beasts in the skins of man, never you doubt that! The only difference between them and the Beasts that inhabit Yharnam is they have yet to be lost to the Madness. No, they are much worse than those that no longer have their minds.

Those - those blasphemous heathens twisted the gift given to us by the Church. Stolen the Blood we had been so graciously given and distorted it for their own demonic purposes. Monsters, the lot of them.

Serving that queen of theirs as if she was a god. They know nothing of gods! They turned the Blood into a sport, a blatant flaunting of their supposed superiority over those of Yharnam. They dine upon their dead like vultures, partake in the most unholy rituals, and dare call us the bringers of atrocity.

Well, we shall show them! We shall show how their unholy ways bring down punishment upon them until all that is left is ash! And I shall lead us to our holy mission! We shall exterminate those Vilebloods and watch the light fade from their eyes as they realize their sins have finally caught up to them!"

- Martyr Logarius, Head of the Executioners of the Church.

It was almost funny, she supposed.

A different place, different circumstances, yet Clarke still found herself sitting in a chair underneath a window patiently waiting. Oh, she got tired and hungry, an urge to move that she didn't have the last time she took up such a vigil but that didn't make a difference in her mind. When she had eaten, when she had slept, when she had burned off any nervous twitch exercising, she spent her time in that chair. Waiting.

 Not that she exercised much. She couldn't. Already air was getting dangerously low as Jake had been the one to tell her of the kids that had been going to medical for a few weeks now. Training used up the oxygen faster. Which meant she was confined to her chair more often than not.

It unnerved the guards she saw every three days when they saw her in that chair. They would enter her cell to drag her to the showers long after the other prisoners had already gone only to see her sitting in a chair a few inches away from the wall, completely still and gazing at them. There was always this second, this moment of hesitation before they came to grab her arms and drag her out of her cell. A long forgotten instinct that told them that she was a predator.

Not that they didn't know what she was capable of. She saw it every time they came in. How their hands would edge ever closer to their shock batons. Their bodies flinched each and every time she so much as twitched, and their grip on her arms tight as steel bands. Or tried to be. A desperate need for control, Clarke guessed.

Still, it would be counted as her only entertainment in Solitary if one discounted the small pile of charcoal sticks in the corner. As much as drawing would steer her mind away from plaguing thoughts, she had yet to touch them except to remove them from her food tray. She had too much to think about to indulge in hobbies that would only distract her. And if her thoughts were right, she wanted nothing to do with them anyway.

Her cell was the only long term Solitary cell out of the entire Prison Ward, which was unofficially known as the Skybox. The long term Solitary cell was a small six by four foot box with a single bubble-like window on the 'roof' that looked out to the stars. A cot sat on the right side with enough space between it and the wall to house a toilet. The opposite wall only had a sink protruding out from it. The back wall across from the door had nothing on it and thus, Clarke deemed, was the perfect place to put her chair.

She rested there sometimes. Like when she was of the Clock Tower waiting for any intruder that tried to pass her. Unlike that time, however, Clarke didn't have a body that did not eat, sleep, and use the bathroom. She didn't have Rakuyo or his Blooded Nightmare variant. She didn't have her leathers that had been with her since her late teens either.

Clarke also didn't have a body that didn't creak every time she fell asleep in her chair.

Clarke waited in that chair, not bothering to count the minutes, hours, and days that passed like she was sure the other prisoners were doing. She overheard guards talking of how she was in shock even if it was her cold calmness and unnatural (to them) stillness that were the only symptoms. They thought it was because she watched her father be floated. Executed.

It hadn't been the first time she had seen someone die. It hadn't been the first time she had seen family die. Her parents' deaths happened when Maria had been little, around four, Clarke remembered. She wasn't old enough to hold on to them as she grew older but she did remember their deaths. All together, seeing one set of parents slaughtered and torn apart by a Beast should have more of an impact than seeing one parent sucked into space.

It didn't.

So she sat, falling back on what she knew because she had done all her crying and screaming the night she was arrested. If there was anything her penance of being Lady Maria of the Astral Clock Tower had taught her, it was patience and that everything comes at its own time.

So she sat, thinking and planning. She had always been good at seeing the big picture. Gehrman was an avid supporter of the big picture and he taught her to see it as well. Clarke wasn't as good as her teacher was; Gehrman always said that she was too busy looking at the brushstrokes to notice the painting.

Clarke's lip curled slightly into a smile to the empty cell. Gehrman had taught her so much over the years. He was dead now, she was sure. Clarke couldn't be sure what had ever become of him but if there was one who would be able to resist the Blood, it was her teacher. The Nightmare was made for Hunters, a curse upon all who proclaim themselves to be part of the Hunt. But even the Curse of the Orphan God had limitations. The Nightmare was only home to Hunters who had become Blood-Drunk and Beastial. They were to forever be trapped in a cycle of murder, death, and rebirth, fed and bled until the end of time itself.

Clarke was a special case. She had been marked, that she knew, but she didn't know in what way or how. She only knew why.

They were roaring. Laughter echoed through the alleyways. Shouts and merry reverberating across the water-logged ground. Drunk on the Blood and Bloodwine they'd brought with them. Hollering as if they were at a celebration and not the systematic murder of an entire peoples.

The Fishing Hamlet had been quiet when they encroached upon its borders. The people milling about and going on with their work as if it was just any other day. She did not dare utter a word, the lump in the back of her throat daring her to try. Instead, Maria had looked to her side.

Gehrman was just as imposing as ever, the wide brim of his black hat low on his eyes and his Burial Blade gleaming in the daylight. He smirked at her when he caught her looking, an order to stay with Provost Willem coming from his lips. She had only nodded, more than willing to take orders instead of thinking of the present.

An hour later she looked upon the carnage she helped wrought. The broken doors of homes lead to crying, begging, and screaming. Then the laughter of those from Willem's School of Higher Learning. His students gleefully hacking at the people living peacefully, yet worship a being they could never understand.

She followed Gehrman’s instructions, stayed by Provost Willem's side. He looked on with what appeared to be boredom as he instructed his students. They were to find the path to the Sea. Through any means necessary, he had said. And Maria only watched as the students of Byrgenwerth cut open the stomachs of the inhabitants of the Fishing Hamlet in front of their parents/children/siblings/neighbors, demanding a question Maria knew wouldn't be answered. Their guts spilled on floor after floor, fingers taken, and eyes popped from sockets and skewered; a roast over a fire, they were.

Maria's own blades didn't remain bloodless. A few strove to fight back, grabbing everything they could get their hands on to use as weapons to defend their homes. Harpoons, spears, and knives. Many rushed towards Provost Willem, weapons at the ready, only for Maria to meet them in his stead. She spilled their blood in their waters without hesitation, Rakuyo splitting their toughened flesh as a hot knife would butter.

Maria sighed, her eyes watching the destruction around her. Blood soaked the bottom half of her leathers, specks of flesh and gore stuck to her though she was used to far worse. Grimacing as she wiped the gray blood from Rakuyo, Maria eyed Willem who had not moved for some time. His white robes lined with gold and blue, an ornate pattern adorning the seams of his robes; they were nothing if not garish. If there was one person that looked more out of place than Maria herself, it was Provost Willem.

Maria suddenly didn't have time to think more on Willem's odd state of dress as one of Hamlet's inhabitants burst through a cracked door. He wielded a long harpoon and set it low like a spear before charging. His aim was at the closest target, that being the Provost.

It took less than a second to pick her firearm, Evelyn, out of her holster, aim, and fire. The fisherman roared as his charge was stopped, a chunk of his arm blown away with only blood to pour down to the water covering his feet.

It took less than a second to holster Rakuyo upon her back. And it took less than two to disappear into a cloud to reappear in front of the fisherman. Willem jumped slightly as he stared at her though most of Maria's attention was on the fisherman.

His stomach exploded into a shower of blood and gore as Maria shoved her hand into the soft and tender portion of his torso just beneath his rib cage. Blood coated her front, staining her brooch and the lumenflower engraved upon it. The tips of her fingers, malformed enough, reached her target and it took only another tug to grasp it.

The moment she had it in her hand, it was quiet. A heavy silence that held even the laughter of Willem's students in a choke. She and the fisherman were close, his chest against hers, and their faces mere inches from each other. She was taller, Maria absently noted. The fisherman hiccuped blood, flecks splattering Maria's cheek. Quieter than a church mouse, she moved her arm which brought the fisherman to her. Her lips met his ear.

"May Oedon guide you in Nothingness."

The quiet ended as suddenly as it started. The squelch of blood and flesh as Maria pulled her hand away was loud in her ears. She did nothing as the body of the fisherman fell to his knees in front of her, a man of faith in a prayer. He fell back with a splash, his eyes blind to the cloudy sky above.

Maria lightly shook her wrist, the blood dripping off. Her hand was small once again now that the Beast living within her Blood satisfied but still hungry. Always hungry.

Yes, she had more than earned her punishment in the Orphan's Nightmare. But it was more than her participation in the slaughter of the Fishing Hamlet that brought the Sea's wrath upon her. That…

That she didn't want to think about.

Clarke had been desperate to take on the orders of Gehrman and Provost Willem. If only to keep herself from thinking about what she had been doing. About the orders she was following. She put her trust in Gehrman who had slaughtered merrily. Her trust that despite the gruesome annihilation of an entire people, that it was right.

And then she earned her punishment sevenfold.

The blonde took a deep breath and shut down any more attempts for her thoughts to stroll down memory lane. She needed to stay on track for the future, not wade in the blood of the past. Ironically, that started by looking in the past.

How could Jaha have known? It was a question that plagued her thoughts many times. Thelonious Jaha had been a friend to the Griffin family for years. He and Jake were like brothers, even after Thelonious became Chancellor and dedicated his time to the position. Which made it more infuriating that Jaha floated her father but Clarke digressed. The main question was how did he find out?

Her father was an honorable man, but Clarke was sure that he wouldn't have been stupid enough to walk up to Jaha and tell him his and Clarke's plan. Which meant those who already knew the plan. 

Jake wouldn't have told a soul except maybe Sinclair, but her father had been home the entire next day - a Sunday - working on the video and how he would distribute it. Clarke hadn't stayed inside.

Her mind flashed, for a brief moment, to a chess game in Glass' home unit. The redhead resting her head in her lap in a deep sleep and her best friend across from her. Anger surged in chest with a roar before Clarke forced it down and calmed her mind.

Wells was tricky. Yes, Clarke told him of her and Jake's plan, and the immediate danger the ARK was in. Yes, his father was also Chancellor. But Wells… Wells was more than her best friend. He was her brother. He had kept Glass a secret for as long as Clarke had asked him to. He had gotten in trouble for swiping crayons for her in first grade. He had kept her secrets, minor though they were, and had never told another soul.

As unlikely as it was, Clarke genuinely didn't believe that Wells would betray her. Not when it came to her and her father. Jake Griffin had been an uncle to him as they grew up and a father when Wells' own couldn't be one. Clarke highly doubted that Wells would risk that.

'What would he even risk it for?' Clarke realized. Approval? No, Wells was too selfless for that. Duty? Wells had no loyalty to the ARK or its council. The people? It only delayed the problem and Wells would be able to see that. He was a master at chess after being taught by both his father and hers, and playing for so long. He could see the long game, just as Clarke could.

So Wells was off the list, to Clarke's relief.

Clarke rolled her neck, cracking it after sitting still for so long before she resumed the same position she had been in for the last few hours. Her mind was going a mile a minute, trying to think faster than a Beast had ever moved.

If Wells' exoneration removed all those that could and had been told, it left those that would have been there that Sunday or had access to their unit. That meant those that would come to either Jake or Abby for numerous reasons that involved another repair, a medical emergency, or council business.

Marcus Kane, the Head of Security, had an access card that opened every room in a state of emergency. Clarke doubted he would use it, however. What she had seen of Kane was not exactly positive but he followed the law to the letter and had to be the least corruptible person that Clarke had the displeasure of meeting.

Thelonious was a tricky question. He could be the one but Clarke doubted it. If he had seen the proof of their 'treason' with his own eyes, there would have been no reason to wait until the following day when they began to arrest them. No, someone had told. And when Clarke found out who… Oh, when she found them-

"-they're going to wish I had Rakuyo to make it quick," Clarke muttered darkly, her voice hoarse from disuse and lack of water. "Fuckin' plague-ridden rat ."

The plan had been going so smoothly, or so they had thought. Clarke had been following his lead as they entered the Communication Servers. This hub directed any and all screens aboard the ARK, making sure each ran smoothly. Or, as smooth as they could after one hundred years. It was just as Jake plugged in his message to the main server that Clarke heard it. Turning in her place at the control center, readying every screen on the ARK to showcase her father's message, she saw the five ARK-Sec guards.

She stood in between them and her father, warning him to go faster and get the message out. Jake almost argued, she could feel it, before she took a stance. Both fists in front of her chest, her body turned sideways with her left foot leading. Her eyes narrowed in challenge and a snarl appeared on her lips.

Jake only said that they would talk about 'this' later before getting back to his work.

It had been a long time since Clarke had faced anyone bare-fisted. Close quarters combat (CQC) it was called now. No matter what it was called, it was a death sentence in Yharnam. If even the Beasts, high on Blood and Madness, used weapons, to not do the same was madness even the Blood-Drunk didn't achieve. Only the overconfident or the supremely stupid dared.

These men did not have the advantage of the Blood.

Gehrman had forced Maria to learn the art when she was younger, her grip not as tight as it should have been when she was growing up.

"You ever lose your weapons," he had said in his gruff voice, "then throwin' a fist might just save your life. You can't rely on your Rakuyo or Evelyn alone, Maria. That's a good way to get ya killed."

Her raised fists had brought it all back. Every word, every gesture, every gruff, harsh bit of advice as he knocked her on her ass more than once. He would demand she get up immediately, not caring for the bruises forming or the pain in her muscles. She had to get used to pain, he said.

"More often than not, you're going to be feeling it."

The first ARK-Sec guard didn't take her seriously, exchanging a look to his fellows before flashing, extending his shock baton in a cheap show of intimidation. Clarke kept her face stoic and eyes hard as she stared, still as she could be. She didn't move as he took a step forward. Neither did she move for the second or third or fourth step. The fifth,  however, brought him in perfect range. Clarke moved .

Her fist struck faster than a snake from the Forbidden Forest and hard enough to knock the guard back three of his steps. Cartilage broke as her fist met his nose but she wasn't done. Grabbing the wrist that held the baton, Clarke pulled it past her body and slammed her knee into the side of the man that followed. It didn't take much to twist his wrist hard enough for the baton to fall away and then force the guard's arm behind his bended back. Her fist rose and fell in a flash, the crack resounding through the room as the arm was dislocated quickly drowned out from her victim's pained yell. Barely paying him any more attention, Clarke pushed the man away face first, another crack resounding as his already broken nose met the metal of wall.

The entire fight lasted less than ten seconds. Clarke retreated a step, her stance back in place as if nothing had happened. Except for the blood that coated the knuckles of her right hand.

The guards had taken her seriously after that. The other four took out their own shock batons and spread around her in a limited semi-circle in the space they had. It probably wasn't a fair fight, Clarke would reflect later. The Blood enhanced her aggression and senses and she was trained by the First Hunter, who she would also argue was the best that had lived. Even with the Church Laurence had started creating their own Hunter group.

The ARK-Sec guards had training, yes, and the batons. But it was limited training and Clarke doubted that they had ever faced an opponent that knew how to fight back against those with bashing weapons. They were in for a surprise.

She couldn't move as she did in Yharnam. Her movements were slightly slower, her strength slightly less, her reflexes off by a hair. Clarke expected it. She didn't have an endless supply of Blood that she had in Yharnam and the Blood that was a part of her like many of the long term users of the Blood didn't magically make her better than others.

The Healing Blood, the Old Blood, made one faster, stronger, and more beastial. All three came together. Holding back on one holds back on the others. Eventually, the tiniest amount of the Blood will begin to be a part of those who have used the Blood for long periods of time. It's the most miniscule amount but it makes a world of difference based on the individual. The Blood part of Maria was substantial but it was held back by her control over her Bloodlust, which held back her strength and speed to be just a little more than the average person in turn.

She was more than capable without it, however; Gehrman didn't want her to have a reliance on the Healing Blood like the people of Yharnam or the Healing Church's own Hunters. No, in the fight, the real obstacle was keeping the guards away from her father as he did his best to rush behind her. It was working, too.

She had just ducked under a swing of the baton from one guard and slammed her foot into the knee of another when the first guard she'd dealt with shoved the shock baton at her. Clarke quickly stepped into one of the men's guards, away from the heat of electricity, and used the opportunity to slam her fist into his pelvis. It landed just below the guard's armored vest and was clearly painful based on the saliva he began to cough up. It was vaguely familiar but she pushed it to the side as she pivoted on the ball of her foot, her other leg lashing out at another guard.

The flat of her foot hit his chest, stunning him long enough for Clarke to run up to him, her hand reared back to-

Clarke stopped for a single moment, eyes wide and heart beating loudly in her ears. What was she doing? She hadn't done it since her fight with the Hunter that finally killed her and she had sworn that she was done with being a Hunter. She wanted to be Clarke. And why was she going to- to…

"I call it a visceral," Gehrman's voice echoes, "because that's what it is. You get 'em stunned and there's this small window, see. If you're strong enough and they're weak enough, you'll kill 'em. The strong ones survive, pumped up full of Blood and Madness they're but they'll hurt. Use it when you can. It'll end a fight but be prepared for the mess."

That moment of hesitation cost her. There were enough instincts in a human that were beastial enough to sense what she was about to do would kill them. It was the same with heights and the dark and dangerous animals. So when they took the opportunity her hesitation provided, they took it hard. One guard's shock stick slammed into the back of her skull while another's boot drove into her solar plexus. It wasn't much - she'd suffered far worse with Gehrman during training - but it was enough to distract her father.

She saw her father floated twenty minutes after that, her mouth full of copper and the stench of ozone wafting from her. He gave her his watch and gave the guards securing her arms a very dangerous look when they barely allowed her to move her arm into place.

Jaha and her mother saw how dangerous she was for the first time in their lives which prompted a discussion on floating her. Clarke didn't pay much attention as she was dragged away but Jaha made a point. Her five pieces of evidence were laid up in the Medical Bay. Two broken noses, a busted cheek, three cracked ribs, a broken knee, a dislocated shoulder, six bruised ribs, a sprained ankle, and a broken toe. When the guards that threw her in Solitary taunted her, she made sure to spit a glob of blood on the guards' shoes.

That night she cried harder, screamed louder, and prayed more desperately than she ever had since her first life. She wasn't sure who she was praying to. The beings that Pthuremu believed to be gods, that Willem so wholeheartedly believed to be humankind's way of ascension, or the many gods she had learned about as Clarke.

Clarke thought this Christian God sounded fair. Better than Kos, at least. Then again, she didn't actively, personally murder his disciples and-

Clarke blinked, her past and daydreams of what she'd do to the absolute vermin when the door to Solitary opened a day (she assumed) early. The guards were different from her usual ones but they carried themselves the same. Arrogance and false confidence hiding just a slight bit of hesitation.

"Prisoner 319," the gruff, tall one said, "stand up and face the wall."

"What's happening?" Clarke asked, just shy of hoarse. She still remained in her chair, staring at them. They seemed unnerved but the tall one in the lead managed to pull up his bluster.

"I said stand up and face the wall, 319," he repeated. Clarke narrowed her eyes, her serene expression falling by the wayside as she stared up at the guard.

"I have another month before I turn eighteen," Clarke said softly. "Which means Jaha won't be floating anyone just yet, not when everyone who has a kid in the Skybox keeps an eye on it. So tell me. Why?"

"Just orders, 319," the second guard nervously spoke from behind his lead. "The entire Skybox is being prepped."

Prepped. Equipped. Dead men don't need equipment for the airlock. Some people are rarely allowed the clothes on their backs, much less anything else. It stumped Clarke for a moment. It wasn't like they had anywhere else to-

"Earth," Clarke whispered, the shock of it dimly registering. "They're sending us to Earth."

Every thought is going faster as the Blood in Clarke's veins roar. Clarke wants to deny it, to say that Earth wouldn't be survivable for another one hundred years, but she Knows it isn't true. Craning her neck to look above, the Earth sits perfectly in her lone window and she Knows and Sees that Earth is more than ready for mankind. She doesn't know how but Clarke can't find it within herself to worry.

"Seeing is the first step to Ascension," Provost Willem once said to her. She had said something about a Hunt but couldn't explain how she knew. "When the Eyes of the Gods and the Old Blood is beholden to you, you may See the Truth, and Understand."

She never, and still doesn't, understand a word that old teacher said. Gehrman didn't seem to have a clue either.

"Well then," Clarke said as she turned her attention to the still hesitant guards. "It wouldn't do well to keep them waiting."

Her new strength was seen as a boon from the Flame and the Spirits. The Heda that had formed the Coalition and united the Twelve Clans against their common enemy, the Mountain Men, was being rewarded for her diligence and fervor. It wasn't just strength. It was her speed, it was her reflexes, it was the blows that would have killed a normal man being shrugged off by the Heda.

Lexa would have agreed with her people if the so-called boon ended there. It ran so much further than that, however. Her senses which had already been heightened by her blood were now reaching a peak beyond that. It started gradually, first with hearing and sight, then smell, and then taste and touch followed. It took Lexa a month to acclimate to any of her senses for her to be comfortable.

Anya had spent the next month with Lexa, gauging her new strength along with Gustus. When Lex wasn't in meetings with the Coalition's Ambassadors, she could be found in the training pits with her general. She felt like a Seken again, training under Anya to control her strength and brushing up on her skills. It reminded her more and more of her childhood as Anya once again had her going through the basics of her training like a goufa.

Lexa was very much glad that she didn't have to do it anymore.

Titus saw it as a blessing. His Heda blessed once again but the Spirits. He had given her more than one lecture over the months of her training. Lectures about how she had only to follow the Flame to be blessed once again. He had praised the Spirits more times in those last few months than he ever had in years. Not since he had suggested that Costia's death had been a blessing in disguise sent by the Spirits.

Speaking of the Fleimkepa…

"Enough, Titus," Lexa commanded as she stared out the balcony connected to her throne room. It was nearing noon and Titus had been trying to advise her for the last three hours about a trade dispute between Sangeda and Boudalan. It wasn't anything complicated but the two refused to come to any even ground. Now, she just wished for some quiet as servants brought in her meal. "We will continue discussions later."

Lexa ignored Titus' acceptance as she turned to her left, the Doll standing quietly as she looked out over the horizon. Since Lexa's blessing nearly a year ago, there was something about the Doll that had changed. There was a sort of air about the Doll, something that Lexa couldn't read. The Doll still stood at her left as she always had. As far as Lexa could see, nothing had changed.

But never had the Doll stared out of the tower like this.

"Doll?" Lexa questioned, watching as the Doll kept her eyes on the horizon. "Doll, what is it?"

"I can feel them," the Doll whispered, only Lexa's heightened sense of hearing allowing her to catch the breathless words. "They come. The Moon whispers but it is the Sea and its Depth that watch and wait. Finally, the wait is over."

"Speak sense, Doll!" Lexa demanded as a sharp pain behind her eye appeared. The Doll didn't open her mouth again but there was no need to. As Lexa stepped forward to demand the Doll explain her riddles, a mighty roar sounded in the air. The Tower shook just slightly and Lexa's head whipped around to face the horizon.

There, high in the blue of the sky, was a ball of fire. It roared as it careened towards the ground, heading straight towards the Mountain. Lexa watched as it fell, watching when it jerked to the side, the fire disappearing to reveal a hulking thing of shiny metal. It landed several miles from the Mountain, closer to TonDC. Lexa knew it landed because she felt the shock travel up her legs.

She did not pay attention to the shiver in her bones.

"Titus!" Lexa yelled, her voice strong and face stoic. "Send a rider to Anya! I want to know everything she does in one week. I want to know what fell from the sky!"

Turning from a frantically nodding Titus, Lexa found the Doll sitting on the steps of the throne's dias. Her hands were busy once again with her thread and needle, humming a small tune as she did so. Lexa had a feeling, deep within her gut, that asking the Doll would only bring more questions than answers.

No. Whatever fell from the sky would be the answer. Be the answer or have it. Lexa would make sure of it.

Done! Now,

Anikky: You make some good points. It does have very definitive game elements. Unfortunately, Clarke Maria is not going to realize she's from a video game. Namely because Bloodborne wasn't a video game. That's all I'll say about that.

I've gotten some votes for a Lexa/Clarke/Anya polyamory relationship while a few others have been for just Clarke and Lexa. One was for a Glass/Clarke/Lexa, and I'm personally leaning towards that, but I want to know what you guys think.

Hope this chapter was good for y'all.

-Scribble.

Chapter Text

Arc 2: Brave Old World

Chapter Two:

"Do not pretend with me, little Hunter.

You think yourself better than I? Righteous? Why? I take the vagrants, the travelers with no paths and homes. You kill the Beasts of Yharnam, those who used to be your citizens. You protected them only to kill them an hour, a day, a month later.

I do not hide my intentions. Hemwick is mine, Hunter. Any who dare enter are simply parts so that we, my sisters and I, may ascend from this earthly realm. Hearts, livers, lungs, stomachs, eyes; all are used so that my sisters and I may See beyond.

And we have seen, little Hunter. We have seen past this flimsy excuse of a world. Past Yharnam. Past Cainhurst. Past the Roanoke and the Atlantis. We have seen the future of this world and it is glorious. Neither the Church nor its Choir have Seen what we have, too absorbed in their godhood to Understand.

Rom the Vacuous keeps the eyes of all hidden from those who cannot See. And one cannot See without the Blood. A conundrum and a protection.

But that is neither here nor there. You do not stand in front of me wishing for wisdom, only my demise. For what? For a Hunt? For the bodies hung from my sisters' rafters? For the unborn we have taken from yet-mothers? For the eyes I have taken to See? Ha! You overextend yourself, Hunter. You do not have the Magic nor the Insight.

Insight, Insight, Insight, InsightInsightInsight. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha."

-Elder Witch Sister of Hemwick Charnel Lane

The Dropship jerked to a stop as it slammed into the Earth, the straps across her chest and lap the only thing keeping Clarke in her seat. The base of her skull throbbed after it slammed into the neck rest of the seat but it was the whirling thoughts that consumed Clarke's mind, rather than the present.

The last twenty minutes had been nothing but a whirlwind to her. After the realization that Jaha and the Council were sending the prisoners of the Skybox to Earth, Clarke had felt something close to excitement for the first time since her father's death. It was with trepidation that Clarke switched her father's watch from her right wrist to her left in order to put on the Monitor Cuff her mother created. It was only as it closed around her wrist, pricking it with sensors, did Clarke feel as if she shouldn't have done so.

She was careful the years after she became Clarke Maria, determined to have no reason to be a patient in Medical. Her blood was part of the Blood and Clarke had no desire to see a government conspiracy movie come to life. It would ask questions that Clarke had no way of answering without sounding insane and the last thing Clarke wanted was to be locked up in a cell.

'A little too late for the latter,' Clarke thought as she stood from her chair.

The gruff guard took up the rear, a hand on his shock baton. Clarke gave him a look as she passed, silently asking if he thought it was necessary. He only huffed and gripped the baton tighter. The second, more nervous guard took up the lead, using the chance to glance at her from over his shoulder every so often. As he led her from Solitary, she saw more people than she had in an entire year. It would have been overwhelming had she been anyone else.

It looked as if the entire Skybox was being led by guards, each inmate having the same Monitoring Cuff Clarke had equipped to their non-dominant wrist. Clarke took a moment to watch as dozens of teens were shepherded, wondering if they, too, knew where they were going. The guard behind her called her designation, prompting her to turn with the crowd when her name was called out.

Abby launched forward, wrapping her arms over Clarke's shoulders tightly. It was the first positive contact that Clarke had experienced in months and she made sure to soak it up for what it was worth. Abby was whispering to her, telling her that she wasn't being floated and Clarke barely had time to tell her mother that she knew when the gruff guard called her once again.

"Your instincts will tell you to take care of everybody else first, just like your father," Abby had whispered. "But be careful, I can't lose you, too."

Clarke had to let go after that, her guard getting impatient and she could smell the sedative being prepared in case she became a problem. The blonde refused to be forced to sleep when she landed on Earth. Besides, the sedative may not work and Clarke wanted to keep that close to her chest.

Walking with the crowd earned Clarke plenty of nasty looks as she followed her guards. Many, if not most of, the Skybox was filled with the 'Rebels' of the ARK. Many of those rebels were simply kids trying to survive. Orphans from floated parents, kids willing to steal for rations or medicine, the distraught who watched their parents executed and reacted because of it. Though they were right in classifying her as Privileged, in her as much being born lucky, they were dead wrong to think she advocated for such a thing.

It was when she reached her seat in the Dropship that she received another shock to her system, something she hadn't been aware she thought impossible until it happened. Wells sat in the seat next to hers, a dorky smile adorning his lips as he stared at her. Clarke's mouth dropped open but words refused to leave her throat as she took in her brother in all but blood.

A hand appeared on her elbow, ushering her into the seat next to his and she suddenly had her voice again.

"What are you doing here, Wells?" Clarke asked as she began to buckle her chair's straps.

He had himself arrested, he explained. He overheard Thelonious talking with the Council about their plan to see if Earth was survivable. He couldn't let her go alone. Besides, the ARK's own laws kept Kane and Jaha from floating him.

"And Glass," Clarke demanded as she narrowed her eyes. "Did you tell her about your plan before you had your father arrest you? With the both of us going to Earth, she'll be left alone!"

"She begged me to go with you," Wells admitted. "She would have done the same if she could've but her birthday passed a couple months after you were locked up. If she even tried to get on here, they would've floated her. She said she'd feel better if I was with you than if I was with her. At least we'd keep each other alive." He paused, considering. "If we, you know, don't die as soon as we land."

"We'll survive," Clarke told him as the Dropship hummed to life and shook as it was released into the vacuum of space.

Multiple screens flared as they slowly drifted down, Thelonious Jaha's face appearing. Most of the Dropship began to boo and shout profanities at the man who sent them to die but the sound of his voice still drowned them out.

Thelonious' speech was patronizing. He called them expendable and revealed they had no idea what awaited them on the ground. But, he revealed, their slates would be wiped clean, their criminal records expunged. They were landing on Mt. Weather, Jaha explained. It was a military bunker with enough provisions to last three hundred years. Mount Weather was safe, Jaha had urged. He was repeating that message when the screens went black and the Dropship shuddered as it entered the stratosphere.

"Your dad's a dick, Wells," one prisoner yelled out. Neither Clarke nor Wells refuted the statement.

And then they started floating. It was a surreal experience for Clarke. The closest she ever felt was from falling from one of Yharnam's towers during a Hunt. Laughter escaped from one of the prisoners as he tore off his belt straps to float around freely. He had shoulder length brown hair and was a few inches taller than her, maybe Wells' height. His nose was sharp but his smile and eyes were warm. Clarke guessed he'd never gotten into a fight in his life; words were his weapon of choice.

As he laughed and floated, he passed Clarke.

"You should get back in your seat," she told him when he turned and gave her a cocky smile. "Preferably before we hit the atmosphere."

"You're the girl that was locked up in solitary," he acknowledged, his brown eyes wide and bright.

"And you're the fool who spent a month's worth of oxygen on an illegal air walk," Clarke responded calmly. "You should get to your seat."

"It was fun, though," was his argument.

It was at this point that two others began to unbuckle themselves from their seats in order to follow the boy in front of Clarke.

"Get your arses in that seat before you get yourselves killed, right now!" Clarke snarled at them. Her voice and tone kept them in their seats for a few more seconds, but that was all the time they needed. Eyeing her and then snorting at her command, they returned to trying to open their buckles but were interrupted when the entire Dropship shuddered and thundered as it entered Earth's atmosphere.

It took a minute, maybe less, maybe more, for the Dropship to land but Clarke's entire mind was occupied by the shift she'd felt as they careened towards the ground. They were falling, the roar of air and fire muffled by the Dropship's metal hull, when Clarke felt it. It was the slightest of nudges, a prick of feeling next to hers just as the Dropship rocked harshly. The floating boy went wide into the wall just as the rest of the teens screamed in shock. It wasn't a smooth landing by any definition of the word, yet Clarke's mind was consumed.

After years, she knew the feeling of the gods intimately. Though confined to the Clock Tower, it was enough to permeate in the feeling of Kos and her Orphan. She knew the touch of a god; it wasn't a thing one forgot. And she Knew that was what they just experienced. But that was impossible. Clarke had spent years worrying, theorizing.

If they were here the entire time, why didn't they…

"Clarke?" Wells' voice and his hand on her shoulder brought Clarke from her spiraling thoughts with a jolt. Suddenly, the muted voices of the teens around her were loud, their rising panic as they debated whether or not to open the Dropship doors clear to her eyes.

"Yeah," Clarke responded, shaking her head and clearing her throat. She desperately hoped that what she felt was wrong. After so long thinking that she had been reborn in a fantastical world so separate from the place she died in, it tore her apart to think they were one in the same.

"Let us leave this place," Clarke rasped, her accent thicker than it had been for a long while. She resolved to think more about what she felt later (or not at all). Clarke unbuckled the straps across her chest and stood, her bones aching without a physical cause. Turning, Clarke watched the teens as they clamored down the second level to the main doors below. The floater was picking himself off the floor, seemingly fine, so Clarke continued looking.

The two boys who had been trying to join the floater were hissing out pained breaths as they massaged shoulders and arms. Catching their eyes, the two gave her reluctant but grateful nods which she returned before they were back to nursing their bruises. Wells touched her arm and gestured to the ladder, loud voices getting louder, as he silently communicated that they might want to proceed.

"You can't open that!" Clarke heard as she descended the ladder, a few teens making room for her as they threw some looks at her and Wells. "It's probably irradiated or something," the girl shouted out. "You could kill all of us!"

The person she was shouting at was a boy a little older than Clarke with neat cut hair, tan skin, and - most interestingly - wearing an ARK-Sec Guard's uniform. Jaha had said that he sent them down because they were expendable, but why send a guard? Unless he wasn't supposed to be there.

"If that's the case," Clarke spoke as she stepped forward, everyone's eyes turning their attention towards her, "then we're likely dead already. It's only a matter of time until we run out of air. And that is only if the hull of this Dropship is still intact and radiation isn't leaking in as we speak."

"As the Princess says," the boy snarkily remarked. "We're dead either way."

Clarke narrowed her eyes at the boy but kept quiet. She had been called a princess before and just as it was here, it was used as an insult. Still, Clarke kept her silence.

She watched as he turned around, his hand on the lever that would lower the Dropship's door, and he took a deep breath. As he began to pull, a girl pushed her way past the teens in order to get to the front, a whispered, "Bellamy?" coming from her lips.

Bellamy was hesitant as he turned around to face the girl. When he laid eyes on her, however, his hesitation disappeared as he enveloped her in a hug, her arms going around his waist. It was a touching, if slightly awkward scene as they whispered words to each other while everyone was watching. Without the Blood pumping harshly in her veins Clarke could only hear snippets, something about a borrowed uniform (explaining how he got on the ship) but the two were interrupted when a boy with brown hair parted in the middle and a narrow face loudly complained.

"Can we get on with this already?" He demanded, his tone bored though Clarke could hear his nervousness as they all waited for death.

"Hey!" The girl snapped as she turned from her brother's hug to yell at the boy who had spoken. "Do you mind?! I haven't seen my brother in over a year!"

"Nobody has a brother!" A girl from Clarke's left shouted incredulously.

"That's Octavia Blake," another shouted. "She's the Girl Under the Floor!"

Bellamy had a hand on his sister the moment she took a step towards whoever had shouted, the snarl on her face more than clear to Clarke what she was about to do.

'Octavia Blake,' Clarke thought as she studied the brunette. 'I can't tell if that type of determination and pride would serve you well as a Hunter. Gehrman certainly would have liked you, if only so he could beat that insolence from you.'

"Let's give them something else to remember you by," Bellamy Blake stated as he pulled the lever that opened the Dropship door. It fell forwards with a hiss, much like a drawbridge or ramp, and the top hit the ground with a muffled thump. "How about being the first person on the ground for the first time in a hundred years?"

Octavia looked up to her brother, excitement etched into every crevice of her face Clarke could see and the brunette hesitantly stepped out into the sunlight. Clarke watched closely as Octavia Blake became the first person to step on solid earth in a hundred years, a bright grin spreading across her lips, hands raised to the sky, and yelling to the heavens.

"WE'RE BACK, BITCHES!"

"The radio's busted," Wells told her fifteen minutes later. They'd gone outside, breathed fresh air for the first time in their lives, and Clarke allowed the euphoria to take her mind only for a second before she pulled herself back. The others, the Delinquents of the ARK, were reminding her too much of Willem's students as they shouted in joy and she needed to be away. So she dragged Wells from his place transfixed by the trees back to the Dropship, the only thing on her mind being the ability to tell her mother that Earth was safe.

She deliberately ignored the thought of feeling a Presence niggling at the back of her mind like a maggot larva in decayed flesh. She had no proof. She had nothing but a half-second feeling of something. So Clarke ignored it.

She was questioning her decision when Wells told her that the radio, their only communication with the ARK, was damaged beyond Wells' limited scope of expertise. Was it fate or the manipulations of something Clarke never wanted to think about? Despite her refusal to acknowledge such a thought, her Blood was betting on the latter. Shaking her head, Clarke forced herself to focus on Wells.

"And you can't repair it because it's a hundred years old, the ARK didn't think to keep it as in good of a condition as opposed to everything else on the ARK," Clarke continued his sentence with a sigh of frustration. "Idiots, the lot of them."

Clarke ran her fingers through her hair, moving it from her eyes and grimaced as she realized that she didn't have a hair tie or ribbon. Long hair without it was a hassle that she really didn't want to deal with, as well as a burden when in a battle.

"I can't," Wells affirmed. He shuffled his hands around the supplies they had been given, pulling out a map and a compass. Clarke took the map, opening it up and trying to find the tiny print that specified which landmass was Mt. Weather. Turning on her heel, she left the Dropship, leaving Wells to his own devices. He'd join her when he was ready.

Blinking the sun from her eyes, Clarke turned her attention from the map to the woods surrounding her. The trees were tall and so different from the ones she'd seen before. So different from the Forbidden Woods or Hemwick. It reminded her, slightly, of Cainhurst during the summer. She didn't remember much from her life in Cainhurst but there were a few memories that refused to fade. The sun glittering through large, tall trees was one such memory and Clarke held onto it for years.

Turning, Clarke made her way to the edge of the small clearing the Dropship had landed itself in. The clearing sloped down on one side, allowing Clarke to see over quite a few trees. There, framed perfectly in between two clumps of trees, was an innocuous peak. And it filled Clarke with anger.

"What's wrong, Princess," the floater said from behind her as he came to stand at her side. "It's not like we died in a fiery explosion."

"We could have," Clarke retorted, "and we still might."

The floater paused for a second and she could feel his eyes on her, considering. Then an easy smile appeared on his face, the same one he gave her in the Dropship as he floated in front of her. "You don't like being called 'princess', do ya, Princess?"

Clarke shot him a look, hoping that the nickname wasn't going to catch. She may have been related to Queen Annalise but that had been nothing but a point of contention between her and the Church. It was they that called her 'princess' before. Logarius especially was one who had not hidden his hatred for her or the others who shared blood with Cainhurst. It was only his respect for the First Vicar, Laurence, and Gehrman that stayed his hand when it came to her.

"No," she said, her eyes glaring into his before she turned towards the peak and changed the subject quickly. "Do you see that peak?" She asked. "That is Mt. Weather. There is a forest soaked in radiation between us and our next meal. Jaha dropped us on the wrong damn mountain."

"Huh," he said. Then he shrugged his shoulders and stuck out his hand. "So, I'm Finn."

"And I'm already taken," Clarke refuted as she folded the map, not sparing Finn nor his hand a glance. "But for the sake of making it easier on myself, I am Clarke. You may call me Clarke and only Clarke."

"Well then, Princess Clarke," he said lightly, retracting his hand and putting the appendage in his pocket. "What's next? If you don't mind me asking."

"If we don't find shelter, food, and water?" Clarke said as she stuffed the map in her jeans and turned to look Finn in the eyes. "We start fighting and eating each other."

Finn's eyes grew wide as she finished, her own face stoic. "Uh… Are you- are you being serious? Please tell me you're joking."

"Somewhat," Clarke shrugged. "We can't all sleep in the Dropship, we more than likely scared away any animal we could have eaten for miles, and without a clean source of water…"

"So your solution is to eat people?" Finn asked her, his expression almost enough for her to laugh.

"No," Clarke replied as she raised an eyebrow. "I read it in a book. A large group of people left on their own without provisions or help, and completely isolated. They started eating each other; I, frankly, assumed it would happen here."

She started walking back to Wells, Finn coming into step beside her. She wasn't lying, not entirely. When she was thirteen, she had followed a wayward Beast to Hemwick as it ran from her. She happened across a group of travelers that had been lost in the witches' woods, running from the magic wielders that would open them for parts. There used to be more of them but once the food they had ran out, they began to kill the weakest of them and descend upon them as a pack of wolves would. Gehrman found her later, covered in their blood and hacking the Beast's corpse long after it was dead.

"We're all a little mad in this world," he said to her after she asked how it was so easy for them. "If we weren't, I doubt we'd survive long."

"No, but seriously," Finn insisted. "If we don't find food or water, what happens?"

"You don't want to know," Clarke replied just as Wells came into view as he exited the Dropship. "We're miles from Mt. Weather."

"Damn," Wells cursed. "I checked the roof of the Dropship; a dozen of the panels are missing and heat fried the wires. There's no fixing the radio."

"We need to fix the radio?" Finn asked.

"We do if we want the ARK to follow us down." Clarke barely spared the boy a glance as she answered, instead pulling the map back from her pocket. She laid the map down on the Dropship ramp as Wells came up beside her, her finger pointing at where they were. Using that finger, Clarke skimmed the map in a straight line to rest on Mt. Weather.

"It would take us a day, at least, to get there," she told Wells. "Twenty miles of forest between us and we more than likely scared any potential meal far away from here."

"So we need to leave now just so we don't starve tonight," Wells said, sighing as he caught on. "Moving in a group is going to slow us down. A lot. And we have no idea how the ground has changed since a hundred years ago."

"Not to mention they won't follow you, Chancellor Junior," Finn said from his place on Clarke's other side. He looked up as she and Wells turned to him. "No offense," he told them, "but everyone hates your old man. No one is going to want to follow you, Jaha."

Clarke chanced a glance at Wells. "He has a point," she agreed. "I want to kill your father; if I didn't know you, I wouldn't follow you either."

"I get it, I do," Wells assured them. "But getting to Mt. Weather has to be a priority. My father said that it would have everything we need. And not that I want to say it, but we don't know how to survive out here."

"No, we don't," was Clarke's quiet admittance. She knew how to survive Yharnam. Yes, it was dangerous and bloody when a Hunt began, but she always had the Workshop and the Blood. Now, on Earth, she didn't have those essentials. She didn't have one of Gehrman’s trick weapons or a firearm, much less her leathers that kept her warm. And that was discounting the entirely new environment.

"Is that a map?" A joking voice sounded. Turning, she spotted a goofy-looking boy with brown hair and white skin. He was lanky and wore a pair of goggles on his head, which had Clarke tilting her head curiously. "Does it show any bars? I'll buy you one," he said as he turned to Clarke.

Clarke only raised an eyebrow, grabbing Wells' elbow as he made to take a step forward. Finn hissed through his teeth and clasped Jasper's shoulder with a small laugh.

"Tried that already, man," Finn told him. "She's already taken. My guess is Princess found herself a prince."

"Call me that again and I am going to punch you in your throat," Clarke threatened as she glared at Finn. "And, no, Wells and I aren't together."

"We grew up together," Wells continued. "She's practically my sister."

Turning from Finn, she introduced herself. "I'm Clarke," she said. "This is Wells and that's Finn. Who are you?"

"Are we going to ignore that she just threatened me?" Clarke pretended not to see her best friend shrug at the brunet boy.

"I'm Jasper," the goggle-headed boy replied, giving Clarke a goofy smile. "What're you guys doin'?"

"Trying to figure out where we are," Wells admitted with a grumble. "And how to get to Mt. Weather."

"We're on the ground," a loud voice yelled over the general buzz of the Delinquents, interrupting the conversation. Bellamy Blake, along with Octavia and a few others, walked towards them from behind Jasper. "That not good enough for you?"

"You heard what my father said," Wells returned, his voice strong as he glanced at the gathering Delinquents. Clarke silently watched, her eyes warily watching the gathering crowd. Wells wasn’t the most popular person and being surrounded by people that had a reason to hate him (or rather, his father) made the Blood within Clarke stir.

Clarke had seen how easy it was to focus hate from the subject to a reminder. The Church had done it with Cainhurst. The hate brought by Cainhurst's royal family and knights swiftly diverted to the subjects of Cainhurst. It was what allowed the Church to have the general populace of Yharnam glorify Cainhurst's slaughter. Clarke wasn't exempt from shifting her hate either, given her tenuous past with the Church and their Hunters.

"We have to make Mt. Weather the priority."

"Fuck your father," Octavia scathingly replied. "You aren't in charge and neither is your little Princess."

"I don't care who's in charge, Octavia Blake," Clarke interrupted. She was getting irritated, especially with that name catching on. "I don't care what the Chancellor demands. I care about not starving, and that means Mt. Weather." Clarke turned towards the rest of the Delinquents, her voice raising in volume. "The longer we wait to get those supplies, the harder it will be to get them later. We need to leave now or we'll just be lost in the dark."

"I have an idea," Bellamy said. "You two go; find it for us. Let the Privileged do the hard work for a change!"

A cheer rose up from the Delinquents and Clarke wanted to groan from their stupidity. Or perhaps it was just Bellamy Blake? Was he stupid or trusting? Naive, maybe? Clarke wanted more than anything to point out that if she truly didn't care about the Delinquents, she wouldn't go there and return. Why would he trust her to come back? It was the epitome of stupidity, of naivety.

Clarke didn't voice her thoughts as Bellamy turned away, however. Weighing everything, Clarke knew that pointing out that she could simply not return would only spell out trouble for herself and Wells. She did have a thought, miniscule of a chance it might be, that the elder Blake sibling was betting on the two not returning. Possibly to make a point; 'Privileged show their true colors' or something to that effect.

"Great," Wells muttered, throwing his hands in the air before running one over his close cropped hair. "How're two people going to carry enough food for a hundred?"

"Count me in," Finn told them. Quickly, Finn swiveled and locked onto his target. Stepping forward, he clapped the shoulders of Jasper and the boy next to him, dragging the two over to Clarke and Wells. "Now we have five."

"I didn't volunteer," the boy who wasn't Jasper pointed out. Clarke raised an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed, which seemed to send a jolt up the boy's spine. "Not that I'm complaining, though. I'm Monty."

"Six makes this a party," Octavia Blake said as she strutted over to the group. Or tried to before Bellamy grabbed her by the elbow. Her brother was behind her looking as aggravated and protective as he could as he stared hard at his sister. She met his gaze, unafraid, staring him down. They seemed to have a silent communication much like Clarke and Wells, silent until Bellamy let out a sigh and jerked his head towards the group of five.

The brunette squealed, jumping up to hug her brother around the neck and quickly joining Clarke's small party as they began to head in the direction of Mt. Weather.

"Just so you know," Octavia quietly said as she fell in step next to Clarke, "Spacewalker's mine."

"As I have no inclination to cheat on my girlfriend, you are more than welcome to him," Clarke retorted. "That is, if your brother allows it."

Octavia's responding growl forced Clarke's lips into a small smile, the first of hers on Earth. Oh yes, Gehrman would have loved to beat Octavia into the dirt as he'd done with other Firestarters.

"They have a fire in them," Gehrman answered after she asked why he was so hard on his other students. "The drive to hunt Beasts. Think they have something to prove, prideful of being as they are. With you, I could teach you and you listened. Corrected what needed to be and were all the better for it. Them… They need to be shown, hard."

'Yes,' Clarke thought as she watched the back of Octavia's head as she stormed to the front. 'Gehrman would have loved teaching this Blake.'

She wasn't running but it was a close thing. Twenty minutes ago, Glass had watched from her window as a drop ship left the ARK and fell to Earth. It was ridiculous, she knew. Wells had told her it was happening, that the woman she loved would be sent down to Earth to die in the next few days or weeks. Glass just thought she had more time.

Not that there was anything she could've done. She was over eighteen and simply speaking out would be enough for Jaha and the Council to float her. She just… She didn't understand. Why send Clarke down to Earth? Why send any of the Skybox? Why would Abby allow Clarke to go? She would have fought it. Clarke had been training to be a doctor for years and would have been Abby's apprentice once she turned eighteen. Abby could have argued that they needed her daughter.

So why didn't she?

The mother of her love had changed after Jake's execution. The day had been going so well, Glass reflected. Clarke and Wells had come over to her unit that Sunday, Clarke greeting Glass with a kiss that curled her toes. It was Chess that followed, a day of laughter, wins, and losses, though Glass had to admit she had more of the latter than the former. Eventually, Glass just curled up on the couch and rested her head in Clarke's lap as the blonde and Wells continued their game. She was so warm and comfortable that the lull of sleep was irresistible and Glass began to dream.

When Glass woke up later, Wells was distracted. Thinking, he said when she had asked him. Clarke wasn't any different so Glass thought nothing of it. The day passed and it was Glass' turn to kiss Clarke hard enough to send electricity down both of their spines as the Griffin daughter left. The next morning, Glass woke up to Wells telling her the news: Jake Griffin had been executed and Clarke had been arrested, both for the crime of treason.

Later that day, it was revealed that treason wasn't Clarke's only crime. Assault and battery, revisiting arrest, and assault with a deadly weapon followed Clarke's rap sheet. Glass heard the other guards talking, ribbing the five that had been taken down by a blonde who couldn't have weighed two hundred pounds soaking wet. The five, however, were telling any one person part of ARK-Sec that would listen that Clarke had training. Thorough training; the kind one couldn't get even being part of ARK-Sec. 

Glass hammered the door of the Griffin's unit with her fist, answered by Abby whose eyes were red-rimmed and teary. The hug Glass gave her was tight and yet Abby's arms were tighter around her shoulders. The elder Griffin sobbed into Glass' shoulder while Glass could only whisper her own broken apologies.

It took two hours for them both to calm down though it wasn't enough to pick up a mug of rationed tea without shaking. Abby couldn't tell Glass why they were charged with treason, not without committing it herself and going against the Council and Chancellor. What Abby could tell Glass were the other crimes Clarke had been charged with and what they entailed. Abby had seen the damage, though she was quickly ushered from Medical die to conflict of interest.

She tried not to be shocked as Abby listed the injuries the guards sustained as they tried to arrest Clarke. Glass knew that there was a hidden side to Clarke, that there was an anger and deadliness that was layered beneath her soft voice and gentle demeanor. She had seen it two days before when Clarke had protected her from that boy. She had threatened him, broke his finger, and hit his throat so hard he couldn't breathe; all for her. It was a single teenage boy. It only made sense that Clarke would be more aggressive with guards, all armed with shock batons.

"I just- It was Clarke and she put five people - guards - in Medical," Abby had lamented, her voice shocked and uncertain. "I don't even know where she would've gotten the training. I didn't know she was capable. "

"I did," Glass quietly confessed, her hands wrapped around her warm mug. In whispers, Glass told Abby what had occurred two days prior though it felt longer than that and so far away. Glass told her how she waited for Clarke and Wells and was set upon by a group, the leader taking a creepy interest in her. She whispered about how she tried to leave only for the leader to clamp his hand onto her arm to keep her from leaving as he and his group snarled insults about her mother and herself at her. Glass' voice took on a bit of reverence as she recalled how Clarke had simply appeared, her knight from a fairytale. Glass confessed in a breathy whisper how Clarke twisted his wrists. Bent his finger so far back she broke it. And slammed her fist into his throat when he tried to lie about his actions.

The entire time, Abby sat in horrified silence. Whether it was in the actions of the group that had harassed her or Clarke's, Glass couldn't say. Abby's hand covered her mouth, her tea long forgotten as Glass finished her tale. She stood up, hands nervous, and she went to the kitchen.

"Jackson fixed that boy," Abby told her. "He told me about it. That boy and his friends were desperate to convince Jackson that he broke it falling down. There was bruising on both his wrists and one of them was sprained. Jackson and I thought it was domestic."

Abby gave off a pained laugh at the end and Glass remained to be a fixture of comfort.

Glass and Abby spent the future comforting each other when the emotions became too much. When something reminded Abby of Jake or Glass of Clarke. Tea rations were brought out and mugs were filled, each telling their own stories to the other. They laughed and cried, Glass' love for her blonde growing at each and every story.

Glass learned that the explosion that caused Clarke's accent was an accident. An electrical fire had started in a supply room where a mechanic had left an air tank. The air tank hadn't been closed completely and was left on its own for a day. Clarke was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. She was extremely lucky, Abby recalled, that the only damage they could find was Clarke's head wound. It had been touch and go, and Clarke's memory was spotty when she first woke up.

"But it could have been worse," Glass agreed.

The months passed in the same vein. Every so often, Glass and Abby would meet to share tea and stories. Wells came sometimes but the air was stifled between Wells and Abby. Glass had asked Wells what had happened between the two and though Wells refused to answer, it was the first and last time Glass had asked.

Then, two months before Clarke's eighteenth and subsequent review, Wells was hammering on Glass' unit door, panting and speaking gibberish. Once Glass gave him a glass of water and he calmed down, he told her: his father and the Council were sending the Skybox prisoners down to Earth as test subjects to see if the ground was survivable.

'And they did,' Glass thought as she pushed her way to the front of the gathered crowd outside of Sit-Con (or Situation Control). Glass wasn't the only one to see the Dropship fall to Earth from a window. And, apparently, she isn't the only one to be denied to see a prisoner of the Skybox.

Clarke being in Solitary meant she wasn't allowed visitors. Glass hated it but she accepted it. Now, it seemed, that no one has been able to enter the Skybox to see anyone for the last week. All under the excuse of an out of control virus. Which led to the crowd in front of Sit-Con, being head off by Callie Cartwig, Marcus Kane, and Abby.

"Were the 

"I saw a ship deploy not even twenty minutes ago," a male shouted from the crowd.

"Was it the kids?" Another person questioned. "Who was on it?

"Are they going to Earth?"

"Has something changed?"

"Abby!" Glass shouted, hoping to get her attention. She did. Abby beckoned Glass closer. She was about to say something but Glass didn't let her. "Wells told me before he got himself arrested. Please just tell me she's okay."

The mother bit her lip, clearly thinking, before she grabbed Glass by her arm and hauled her away from the crowd, closer to Sit-Con. The crowd yelled after them, asking Cartwig and Kane why Glass was allowed in Sit-Con and they weren't. Glass could hear Cartwig making excuses as Kane followed them.

When the Control Room doors opened, Glass nearly gasped at the large screens that took up a wall. In every screen were pictures of several teens, vitals displayed prominently next to their picture. Several of them were lined with red while the rest had a blue background. Glass ran her eyes across each picture before settling somewhere towards the middle left as Clarke's picture stared back, her vitals beeping.

"What did Wells tell you?" Abby asked as she and Glass stopped by the wall just next to the door. Glass hardly took her eyes off Clarke's picture for a moment to answer.

"That you were sending the teens to the ground," Glass responded. "That's why he got himself arrested, so he could go down with Clarke."

Abby only had time to sigh in relief before Kane barged into the room, a snarl on his face. "What the hell was that, Abby?" He demanded.

"Wells knew about the Dropship," Abby reported. "He told Glass before he was arrested; she just wants to make sure that Wells and Clarke are okay."

"Please," Glass suddenly said. "I won't get in the way, I promise. Just let me stay here."

Kane stared at her hard, his mouth set in a thin line before he jerked his head, a gruff "Fine!" escaping his lips. Cartwig entered, his name escaping her lips but his own snarl escaped him as he turned his attention to the approaching Sinclair.

"What are we looking at?" Kane asked. Sinclair didn't mince words.

"Nothing," the engineer sighed, "given the total system failure. We lost contact. The only thing we know is that they were off course. We don't have audio. We don't have video. The computer link is busted from their end. The only thing still working is the telemetry from Abby's wristbands.

"Everything we programmed in to help them is gone," Sinclair told the small group. "They're on their own."

Chapter Text

Arc 2: Brave Old World

Chapter Three:

"Echoes? Now why would you ask about those? Do you really need to know where they come from? What they are? You have used them, Hunter, that I can See.

So why ask? Why burden yourself with the question? Why search for an answer not bound within the foundations of our world. Hm? Ah, yes, I suppose I do have an idea of what they are.

They are souls. The souls of those slain, unable to move past this world. Oh, don't look so concerned. They can't actually be souls. Perhaps remnants is a better word for them. Echoes are so horribly confusing, don't you think?

I do wonder, however. It may be Echoes are simply the Blood. Gathered, collected, within a body. A gestation of the Old Blood, of the Healing Blood. I believe, when freed, the Blood simply… moves on. Think of it as an aroma.

This scent becomes stronger and stronger as the Beast it attaches to grows. But then, where does that scent go once the Beast is dead? It doesn't disappear. It doesn't stay with the corpse. No, it follows you, Hunter. It binds itself to you, seeping through your skin and burrowing into your flesh and bones.

Echoes are simply the essences of the Beasts you Hunt. Does that answer your question? Does it quell your frilly sensibilities? 

Hm? What's this? Oh, it's much like water, I imagine. The Blood turns into Echoes naturally. A liquid into a gas. But to have those Echoes disappear? No. You've just been turning it back into Blood, stronger and simply more. Or has someone been doing it for you, I wonder?

Has someone strengthened you? Has another wormed their way into your flesh and gripped your veins? Do they control the Blood?

You do not wish to answer? Then leave me, Hunter! I have no use for you. Unless you'd rather help me speak to the Great One, the Sea, Kosm?"

- Micolash, Head of the School of Mensis.

The forest was breath-taking. The world was so bright, the light of the sun a very different thing from the harsh lights of the ARK. The open air was so wide and expansive, the exact opposite of what she felt had been her life so far. The light, so warm and soft, was comforting as nothing she had ever felt.

Which is why she nearly growled when the princess interrupted her.

"Keep moving," Clarke Griffin said as she passed her, the Chancellor's son nipping at her heels. Staring at the back of the blonde's head, Octavia couldn't help but make a face and stick out her tongue at the girl's back.

Even though Princess said she didn't care who was in charge, she sure seemed willing to play leader. Clarke had taken the lead of their little group, Jaha following right behind her. Spacewalker and Octavia were in the middle with Goggles and Monty at the rear. Like her, every single one of them were enamored with their surroundings, Earth itself seen through human eyes for the first time in a hundred years.

Except, Clarke Griffin wasn't nearly as awed by Earth as the rest of them. Sure, she looked at things, her eyes wide and blue, but almost immediately her eyes would return to normal. Her attention would return to where she stepped and her surroundings wouldn't be given a second glance until they were several feet forward. The process would repeat again and again.

Octavia herself couldn't help but stare at every tree, every blade of grass, every flower, and every insect. Just a few minutes earlier, she discovered a butterfly and had moved towards it so fast, she would have sworn she was running. Ahead of the group for just a moment, Octavia had plenty of time to gape at the beautiful insect and enjoy the sunlight from behind her eyelids. At least until Princess caught up.

"Don't take it personally," Spacewalker said as he fell in step next to her. "Princess is a goal-oriented type of girl. A little brisk, a little gruff, but she'll calm down when we're not in danger of dying… I hope. I'm Finn, by the way."

"Octavia," she replied, a smile worming her way onto her face.

"I'm Jasper!" Goggles shouted from behind them, a hand in the air. Monty from beside them snorted with laughter which caused Jasper to hit him in his shoulder. Monty quickly retaliated, and Jasper retaliated to that, beginning a war that broke out between the two. It stopped soon when the two landed simultaneous hits on the back of each other's heads, prompting a laugh from Octavia and a look from Finn.

A few steps later, Octavia and Finn were walking between two large bushes. Purple flowers, tiny and beautiful, poured out of the greens and browns of foliage. Finn picked one and turned to her, holding it up and silently gesturing to her hair. She had to bite her lip as he came close. Finn was handsome, cool in a free way. Brown doe eyes and a melt-your-heart face that Octavia saw up close as he set the flower in her hair.

Octavia had never flirted before. Never had the attention of someone who wasn't family. It felt… good. Having that kind of attention from Finn made Octavia feel powerful. Stand-on-top-of-the-world powerful. It made her feel like more than Bellamy's illegal sister. More than The Girl Under the Floor.

"Now that is game, my friend," Octavia hears Jasper whisper to Monty as Finn walks away. She's still smiling until she hears Monty's reply.

" That is poison sumac." Upon hearing the word poison, Octavia immediately shook it from her hair. There was no way in hell that she'd finally get to see and be on Earth only to die by a flower, pretty boy or not.

"What! It is?" Octavia asked.

"The flowers aren't poisonous. They're medicinal, calming actually," Monty replied. Octavia nearly frowned. She lost her flower.

"His family grows all the pharmaceuticals on the ARK," Jasper explained as she and Finn slowed down to talk with the two boys. It seemed that was too much for Princess, as she suddenly stopped in her tracks to look over at them.

"Making it to Mt. Weather will be difficult if you four insist on lagging behind," Clarke said. 

Who talked like that? Octavia didn't get it. Griffin was so different from anyone else on the ARK. Was it on purpose? Was she faking it? Why? She was so serious, too. Instead of being what Octavia had always imagined a princess to be, Clarke didn't seem to be dainty or unwilling to get her hands dirty. Her voice was soft, her eyes a deep blue, and hair a mix between spun gold and pale bone. Two of those pale locks framed her face, making it look narrower than it was.

"C'mon, Clarke!" Finn exclaimed, breathless as he gestured around. "How can you block all this out?"

Clarke looked at them before taking an exaggerated look around. "Yes, beautiful," she replied with a slow nod before fixing the four with a look. "Can we continue trying to find our next meal or are you too enamored that you'd rather eat the tree?"

With that, Princess promptly turned on her heel and began to walk. Jaha stayed in place for a second, looking at them with a raised eyebrow before shrugging a shoulder and following the blonde. Octavia narrowed her eyes.

"Someone should slip her some poison sumac," Octavia muttered to Finn. Jasper snorted behind her but her own chuckle was cut off.

"Dare to try and I will slit your throats," Clarke called threateningly from the front. Octavia shared a look with the others as Jasper and Monty gaped.

"That's the second time she's threatened me," Finn said in a whisper. "I… really can't tell if she's joking or not.

"Anyways!" He exclaimed, clapping his hands together as he turned to the two boys. "You two have got to tell me what you guys did to get busted."

"Sumac isn't the only herb in the garden, if you catch my drift," Monty replied with a smug smile. Jasper rolled his eyes.

"Someone forgot to replace what we rook," Jasper explained. Monty sighed and gave Jasper the side eye.

"Someone has apologized, like, a thousand times," Monty huffed.

Finn laughed, cutting the two off. He turned to Octavia, a finger pointing at her.

"You didn't do anything, so I won't ask you," he said as he swung his fingers over to Jaha and Clarke. The two were walking, Jaha slightly behind the blonde. "What about you, Chancellor? What did you do that your dad couldn't just sweep under the rug?"

Clarke and Wells stopped walking, the former looking at Jaha curiously. Wells, however, looked embarrassed as he studiously avoided Clarke's eyes. Octavia raised an eyebrow. Now she had to hear this.

"I… I burned the Last Tree. During Mass."

Shocked silence was all that met his statement as Octavia tried to process. Jaha, the son of the man who floated her mother and locked her up for being born, burned the tree that had been proclaimed as the last. Obviously the name was a misnomer given all the trees around them but still. According to Bellamy, that tree was, like, worshiped!

Finn let out a disbelieving laugh as he turned to her, Jasper, and Monty to get their reactions. Her wide eyes, Jasper's open mouth, and Monty's shocked stare was exactly what he was looking for because Finn let out a whoop that echoed through the forest. It was absolutely ridiculous. No wonder the Chancellor couldn't make that crime go away. Especially if he had done it in front of people.

"That," Clarke said to him, "is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. It's a tree. A tree. I do not have the words for how stupid that entire situation is."

"Well if that's how you feel, Princess," Finn said, "then what're you in for?"

Clarke gave a shrug. "Treason, I'd imagine. I didn't have my charges read to me when they locked me in Solitary." The blonde turned to Jaha, heedless of the stares her statement brought on. "Did I get that right?"

"I - yeah," Wells replied with a sigh. "Treason was the main one."

"Wait," Octavia interjected with a hungry grin, far more interested than she wanted to be. "You mean treason wasn't the only charge? What were the others?"

Jaha was hesitant and looked to Clarke. She seemed to have no problem with him sharing as she shrugged and gave a nod. She was probably interested to hear it herself if no one ever read them to her. Even Octavia had gotten to hear hers, as bullshit as they were.

"Assault and battery, assault with a deadly weapon, resisting arrest, and conspiracy to commit murder," Jaha listed off to the growing shock and disbelief of the group. Octavia found herself staring at the blonde, conflicted on whether she was supposed to be impressed, in awe, or never to speak to her again.

"Conspiracy to commit murder?" Clarke repeated. "That one seems like a stretch. I didn't plan to kill anyone."

"The five guards you put in Medical disagreed," Jaha retorted as he whirled around to face her. "And while we're talking about it, how about you tell me what the hell was going through your mind when you went up against five guards? Or maybe where you learned to fight? Or maybe - maybe - anything that would explain what happened that night?"

For a minute, Clarke didn't say anything. She stared Jaha in the eyes as the air grew heavy. Octavia found herself exchanging glances with Finn, the boy looking as uncomfortable as she was. This hadn't been what Octavia expected when she joined the group on their trek to Mt. Weather. She had just wanted to be free, unconfined for the first time in her life.

Octavia's ears strained as she tried to hear Clarke's whispered reply. Jaha's face crumpled as he looked at his shoes, whispering back. Clarke whispered again before turning and began walking. Octavia watched as Jaha took a breath that seemed way too deep and then began walking in Clarke's wake. Octavia shared another glance with Finn before following.

The next few minutes were quiet as they walked in the forest. Finn beside her, Jasper and Monty at the back. The sun still shined, warming her skin. It felt so weird. The lights on the ARK were so dull and lifeless compared to real, actual sunlight. She was never going back. And neither was Bellamy. 

Bellamy had done something horrible to get on the Dropship. Something the ARK would never forgive him for, he said. He wouldn't be able to stay, not if the ARK came down. He wouldn't tell her what he did but he did say it had been his only option to go down with her. Even if it was only to die. Octavia loved her brother, even if he was so stupid sometimes.

"Hey. You know what I want to know?" Finn asked after a couple minutes of silence. "Why did they send us down here? After ninety-seven years, why today? What changed?"

"Don't care," Octavia replied tersely. "All I know is I woke up rotting in a cell and now I'm in a forest, on Earth. As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter."

"Maybe they saw something on a satellite," Monty guessed. "A radiation reading or something."

"There wasn't a satellite," Jaha suddenly interjected. "The ARK is dying. With the population level being what it is, they have roughly three month's worth of air. Four, now that we're gone. Clarke's dad is the one who discovered the flaw in the Life Support system."

"So that's why they locked you up in Solitary? Floated your old man?" Finn asked the blonde, who Octavia saw, had an ear turned towards them to listen.

"He thought the people had a right to know what was being kept from them," Clarke said. "My mother and the Council disagreed, afraid it would panic people. I tried to help him get the word out. But a plague-ridden rat told the Chancellor of our plans and the guards came."

"It wasn't junior here?" Octavia asked and Jaha opened his mouth.

"No." Clarke's answer cut him off and he swiveled around to stare at her. "Wells wouldn't do that to me and he agrees that the people have the right to know what might kill them. No, I don't know who betrayed my father and I. But when I find them…"

Clarke trailed off ominously and Octavia felt a shiver run down her spine. The brunette had a feeling that whatever Clarke had in store was worse than anything the ARK could do to them. She almost felt sorry for the poor sucker.

"The ARK bought themselves time," Clarke continued after a moment. "That is why today, Finn. That is why the risk was acceptable. Because even if we did die, the ARK would have at least gained more time to think of a solution."

"They're going to kill more people, aren't they?" Monty asked quietly. Octavia felt a well of vindication and satisfaction open up in her stomach.

"Good," Octavia nearly snarled. "After what they did to me, I say float them all-"

Clarke moved, one second six feet away and in front of Octavia the next, forcing the brunette to stop before she crashed into the blonde. Hard blue eyes met green.

"It's best you stop speaking," Clarke told her, her voice still soft, "before I believe you're advocating for the murder of children. Should you continue despite my warning, I will take your tongue.

"Life does not start and end with you, Octavia Blake. The man I looked up to as an uncle murdered my father in front of me before he locked me in Solitary for a year. You are an illegal child who has never known freedom. Neither are reasons to wish genocide upon an entire people."

Octavia's breathing was shallow, her mind stuttering as she tried to think. She was frozen, unable to move away from the suddenly very scary blonde. Her mouth was dry, a lump fixed into her throat. One that wouldn't move no matter how many times she swallowed her now dry throat. All she could do was meet Clarke's narrowed eyes.

"Your troubles do not warrant the death of innocents, especially ones that never knew you," Clarke told her. "Stick to wishing death upon those who have done you harm. Continue to show that your character lacks human decency… and I'll make sure that your past hardship will be a drop compared to the ocean I will drown you in."

As Clarke began to turn away and Octavia started to feel a familiar fury rising in her stomach, the blonde looked back at her once more. "A word of advice before you take your retribution: Thelonious and the rat are mine. They will face my judgment and no one else's." Clarke suddenly swiveled to look at Jaha. "If that is acceptable to you?"

Jaha's face became pained as he regarded the blonde before he looked away. "Just…," he said. "Just- just don't kill him."

"I can live with that outcome," Clarke replied as she walked forward, taking the lead of the group again. Octavia let out a slow breath, trying to calm her raging heart and the anger boiling in her gut. Her mind was in turmoil, thinking about what the blonde had said.

Octavia was slow to begin walking until she was helped by Finn as he gently put a hand on her back. The group was silent for a few more minutes, the only sound being the crunching ground beneath their feet. Octavia's eyes tracked the gold and pale of Clarke's hair, her mind still mulling over the words that had been said. She turned the words over and over and over. Octavia didn't think about the kids on the ARK when she wished they floated. She didn't think about the people she talked to at that Unity Day dance. She didn't think about any of them.

When she felt that satisfaction of having the ARK be treated like expendable trash rise up through her belly, she was thinking about the Council and Chancellor. Thinking about how they cuffed her and talked about whether or not to execute her while she was on her knees in front of them. She was thinking how it was only because she was sixteen that saved her life. She wanted them to feel expendable, to be the ones executed. To have that fear that choked her and the tears that blurred her vision.

She just… She wasn't thinking about anyone else. Anyone but them.

Octavia nearly slammed into Clarke's back, too wrapped in her thoughts to see that Clarke had stopped walking. In front of them was a giant river, the first Octavia had ever seen. It was amazing and awe inspiring. Setting aside her thoughts, Octavia ran ahead to stand at an overhanging rock formation.

"Clarke? Are you okay?" Finn asked. Octavia turned from the river to see Clarke, paler than usual and eyes wide. Her hand, forming a fist, was shaking while red streamed from the crevices to drop on the ground.

"Fine," Clarke said, pulling her head from where she'd been staring and began walking again.

When Octavia looked to see what Clarke had been staring at, all she saw was a tree stump with large white flowers resembling sunflowers at the base.

"Do you not trust me any longer?"

"Of course I do. This is about you not trusting me."

"I trust you not to ask questions I cannot answer, Wells. Please, just trust that if I could tell you, I would."

The day had grown long and arduous far faster than Clarke had expected. When she left the young encampment with Wells and the others, she did not expect them to be so loud, so unfocused. But perhaps that fault was hers and hers alone.

How could she expect people who were seeing the world for the first time as babes would to be focused and direct? To have a seasoned tread through a forest they had never seen, never even walked upon? It seemed as if she was falling into habits best left behind. She was not in the Forbidden Woods - made obvious by the retreating creatures she could hear they startled - nor with Gehrman or any other Hunter.

Then came Blake's callous disregard for the lives of her fellow man because of the life she was forced to live. She had seen genocide, seen the slaughter and barbarism that came with it. She had killed her fair share and watched children be cut down. Clarke had done things no man should ever do and hearing Blake wish the genocide of twelve thousand innocent men, women, and children made Clarke angry.

She threatened Octavia. Unlike when she warned off Finn from calling her Princess or when the brunette had suggested they slip her the natural sedative, when she threatened Octavia, it wasn't to make a point. Clarke had meant it; she would take the girl's tongue and she would use the piece of shrapnel of the Dropship tucked into the back of her jeans. She had found it several feet into their journey and grabbed it without a thought.

Clarke may have hung up her hat in regards to the Hunt, preferring to live her peaceful life as Clarke, but that did not mean she would or could abide by senseless slaughter. Not if she had a say in the matter.

The Hunt had purpose. Yharnam was a building on fire and the Hunters were the fire brigade. Senseless was the opposite of what the Hunters were. They faced Beasts and the Blood-Drunk. Sometimes even the Blood-Starved. Hunters like her had made sure Yharnam still stood in the morning and after every Hunt. The Fishing Hamlet was senseless in every facet of the word. It was not something Clarke would allow needlessly ever again, Hunter or no.

Yet her mind was consumed by the sight before her. It both confirmed everything and nothing. Clarke would love nothing more than for what she saw to be a hallucination but she saw it, even if the others of her hunting party could not.

Tucked into the stump of the tree were Messengers, the little ones playing some game that much looked like wrestling. Tiny, white creatures so benign unlike other Beasts Clarke had come across. Though humanoid, their faces were different from humans and individual from each other. One had a wide mouth, vertical from nose to chin. Another didn't have eyes. A third's lower jaw was missing. When they saw her, they waved her over, no doubt wanting a trade.

"A trade? What do you mean by trade?" Maria asked, an eyebrow raised incredulously. Gehrman gave a single harsh, hacking laugh as he turned and gave her his own eyebrow raised.

"And why is it that hard to believe, lass?" Gehrman returned. "All Beasts want somethin'. The Beasts of Yharnam want bloodshed. Those Hemwick Witches want the organs of travelers."

"And Messengers?" The thirteen year old questioned, sparing a look to the pale white beings that stared at her and Gehrman, their tiny arms waving at them. Beckoning. "What do they want? What do they get from this trade?"

"Now, see, that's hard to explain." German turned to her fully. He pointed a finger at her. "You've got the Blood, don't ya? Different from Yharnam Blood but Blood all the same. Now, you know the story of the Blood; gift of the Gods, ain't it? Folks have been using it for years. For medicine, for entertainment, even food and drink.

"Use it long enough, and the Blood becomes part of ya. Becomes part of the Beast. And like a Beast's corpse, it doesn't disappear when it dies. Near as we can tell," Gehrman explained, "it sticks with ya when ya slay the Beast. Settles deep in ya bones, waitin'. Call 'em Echoes, we do. Now, the Choir figured out how to use those Echoes in rituals or some such. But Hunters've been using them for longer and we been using them to barter."

"With the Messengers?" Maria asked, confused.

It was the first time Gehrman had told her about the beings known as Messengers. Little Ones. He took her out behind the Workshop, to a birdbath to show her the ones that resided there. Or, rather, visited the world from there. Gehrman wasn't sure where they lived but he told her that they were much like the Gods, living in their own realm and visiting the Hunters to trade.

"Yes, with the Messengers," Gehrman replied, chuckling. "Messengers trade just about anythin'. Weapons, keys, Blood Shards, even clothing. Can even take messages to other Hunters. As long as you've got Echoes to trade. Can even sell things for Echoes, as well. Sold an old hat of mine, got a hefty price for it too."

"How can you know how many Echoes you have?" Maria asked, her eyes once again drawn to the writhing creatures. They had gotten bored waiting for her and had begun to wrestle one another. "How do you summon them?"

"Smart questions, girl," Gehrman told her. "Messengers tell ya. They show ya what ya can afford. Takes a little while to get used to their system. Ain't no written prices or nothin'. You'll get a feel for it, eventually.

"As for summonin' them, ya don't," Gehrman said. "Messengers are everywhere. Can't be seen unless you've got the Blood and can't be touched no matter what. Now, even of ya can't call 'em like a dog, they can sniff ya out by feel. Ya gotta be willin' to trade and they'll come for ya. Got these little nooks just like this all across Yharnam; get close to one and they'll meet ya. Can feel ya comin'."

Maria looked back at the creatures. She had to want to trade? Trade what? She had killed a few Beasts before for training, so she had some Echoes, she supposed. But what would they even trade them for?

A flurry activity broke out between the Messengers. Many of them dipped their hands into the mist that coiled about the bottom half of their bodies while some vanished entirely. Nearly five seconds passed before the Messengers that submerged reappeared. And then, together, they presented their wares.

Several of them were holding a pistol, another two were holding a sack of Blood Vials. Three were holding the hilt of what looked like a Reiterpallasch while three others held a Saw Cleaver above their heads.

"What do ya see, Maria?" Gehrman asked. Maria looked at him and he explained, "I'm not the one lookin' to trade. I ain't privy to this bargain. No one is. Not until ya make the trade."

"Just weapons, elixirs, some clothing," Maria answered. Gehrman nodded, unsurprised.

"Figured. Just startin' out as a Hunter don't give you a lot of Echoes," Gehrman said. "Now, remember, when ya pick somethin', make sure to turn your palm up and don't take your palm away before he does."

Maria nodded as she turned back to the Messengers. She was still unsure what to choose. More and more items began to appear as the Messengers dropped things back into the mist and reappeared with new things. She almost turned away when she spotted it. It looked old but was intact, Maria sure that with a bit of spit it would shine like new.

With a bit of hesitation, Maria reached out to grab the item and the Messenger holding it surged upwards to meet her. Following Gehrman’s instructions, Maria unfurled her hand with the palm facing up. The Messenger placed her item on her palm before using a finger to trace the lines in her hand. As it did, red and black smoke began to seep from her pores and funnel its way into the Messengers' mist. It was over in seconds, the smoke never getting bigger than steam from a teapot.

Pulling her hand back, she looked at her item. She heard Gehrman scoff from behind her, mumbling something about women and trinkets, lamenting Maria's upcoming growth to womanhood. Maria paid him no mind, however. She was staring at her palm. It was green on the inside, its rim a pale gold while the outliers were silver.

Resting there, placed ever so gently by the Messenger, was a brooch the shape of a lumenflower.

As she stared at them and their happily waving hands, the truth she tried to deny for the last four hours became irrefutable: she was not in another world and the gods were still alive. Oedon, Flora, Ebrietas, Amygdala, Rom, Kos, the Orphan, and Mergo… All of the Great Ones are living just as they did before.

What did that mean for Yharnam? For Cainhurst? Mensis, Byrgenwerth, and Hemwick? Did their carcasses still stand, overgrown and forgotten?

It was that thought that calmed her enough to look away from the Messengers at Finn's prompting. Yharnam and her world were far gone, Clarke was sure. Though the Elder Gods were beings of great power, not even they nor their Kin could protect the old world from the bombs. That thought allowed Clarke to breathe easier and to think rationally. The world was anew, washed and soaked in radiation rather than the Blood that had been so integrated into her old home.

All that remained were old bones and it was that thought that brought her comfort.

Focusing on the present, Clarke sent a small smile to Wells who looked at her with worry. Relaxing her hands pulled her nails from her palms and allowed the crescent cuts to heal. It only took a few seconds and Clarke shook her hands once it was done, stretching the new skin. Running a hand through her hair to keep it from her face, she turned to see Octavia undressing.

"Damn, I love Earth," Jasper Jordan said as his eyes became glued to Octavia's rather alluring form. Clarke had to agree with the rather aloof kid. While she loved Glass and thought she was one of the most beautiful people Clarke had ever seen, she had to admit that Octavia was eye-catching. She would never betray Glass in such a way by pursuing Octavia, there was no question about that.

Besides, Octavia had much to be desired. Like a personality that didn't make Clarke want to kill her. Octavia was a child allowed to be a child for the first time. It did not endear Clarke to her in any way, especially not after her comment about the ARK's genocide.

"Oh! Holy…" Was Monty's comment. Clarke's blue eyes raked over olive skin as Octavia stripped from her jeans and shoes before Clarke felt herself grow past her own admiration. Octavia was beautiful but she wasn't Glass. She looked, she saw, time to move on.

"What are you doing, Octavia?" Clarke asked. The brunette only gave her a single look before she turned and jumped off the rocky overhang to the waiting river below. Clarke was mildly surprised. People on the ARK had no idea how to swim as wasting water on a pool for simple recreational use would have been pointless. The group rushed to the edge to see Octavia submerged in water until only the top of her head and eyes were visible.

"Octavia!" Monty yelled. "We can't swim!"

Octavia suddenly stood, showing the water to be around her stomach and not her head. "I know but we can stand," Octavia laughed. Jasper, Monty, and Finn joined the merriment while Clarke stood next to Wells.

"There wasn't a river on the map," Wells said quietly. Clarke narrowed her eyes.

"No," she replied softly. "There wasn't."

The Blood in her veins awakened. Earth had been changed from what they used to know. The terrain had changed and now they were blind. If the map had remained accurate, Clarke would have felt better about trekking through unknown territory if she had at least some information. Now, she had none and surprises were aplenty.

"Get out of the water, Octavia," Clarke instructed. "The Dropship may have scared away the predators on land, but I doubt it's the same for water."

"You might want to hurry!" Jasper suddenly yelled as movement in the water drew his and Clarke's attention. It moved like a snake, slicing cleanly through the water towards Octavia. Unlike a snake, however, it was thicker with a pointed face.

Clarke didn't hesitate. While Finn and Monty called to her, and Jasper and Wells slid down a slope to their right to access the river, Clarke ran forward and slammed the bottom of her foot into a small boulder over the edge to the river below, some of the cliff going with it. The predator shrieked as the boulder slammed into it, writhing in a sort of panic as it tried to move the large rock from its tail.

Without stopping, Clarke grabbed several pebbles and rocks and began to throw them around the predator. There was no thought to the make-shift knife tucked into her jeans; she would have to get in too close to use it. The predator's head swung back and forth, its jaws snapping at every single stone she threw. It kept its attention on those while Octavia escaped.

"In the water, they're at an advantage," Gehrman's voice echoed from her mind. "But ya can confuse 'em. They're eyes ain't as good when they have water swirlin' in their face; thinks its another predator, they do."

Octavia was almost to Jasper and Wells who had crossed into the river to get to her quicker. As the youngest Blake was grabbed by Jasper's hands, Clarke saw the predator inch forward. It was escaping, slowly yet surely. Wells and Jasper had Octavia well in hand. Clarke's job was finished as she had distracted it enough for Octavia to reach safety. Still…

Clarke threw the rock up and caught it, ruminating. They had to come back this way. Next time, they may not be so lucky when they cross again. Especially if the Hundred eventually make their way to Mt. Weather.

Her mind made up, Clarke threw and caught the rock once more before she put her right foot forward. Her lungs expanded as she breathed as deep as she could, her Blood rising appropriately. Traveling through her veins, Clarke felt the pull of it on her mind yet ignored it with experience as she cooked her hand back. The rock disappeared the moment it left her hand when she threw it, a moment later becoming lodged in the skull of the predator.

The river filled with red as the predator laid there, no longer moving. Dead.

Clarke let out the breath she held through her nose, the Blood writhing inside her calming by the second. That was… cleaner than she was used to. Even in the Clock Tower, blood would coat the floor, intestines left until they decayed into nothing. Killing from a distance seemed distant, for lack of a better word. Emotionless and separate.

Do not mistake her, however. Clarke had no love for Beasts. Their humanity was gone and they were nothing more than animals; the Scourge had made sure of that. There was a certain amount of pity that went to killing a Beast, Clarke thought. They were human, once, but no longer. It could almost be described as a mercy.

There was, of course, fear. Fear for her life. Fear of death. Fear that once the Beast was done with her corpse, it would move on to the people she'd been trying to save. A Hunter's mission was to kill Beasts, not save people. Yet, there was always this thought in the back of her mind. That if she was responsible for the Beasts’ death, she was also responsible for the lives it took after it met her.

Blood coated Rakuyo as its longer blade stabbed into the wooden floor beneath her feet. Metal ringed sharply as the Beast's claw tapped against the blade as its body was ruffled by the wind. The broken windows and door did nothing to help the stench that seemed to imprint itself in Yharnam's bones. In her bones.

Maria's cheeks felt wet and it took her a moment to realize she had started crying. She didn't wipe them; her hands were too busy. One hand held Rakuyo with a tight enough grip to crack the handle if it had been a normal blade. The other hand, in exact opposite to her right, softly held a small bonnet that once belonged to the youngest member of the family whose home Maria resided. The broken and bloody crib was only testament to that.

Picking her eyes up from her hands, Maria met the cold, lifeless eyes of the elder sister. She might’ve been pretty, once, though it was hard to tell when half of her face had its flesh missing and its jaw was hung from a thread of flesh. Maria could only tell her attire was a dress from the skirt lying on the other side of the room, her heeled shoes lying with them.

The parents' entrails laid upon the dining room table, their heads plopped onto the chairs settled at the head and feet of the table. The Beast had taken to treating the two as a dinner party. The family's own silverware protruding from the soft, rotting tissue of their heads. The Beast's weapon of choice, a large cleaver, was buried in the center of the table, hearts on either side.

Maria had failed. Just a day prior, she had let the Beast go after slaughtering its pack. She had sustained an injury, one that could have easily been healed with Blood. But she still let the Beast go, content to pick up the trail after a few hours of rest.

Now…

Gehrman had come afterwards. He did not seem affected by the deaths of innocents. He did not place blame on her shoulders. He thought their deaths to be immaterial; their job was to Hunt. They were to stop the Scourge. Anything else was an unnecessary responsibility and Maria understood.

After that, however, she made sure that any Beast she came across died during the first altercation. If her responsibility and duty were to the Hunt, then she would fulfill those obligations to the best of her ability. There would be no Beast or Blood-Drunk that escaped Rakuyo.

That was the first and last time.

Clarke took another breath as the Blood settled in her veins completely. The snake may not have been a Beast, consumed by the Old Blood, but it was a predator. She had hunted before, for food. This was no different. She was no longer a Hunter. She was Clarke, still.

She was Clarke…

Clarke's eyes closed as she shook her head. Those thoughts did not help her. There were happenings more important than her internal struggle. Thinking about those was a more productive use of time. Cementing her thoughts, she turned from the river to Wells and Jasper who dragged a soaked Octavia from the river.

"Fucking Christ!" Finn yelled as he looked at the snake with wide eyes. Monty looked shocked, Octavia was in shock, Jasper was holding her, and Wells' expression was rather tame compared to the look of betrayal and utter confusion Clarke had pictured in her mind.

"We should bed down for the night," Clarke told them. "Today has been exhaustive and we have more ground to cover before we reach Mt. Weather."

Clarke didn't wait for an answer as she walked down the slope to the river. "Wells, Finn, Monty; help me with the snake." The water was chilly as she waded in to retrieve the carcass. It was getting dark and what clouds she could see above the treetops were gray and looming, signaling rain.

'The Dropship's going to go crazy,' Clarke thought with amusement. It would be their first rain. She just knew it. Clarke was looking forward to rain, having missed it for… Well, she wasn't sure how long she had gone without feeling rain pelt her skin. Maybe she could enjoy the experiences now that they were bedding for the night?

She had been amazed by the world around her but the task ahead of them was already difficult. She couldn't afford to be distracted. She was in the lead (though how that happened, she had not a clue) and people were her responsibility once again. They were babes, she was not.

However old her mind or soul was, it was significantly older than anyone on the ARK. She was more experienced, more aware of her and their mortality. Stronger, faster, more durable thanks to the Healing Blood. Compared to her, they might as well have been children.

'Being older than Mom is something I do not wish to think of.' Clarke grimaced at the thought. Twenty-eight years of life, followed by immortality (immortality, not invulnerability) in the Nightmare for a substantial amount of time, followed by seventeen more years…

Clarke was old, even if her body was not.

She gripped the gills of the snake, or eel, rather, and pulled as Wells grabbed the other side of the predator while Finn and Monty went to the tail. Upon closer inspection, Clarke estimated that it was close to six feet long.

It wasn't long before Clarke and the others dragged it up the slope and into a clearing a few feet from the river. Jasper and Octavia helped once the group met land. By the end, every one but Clarke had sweat adorning their brow.

"Monty, Jasper, can you search for dry wood for a flame?" Clarke asked them.

"Sure thing, Clarke," Jasper answered. "Finn, you coming?"

Finn nodded and left with the two boys. Clarke was just about to turn to Wells when Octavia stepped up to her, the cool air and soaked clothes making her shiver.

"I-uh," Octavia stuttered. "I- thanks. For saving me."

"You're welcome," Clarke replied after a second. She had never been thanked for killing. She was a Hunter, it was what she had been trained for. Most of her life and death had been death and blood. It had been all she knew until her current life.

Octavia nodded jerkily and asked, "How can I help?"

With some thought, Clarke reached for the piece of shrapnel she kept in the waistband of her jeans. Bringing it out, she looked over the edge and knew it wouldn't do much. It needed to be sharpened and where the grip would be was far too sharp to hold safely. She would heal, if she used it, but it would be too much of an inconvenience. Besides, Clarke wasn't a fan of pain, no matter how much of it she had experienced.

"If you could look for a stone so I can sharpen this, it would be much appreciated," Clarke told her.

Octavia nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I can do that. What kind of rock do you need?"

"Something smooth," she replied, still looking the shrapnel over. "The entire stone doesn't have to be but at least one side must so I can grind the edges."

"Right." Octavia nodded. "Got it."

Clarke was well aware of her faux-brother's eyes on her as she watched Octavia walk away. She didn't know what to tell him. She trusted him, more than she trusted anyone besides Glass. But how could she tell him what she was? That she was a Hunter? That she belonged to a bygone era that thrived on the Blood of Gods?

That she killed as easily as she breathed?

"I do not know what you want me to tell you," Clarke spoke quietly. "Any excuse I imagine does not seem like enough."

"Then don't lie to me," Wells pleaded. He came in close, close enough for Clarke to feel his breath as he placed his hand on her elbow. "Clarke, you know me. You trusted me with you and Glass before anyone else. You trusted me enough to tell me about the ARK. You trusted me with what you and your dad were planning. How is this any different?"

"If I tell you, you would think me mad," Clarke whispered, her voice thick with her accent.

"Clarke," Wells whispered gently, "I'm with you, no matter what. We're on Earth, the ARK is dying, we're about to eat a giant snake monster. Nothing you say will be crazy."

Clarke eyed him, his face nothing but honest and sincere. She had been with him for nearly eighteen years. He was her brother despite their lack of blood ties and the secrets she kept from him. She had a decision: to lie or speak the truth. The only thing stopping her was herself. And her fear.

Clarke opened her mouth and began to speak.

He had been watching them for a while. From a distance, of course. The blonde one, the leader, the Skai Prisa , was concerning and far sharper than the others. Her hair was a yellow he hadn't seen before in anything other than sunlight and a pale shade the color of bone. Two of those pale locks fell on either side of her face and she was a few inches shorter than the dark skinned man next to her. She walked with confidence and he could tell she was well muscled. She looked for threats while the others looked for wonders to their eyes.

That was a point of confusion for him. The group he watched looked at everything as a goufa would. Earlier, the one they called Okteivia, had chased an insect. The one named Fin became focused on a flower. Monti and Jaspa touched random trees. Wels, though the Skai Prisa's Seken, still touched every leaf he could, rubbing it between two fingers.

Following so high up in the trees made hearing anything sporadic but it was enough to pick up their names. At first he was sure he would learn nothing of value and regretted leaving the other scout with the main encampment, but watching this group revealed many things. It was all guess-work, based on body language and actions. He was a scout though. He was the best or Onya wouldn't have sent him to discover what had fallen from the sky and certainly wouldn't have ordered him to watch the group once he reported what he had seen.

Klark walked with a sure foot, her footsteps quiet despite her unfamiliarity with Trikru land. There were certain points where her feet would step differently, expecting a different arch or flat ground. The Skai Prisa would correct herself quickly, but he still caught it.

The golden-haired woman (gada? She couldn't have been older than Tris.) also had impressive hearing. A rabbit had been fifteen feet from the group, startled from its foraging by the group's voices. When it ran, he noticed the Skai Prisa's head turn in the animal's direction, her gaze lasting a moment longer than it had been. His thought that it must have been a fluke was proven wrong when Okteivia whispered something to the three other boys that were with her and Klark replied from several feet away. After that, he began to lag behind so Klark could not hear him.

The pale-haired leader had more than superior hearing. She had covered a large stretch of ground in a moment as she established dominance over Okteivia. He heard nothing, but he watched. It was his mission. He watched as Klark spoke quietly, inches from Okteivia's face and saw the fear etched onto the faces of others. He saw the quiet contemplation Okteivia entered once they continued walking.

And he saw the Skai Prisa kill the snake with a stone.

She was formidable and dangerous; he could see why she was the leader, especially when she waded into the water with her people to take her kill. He had heard of the Trikru general before Onya , a man who expected things to be given to him or done for him because of his prowess in battle. Onya had killed him and proved herself to be for the people of Trigeda . He saw that with the Skai Prisa as she sent the group of boys away and Okteivia close to the river's edge.

Klark and Wels spoke in the clearing where they set the snake down, quietly and without interruption. He was still too far to hear them but given her superior hearing, he didn't want to risk Klark discovering him.

One thing had become clear, however, as the hunting party came back together: they weren't a hunting party. Klark knew what she was doing but it was clear that the others had neither the mind nor stomach for hunting as they watched her gut their kill and strip it of meat. No, they were scouts like him. And their destination could be only one thing if they kept their way.

The Mountain.

Its territory began just on the other side of the river. He had been growing more and more concerned as they went on, but now, so close to the terror… Fear was rational with the Mountain so close. Longer than he could remember, the Maunon had been there with their Ripas . Friends and family turned into monsters to kidnap and kill their fellows.

He looked at the spear he kept with him. He could throw it at the first of the group that crossed the border. It was an order by the Commander that no one of the Coalition steps foot onto Maunon land. Yet, these scouts, and the goufas at their camp, were not part of the Coalition. He was unsure if that exempted them from the Commander's decree or if they should be used as an example. If the group crossed, did he follow? He didn't know.

Still staring at his spear, Linkon resolved to decide in the morning.

Fin.

Boom! Done. Arc 2 Chapter 3 is finished. God, I am so happy I got that out. An explosive 8,000 words, definitely my longest chapter so far. Not every chapter is going to be this long and not every chapter is going to be longer.

Anyways, if you guys couldn't tell, I have a problem with Octavia. Or rather, who she is early in the show. She's a great and badass character, don't get me wrong but she's a child some of the time. I get it. I understand, I do. But the way she treats Clarke, man. They're the Duo. The Duo. Wanheda and Skairipa. Natblida Fleimkepa and Blodreina. The both of them taking names and kicking asses. My favorite fits are when Clarke and Octavia are practically sisters.

Raven, too. She's awesome.

Hope you guys like the different perspectives. I thought they came out okay but let me know.

-Scribble

Chapter Text

Arc 2: Brave Old World

Chapter Four:

"Can you hear them? They whisper to me, you see. Telling me secrets that have been lost for centuries. Tell you?

You believe I would dare tell you, Hunter? Betray the secrets gifted to me? No! They have chosen me! It was I who had found my precious Moonlight! I will not allow one such as you to take them from me! They are mine and mine alone!

Blood? You have it? Why would I want it?  Why would I have need for such power when my Moonlight can access the cosmos beyond? Fear the Old Blood? A sentiment to be sure, and an outdated one at that. The Healing Blood is nothing more than a tool.

A tool, much like one of your trick weapons. Abuse it enough, and the weapon will turn on its user. My Moonlight would never turn on me. They are my light in the dark. I could never forget them.

My guiding Moonlight. Moon… light. So pretty and far… Lost in the abyss, given life. Such a Presence…

My apologies! Who might you be?

- Ludwig the Holy Blade, Hunter of the Healing Church

When Clarke woke, it was to sunlight streaming through the trees as morning dawned. It was to the sound of chirping birds and the rushing water of the river. It was to the feeling of stone and greenery beneath her cheek and the smell of clean, fresh air filling her lungs. It was with an awake and clear mind that Clarke had awoken to, more than aware of her surroundings.

The Blood in her veins was pumping harshly in her ears despite the relative peace of the morning. Already her body was prepared for a fight, her muscles tense and waiting. Her fingers curled around what made for a hilt on her makeshift knife.

She had sharpened it decently and dulled the edges towards the bottom. It had taken nearly an hour of grinding the stone along the metal edge to produce something workable and that wouldn't cut up her hands too badly. In the end, it was manageable and it cut through the snake without much resistance.

The others didn't seem to have a stomach for hunting, Clarke saw. Finn, Jasper, and Monty looked sick while Octavia was both interested at what Clarke was doing and revolted at the smell of the snake's blood. Wells… Clarke didn't look to him to see his reaction and he didn't make it known. She could feel him watching her but he didn't say a word. The both of them were lost in thoughts best kept from being spoken, at least until they were alone.

Though that silence was kept between the two of them, their lack of interaction had no influence over the moods of the other three. As night fell and Wells used the sticks that they had gathered to build a fire, the three talked about all they had seen and experienced that day. From the awed moments to the ones that were pure fear of the snake and beyond. They talked little about their pasts, an unspoken consensus that it would be painful to speak about one way or another.

One subject they did, however, touch upon were significant others and their sexual experiences. Or lack of it in some cases. It seemed that wherever Clarke was Yharnam or on a radiation soaked Earth, the bragging of sexual conquest was a popular topic for any group.

Octavia, being hidden under the floor for sixteen years for the crime of being born a second child, obviously didn't have any experience when it came to carnal pleasures. She was taught the basics, along with her general schooling by her mother, Aurora. Mentioning her name seemed to end the conversation from Octavia's side.

Jasper and Monty's experience with the opposite sex was limited to dreams and imagination. Jasper tried to puff out his chest in faux confidence, that he read a lot of things when he was younger. Monty called him out on it, stating that the work of fiction he'd stolen from his mother's nightstand didn't count. Fifty Shades of Whatever doesn't count, though Jasper argued its validity.

When Finn was asked the question, he became quiet and contemplative. He told them of a girl who'd been family to him and, before he was arrested, it was recent that their relationship had evolved beyond that. She meant much to him but they hadn't skipped every base to head home, if they got his meaning. Now that he was on Earth, he guessed, he wasn't going to see her again if what they said about the ARK was true.

"You will," Clarke assured him quietly. "Keep that wristband on and you will. Our vitals are being transmitted through them, telling them Earth is safe. Keep that on long enough, and she'll follow. So will the ARK."

"What about you, Clarke?" Octavia asked after a moment of silence. "You said you had a girlfriend, right?"

For the first time since the Dropship first launched, Clarke allowed herself to think about her girlfriend, her Glass. The last time she had seen her was the same day she had gone with her father to tell the people of the ARK about their dying home. She'd only given Glass a kiss. If Clarke hadn't been so sure of their success, she would have done more.

"Yes," Clarke answered as a small, involuntary smile graced her lips. "Her name is Glass."

That was all Clarke had said about her and the group respected it. Clarke's thoughts remained on the redhead as the group's conversation moved on. They did not speak to her again and Clarke was free to close her eyes, wishing that Glass had been there that day to see Earth. It was beautiful and so very different from what Clarke had been used to.

The Forbidden Woods was not nearly as green as the forest that Clarke found herself walking, nor as lively with animals. Beasts were plenty, but regular animals were scarce; most of Yharnam got its meat from farms they had spread throughout the city. They were protected from Beasts for the most part, though there were a few smart and sane enough to make their way into the pens. Old Yharnam was a veritable breeding ground for pigs before they sectioned that part of the city away.

Clarke would be eighteen in one month. She had almost spent an entire year in Solitary. A year without Glass. Without her laugh or hazel eyes. Without smooth skin and red hair. Without the feel of her lips or her taste.

If Clarke believed in a religion, or desired to pray at all, she would have begged for a being to send Glass down safely. To get her to Clarke as soon as possible so that Clarke could share the wonder that the Delinquents were feeling with the woman she loved.

With a furtive glance at Wells who stared into the roaring campfire he'd created, Clarke wished for Glass' advice. It wasn't often that Clarke and Wells disagreed or found themselves silent with each other. When it did happen, usually over something as inconsequential as studies or sports games, Glass was the mediator. Glass was the one to pull one or both of them aside and set them straight.

Oh, Clarke was under no impression that Glass could even begin to find the words to her and Wells' current predicament. But now the words that Clarke had told Wells were in her throat, on the tip of her tongue. For so long, her life as Maria had been kept a secret. One locked so deep, so covered with fear, that Clarke once Clarke had spoken it to Wells, she wanted to tell Glass too. Maybe even her mother.

Oedon, Clarke wanted Glass…

It didn't rain. The clouds moved over them, passing their clearing. With a deep breath, Clarke suggested they slept as the fire died down, once the group had filled their bellies with roasted snake meat. Clarke stood to the cacophony of the group's yawns and quickly strung the rest of the snake onto the lower branch of a nearby tree. Clarke doubted that such a low branch would stave off a predator but she only wanted to keep the snake from the dirt.

Again, Wells kept his silence instead of talking to her before he laid down. Octavia curled up on a spot of greenery farthest away from the river. Finn, Jasper, and Monty laid down on their own patches of grass near the fire. Clarke stayed awake for a little while more, leaning against a rock covered in moss. When her eyes drifted shut - despite the attention of the Messengers never once leaving her form as she bedded down - their darkening surroundings were quiet and peaceful.

Her dreams were anything but. Large snakes haunted her dreams. Not the one she killed in the river but the ones that patrolled the Forbidden Woods. The nests of snakes that infested corpses and forced them to walk as grotesque puppets without strings. They were venomous, something Clarke had found out the first time she was sent on a Hunt there, at fifteen. She dreamt of the sludge-like water that filled her lungs. Of the large many-headed snakes that nearly swallowed her so many times.

Which brought her to when her eyes snapped open when she awoke, her senses wide and alert. And though she was still, the Blood pumped harshly in her veins. Her surroundings became clear within seconds, the sight of green foliage and brown bark crisp to her eyes. She heard the breaths of the others, still sleeping. Wearily, Clarke sat up, her bones cracking as she removed herself from the large stone she had slept on.

It was still early. The sun wasn't high in the sky but Clarke guessed it was later than she had wanted it to be. Maybe seven or eight in the morning. She had wanted to wake with the sun but she guessed that the… that sleep had a tighter hold on her. Running her fingers through her long, still in tied hair, Clarke simply stood. The Blood pulsing through her had woken her up plenty and sleep was not something that Clarke wished to go back to.

She stepped over Wells on her way to the river. On its bank, Clarke couldn't see any remnant of the snake's blood in the river. Deeming it safe enough, Clarke brought a cupped hand into the slightly chilly water before bringing it to her mouth. She hadn't realized how parched her throat was until the cool water slipped down. Clarke brought her hand down for three more mouthfuls before she was done.

Turning away, Clarke wiped the back of her sleeve across her mouth. As she eyed the sleeping teens, Clarke thought about their goal. They'd meet it that day.

It was the day they would reach Mt. Weather.

Wells was not okay.

Never had he ever been more Not-Okay!

He was still trying to process. Still trying to come up with some sort of response. He said he wouldn't and he meant it. But the first word that entered his mind was 'crazy'.

And it was! It was insane! Not her, never her; but every other word out of her mouth was! Because it wasn't possible. There was just no way. Wells could handle living in space, that was normal. He could handle being sent to a radiation-soaked planet - a little less normal, okay, yes. But he absolutely, one hundred percent could not handle his best friend being the reincarnation of some sort of hunter-gatherer woman from centuries before the bombs fell!

That was- was insane! Crazy! And yet…

Wells wasn't sure how to even approach the thought. Would Wells have believed her easier if she had told him about it when they were young? When they were kids running around the Observation Deck, talking about the dreams of Earth they had like every other kid? Would he have believed it any easier if she told him after the accident, just waking up after three days in a coma and talking with an accent neither of them were used to?

He doubted it.

God, he couldn't look at Clarke or say anything to her at all last night. The entire time, his head was asking the same question over and over again: is this another lie? It wasn't, he knew that, but he slightly hoped it was. Better than the alternatives, he thought.

A. She was crazy. The three day coma had made her hallucinate and dream of things that felt so real that it convinced her. His best friend was crazy - insane, nuts, off her rocker, pick one - and talking about a make-believe city called Yharnam.

B. She was telling the truth and she really is the reincarnation of some woman from a thousand or so years ago named Maria who lived in a city named Yharnam. She remembered her past life because of a head wound that left her in a three day coma.

Option B was insane. And yet…

Wells remembered as he looked at Clarke for the first time that morning. He remembered her silent footsteps. He remembered the way she watched people pass by. He remembered the five guards in the Medical Bay. He remembered what she had been like before and after the accident.

'Okay,' Wells thought as he took a breath of fresh morning air. 'Let's say she's telling the truth. What does that change?'

Nothing, if he was honest with himself. Clarke was still the same person he'd known since they were thirteen years old. Wait, did that mean she wasn't seventeen? Did they count those years or were they, like, disqualified or something? What were the rules? Were there rules? Did it matter?

Sighing, again, Wells let it go. He believed his best friend, as impossible as what she said was. He believed what she said she experienced and what she remembered. She looked frozen when she told him, words coming from the side of her mouth and her gaze locked onto some point in the distance.

She didn't say much but it was enough for Wells to understand what she was saying. She started with the accident, telling him that she dreamed of another life. Her name was Maria and she lived in Yharnam as a hunter. Clarke told him that she remembered how she'd died. Told him how when she woke up, she spoke like Maria, walked like Maria, and thought like Maria for the most part. That the memories didn't go away and that everything she looked up suggested reincarnation.

She smirked at him when he couldn't say anything. The look she gave him was enough of an 'I Told You So' that he didn't stick around long enough for her to actually say it. He told her he needed to think about it and left her to her own devices. Watching her sharpen the edges of the knife with the stone Octavia brought a few minutes later and watching her set a fire as if she'd done it a million times before had Wells seriously considering what she'd said.

'Okay,' Wells thought as the group set themselves up in the morning light. 'Let's do this.'

Clarke was on the ledge, staring down into the water with narrowed eyes when Wells joined her. They were silent for a moment, Wells trying to come up with words while Clarke simply waited. She always did when Wells thought about it. Clarke had never been a negotiator, even before the accident, but since she started dating Glass, their fights became shorter as Clarke always let him have the first say.

Searching for words was difficult. How did Wells follow Clarke's revelation? Could any words follow that? He had to try. The silence was getting uncomfortable.

"I'm not calling you Maria," Wells said suddenly. Clarke eyed him with a raised eyebrow and he could feel the blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. Why did he go with that?

"I wouldn't expect you to, Wells," she replied as she turned her attention back to the water. God, why was he feeling so awkward now? He could talk to her. Just like he had been. Why does he now not know how to talk to his best friend?

"What kind of name is Maria anyways," Wells heard himself scoff. What the hell? He didn't scoff and why the hell did he not know how to shut up.

Clarke looked offended as she replied.

"It's an old name," Clarke said to him.

"It's an old lady's name," Wells answered easily.

"It is not!" Clarke rebutted. "It's… refined."

"Refined, right," Wells returned sarcastically. "Well, you can call it what you want but you need to admit what it actually is: older than dirt."

"What's older than dirt?" Jasper asked as he and the others came up to Clarke and Wells. Turning to the others, Wells racked his brain for a lie only for Clarke to beat him to the punch.

"Wells was making his stance on my middle name clear," Clarke answered as Octavia stepped up to the blonde's other side.

"Middle name?" Finn asked. "No one's had a middle name for, like, fifty years."

"I chose mine," Clarke admitted.

"So what's the name?" Octavia asked, flipping a lock of her hair out of her face.

"Maria," Wells answered with what he hoped was a wry grin on his face. Both Finn and Jasper looked as if they had been slapped while Monty's lip screwed to the side. Octavia seemed to be the only one that found no problem with the name.

"That's… not so bad," Monty managed haltingly. His chest quivered as he tried to suppress his laugh.

Clarke's eyes narrowed into a glare. "What's wrong with it?" Clarke asked archily. Wells shook his head. It seemed that Clarke didn't understand.

"Nothing, nothing," Finn answered. "It's just Maria isn't really…"

"Unique," Jasper piped in helpfully.

"Unique," Clarke repeated doubtfully.

"So it's like this," Finn explained, his hands gesturing as he spoke, "everyone has some sort of unique name. Take a look at us for example. Finn, Octavia, Jasper, Monty, and Wells. Back at camp, there's Atom, spelled with a 'T'. Bellamy, Murphy, Miller, Dougan-"

"Who?" Jasper interrupted.

"The guy who got arrested for hitting that guard with a ration plate," Finn answered.

"Wait, are you talking about the guy who hit a guard with a ration plate or the guy that knocked out a guard with a ration plate?" Monty asked.

"What's the difference," Wells found himself asking.

"One started a fight and one ended a fight," Jasper told him. Wells couldn't quite place the look Jasper was giving him but he was sure the goggled boy was thinking he was stupid.

"Does it matter? How many Dougans do you know?" Octavia asked.

"One," Jasper answered simply.

Wells' eyes met Clarke’s amused ones, a twist of her lips showing him how amused she was by the turn of conversation. Meanwhile, Wells had only one thought that stuck to him as he looked back at the group that began arguing whether Dougan and someone named Douglass were the same person:

'Good God, this is my life now.'

The morning passed quickly as Clarke and the rest of her group continued on towards Mt. Weather. Their breakfast was some meat left over from the snake, conversation between the group kept light. Clarke found herself smiling as Jasper and Monty took shots at each other, as Finn told old jokes much too corny to have been allowed to survive. Octavia sat between Jasper and Clarke, laughing at each bad joke Finn told and was thoroughly entertained as Wells shared his and Clarke's misadventures with the group.

Clarke stood as the sun rose high enough for the deepest of shadows to fade, her smile fading as the relaxation she'd allowed to overtake her morning dissipated. They needed to continue on, as much as Clarke enjoyed her morning. Wells had spoken to her, accepted her past and reincarnation, and that was enough to stretch her lips into a smile. It had been a worry that Clarke had lived with for a long while, the fear that she would lose Glass and Wells due to her past or what she had become.

That fear was still there. It hadn't dissipated, nor had the majority of the weight deep in her stomach. There was more to her past than simply being born again as Clarke, more than Clarke had shared in the brief confession to Wells. She wanted to keep the Clarke Wells knew in his mind, to keep Wells away from that side of her. Away from the blood and death that had been a part of her life for so long; Clarke held more than slight reluctance to drag Wells down to the part of her that felt more at home with gore and the dark than anything else. The part of her filled with the Blood and whose closest confidant was a sword stained with blood and fire.

"It's time we move on," Clarke announced as the group's attention turned to her. "The sun is high enough for us to walk without tripping and Mt. Weather is still far."

Octavia seemed to agree, jumping to her feet with a sardonic grin. "Let's get going then," she said. "Before my brother, y'know, has a coronary."

Finn scoffed while Jasper and Monty began to chortle. Wells gave a smile and Clarke lent him her hand to help him up. There was no judgment in his eyes as Clarke's eyes met his. There wasn't any apprehension or hesitation in his gaze and it loosened something tight in her chest.

"So," Finn spoke up. "How're we going to cross the river? There are some vines on the trees. We could swing our way across."

"And break our legs?" Octavia asked, eyebrows raised.

"I really doubt we would break our legs," Monty spoke up.

"Could if you landed wrong," Finn added with a shrug of his shoulders.

"We're not swinging on vines," Clarke interrupted with a sigh. "We're going to walk."

"Is it safe?" Wells asked. "It might be shallow enough but that won't matter if there are more snakes in the river."

"It's safe," Clarke assured. "I watched the river this morning. If any more snakes were in the river, they would have come during the night when the blood diluted into the river."

"You sure?" Finn asked, glancing at the river in question. Clarke only nodded. The snake was either alone or its friends were worse predators than any of the snakes that Clarke had come across.

She tried to shake off the thought. Tried to shake off the comparisons her brain began to make as she thought about the snake she killed and the ones that inhabited the Forbidden Woods. Those thoughts were just segues into another thought. A question that wouldn't leave her alone:

Whether the Beasts that Clarke had spent so long hunting still lived in a world so different from the one Clarke had left. They had covered Yharnam like a plague quite a few times; a seasonal sickness that couldn't be cured with medicine. It was difficult to think that the Beasts wouldn't be part of the world and the odd feeling in the bottom of her stomach seemed to be validated by the Little Ones' presence and the phantom touch Clarke had felt of a god. There was little doubt that Clarke would be so lucky to never see a Beast again and yet…

Yet Clarke found the Blood in her veins quicken at the idea of a Hunt. It was the last thing she wanted to do, honestly. But if Beasts roamed all over the shop, would Clarke be willing to take up a blade once more? It wouldn't be like the Fishing Hamlet, nor would she be Lady of the Astral Clock Tower. She would not be under the direction of the Provost, nor would she be part of the Church. Clarke wasn't a student of Gehrman any longer either. She would be under her own governance for the first time in a long time-

"Clarke?"

Wells' voice shook her from her thoughts and Clarke returned from her introspection to see that the others were waiting for her. For her orders. With a quick but quiet apology, Clarke began. Halting at the ledge, Clarke began to undress. Walking for hours in soaked clothing was not the way Clarke wished to begin her trek.

Her clothes weren't as dirty as she expected, having slept in them. Her long sleeve blue shirt full of small blue holes came off first, leaving her musculature and worn sports bra visible to the world for the first time. She had none of the scars she earned as Maria and had no chance to earn more during her peaceful time on the ARK. Clarke's body was also very different from the one she had as Lady Maria, she'd made it as strong as possible.

While Maria had the body of a dancer, meant for quick attacks and stamina to outlast even the most enraged Beasts, Clarke's own body was not formed with cardio in mind. The last year in Solitary had not cut Clarke's muscles into chiseled marble, but they were far more defined than Maria's had been. The lack of anywhere to run meant that Clarke's stamina was focused on the many reps she could fill the time with. It was not perfect but it allowed Clarke to cultivate some kind of stamina.

So lost in her thoughts, Clarke didn't notice her group's shocked and awed reaction at her form.

Clarke began to untie her boots, slipping them off along with her worn socks. Her black jeans were next after she carefully wrapped her new knife with her shirt. Clarke folded her jeans, tucked her socks into her boots, and set them into a neat pile she could carry across the river. When she was done, she stood up, clothes in hand, and turned to the red-faced group.

"If you want to walk in soaked clothes, I won't stop you," Clarke told them as they stared at her. "I do not recommend it if you wish to keep from painful chafing and blisters."

The fist one to follow her example was Octavia. With much ceremony, she stripped herself of her shirt and then her pants and shoes. Folding them into a pile like Clarke had done and setting her shoes on top, Octavia picked them up and went to stand beside Clarke.

Clarke turned, ignoring Jasper's whisper of "Have I told you how much I love Earth?" to Monty and Finn, and descended down the slope of the riverbank. The water was cool and warm, only the top few inches warmed by the sun. Clarke ignored it and continued on, the waterline never reaching farther than her bellybutton.

It felt surreal, walking across the ground with her bare feet. It was muddy, soft, and just slightly rocky. She hadn't forgotten the feeling, but it hadn't been on her mind much for the past few years. The ARK was only cold and smooth. Clarke couldn't stand it at first like the rest of the ARK's population but she eventually became accustomed to the feeling. Unlike Cainhurst, being without footwear on the ARK would only leave a person uncomfortable and not with frostbite.

The boys were just stepping into the water when Clarke and Octavia began pulling on their pants on the other side of the river. By the time Clarke finished lacing her shoes, the boys were pulling their own pants on. Octavia's eyes wandered, Clarke noticed, as Finn dressed, though the tanned girl had kept their flirting to a minimum after Finn's confession of a partner he feared he may never see again.

As Clarke waited for the others to dress with Octavia at her side, she stared deeper into the unknown territory. The Blood was still and quiet in her veins. There was no prick at the edge of her consciousness, the phantom touch of gods far gone from her mind. And yet, as Clarke looked past the foliage and trees, there was a deep surety that settled into her bones. Instincts that have long since been used wary and cautious of the path forward. There was a hesitancy in the air that did not exist before.

It was not a feeling Clarke enjoyed.

"You okay?" Octavia questioned from beside her. Unlike Clarke, who faced the trees with narrowed eyes, Octavia looked on down the river as she snuck glances at the still dressing boys. Glancing at the brunette, Clarke offered a small quirk of her lips as a placation before her attention returned to the forest

"We haven't seen any animals," Octavia observed. Clarke felt her throat hum in affirmation. "Still think the crash scared them off?"

"No," Clarke answered, eyes widening as she realized what was setting her instincts on edge. Her eyes darted up into the branches of the trees, narrowing as her attention jumped from tree to tree.

As Clarke thought more about it, the Blood responded. Her Beast reared its head. Something deep in her mind blinked. Green, brown, green, green, brown, gray.

Clarke had woken up to the sound of birds singing gentle sounds. Their songs and the bustle of activity had fallen to the back of her mind, much like the ARKers had learned to ignore the machine hum that had been constant throughout their lives. But, Clarke now noticed, there were no longer any birds. It was almost jarring to realize that the river acted as a physical border.

"That's not the question we need to ask anymore," Clarke whispered. It was loud enough for Octavia to hear and she turned to Clarke in confusion.

"What are we supposed to ask then?" Octavia asked.

"It's been a full day and night since we landed," Clarke said. "That's long enough for the birds to come back." Clarke's blue eyes met Octavia's mossy green ones and the blonde hoped she conveyed the seriousness of the situation with her eyes and voice. "So why aren't they on this side of the river?

"What are they so afraid of that not even an explosion will drive them into new territory?"

Octavia's shocked and slightly worried face helped soothe Clarke's troubled mind. Octavia may be slightly naive and had gotten on Clarke's nerves the day before, but she was more likely to keep a watch for anything than the others. Yesterday, it was Octavia's wonder that kept her eyes wide. More so than the rest of them. Now it was worry. But just in case…

"There aren't any birds on this side of the river," Clarke stated as the four boys joined up with her and Octavia, now fully dressed.

"Which means they're afraid of something," Octavia jumped in to explain. "The birds are back on the other side of the river but they aren't on this side."

"She's right," Wells agreed. "Listen. We can hear them from here. But there aren't any on this side."

"What does that mean?" Jasper asked.

"It means that you should be prepared to run," Clarke told him. Pausing, Clarke made sure to look into the eyes of each of her group until she stopped at Wells' concerned browns. "It means to keep an eye above and below. To be prepared to run at any moment and to run to the river. The birds aren't here, which means this territory is claimed. If something happens, our only goal is to be on the other side of that river. And quickly."

Then Clarke suddenly shrugged a shoulder, the tense air dissipating as she said, "Or I may just be paranoid. Sitting alone in a cell for a year inflicts many strange behaviors on a person."

Jasper and Monty broke out into chuckles.

"Great," Finn said dryly as he huffed out a breath. "So we're dealing with Mutated Mama Bear TM or the girl we're following into the woods is crazy."

"Better hope we get the bear," Wells whispered to the rest of them.

"Why?" Octavia asks.

"Because if we're against Clarke," Wells explained, "then I don't like our odds."

It didn't take long for them to fall into the same order they were in yesterday. Half an hour after they had set off into the woods, Clarke began to lead as the other lagged behind. Wells was half a step behind her, the norm it seemed, and the quartet were a few feet behind them. Their conversations were whispered and quiet in the tense atmosphere of the forest.

Her instincts were still alert, having not once calmed during their trek. Animals were still absent from the forest, the birds and their songs gone too. Only the crunching of foliage under the others' feet accompanied the group.

At least until Wells leaned over and asked, "Could you tell me about it?"

Clarke glanced at him with a turn of her lips. “Yharnam?” She asked. Wells nodded, his eyes curious and wide.  Her mouth opened slightly, ready to talk but her words were gone. What could she say about Yharnam? So much of her life before was steeped in blood and death. And while Clarke felt lighter than she had in years by telling Wells about her past life, she had purposefully left out much of her life. It wasn’t logical to keep her old life as a Hunter a secret, especially from Wells if there the Beasts were alive. 

It wasn’t logic that kept her from speaking about the blood she’d spilled, however. It was a desperation she felt in her heart. Despite the phantom feeling of gods and the Messengers’ appearance the previous day - despite the evidence that her old life as Maria was much a part of her new life as Clarke, she felt that telling Wells would make it real. It was a fear that Clarke knew was irrational but one she couldn’t shake.

A rational fear was Wells’ reaction to what Clarke told him. If she told him everything - what she had witnessed, what she had done, what she had been taught to do - would he look at her differently? Would he understand that her life was centered around the Blood and the gods it came from? Would he accept her and what she told him as easily as he did the night before? Would he understand that she had been a Hunter?

That she had been raised with a sword in one hand and a gun in the other?

Would Glass understand?

"Yharnam…" The words nearly failed her. "Yharnam was poor. It was dirty, plague-ridden - a cesspool of filth and disease with no regard for life."

"That-" Wells cut himself off as Clarke gave him a sharp glare.

"But it was also beautiful," she continued softly. "The sun set upon spires high enough to reach the sky. Fields of lumenflowers as far as the eye could see, enough it looked like liquid silver. The moon was often large and full, a second sun in the darkest of nights.

"The people left much to be desired," Clarke remembered. "Yharnamites were surly, selfish, and narcissistic. Yet they were helpful, too. Determined and stubborn. Vengeful, at times, but people all the same. People trying to survive a world all too unforgiving."

"Do you miss it? Yharnam?" Wells asked.

"I… I don't know," Clarke forced herself to say. And it was true. She didn't know if she missed Yharnam. Clarke knew her life as a Hunter was one she would gladly leave behind but Yharnam itself? Yharnam, despite the eccentricities it held, was a place of beauty. As filled with blood and death as it was, it was the place Clarke had been raised; had called her home.

She had also spent many days in the Nightmare staring out that clock face; staring out into the amalgamation of horror that used to be the Yharnam she knew. Could she miss the Nightmare? Could she miss the simplicity of her penance? Was it possible for her to miss the Yharnam she grew up in when she spent so many years in a place frozen in time?

Clarke didn't know. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

"There were plenty of things I hated about Yharnam," Clarke began. "Plenty of wishes and hopes that were never realized, never brought to fruition no matter how hard I tried. But Yharnam was my home.

"I don't miss it the way you or any of the others might miss the ARK. I never had a place that was truly mine," she softly explained. She kept her eyes down, taking extra care on the placement of her feet in order to avoid Wells' questioning gaze. "The closest thing I had to a home was a workshop that was overseen by the man that raised me. Many only tolerated my presence and only because of him."

"Why?" Wells questioned. Clarke glanced behind her, taking note of the rest of the group's positions just a few feet away from her and Wells. Finn and Monty were talking now with Jasper and Octavia intersecting every now and then, but each of them were quiet enough to match their surroundings. None were paying attention to her and Wells' conversation.

"Yharnam is old," Clarke understated. Yharnam was a city built upon city built upon a city. First it was Pthuremu, a civilization whose time had long since passed yet their beliefs survived a thousand years. After it was Yharnam, or Old Yharnam, named after the last queen of Pthuremu. Maria had just left her teens when the fires raged and the Beasts took reign. The Yharnam built on top of the ruins was still being constructed when she died.

"And like every civilization, Yharnam had its share of enemies," she explained. "Cainhurst, a castle town nearly four days' ride away from Yharnam, was Yharnam's worst. It was a place of blood and it relied solely on strength. One either survived or was left to die."

"They sound Spartan," Wells commented with a frown.

"It was also the place of my birth." Clarke allowed herself some amusement at the face Wells made as she told him. She kept her face carefully blank for several seconds until her best friend began to stutter some kind of response and she had to let her lips twist into a smirk. "Relax, Wells. I don't have many memories of Cainhurst; you're fine."

"That isn't funny," Wells insisted with a small laugh. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

Clarke gave him a final quirk of her lips before they fell. "My parents died when I was young on a trip to a surrounding village," Clarke said. "I was taken in by a man named Gehrman and lived in Yharnam since. Being of Cainhurst blood and related to Queen Annalise gave me no favors. I was tolerated at best, hated at worst."

"You were royalty?"

"In the loosest sense," Clarke confirmed. "There was no heir to the throne that I remember" -because Annalise was immortal in every sense of the word- "but I looked enough like the Queen for many to accurately theorize my origins."

"So I guess not much has changed for you," Wells said. "A lot of ARKers considered us the royalty of the ARK. You more than me because Dad has only been the Chancellor for the last few years."

Clarke nodded. "There have been many similarities I've seen from my life here and the one I had in Yharnam. Ostracized because of the circumstances of my birth, a specialization chosen for me since I was young… It was one of the reasons I wasn't sure my memories were factual when I first woke up; too many similarities for me to be comfortable."

"Do you…" Wells trailed off. "Are you Maria? Instead of Clarke?"

"No," Clarke answered as she shook her head. She had so much time to think about this during the years, even before the Clarke/Maria division in her head dissolved. "I was Maria, a Hunter of Yharnam and that life ended. I spent thirteen years as Clarke Griffin and that life has yet to end. I am Clarke but I cannot forget Maria.

"I won't."

Wells didn't say anything more, his face the definition of muddled as he no doubt thought over what she said. Clarke kept her eyes forward after her glance at Wells, her instincts alert but calm after her talk with him. The forest was densely populated with vegetation.

After coming around a particularly thick bush, Clarke froze and moved her arm in front of Wells to stop him from going further. Quickly, Clarke quietly spun in place and gathered the others' attention. Telling them to quiet themselves and crouch, Clarke turned back around to what had captured her attention.

It was a deer. Tall and graceful, colored a dark tan, the deer stood nearly fifteen feet from Clarke's hiding place. It was grazing on the grass around it, calmly and without any of the tension that Clarke felt. The deer had one antler on the ride side of its head, the side Clarke could see. The antler was tall and proud, sporting several rungs.

"What happened to no animals?" Finn asked as the rest of the group sat in awe of the deer. Octavia looked as if she was staring at the most perfect thing while Monty and Jasper's eyes were blown wide.

"Do you think it was scared by the Dropship?" Wells asked.

"It must not have gone back over the river," Clarke said. "The food must have distr-"

It was quiet, soft, but Clarke heard it. A snapping of a twig, the rustle of leaves, both sharp and clear in the quiet air of the forest. Clarke whipped her head to stare at the group, drawing confused looks from them but she was hardly paying any attention; not a single one of them moved from their spots.

Which meant…

It happened faster than Clarke thought it would. The moment Clarke turned to look at the deer was all it needed, because the next moment was filled with the deers screeches as a large spear pierced its stomach on one side and exited the other. The head of the spear stuck the ground, pinning the struggling and whining deer in place. Its head thrashed, revealing the deer wasn't normal, but had a second face attached to its left side, droopy and sickly looking.

Clarke hardly registered it. Instead, her attention was on her group. The moment the spear hit the ground with a small thud, Clarke reached behind her to cover Octavia's mouth as she let put a small shriek. None of the others were any better but their yelps of shock were contained and quieter than Octavia's would have been.

She wanted to scream at them to go. That this is when they ran to the river. But there wasn't time. Within the next few seconds, what threw the spear dropped to the ground from a tree and Clarke found her mouth dry and the Blood in her veins throbbed.

It was male as far as Clarke could tell. His hair was wild, colored a deep black that covered his face. The leathers he wore were torn and hanging off his emaciated yet muscled frame, his arms were long and his fingertips dragged along the ground. Fur was wrapped around his waist and multiple weapons decorated him, each and every one stained red with blood. Enough that Clarke could smell it.

It was a Beast.

And as it caught Clarke's gaze, it roared.

I know, I know. It's been a long time.

I have rewritten this chapter numerous times, trying to get it to my liking. I wasn't sure if I was going too slow, or whether I should be going at a faster pace. And then I had to cut the chapter short.

So here you go, I won't take another month to get the next one out. Promise.

-Scribble.

Chapter Text

Arc 2: Brave Old World

Chapter Five:

"Well, I haven't been surprised in a long while. I suppose congratulations are in order, then; getting the drop on me is no easy feat. Why have ya sought me out? What can I do for ya?

"The Dream? The memories come in flashes. I don't remember much of my time there but there are many things that were seared into my mind. I remember the old man, Gehrman. I remember a soft voice and the cool touch of porcelain. Why do you ask, Hunter?

"Gehrman doesn't have any plans. A sad, old man is what he is; with no room in his heart for anything but bitter feelings and unrealized hopes. He was the same when I was there, he'll stay the same with you there, and he'll be the same long after you're gone.

"If he did create the Dream, he's long forgotten why. If he fought for a reason, he's long forgotten what it is.

"I suppose it might be a result of the Dream. Do you remember your dreams? If your life was a Dream would you remember the dream of your life?

"S'pose that sounded a bit mad. Are we done here? I've got prey to Hunt. Best be careful out there with the Beasts about. And leave the Hunting of Hunters to me."

- Eileen the Crow, Hunter of Hunters, Independant

Immediately after the news Kane was given, he gathered everyone's attention for an announcement. He stood in front of the console, head held high with his back and shoulders straight. Glass scoffed under her breath, "Dick," falling quietly from her lips.

"Here it is," Kane announced to a riveted crowd. Technicians, Cartwright, Abby, and Glass held their breaths, waiting for the shoe to drop. Glass' eyes, however, never left Clarke's tile except to occasionally glance at Wells', which wasn't too far away from Clarke's.

"We know that the Dropship fell off course. We also know that they've landed but communications are down, which means we're still blind to the conditions of the ground. It's thanks to Abby's wristbands, we have an idea how those conditions affect the human body - which is more than we've had for about a century. So nice work," Kane told them. The relief on several peoples' faces were palpable and Glass wanted to punch them. That was her Clarke on the ground; these nerds hadn't done shit except send teenagers to their deaths.

"Now," Kane continued as he turned to the screens, "what are they telling us?"

Abby heaves a sigh but her voice is clinical as she talks to the room. "Two dead kids," she speaks as she points to the two darkened screens. "Dark tiles. Dr. Jackson, if you would share our theory with Councilor Kane."

It wasn't a suggestion and Glass noticed that Jackson didn't treat it as one. Abby had been distant with Kane and Jaha since Jake's floating. Something which Glass could get behind one hundred percent.

"Of course, Dr. Griffin," Jackson said in his most professional voice. "Though they have only been on the ground for seven minutes, our current theory as of now is that the two fatalities you see were due to the landing. Not radiation levels."

"Both boys died at the same time," Abby added on, "just as we lost contact with the Dropship."

"Rough landing," Kane asked incredulously. "That's your theory?"

"The dots connect, Kane," Abby told him. "Either because or as a result of whatever made us lose contact, it happened just as those boys died."

"Right," Kane replied, his attention going back to the screens. His brows furrowed as he asked, "Would you agree if it was radiation, we'd see fatalities climb quickly? Because I'm seeing a lot of red."

Glass glanced at the other screens, seeing that Kane was right. Many of the screens were lined with red. Her eyes returned to Clarke's tile which was one of the only ones not outlined with the harsh color.

"Red means spiking vital signs," Abby explained. "Which means two possibilities. The first is injuries supported during landing."

"And the other?" Kane questioned.

"They're excited to be there," Abby said.

Kane turned back around to the screens. "Keep an eye on these," he ordered. "These are our only clues into the environment of Earth. Anything could help us discover if Earth is survivable or not."

As Kane left the room, no doubt to beat off to the ARK law book in the bathroom, Glass found herself in the back of the room in a corner with clear sight of the screens. Her mind wasn't quiet but she felt better as she stared at Clarke's tile, her heart easing at the sight of proof that Clarke still had a pulse. Glass may not have any clue what anything else on that screen may have meant, but she could pick out the heartbeat.

Glass had so many questions. Did Clarke enjoy Earth? Was she okay? Why wasn't she excited like any of the others? Were any of the other Hundred giving her a hard time?

Did Clarke miss her?

She took a shuddering breath, her lungs suddenly unable to work as tears burned the back of her eyes. Almost a year. She'd been without Clarke for almost a year and now the blonde was on Earth, a place they were so uninformed of. A place no human had stepped foot on for a century, a place left to the elements and radiation. A place that could so easily kill her.

Clarke could fight a lot of things - bullies, thugs, and guards not to be discounted - but radiation was not one of them. Glass had faith that Clarke could hold her own against the others, that she and Wells would have each other's backs. What Glass had no faith in was Clarke being impervious. She was tough and quick and smart, but she couldn't fight the weather or radiation or anything else that was controlled by science or God.

Not that Glass believed in God. Her mother did; Thalia Sorenson had needed something to believe in after she got pregnant with Glass and faced the judgment of the ARK. Glass followed her example when she was younger, but when Glass became a preteen and discovered her love of the female form, she fell out of practice. Her mother understood and never treated her any different, though Glass felt the tiniest bit of guilt that she couldn't explain.

'Still,' Glass thought as she stared at the picture of Clarke's beautiful face, 'if you are out there, God, please take care of her. I-I can't lose her. I need her. I love her…'

Hadn't that been a night. The day Clarke had shown a side that was aggressive as it was protective. The day in Medical that Clarke had told her she would never allow another person to hurt her. The day that they said their first 'I love you's and the day that they showed it without words.

They'd spent the rest of that day with Wells in her family unit until after dinner. And when Wells left and Clarke had prepared to leave, Glass couldn't bear to see her go. So she gripped Clarke's hand tight and refused to let go as she led the way to her room, a pout on her lips just in case Clarke was reluctant. She wasn't.

She felt the hiss that escaped Clarke's teeth on her neck as Glass raked her nails down her lover's back. Her lips were swollen and bruised, tingling from kissing Clarke as hard as she could. Clarke's fingers were on her arms, digging into the soft parts of her. Glass knew there would be bruises in the morning and she relished at the thought.

Clarke continued leaving liquid fire down her neck until her mouth reached Glass' collarbone. Glass moaned aloud as Clarke sucked a mark onto her skin, nipping at it with her teeth and immediately soothing it with her tongue. Clarke's bare thigh felt too good between her own bare legs and Glass felt her hips move on their own, a silent beg for more.

The blonde complied, straddling one of Glass' thighs before pulling up as one of Clarke's hands trailed down while the other went in the opposite direction. Fingers tweaked a nipple, rolling it between nimble fingers as Glass bared her throat to the hand encircled it. Her thumb helped Glass tilt her chin upwards and Glass couldn't help the little whine that escaped her when Clarke teasingly applied just a little more pressure.

Her hazel eyes met Clarke’s blue ones and Glass felt her breath stop cold in her lungs. Clarke was a vision. Clarke’s lips were puffy and bruised as well and Glass felt a smirk of satisfaction stretch across her own. Blonde hair fell in waves and curls over her shoulders, partially obscuring her perfect breasts. Glass’ eyes fell lower, taking in the perfectly formed muscle that covered her stomach.

"My Glass," came Clarke's whispered declaration and Glass wasn't sure if Clarke could hear her answer over the moan that left her throat. Either way, it was yes. It was all Glass could do not to scream the word as she fisted the sheets below her.

Still holding onto her throat, Glass saw Clarke bend down until her gold and pale tresses became a curtain long enough to block her sight. She more than felt Clarke's tongue like lava on her skin as she trailed it up her chest and in between her breasts, ending at her collarbone.

Blue stared up at her and Glass held it for as long as she could as Clarke's other hand tugged and pinched her nipple, trying to get her to break. Clarke switched from her nipple to the rest of her breast, kneading it for a few moments before switching back. A sharp twist and tug did it, a pleasured cry leaving her lips as she closed her eyes. Glass heard Clarke's chuckle, smooth and smoky and felt Clarke give her another nip at her collarbone.

Glass panted a single breath when Clarke rolled her hips, pushing her thigh into Glass' sex. Glass must've said something because Clarke said, "There are no gods here," before rolling her hips once again.

The hand playing with her breast disappeared but the hand holding her throat tightened causing the fire in her belly to burn just a tinier bit hotter. Clarke's other hand appeared in Glass' vision, resting by her head and Glass couldn't help but immediately grab onto it by the wrist. Clarke didn't allow this and instead intertwined their fingers before holding Glass' hand to the mattress.

Clarke leaned down again, their breasts pressed together, and pulled her into a kiss Glass needed no help to take part in. That still didn't stop Clarke from forcing her head up a certain way to meet Clarke's lips. It did nothing but add to the pressure building in her gut.

Clarke rolled her hips at the perfect angle, bringing Glass closer to unraveling. Again and again Clarke did this, as steady as a heartbeat that wasn't theirs, and noise built in Glass' throat. She was going to explode. Her other hand, having gripped the sheets, let go and grabbed the hand Clarke had over her throat. Glass was sure her nails hurt but Clarke showed no sign of pain nor any sign of stopping.

Their lips disconnected for a second and Clarke whispered, "I love you."

It was all Glass needed. The dam burst and Glass came with a ragged moan. She could feel Clarke finishing as well, the hand around her throat tightening enough to slightly impede her breathing but not enough for Glass to say anything.

When the hand loosened, Glass was the first to speak.

"I love you, too," she whispered before burying her face into Clarke's neck and began marking her the same as Clarke did to her.

Glass blinked away the memory, tears in her eyes. They had been together before that but it was that last time, the time after they'd told the other, that was ingrained into Glass' memories. Each and every time before that was good, but that last time had been something else. Something Glass couldn't put into words.

Spotting the mother of the woman she was in love with, Glass hurriedly blinked away her tears and tried to calm her raging heart. She thought she was successful until she spotted Abby's concerned expression. The doctor, when she came close enough, immediately put a hand on Glass' elbow in an attempt at comfort.

"Hey," Abby greeted with a small but warm smile. "How're you doing?"

"Me?" Glass asked incredulously with a small, choked laugh. "I'm not the one on a radiation-soaked planet that could possibly have toxic air that could kill me within seconds with ninety-eight juvenile delinquents."

"No, you're not," Abby agreed, the smile falling from her face.

"I should be down there," Glass muttered. "At least I'd be able to do something; not just stare at a tile and hope to hell that it never goes dark."

"I know the feeling," the mother returned.

Glass wasn't sure what she could say in response, so she kept her mouth shut. A desperate feeling appeared in her gut, threatening to swallow her stomach whole. She hated this useless feeling. The feeling was all too similar to the one she felt when she had been harassed, but the one she felt now was worse. Clarke was in danger, away from her, and she could do nothing. Nothing but watch and wait.

Cartwright interrupted Glass' feeling of hopelessness when she walked up, asking Abby how Clarke was. Glass often forgot that Abby and Cartwright were friends, the brunette often acting like an aunt to Clarke. Glass supposed she should stop calling her Cartwright in her head.

"How is she doing, darling," Callie asked as she rubbed a hand up and down Abby's back. The woman's brown eyes met Glass' hazel ones and she gave a small smile. "Sorry," Callie said as she extended a hand to Glass, "I don't think we've met. I'm Callie Cartwright."

"Glass," the redhead answered as she briefly shook the woman's hand. "Sorenson."

Callie made no comment on her name, for which Glass was thankful, and turned her attention to Abby.

"Her vitals are strong," Abby told her as she nodded. Glass felt herself nod along; it was Clarke, of course her vitals are strong. "Blood sugar is low; she hasn't eaten."

Glass wasn't sure what she was going to say when the phone closest to Abby rang. She forgot it when Abby hung up the phone with a slam and started giving orders to Jackson. It was only as she left that she gave any answer to Callie's question: the Chancellor had been shot.

She wished she could say she was worried for the Chancellor's life. She wished she could say she cared about what happened to Thelonious Jaha. But honestly, Glass was only concerned about what his death would do to Wells. Her best friend had already lost his mother when he was young. To lose the rest of his family…

Glass wasn't sure how long she was left to her thoughts, Callie having gone somewhere after the news had broken. She knew she passed on food but she hadn't been hungry since she saw the Dropship fall. Instead, Glass stared at Clarke's tile, willing it to remain the same in order to feel like she was doing something when it did. There were a hundred things she could have been doing, the least troubling was letting her mother know what she was doing or where she was.

Glass didn't move a muscle.

For all Glass knew, two hours or more could have passed when Abby came back into Sit-Con. She looked frazzled and exhausted but her attention was immediately on the board of tiles. Glass blinked, surprised to find that two more tiles were black. She glanced back at Clarke's before she returned her attention to Abby.

"How's the Chancellor?" Callie asked straightaway.

"Ask me that again if he makes it through the night," Abby replied tersely. "Who else did we lose?"

"Murphy and Mbege," some random tech said. "Both named John."

"Neither were injured in landing," Kane said. Glass blinked. She hadn't even seen him come in.

"I concur," the tech said. Glass wrinkled her nose. Fancy words coming from someone other than Clarke just seemed pretentious. "Something else killed these two," he continued. "They were fine one second, the next, bang."

"Then it isn't radiation," Abby refuted without looking at the tech. Her eyes were still on the board, but Glass knew exactly where her eyes were resting.

"Come on, Abby," Kane chided. "Wishful thinking isn't good science."

"It's not wishful thinking," Abby nearly snarled. "Exposure to radiation isn't like that. One second, fine, the next, bang isn't how radiation presents."

"It could be if there was enough of it," Kane refuted.

"They would all be dead if there was that much!" Abby shouted at him.

"You can't die, Clarke," Glass whispered. "You can't . Just wait for me, okay? Wait for me. I'm coming."

It wasn't long before the artificial lights of the ARK dimmed in Sit-Con as night fell and curfew began. For the last few hours, Glass had done nothing but stare at Clarke's tile. It had flared red for a single minute, scaring both Glass and Abby, before it quickly calmed down. Now, Sit-Con was manned by a skeleton crew and sleep was pulling at Glass' eyelids.

That vanished when a tile shut down with an alarm that pierced through Glass' exhaustion. Eyes snapping open after having closed of their own accord, they went to Clarke's tile first and then Wells'. An inaudible sigh of relief escaped her lips when she saw they were fine and her attention turned to the rest of the board and the room.

Of everyone that morning, only Glass, Abby, and Jackson stayed. Kane had fucked off to who knew where and Callie was most likely lying to the rest of the populace to keep them calm. Glass had refused to leave, even when Abby had suggested she get some rest.

The board had a fifth darkened tile, the one that woke Glass up. She couldn't see a name and before she could look for one, another tile darkened accompanied by a shrill but short alarm. After that one, another one darkened. And another, and another.

Before Glass knew it, twelve tiles had joined the four. Sixteen darkened tiles spread across the board and Glass felt horror for the first time. She desperately looked towards Clarke's tile, half expecting to see her picture darken like the others. It was only after several tense moments that Glass sagged in relief when Clarke's tile remained the same.

"Twelve more," Jackson whispered. "One after the next."

Glass' head hung, eyes closing. Clarke was still okay. The adrenaline caused by the stress of the last few minutes left Glass suddenly, nearly causing her to collapse. Instead, she directed her fall into a nearby empty chair.

"Oh, Abby!" Jackson shouted. "Look at their plasma osmolarity; it's going up across the board!"

"What does that mean?" Glass asked as she picked up her head. Abby gave her a smile as a light laugh fell from her lips.

"They found water," Abby explained with a happy smile. Glass returned it, feeling better than she had since she'd seen the Dropship fall to Earth.

Then the doors to Sit-Con opened and Kane walked in flanked by guards.

"Councilor Abigail Griffin," Kane announced. "You are hereby under arrest for exceeding the maximum medical supplies allowed per patient." All Glass felt was shock as Kane strutted and stopped in front of Abby. "Sorry this has to be public, the policy in these matters are very clear: no special treatment."

"I never expected any," Abby told him as the guards came around her.

"How much blood did you use, Abby?" Kane asked.

"Don't answer that!" Jackson interrupted.

"I used whatever it took," Abby answered, ignoring Jackson. "Breaking the law and keeping you from becoming Chancellor was simple and the easiest decision I've ever made."

"In that case, given your confession," Kane told her, "I have no choice but to find you guilty, in my role as Chancellor Pro Tempore."

"We always have a choice, Kane," Abby stated. Glass stood from her chair, ready to intervene should the guards get too handsy. She doubted they would dare, given that Abby was a Councilor and Kane was right there, but Glass trusted Kane as far as she could throw him.

"You chose to press charges against your friend, my husband, even though you knew he would float for it," Abby snarled. "You chose to include my daughter in those charges and now you're choosing to press charges against me. Hiding behind the law like a coward doesn't absolve you of anything, Kane, and it never will - no matter how many laws and regulations you use."

"Be that as it may, Abby," Kane said softly, "in accordance with the 'Continuity Charter' penal code one, as all crimes committed by those over the age of majority are capital crimes, you are sentenced to death." Like the rest of the room, Glass gasped.

"Execution is set for the morning," Kane continued. He clasped his hands behind his back, shoulders straightening. "And I choose , Abby, to save what is left of humanity, at any turn and any cost. To make sure we survive."

"And I choose to make sure humanity deserves to survive," Abby retorted.  "That's the difference between us."

Kane stared at her before he turned away. "Yes," he muttered. "I suppose it is."

Louder, he said, "Take her to cell 3-1-9."

"What?!" Glass was finally able to get out. It came as a shout, however, and drew everyone's attention to her. Her attention was on Kane as he turned to her. "You can't do that! Even if it is the law, Abby's the head of Medical! And we need her to watch the Hundred!"

"Ms. Sorenson, you are here despite my misgivings and because of the threat you hold to the ARK's behavioral norm," Kane reminded her. "Count yourself lucky that we have deemed you an inactive threat. Should that change, you will join Abby in cell 3-1-9 and in her execution."

Glass grit her teeth at Kane's threat. She wanted to hit him so badly. He was the one to lock Clarke away, he'd killed Jake and was going to float Abby. But if she attacked any one, much less Kane, it would be grounds to float her.

"Glass," Abby spoke, her eyes wide and pleading. "I need you to stay here and watch Clarke for me."

"Abby…"

"Please," Abby begged. “I… I need someone to be here for her. Please.”

Glass was frozen for a single moment before she gave a jerky nod. Unable to do anything, she simply settled for glaring hatefully at Kane. He didn’t acknowledge her, simply walking away with Abby and the guards in tow. She could do nothing but watch them take Abby away. And she hated it.

Unable to do anything, Glass let a tear fall and lowered herself back into her chair. Her eyes found Clarke’s tile as a tear fell down her cheek. The blonde had lost her father, spent the next year alone in Solitary, had been sent to her death down on Earth, and now would lose her mother.

God, she wanted to be with Clarke. Either on the ARK or on Earth, it didn’t matter to her. She just… She missed Clarke.

“Glass?”

Callie had come up to her while she was distracted, setting a gentle hand on the back of her chair. Glass could only give the woman a tired smile as her body flagged. Exhaustion nipped at the heels of her consciousness and it was everything Glass could do not to yawn.

“Are you alright?” Callie asked her.

“I-” She stopped, unsure what to say. “It’s just been a lot. I think… I think I need to get some sleep.”

“You’ve been up for a while,” Callie agreed with a nod. “Get some sleep; I’m sure Jackson will keep an eye on Clarke for you. I’ll talk to Kane, try to get him to pardon Abby.”

“Please,” Glass scoffed. “Kane’s a hardass; he won’t change his mind. You heard him.Abby broke the law and Kane’s going to hold onto that with both hands.”

“I’m going to talk to him anyway,” Callie said. Glass didn’t hold much hope, but she offered Callie a smile despite that. If Callie needed to talk to Kane, Glass wasn’t going to stop her.

"RUN!"

Clarke didn't look at the group as she yelled at them, her body already in motion as her hand brought her knife from its place in her waistband.

A closer look at the Beast in the sparse few seconds Clarke had revealed more about it. The Beast had indeed been a male before the Blood overtook it with tan, almost brown skin, with a dark tattoo marking the right side of its face. The tattoo would have been beautiful had fur not been growing from cracks in its skin, blood stained and dark. The leather and furs it wore were the same, bloodstained and torn, and far too short for the form it took. Its pupils were blown wide, bleeding into its irises. The weapons Clarke had noticed were locked onto its clothes, handles stained but no evidence that the Beast had the intelligence to use them despite the spear it threw just a moment earlier. The blade it did use was a chipped and bloodstained square piece of metal with a cloth wrapped handle; obviously well-made at one point in the past but now long past.

It took three seconds for Clarke to meet the Beast, its right arm already swinging as Clarke neared. The Blood consumed her, harshly pumping through her veins as she ducked low enough for the Beast's blade to swing over her head. Clarke felt her thoughts disappear, her mind blanking as her body fell into a rhythm she thought she had forgotten.

Clarke pivoted on the ball of her foot, bending her knees and slamming her knife into the back of the Beast's knee. It roared, taking another swipe at her. Clarke leaned away, the claw missing her face by a hair. Wrenching her knife from the Beast's leg, Clarke lashed out with her own and slammed her foot into the Beast's ankle.

As the Beast stumbled and fell, Clarke moved away, straightening and reversing her grip on her knife. Her stance wasn't one that spoke of years of grace and mastery - it wasn't Rakuyo in her hand, after all - but it was one of experience. Gehrman had taught her to use the weapons he created and the ones he didn't. He had not left her education lacking; not when she had been prodigious in everything Gehrman had taught her.

The Beast scrambled to its feet within a second, swinging its blade as it screeched. It spun to face her, its face twisted into a predatory snarl. Clarke back pedaled, twisting away from the edge of the Beast's blade as it slashed at her.

Ducking under an attack that would have left her headless, Clarke darted forward and dug the edge of her knife into its right side as she passed him. Ducking forward to save herself from the Beast's retaliation that came as a wild swing at her head, Clarke quickly turned to face her quarry. The Blood sang in her as her eyes narrowed.

Like recognized like. Her Blood gave her the truth. One she hated but one she desperately needed. The Beast was one with the Blood. It sang and called and threatened. Frothing at the mouth, a call for dominance and death. As close to kinship as Clarke had ever allowed herself to be. As close to the Beastial Plague Clarke allowed the Blood to take her.

Except… it wasn't the same. This Beast didn't feel the same as those had in the past. The Blood didn't call the same. Didn’t echo in her veins the same way it had when she faced Beasts as Maria. Clarke had never felt anything like the Blood the Beast had, not even in the Nightmare. Whatever held the Beast, gave it its strength, was the Blood - but not .

Whatever it was, caused Clarke's own Blood to snarl. Not even Vileblood hadn't caused this reaction when she had met soldiers of Cainhurst; this diluted feeling of filth and being too near the waste of others. The Blood of Cainhurst were dregs, Blood passed from person to person, generation to generation. Cainhurst had believed the strength of the Blood doubled with the strength of the person, and they could take that strength if they took the Blood. A ridiculous notion but one that became the backbone of Cainhurst's society.

Yet neither did this Beast's Blood sing to Clarke as she had felt with others. With Kos and the Orphan, with the closeness of gods. Oh, how her Blood sang as it harmonized with the Blood of gods - an orchestra, a choir, she could not help but sway to, could not help but want to join. But this Beast did not have the Blood that sings, not with the fluidity and grace Clarke recalls in her nightmares. This one was a lone trembling note, inconsistent as its tone dipped low and raised high. An affront to her ears and sensibilities, and one she wished to halt.

The Beast wasted no time as it attacked with a series of slashes, all of which Clarke had to move her torso to evade. Its blade shot forward, attempting to impale her through her left breast. Clarke moved without a thought, ducking the blade by a hair's breadth. Her hand shot out, wrapping around the Beast's wrist as her other hand slammed down into what could be called its elbow. The knife bit deep and blood poured from the wound, the Beast roaring as its hand opened of its accord and its bladed weapon dropped to the ground. Any satisfaction Clarke may have felt was short lived, however, as her attack worked the Beast into a frenzy.

With a strength hidden by its emaciated form, the Beast ripped its arm from Clarke's grip and used its injured arm to attack. When the Beast ripped its arm from her, it took only a moment to wildly swing that limb up into her chest. Its entire body followed through the movement, hard enough that Clarke was lifted from the ground and sent sprawling several yards away. She was quick to control her roll, taking less than a few seconds to get to her feet and face the Beast.

The Beast did not bother to remove the knife protruding from its elbow. It roared in pain and fury, slamming both its hands into the ground as its cheeks tore and its jaw opened farther than should be possible. It was hunched now, knees bent and ready to pounce. Clarke felt the Blood reach its fever pitch as the Beast's skin ripped to show the bloodied fur and muscle hidden beneath. It continued to roar at her, spittle and blood flying from its mouth. Even from several feet away, Clarke could see the Beast's blown and destroyed pupils as it glared at her in hatred.

Having lost her only weapon, Clarke brought her fists in front of her face. Running was not and had never been an option for her. The others needed as much time as Clarke could give them. The Beast was quick, strong, and angry; Clarke was hampered because of her weapon but she more than made up for it by being faster, more experienced, and skillful. It would have been better to kill the Beast, as crippling it would have only been temporary, but she would take what she could get.

Seeing the minute tensing of muscles, Clarke acted quickly, running towards the Beast before quickly tucking to the side and sliding on her right leg. Not a moment later, the Beast bounded forward in a single leap. It would have caught Clarke around the torso had she not slid.

Stopping herself quickly, Clarke wasted no time as she turned and grabbed the Beast's leg as it landed. Wrenching the leg from under it, Clarke used it as leverage to pull herself up. The Beast thrashed, one of its claws barely missing her face as it twisted left and right. Still, Clarke was undeterred as she climbed onto the Beast's back, her knee putting pressure onto its spine and setting her other leg in between its legs. With a snarl of her own, she pulled her fist back only to slam it into the Beast's spine just between the shoulder blades.

The thought of a visceral never crossed her mind, too lost in a beastial anger bubbling in the Blood in her veins.

She brought her fist down a second time. A third time. Blood spurted from split skin and each punch was accompanied by the sound of splintering bone. Clarke's knuckles began to tear but she did not allow herself to stop. Her wounds would heal. There was a time in her first life that she would have needed Blood Vials provided by the Church in order to heal wounds Beasts had inflicted. That time has long since passed; the Nightmare created by Kos and her Orphan had made Clarke a Beast in the loosest sense and whatever had caused her reincarnation had introduced complications. Whatever she had been (besides guilt-ridden), had not been reliant on the Blood. And that held true as Clarke - not when her heart produced it on its own now.

Clarke was naught but a corpse in the Nightmare, but one filled with the Blood. She would have been a Beast within the first few minutes of the Nightmare had Clarke been living. In her Clock Tower, it was the Blood within others that replenished hers, along with Blood Vials left behind by those she'd slain. She had never been Blood-Drunk or Blood-Starved as she never had use for the Blood in her body until combat.

Since becoming Clarke Griffin, since remembering, she could no longer feel the gaping absence the Blood had caused. Her wounds no longer required Blood Vials to quicken the healing process, her strength did not flag, her reflexes were sharp despite the lack of training for her first thirteen years. The Blood was now a part of her, circulating through her veins without end.

She wasn't sure who to thank that she wasn't Blood-Drunk.

The Beast shrieked as Clarke brought her fist down once more, both of its arms waving erratically as it thrashed its hardest. Then it bucked. Clarke was thrown off her balance for only a moment, but that was all the Beast needed. Liquid fire forced a hiss through Clarke's clenched teeth as one of its claws tore into Clarke's left side, just under her ribs. The Beast bucked once more, unsettling Clarke and turning towards her with a gaping maw that was more animal than human.

Clarke lashed out with her foot, knocking the Beast's head to the side as she used the momentum to stand. The blue of her shirt was quickly darkening, though the cut wasn't deep. Clarke cursed as she turned back to the Beast. The wound burned as the Blood in her veins fought to heal what the Beast inflicted but was kept from doing so. Whatever Blood was in the Beast before her, it was enough to impede the Blood's preternatural regeneration.

The Beast grumbled as it stood, babbling in a language Clarke had never heard before - if it was indeed a language. The Beasts of Yharnam had often said nonsense when they became Blood-Drunk; hallucinations and confusion shaping their minds. That hasn't seemed to have changed, though Clarke wasn't sure if it was a relief or a concern.

Clarke grit her teeth as she moved her hand underneath her shirt and pressed her bloodied knuckles against the wound. She had no expectations that it would foster her healing, but it was an instinct that had been ingrained into her at a young age. Gehrman had been a thorough teacher.

"Again," he told her roughly as she hissed in pain. The cut along the back of her hand was wide and bleeding, stretching from the knuckle of her index to her wrist. He'd gotten her with a thin blade with longer reach that wasn't his preferred weapon, the Burial Blade, but he still wielded it like a master.

Maria was twelve and Gehrman deemed she was ready to begin her training in swordsmanship. The last few years, she'd just been an observer. Her studies were restricted to Beasts, the Blood, and exercise. Now Gehrman thought she was finally ready to learn the way of wielding weapons.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Biting her lip and palming the sword she was given to her unhurt hand, Maria used her other hand to search her pouch for a Blood Vial. Using her hurt hand to hold the sword during the next fight would only inhibit her. It was times like these she was grateful both of her hands were dominant.

"What're ya doin'?" Gehrman barked. Had Maria been new to his mannerisms, she would have startled enough to drop her sword. Had she been younger, she would have thought he was angry at her and cowered. It didn't escape her notice that many of his other students did those exact things.

"Blood Vial," Maria explained. She'd just taken one out of her pouch when the flat side of Gehrman’s blade smacked into her hand, forcing her to drop it as her hand stung in pain. The glass of the vial gave a clink sound as it rolled into a stone in the grass.

Their training place was beside the workshop, underneath a tree and among the lumenflowers Maria so loved. For an hour, they had trained and already sweat covered Maria and soaked through the shirt and trousers she wore. Dirt covered her backside, a consequence of falling on her back more than once and almost completely due to Gehrman striking her at random intervals of their training. Her cheek throbbed at the thought.

"Waste a 'Vial for a scratch like that?" Gehrman scoffed. Maria opened to retort that the scratch hurt but words failed her as Gehrman shook off the fingerless glove of his weaponless hand before running the edge of the blade along his palm and dropping the weapon to the ground. Articulation failed her as Gehrman strode towards her, clearing the few feet of space between them in seconds, and took her wounded hand only to slap his bleeding palm onto her own wound.

"What are you doing?" Maria managed to ask incredulously.

"Ya forget, Maria," Gehrman chided her, "the Blood takes as much as it gives. Beasts are Beasts for a reason and it has as much to do with being Blood-Drunk as Blood-Starved. There's a balance that needs to be walked."

Gehrman took his hand off hers and Maria could only watch as the wound which had stung so fiercely closed within seconds, leaving nothing, not even a scar. Maria raised her hand higher, twisting it around, trying to see if a new angle by the sun's rays exposed anything. It was Gehrman, however, that gave her answers.

"The Blood is hungry, always," he told her. "Your Blood, my Blood, the Beasts' Blood. The Blood heals, it's why we got the 'Vials. But it's not just the 'Vials that got the Blood in 'em. Beasts do, too. Ya ever get the chance, ya ever hurt enough, ya take their Blood for your own.

"It won' do much, being less pure than the Blood in the 'Vials - that's why you need to bleed 'em more. Hack away enough at the Beast, take enough Blood, cover yourself in it, and you'll undo any damage they might'a done."

A thorough, if not bracing, teacher.

Not all the blood on Clarke's knuckles were hers and as the familiar burn seared into the edges of split tissue, she couldn't be more thankful. The Blood was still the Blood and her knuckles had enough for her wound.

The Beast stared at her, huffing in deep breaths but keeping to itself for now. Clarke met its blown-wide eyes, watching as slabs of skin and meat fell from its body, the Beast changing from one form to another in a quiet manner that was unfamiliar to Clarke. As it grew, the leathers it wore tore and fell from its body, landing in a heap at its feet with its blood and skin.

The form the Beast took, however, was near nostalgic. Hunched on all fours now, the wolf-like Beast ignored its new bloodstained fur as it snorted its blood from its snout. It watched her with its bleeding pupils as she watched it.

Cold washed over her, a wave of something passing through her and Clarke sucked in as much air as she could through clenched teeth. It was only a moment, a moment of pure, ice cold, and then the heat returned as the sides of Clarke's wound stitched themselves together, no doubt leaving nothing once again. The moment the heat came to her, the Beast roared with its new wolf-like maw and slammed its arms into the ground, furious and glaring at her from yards away.

It came to Clarke, then, that the Beast had stopped because of the cold. Whatever Clarke had felt, it had kept the Beast at bay and now it was furious that Clarke no longer felt it. Whatever the Blood of the Beast had, whatever made it different from the Blood in Clarke's past - from the Blood within her own veins - it involved far more than time.

Taking her hand from her wound, Clarke breathed deep and readied herself for another round. Wolf-like, the Beast was only going to be stronger and faster than it was and without a weapon, Clarke was fighting a losing battle. A glint of metal caught her eye, drawing her attention to the Beast's dropped weapon. It wasn't ideal, an old weapon left without care but saw plenty of use. Almost reluctantly, she forced her eyes to the spear that held the now dead deer aloft before she discarded the notion. Getting the spear from the ground would take no time at all, but if she wanted to wield it effectively, she needed to remove the deer. And that would take seconds she couldn't risk.

Clarke turned back and eyed the mess of leather, blood, and flesh at the Beast's feet. The weapons Clarke had seen before were in disuse but they were weapons all the while. The problem was getting to them. Her only option, then, was the discarded sword.

With another breath, Clarke readied herself.

The Beast snarled.

Clarke ran.

The Beast bounded forward.

Clarke slid, again, to avoid the Beast as it sailed over her head.

The Beast snarled and roared as it spun to face her.

Correcting itself, it leaped after her.

Clarke rolled forward, picking up the sword as she did and turning towards the approaching Beast.

A man, not Beast, jumped from a tree with a spear aimed at the Beast.

Clarke slashed as the Beast bounded towards her, its maw open wide. The sword passed through its arm first before continuing onto its skull, piercing the bone of the right side of its face with a sick crunch as the force of her swing causing the aim of the Beast to shift to her side. A moment later, the man fell and his spear hit true as the tip pierced the Beast's heart. The force of his fall and strike cut the Beast's arc short, slamming the belly of it into the ground.

The last breath of the Beast escaped its maw and Clarke felt it; the Echoes it held. She felt as the Blood Echoes lifted from the Beast's bones and sunk into hers. Felt as the Echoes became a part of her. It was a new feeling, one she hadn't felt in any intensity during her first life but was far more familiar when she had been of the Nightmare. It felt much like the ache of a developing muscle before it faded and became part of her. Letting out a breath, Clarke turned to far more important matters.

The man wore leather, the same as the Beast, but his were far more taken care of and dark where the Beast's were brown. His brown skin was close to bronze and he was taller than her. Clarke could see he was handsome underneath the grime, sweat, and paint that covered his face. The black paint was over his eyes, two bars with sharp ends that touched the hairline of his shaved head and ended at his lips which was surrounded by a stubble.

He was breathing hard when he met Clarke’s eyes. As if killing the Beast had taken all of his strength. Clarke had been wondering if the ARK was all that was left of humanity, if they were truly alone. Now that she had proof, had an actual person in front of her, all of her questions could be answered. Her curiosity was in the base of her throat, choking her with every question she wished to ask.

So Clarke forced her legs to turn and walk, away from an actual person, one who had lived on the Ground, on Earth. She didn't have the time or luxury to sit and talk. Wells and the others were more than likely already at the river or running back to camp. Besides, the blood covering the clearing will no doubt draw others.

Clarke had been a slave to curiosity once. She wasn't about to repeat her mistakes.

As he stared at the retreating form of Klark , he felt that nothing in his training had prepared him for what he had just witnessed.

He had decided in the morning. Though much fear had settled at the bottom of his stomach, Linkon had followed the group across the river into Maunon territory. The morning had been unnaturally quiet though Linkon was unsure of what he was expecting. He knew it was his fear of being so close to the Mountain, he knew.

It did not help him sleep any better.

The night was far from restful. He tied himself to his tree after finding a branch that would hold his weight and offer him a clear view of the scouts. The tree was no problem for him, not after his training; it was the ominous shadow of the Mountain that hampered his sleep. He had no desire to be so close but it was his duty to follow the scouts.

His morning had started before theirs as he woke before the sun rose. He watched as their blonde leader woke before the rest and then woke everyone else. There was tension between Klark and Wels but it quickly disappeared when the Seken approached and began to speak. The atmosphere was lightened considerably and even more once the rest of the scouting party joined the two.

The group ate more of the snake Klark had killed before they began their journey once more. Linkon commended Klark 's thinking as she stripped herself before walking through the river. They crossed the river slowly and the Trikru scout forced himself to be patient, lest he cross the river too early and be discovered.

Crossing the river was more difficult for him as he had to travel some way aways to find an outcropping that would allow him to jump across. The one he had found was ten minutes along the river and it took him no time at all to catch up to the scouting party once he found their tracks. Klark had left hardly any but the same could not be said of the rest of them.

The quiet unnerved Linkon more than he could put into words but he continued on. This was not how a forest was supposed to be, so void of life. It seemed that the scouting party below knew it as well, keeping their conversations hushed and between a few feet. They'd split off, much like they had the day before, with the Skai Prisa and Wels in the lead and talking among themselves and Okteivia, Fin, Jaspa, and Monti a few feet behind. Linkon wondered why there was such a clear division of rank.

And then they stumbled upon a Ripa and its prey.

The scouting party was shocked, that much Linkon could see. He had expected them to run. What he hadn't expected was for the Skai Prisa to run towards the Ripa. Her voice echoed among the trees, allowing him to hear her shouted orders and Linkon wasn't surprised to see the others follow. What did, however, was to see Klark's Seken hesitate only to comply. Linkon expected him to fight with his Fos, not run. Wels had to be as old as Klark, did she not deem him ready to fight, to help her?

Linkon 's attention was stolen for a moment as his eyes caught Okteivia 's retreating figure. Should he go with them? Should he follow the majority? He turned his eyes away, glancing at Klark as she clashed with the Ripa , gracefully evading an attack. He glanced at the running brunette once more before turning to the battle.

Klark fought beautifully. She evaded at the right moments, often missing death by a hair's breadth of a blade or claw. She managed to wound it as well and was wounded in return. Linkon traveled the trees as the two battled, looking for the best place to attack should he need to, should Klark need assistance.

When his moment came, it cost him something, as it did with all those who fought against the Ripas . They were once one with their clan, honorable warriors, loyal traders, or proud hunters. Now, they were slaves to the Maunon , murderers and beasts to their own families and friends.

This Ripa was Trikru .

He was too far away to recognize the Ripa before he changed but he was close enough to see the tattoo that ran up along the right side of his face. The markings were Trikru and being so close to the border that separated his clan from the Mountain only further confirmed his findings. Linkon knew that the Ripa he just killed was no longer the fellow tribesmen he used to be, but that didn't make it any easier on his heart.

Allowing himself a moment to mourn, he had released the breath he'd been holding only to take another, harsher breath. The Ripa was large enough for Linkon to stand upon while his hands still clenched his spear hard enough to help him balance. After a second, Linkon turned to Klark , unsure how the next few moments would unfold.

As his brown eyes met the bluest he had ever seen, the last thing he expected was for her to simply walk away. Linkon had seen the questions in her eyes and saw that her first steps after she turned away were uneven and forced. Still, her stride strengthened as she walked further away. Respect welled up within Linkon 's gut; she had priorities and she put her own questions last in spite of her clear wants.

Linkon watched the Skai Prisa out of the corner of his eye as he turned his attention to his spear. His weapon had pierced the back of the Ripa but had not gone all the way through. The tough muscle of his wolf-like form was hard enough to pierce, unusually so that Linkon had to put much of his strength behind the force of his attack - as well as be aided by the force of his jump from the trees. His spear had gone through the tough muscle and the heart, but only just.

It made it easier to pull his spear from the corpse.

Klark walked to where the Ripa had shed his human disguise, crouching and using her hands to dig through the flesh, skin, and blood. He could see little of what she was doing but the glint of metal was enough for him to guess. Klark was gathering weapons to replace the one she lost.

Using all of his strength in a final tug, Linkon wrenched his spear out of the corpse of the Ripa before quickly walking to the blonde haired leader. She had heard him coming, that he could see, but she did nothing as he came up next to her.

"Do not touch those," Linkon warned in Trigedasleng as he grabbed her wrist, keeping her from pocketing another one of the forgotten knives. "They belong to my clan; they are not yours to take despite your claiming of the kill. You are not of the clans."

The Skai Prisa did nothing for a moment, her eyes boring into his. Then, slowly, she stood and Linkon found she was only a head shorter than him. With a pointed glance, she turned her head to stare at his hand which still held to her wrist. Unwilling to risk the tactical advantage of his hidden understanding of Gonasleng, Linkon was slow to remove his hand even at the risk of the blonde's ire.

"I do not know what you said," Klark spoke quietly, "but deem to touch me like that again, and I will kill you." The Skai Prisa pointed the tip of the knife in her hand at his heart as she spoke, before dropping it to the ground. Klark pulled another blade from the waistband of her pants and dropped that too, as her other hand came up with another blade. This blade was larger than the others, a dagger rather than a knife.

"This is mine," she told him, pulling the blade to her breast as her grip on the handle tightened. She tapped the flat of the dagger on her chest three times before she used her other hand to gesture to the blades she'd set down and the ones she had yet to pick up. "I will not argue those, but this is mine," Klark explained as she pointed to him and the weapons and then to the dagger and her.

Linkon let his eyes switch between hers and the weapons before nodding. It was acceptable. Klark fought the Ripa on her own and while Linkon had dealt the killing blow, it wouldn't have been possible without Klark . If she hadn't killed the Ripa herself with that final blow.

At the time of its creation, the Kongeda had made a pact for those who had been most affected by the Maunon and the Mountain, stating that intact weapons and effects of a slain Ripa were to be redistributed back to the clan they came from. It took back a small percentage of what the Mountain had taken from the clan. It was a small comfort; a weapon did not replace the person, nor did it bring them back from the dead.

Clarke nodded and stepped around him. Linkon turned to watch as she walked back to the Ripa . She did not even flinch away from it or grimace at its visage, as covered with blood and gore as it was. The first time Linkon had seen a Ripa , he'd been eight summers and had just started his training under Camron , his Fos at the time. The Ripa that he stumbled upon was very different from the corpse before him now. Indra figured it had been lost and couldn't find its way back to the Mountain. It had looked much like a man with a large amount of hair until he started shouting crazed nonsense. Then what used to be a man tried to kill him. It was only the mercy of the Keryon that allowed Linkon to live past that event.

There was no hesitation in Klark 's form as she gripped the handle of the blade she had embedded into the Ripa 's skull. He had seen she was strong the day before when she killed the river snake; yet as his eyes glanced at the severed limb lying a few feet away from its owner's corpse, it washed over him once again. Formidable and dangerous, as he thought before, was an understatement.

Linkon walked over to her as she gave the rusted sword a sharp tug. It gave way with a sick squelch and more blood dribbled to the ground from the gaping wound Klark had inflicted. Flecks of flesh and dark red brain matter covered the edge, the smell the one of sewage and waste.

Eyes widening in alarm as Klark brought the blade to her nose, Linkon moved forward to stop her. Her sharp glare kept him from touching her but he still pointed at the sword.

"Do not let any enter your body," Linkon told her. Taking the finger he pointed at the sword, he pointed to his mouth and then used both of his hands to encircle his throat before pointing at the corpse of the Ripa they stood over. "You will become them. The person you were, dead to the ones you love."

Klark stared at him for only a moment before turning back to her bloodstained blade. She twisted it, observing it from several different angles. Eventually, the Skai Prisa pulled it away from her face and gave a disgusted look at the Ripa.

"Venomous," Klark whispered to the corpse, "and infectious. Is that why…"

Klark did not voice the rest of her thought and she turned from the corpse without a second look. Stepping over the head of the Ripa , Klark bent down and ripped the knife she sharpened the night before from what remained of its arm. Wiping the blood of the Ripa on her pants, the small blade joined Klark 's dagger in her waistband.

"You're hurt," Linkon spoke as he caught the tear in her shirt. It had slipped his mind, focused as he was on finding the best vantage point. He cursed at himself for forgetting such an important fact. Klark tilted her head at him, confused, and he pointed to the cut and bloodied part of her shirt.

Klark only waved a hand at him. "I'm well," she said. "Do not worry; it missed me." When he stepped forward, hand outstretched as if he hadn't known what she said, Klark pulled back and lifted her shirt. Where her wound should have been was nothing but dried and crusted blood.

Linkon had seen her pain, however. She had been wounded, he had seen that for himself. She had dealt several blows to the back of the Ripa and relieved one in return. Wounds such as that didn't just disappear.

He was forced to nod after a few seconds and straightened, putting his hand down. Perhaps he had been mistaken, perhaps he had seen what he wanted to, as there was no possible way for a wound to simply vanish. Either way, Onya would want to know of it. Even if it was simply a hallucination brought on by the stress of the situation and hunger.

Klark opened her mouth to speak when a distant roar interrupted her. Linkon felt his eyes grow wide, the same as the woman opposite of him. The roar of another Ripa , though distant, meant that it was only a matter of time before it came upon them.

"We need to -" Linkon was cut off by Klark.

"DUCK!" She yelled at him. Linkon followed without question as the blonde swung her sword through a Ripa . It tore the bird-like creature asunder, removing a wing and most of its lower half and legs. As it spiraled into the ground and tumbled, Klark reversed her grip on her sword and drove it through the creature's skull and into the ground.

Ripa Bir. A normal bird infected by the venomous blood of the Ripas. It grew to monstrous sizes, the length of its wings close to the size of Linkon's spear as their feathers darkened to match the night sky. They did not follow the Maunon as near as the Kongeda could tell; they did not attack the clans' villages, nor did they take the people. They did not leave the Mountain, suggesting they acted as guards against trespassers.

Of which, he and Klark undoubtedly were.

"I suggest we start running," Klark said. With a sharp movement, she pulled her sword from the Ripa Bir's skull. A sharp crack echoed as Klark's eroded sword snapped from the middle, leaving one end pierced in the skull and the other in her hand. "Dammit!" The Skai Prisa cursed.

She did not waste time, however, and Linkon was only a second behind her when she began running. They passed the skewered deer that still held the Ripa's spear and they passed it without a second glance. Linkon knew there was no time to take another weapon as large as the spear and it appeared that Klark knew that also. There was no time for Linkon to ascend into the trees either, nor should he with the Ripa Birs coming.

The two ran along the path Klark and her scouts had walked. It wasn't a straight path but it was better as the foliage was already crushed underfoot. It made it easier not to trip over a loose root or be hampered by a stubborn bush.

As the sound of his raging heart filled his ears, Linkon found himself oddly focusing on how Klark moved. Despite her shorter stature, the blonde was running with great speed. In fact, if Linkon hadn't spent his life in trees and forests so similar to the ones he treaded now, he was sure that he would have fallen well behind Klark within minutes.

Linkon ducked his head as a Ripa Bir flew over it. With a quick movement, he swung his spear. The shift connected with the Bir's wing, forcing it to the ground. There was no time to finish off the kill and Linkon kept running. The caws and shrieks were getting closer and the roars of more grounded Ripas had not faded away. Forcing air into his lungs, Linkon kept his gaze on Klark's back as they ran.

Trees blurred as Linkon ran harder than he ever had previously. His training, while thorough and harsh, had not prepared him the terror that ran through him. He had known fear - it was not an uncommon feeling in the world they lived in - but the chill settling deep within his bones was something different. It was not the nerves gained before a battle, nor the dread of war. It was almost the resignation of a harsh winter, the feeling of futile actions against a large force no one could control. An impossible endeavor.

The Keyron must have looked upon them with mercy.

What had taken the Skai Prisa nearly a candle mark of walking was run close to twelve minutes. The sound of the river was nearly deaf under the pounding of his heartbeat echoing in his ears and it was with some surprise when the trees began to clear. Neither Klark nor Linkon slowed as they approached the river, crashing into water that reached their waists, and rushing to the other side as fast as they could.

Klark did not look back when they reached the shore but Linkon did. The roars had not tapered off but had grown in their intensity, with several Ripa Birs cawing as they broke the treeline. One of the Birs came too close, causing Linkon to turn and shove the head of his spear into its chest, the scream tearing from its throat making him feel as if his ears would start bleeding at any moment. Shoving it away from him and pulling his spear from its chest, Linkon looked for the second or third that had followed the first.

It came from the right and Linkon swung his spear, nearly catching the Bir as it swerved. It gave a loud caw as the tip of his spear carved a line across the back of its wing. As Linkon turned to face it, he caught Klark in the corner of his eye. She ducked an attacking Bir but her entire focus was on the stump of a tree as she shoved her hand into its hollow inside up to the elbow.

He could not watch her as the Bir demanded his attention when it dived claw-first. It evaded his jab. It would have taken his face had Linkon not dropped and rolled away from it and the claws it outstretched. Linkon wasn't sure how he would take the Bir ; it was fast and smart - not to mention deadly. Still, he would not despair and give up. It was not the Trikru way.

So as the Ripa Bir flew low, Linkon squared his stance and tensed his shoulders. He was ready-

The Bir exploded in a shower of gore as a blade came down and cleaved it in two. Klark gripped the warped, bent handle of this new weapon in her right hand. She shook the blade once and watched as the blood splattered across the ground.

Linkon had never seen a blade like the one she held. The blade was square yet curved slightly, one side - the side that parted the Bir like a rock in a river - being curved slightly inwards and sharpened as a normal blade. The other side of the blade was curved outwards and the edge was jagged, vaguely resembling teeth if they had come from a river snake. Each of the 'teeth' were curved towards the middle of the blade. The blade thinned towards the handle, the blade and handle meeting on a circular hand guard - though the guard was only a slightly curved thin rod of metal that protruded from it. The handle was longer than the blade yet far more curved. Curved the same way as the blade, it straightened towards the end, instead of closer to the blade. The entire weapon was sparsely covered in dirty wrappings but it did not hide that both the blade and handle were stained red.

Where the Skai Prisa had acquired such a weapon, Linkon was not sure. It was the least important of the questions that had consumed his mind, however, as it became increasingly clear that Klark was not like the goufas that were at their camp. Linkon had much to report to Onya and Indra.

The third and last Bir came in low from behind Klark . It happened quickly. So quickly that Linkon had trouble following but he saw it clearly.

Klark touched the thin metal guard and Linkon watched as the blade folded downwards, the serrations no longer facing inwards. With a quick movement, Klark pivoted on her left heel while she brought her weapon up in an arc. The teeth dug into the belly of the Ripa Bir, making it scream as Klark's weapon went in the opposite way as the Bir. The pain caused the Bir to stop and Klark's swing had it falling back, its momentum stopped and reversed. Klark twisted and bent her knees as the arc of her weapon lowered, slamming the back of the Bir into the ground which slipped the blade further into its chest and belly. The Bir gave a weakening caw before it fell silent, dead.

The blonde stood, picking up the Bir as she did. Looking down at it, Klark gave her weapon a flick and the Bir detached with a sickening squelch . Splotches of blood appeared on the bottom of her wet pants, having splattered when the body of the Bir flopped ungracefully to the ground.

Klark turned and Linkon followed her gaze, nearly startling as he found a group of Ripas glaring at them from across the river. Two of the changed Ripas, the ones larger than wolves, were surrounded by four that remained in human form. Behind them was a single Ripa as large as a boulder, hunched forward as they were, with gray skin and its spine protruding from its back. The leather scraps it wore did nothing to cover its visage and a large tree trunk was held in its massive grip. Grakin Ripa. A Ripa that could devastate an entire village on its lonesome and took too many warriors to kill.

They would not cross the river, that Linkon knew. It did not stop the fear that he could feel begin to seep into his bones. His blood turned to ice as they snarled and slammed their arms into the ground. Klark, however, was not intimidated by their display. She took a few steps forward, drawing the Ripas ire and attention before she swung her blade almost negligently. The ring it caused echoed as the blade unfurled from the handle, revealed in its entirety and still dripping blood. The Ripas halted at the display before slowly walking back into the woods, their eyes never leaving the intimidating form of the Skai Prisa.

Klark was still nearly a minute after they disappeared from view and Linkon dared not move in case the Ripas came rushing back. When the minute passed, Klark let out a breath and her blade folded in once again. Her shoulders sagged, though he was unsure if it was in relief or exhaustion.

"So," she said as she turned to him, "do you wish to explain why you were pretending to not understand English?"

A little over 11,500 words, the longest chapter yet.

For anyone who doesn’t know Bloodborne or wants to have a clearer picture of Clarke’s new weapon, look up ‘Bloodborne Saw Cleaver’. I don’t have a specific picture in mind.

I hope you guys liked this chapter and I’m going to try to get future chapters out every seven days. That might change if the chapters get longer.

Anyways, thanks for reading.

-Scribble. 

Chapter Text

Arc 2: Brave Old World

Interlude:

History of the Old World as known by Clarke Maria Griffin -

Before the time of Pthuremu’s birth as a Kingdom, the original settlers wished to escape the rest of the world. As such, the settlers found a place as far away from the world as they could and created Pthuremu. In a way to distance themselves further from civilizations that hated them and to create a fresh start for the Kingdom they wished to create, they disowned the World’s Truth and began anew.

0000 - The Settlers left the World and founded Pthuremu, the Kingdom of their God, Oedon. Despite their lack of resources on their person, they were determined to survive. Where they settled, the land was rife with animals and trees, and as they searched for coal, they found caverns.

0026 - Pthuremu gave love and worship to the formless Oedon, praising him and those of him. A King, they called him, of the ones like him. After celebrating the birth of their Kingdom, the eldest found a gift by the Great Oedon deep within the caverns underneath Pthuremu: The Blood.

0399 - Peace and then War. Pthuremu split into three as the Kingdom fought itself. War over the Blood broke out between the citizens of Pthumeru. One side, desperate to keep the status quo. Another, desperate to bring the formless Oedon to them. And the last, desperate to take the Blood for themselves.

0501 - The birth of a Queen, the start of a line. The First of Pthumeru. Queen Ihyll.

0577 - Worship the formless Oedon, she cried. Hear his secrets and look upon him.

0638 - They became one with the Blood. They were the Old Blood. They were… They were of Kin.

0949 - The birth of a Queen, the end of a line. The Last of Pthumeru. Queen Yharnam.

0999 - Pthuremu burns and falls for reasons lost to time. Only two names survive: Yharnam and the Eternal Mergo.

1004 - Kingdoms fall and then rise again. Three were born from the ashes of Pthuremu. The first was Byrgenwerth, an institution founded on knowledge and the desire to See. Cainhurst was the second, strong in their devotion to the strong and their Queen, Annalise. The third was built upon the bones and named after the Last Queen, Yharnam.

1006 - The Blood! The Blood! They of Yharnam cry, joyously, grievingly, as they drink and roar in laughter.

1012 - Yharnam was the home of the Blood Ministration. The Blood was regulated and coveted by other settlements that had been started nearby.

1167 - The Blood corrupts and the Plague of Beasts emerges from its slumber once more. This time, a citizen of Yharnam does not hide but faces the Beasts head on. This man was Gehrman, the First Hunter.

1183 - Provost Willem of Byrgenwerth and his protegee, Laurencce, go their separate ways.

1190 - Laurence begins the Church of the Healing Blood. The people of Yharnam smile and laugh.

1198 - He is the First Vicar. They call it the Healing Church.

1212 - Rom, they chant. Rom, Rom, Rom.

1216 - A small Fishing Hamlet whispering ‘Kos’ is discovered and watched.

1221 - The First Hunter finds a small girl, bloody and shaken, after killing Beasts scavenging a carriage. He takes her to his Hunter’s Workshop, and watches her bright eyes watch his students.

1222 - Her name is Maria. She is of Cainhurst, six winters old, and is given a choice of learning or leaving.

1224 - The Choir, the Choir, they whisper behind closed doors. They found something, people whispered. Maria pays no attention, too absorbed in books given to her by her guardian and teacher, Gehrman.

1227 - Laurence instates Hunters of the Church.

1228 - Maria is twelve. Gehrman has begun her weapons training.

1229 - Maria is thirteen. Gehrman has allowed her to track down a Beast to Hemwick Charnel on her own.

1230 - Rakuyo. Her weapon. One forged by her, for her.

1231 - Maria is fifteen and a family is dead. Her fault.

1233 - Maria completes her training under Gehrman at seventeen and is left to her own devices.

1235 - Yharnam burns, run by Beasts. A Hunter of the Church, Djura, closes the gates of Yharnam as the fires burn.

1236 - The ruins become Old Yharnam as new spires are built. Yharnam is built upon its old ashes and bones.

1240 - Martyr Logarius is Head of the Executioners of the Healing Church. He doesn’t like Maria.

1244 - She has brought horror to the Fishing Hamlet. And then she Sees and its nothing like it had been before andshejustwantsittostopstopstopstopshe’ssorryshedidn’tunderstandwhatcanshedotomakeupforitplease-

1244 - Maria discards the blades she’d loved and takes her own life.

???? - Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower is defeated by a Good Hunter.

So I know this isn’t a chapter. I’m sorry. I became distracted re-watching ‘The Hundred’ again and I’ve been trying to go through every detail of Arc 2 to get it just right. Chapter Six is far from done so I thought this might help clear things up for a few of us, including me.

If you couldn’t tell, I changed the lore of ‘Bloodborne’ around. It’s not the best, but it fits with what I’m going to do in the future. And I’ve already changed a lot of ‘The Hundred’ which will be revealed at a later point.

Anyways, I hope you guys are okay with Ch. 5.1. I might do other ‘Interludes’ if I need to but I’ll play it by ear. Take care you guys.

-Scribble.