Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clarke Griffin sat on the edge of her bunk, staring out the small, circular window at the vast emptiness of space. The stars were nothing more than distant lights, a reminder that she was trapped in a metal box, hurtling through nothingness. The Ark. She could feel the weight of it all—the cold steel walls that held her, the ever-watchful eyes of the Council, the inevitable fate looming over her.

The countdown had begun. Just a few more days until she turned 18. The age when your Daemon—your true self—takes physical form. The age when your life, your soul, is no longer your own. And, for Clarke Griffin, it was also the age when she would die.

Her Daemon, Leah, was her constant companion, invisible to everyone else, but always by her side. Clarke could feel the weight of Leah’s presence beside her, a comforting pressure against her skin as she ran her hand over the cold surface of the window. The mountain lion, silent and steadfast, had been her companion for as long as she could remember. She was always there, bringing her calm and peace with her big green eyes, but she was always out of reach, her fingers grasping air whenever she tried.

There was a time during silent, lonely moments when Clarke's gaze would land on its majestic golden fur, and she wished she could graze her fingers through it, wondering if it was as soft as it looked. A time when she once played with one of her father's Daemon, a dark brown owl, feathers while he was working at the lab. A fond memory before al changed so long ago.

Her little hands grasped at a priceless colored crayon as she tried to capture in a doodle her own daemon Leah, her blonde locks of wild hair strwen across the table. Leah had appeared in front of her soon after turning 5, the golden being leisurely slept in a corner of the small laboratory where her dad worked.

Her fingers itching to touch what no one else but her could see.

"Dad! how is it that you cannot see her?! look his is her!" She brandishes triumphantly her drawing, showing herself, her father, and Leah the feline form consuming pretty much half of the page.

"Hmmm a yellow cat huh? " Leah's ears flickered and she huffed in annoyance but she didn't move from her space, not that she had much space to move in the tiny lab. "Bet she will give us nightmares trying to find her, I had a friend whose Daemon cat kept sneaking under the floor panels"

Clarke frowned as her eyes roamed the imposing figure of her Daemon. "I don't think she will be able to hide under the floor. She's big look!" and she points to her how very unbalanced drawing. "This is me and this is you and this is her!"

Her dad's brow frown and he tilts his head curiously "How big are we talking about? Bigger than you?" Clarke nods excitedly and extends her hands, one of them going through Leah's transparent belly "Bigger!" She pouts and frowns moving her hand struggling to match what she cannot feel to what she can clearly see.

His dad's eyebrow raise in surprise and he smiles nervously at her "Huh a bobcat....a cheetah maybe?" He speaks the words and if Clarke was older and wiser she would have been able to pinpoint the slight desperate plea in his father's question. But Leah huffs once again and shakes her head. Clarke shakes her head along with her. "Bigger!" She giggles craning her head all the way back to catch Leah standing up to full height and looking down on her.

Clarke remembers her dad's eyes lost all spark of amusement then,looking up to the empty space above a 5 year old Clarke's head. Remembers her dad pleading to a younger version of herself to never mention Leah's size ever again and never look into Leah's eyes while around people, telling her that if anyone asked, her Daemon was a little lynx, smaller than her. How he desperately hugged her and told her everything was going to be fine, remembers the way her mom's demeanor shifted and going forward how they constantly looked her way with tear filled eyes.
Whenever her palm tried to grasp the air way above her head  and the one time Astus, her father's Daemon grasped her hand and pushing it down with one of its talons startling her and making her cry. Leah furiously hissing and swiping her tail just before her dad rushes to her side and telling her to never try to touch Leah again.

"You will be able to do it once you turn 18 sweetheart. Please refrain from-"

"I don't want to wait to be 18!" She had cried. "Its too long! I want to be 18 now!"

"Only 5 more days, Leah" She sighs as the back of her head touches the cold metal on her tiny cell. 

Her breath catches in her throat, and she squeezes her eyes shut, willing the panic to subside. She couldn’t afford to break down. Not now. Not when the clock was ticking, and the entire universe seemed to be holding its breath. Not when she knew exactly what would happen once she reached that milestone.

The back of her head touches the cold metal on her tiny cell, her fingers smudged in charcoal stains, a litter of doodles where she used the charcoal to paint the walls, fill them all almost from top to bottom. She painted a jungle where she fantasized she and Leah would have all the space to run through, where they had the freedom they did not currently have in this confined cell. It felt like an eternity back then. A time were she couldn't wait a second longer to turn 18 and now she wishes time would stop altogether, just like her father's watch. 

She lets out a sob, wishing he had never done what he did.

If she had known all those years ago why he always did all he could to keep the secret of Leah's size from everyone.

If she had been observant enough to notice not a single adult's Daemon was bigger than 3-4 foot tall the chancellors being one of the biggest allowed, a grey wolf that she used to play with along with her once best friend Wells even though the Daemon mostly just flicked his tail unamusedly and disengaged from the pair of kids trying to catch his attention.

Maybe that should have been her first sign of alarm.

Daemons reflected their owner's behaviors, emotions, and feelings. The very representation of their soul.

2 years ago, her dad in an attempt to find a way to hide her Daemon's identity had found a breach in the Ark's oxygen supply. He had tried to warn everyone of their impending doom. 

She remembers the calm and disengaged demeanor of Chancellor Jaha's Daemon as its almost turned the corner, having heard everything and with no hesitation whatsoever jumped at him and dragged him through the corridors, bloodied and bruised, the commotion causing guards to stop Clarke in her tracks crying out for her dad.

She remembers the last time she saw her father, accused of treason and promptly floated into space.

All because of her.

The Ark's laws were definitive any crime no matter how minor was punishable by death for an adult. A huge Daemon like hers promised to be was too much of a burden in terms of space, food and oxygen. Closely akin to having more than one child though that one crime was worse frowned upon. Of course they never had grounds to punish anyone under the age of 18 when their Daemons, would be able to communicate through their soul and would be revealed to everyone else. It usually was a motive for celebration. 
 

Not for her. Not for her Family.


"Prisioner 319 face the wall!"

Chapter Text

he ground shook beneath the dropship as it slammed into the earth with a deafening roar. Clarke’s breath hitched, her body jarred against the restraints. The crash was brutal, forcing the air from her lungs and leaving her ears ringing. For a moment, everything was still—the kind of stillness that comes right before panic sets in.

The silence broke as the harnesses released with a mechanical hiss. Clarke scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding. Around her, chaos erupted: teenagers shouting, shoving, the metallic clang of boots on steel. She turned instinctively, searching for Leah, and found her daemon crouched beside her, emerald eyes gleaming in the dim light of the cabin.

Earth. They were really here.

Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: The Ark is dying, Clarke. The Council won’t admit it, but the systems are failing. He had been right all along, but this—sending a hundred of them to Earth, unprepared, unarmed—felt like another death sentence.

In Jaha’s unflinching words before the video feed cut off: They were expendable.

“Everyone calm down!” Clarke shouted over the noise, her voice carrying an authority that silenced some, but not all. A girl tripped over a harness in her haste, and a boy shoved past her, rushing toward the lower level of the ship. Others edged away from the unconscious bodies of the two reckless ones who had followed Finn. Clarke’s stomach churned at the sight. “You—Finn, are they breathing?” she demanded, scrambling to check one of the fallen boys. She gasped, finding his pulse faint but steady, and turned to Finn, who stood frozen, staring blankly ahead in shock.

“The outer door is on the lower level. Let’s go!” someone shouted, snapping her back to the present. An avalanche of kids began climbing down the hatch to follow the call.

Clarke’s stomach twisted. “No! We can’t just open the doors!” she yelled, hurrying down the ladder after them. Leah phased through the floor to keep pace.

On the lower level, the chaos continued. Some kids stood frozen, staring at empty spots—likely their daemons, invisible to others—while others pressed forward, excitement overpowering caution. Clarke’s gaze locked on a tall boy with dark hair standing at the hatch lever.

“Stop!” she shouted, pushing her way to the front. “The air could be toxic!”

A low growl rumbled through the cabin. The boy’s daemon, a lean wolf with sharp eyes, bared its teeth, drawing startled gasps. Clarke’s eyes widened along with the others; no one had expected to see a daemon here, not among the underaged delinquents.

Leah stepped forward, her golden form tense, muscles coiled as if ready to pounce. A growl escaped her throat, though no one but Clarke reacted to her presence. Her massive, translucent form phased through a cluster of stunned teens, who cowered before the wolf at the boy’s side.

“We’re not waiting for orders,” the boy said, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. “If the air is toxic, we’re all dead anyway.”

“Bellamy?”

The voice came from behind. A tanned girl climbed down the hatch, pushing through the crowd. Bellamy froze, his grip on the lever loosening as he turned.

“Octavia, Look how big you are,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

Whispers filled the air—Octavia, the infamous girl who had lived under the floor for over fourteen years. The two siblings embraced, a moment of connection breaking through the tension.

Clarke’s jaw tightened after a minute. She could feel the divide forming already: those eager to rush outside and those too afraid to move. “We need to stick together,” she said, stepping closer to Bellamy and Octavia.

“Do you mind?” Octavia snapped, turning to face Clarke with fire in her eyes. “I haven’t seen my brother in a year.”

The murmurs swelled, someone snickering about the sibling pair. Octavia lunged, but Bellamy held her back. His wolf barked sharply, silencing the noise. Leah growled again, a low, resonant sound that none but Clark could hea, and Clarke instinctively reached out to calm her, though her hand fell lower than it would have. Years of hiding Leah’s true size had ingrained the motion in her. Her hand ghosted through Leah’s massive paw as she hunched down just above her ankle, the sight not lost on Bellamy.

He glances at his wolf, then back at Clarke paying the air above her ankle, as if measuring the size of his daemon to hers “A plan?” he echoed, mocking her words.

Clarke ignored his attitude, her eyes flicking nervously to the lever. “If we’re going to survive, we need to think this through.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, his daemon circling him with predatory grace. “You’re welcome to stay behind and make one. The rest of us are going out.”

Without a second to waste, he pulls the lever. Clarke freezes midstep in an attempt to stop him.

The hatch creaks open, sunlight flooding the cabin. Clarke raised a hand to shield her eyes as the world outside revealed itself. For a moment, the chaos stilled. The hundred teens stared in awe at the world they had only seen in history books and faded holograms.

Green. Trees, impossibly tall, stretch toward the sky, their leaves shimmering in the sunlight. Clarke’s breath caught in her throat as she felt a breeze for the first time. It was thick and rich with scents she couldn’t name. Wonder and terror warred within her.

“We’re back, bitches!” Octavia yelled, her voice breaking the spell. A cheer erupted, the teens spilling out of the dropship in a frenzy of laughter and shouts. They ran through the clearing, kicking up leaves, their joy infectious.

Clarke takes a tentative step forward. The world outside is alive in a way the Ark never was. The vast expanse of the green forest stretched before them, both beautiful and terrifying in its unknown vastness. With everyone else otherwise occupied, she chances a glance craning her head towards Leah's face a little bit above her head. Her daemon's vibrant emerald eyes dance around taking in the expanse of green in front of them, breathing in deeply, expression filled with a longing they never dared fathom but in their deepest fantasies within their tiny cell.

For the first time in years, her daemon’s emerald gaze sparkled with unrestrained excitement. Leah breathes deeply once again taking in the scents of the forest, Clarke’s heart swelled, tears pricking her eyes when her daemon's eyes meet hers.

Clarke steps forward, tentative at first, then faster and faster. Leah matches her stride, her silent steps close and steady. Soon, Clarke breaks into a sprint, laughter bubbling out of her free and unbidden. She breathes in the thick, vibrant air of Earth, so unlike the stale, sterile air of the Ark.

After a few minutes of running until her legs feel the weight of adjusting to Earths real gravity, she stops, panting, breathing in and savoring each earhty smell wafting from the greenery under her feet. Leah circles her, tilting her head as if to remind Clarke not to stray too far. Clarke falls on her back, still smiling, the reality of their new world sinking in. 

We are back.

It doesn’t take long for the delinquents to stir up trouble just as Clarke returns from her brief, jubilant dash through the forest.

A crowd gathers near the dropship, tension rippling through the air. At the center stand Wells Jaha, his hand raised in a futile attempt to calm the group, and the Blake siblings, arms crossed in defiance.

“You heard my father’s message,” Wells begins, his voice steady but strained. “Finding Mount Weather is our top priority.”

“Screw your father,” Octavia snaps, her tone sharp and cutting. “What? You think you’re in charge because Jaha’s golden boy got sent here to babysit us, just like on the Ark?”

Wells doesn’t flinch but briefly glances toward an empty spot on a tree behind the siblings before refocusing on Octavia. “And you think you and your brother should be in charge?” he retorts, stepping forward. His movement halts abruptly as Bellamy’s wolf daemon growls low, baring its teeth in warning.

Bellamy smirks at Wells’ hesitation, his confidence amplified by the wolf circling at his feet. “The way I see it,” Bellamy says, spreading his arms theatrically, “I’m the only adult here who can protect anyone—with or without my daemon.” His hand slips to the small of his back, producing a pistol. “So, yeah, I think I should be in charge.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd.

“I only see a rogue bully with a daemon and a weapon,” Wells shoots back, anger simmering beneath his words. “Not so different from the guards on the Ark. Where’s your wristband, Bellamy? Who says you’re not one of them?”

Bellamy stiffens, his smirk replaced by a sharp glare. “Listen, you entitled—”

“Enough!” Clarke cuts in, stepping between them. Her voice carries a weight that silences the murmurs around her. “You’re both missing the point. It doesn’t matter who’s in charge! What matters is getting to Mount Weather.” She turns, addressing the wider crowd. “Not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we’ll get, and the harder it’ll be to make the trip. How long do you think we’ll last without those supplies? We need to leave—now.”

Bellamy’s laugh is a slow, mocking drawl. “I’ve got a better idea,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “Why don’t you and Jaha’s little sidekick go find it for us? Time the privileged kids did the hard work for a change.” He throws a glance back at the crowd, who cheer in approval.

“You’re not listening!” Wells steps forward, his frustration evident. A scrawny boy trailing behind him shoves Clarke aside to follow. “We all need to go togeth—”

Wells’ words cut off with a sharp cry of pain. The scrawny boy’s jackal daemon has latched onto his leg, its sharp teeth digging into his flesh. Wells stumbles and falls, instinctively kicking at the animal.

“I don’t remember voting for a Chancellor on Earth,” the boy sneers, his pale, narrow eyes gleaming with malice. He raises his foot to kick Wells again, but Clarke moves instinctively, only to freeze and jump back as Leah’s low growl rumbles behind her, a warning not to step too close. Narrowly avoiding a snap of jaws from the boy's Daemon.

Wells manages to doge a kick to his side as he scrambles back to his feet, favoring his injured leg as he lifts his hands defensively. His eyes dart nervously between the jackal and its owner.

The jackal crouches, readying for another leap, when suddenly a smaller black creature drops from above and bites on its neck, pushing the whimpering canine daemon to the ground.

“Hey, Murphy!” The space-walker's voice- Finn, cuts through the commotion. He drops into the fray from an elevated ledge of the dropship, landing between Wells and the scrawny boy—Murphy.“ Kid is on one leg 2v1, “ Finn lets out a shrill whistle and the dark daemon raining bites on Murphy’s daemon jumps off as it scrambles and limps to the side, ears flat and cowering in defeat. Finn towers just an inch above Murphy, his Daemon swiftly climbing up his body until he perches on his shoulder. An angry Racoon, Clarke finally identifies. “How about you wait until it’s a fair fight, huh?” Finn smirks when his Daemon snarls threateningly making Murphy clench his jaw and take a step back.

The tension dissolves as Octavia—ever the opportunist—makes a shamelessly flirty remark toward Finn. The crowd chuckles, the mood shifting, and Murphy retreats, grumbling under his breath. The Blake siblings exchange a few snarky remarks as the others begin to disperse.

Clarke shakes her head, exhaling heavily. She steps forward to help Wells hobble to a quieter spot near the edge of the dropship. His leg is bleeding, the bite deep, and his ankle already swelling from his earlier fall.

“We need to leave soon,” Wells says through gritted teeth, wincing as Clarke presses a clean piece of gauze to the wound.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Clarke replies firmly. “Not with that ankle. And we can’t just pick a direction and hope to stumble across Mount Weather. We need to get our bearings.”

“Would a map and compass help?” Finn interjects from behind her, a boyish grin spreading across his face. He holds up a folded map in one hand, his raccoon daemon clutching a compass almost too large for its tiny paws.

Clarke barely manages to suppress a smile as Leah lower herself, her head all the way to the ground and gazes curiously at the little daemon that is barely the size of her head.

“It could help,” Clarke admits, taking the map from Finn’s outstretched hand. “But only if we’re close enough to any of these landmarks. If we landed too far off course…”

“Way ahead of you, Princess.” Finn smirks, then falters under Clarke’s pointed glare. “Right. Sorry. Uh, Jasper and Monty mentioned seeing something earlier—a tall building, glinting in the sun.”

Clarke raises a brow. “Who?”

“Monty! Jas! Over here!” Finn calls out, waving at two boys loitering nearby. One, a tan boy with a thoughtful expression, and the other, lanky with goggles perched atop his head, jog over.

“Monty.” Finn nods to the first boy, then gestures to the second. “Jasper. And this is…” He glances at Clarke, waiting for her to introduce herself.

“Clarke,” she supplies, awkwardly extending a hand. The boys high-five her instead, leaving her momentarily flustered.

"Hey this is the first time I see you were you new at the skybox?"

"Yo- Monty I think this is that isolation girl, whatever did you do to get such a sentence unlike the rest of us..." He then takes a step back warily eyeing her. "Did you murder someone?"

“No!" Clarke shakes her head vigorously, the pair of boys letting out a sigh in relief. "Long story and we haven't much time. Anyway, about that building…” Clarke prompts, refocusing the conversation.

“Yeah!” Jasper pipes up. “We think it’s a skyscraper. You can just see the top from that cliff over there—maybe 40-50 miles away? There are some mountains in the way, though.”

Clarke spreads the map on the ground, the group huddling around it. “If it’s a skyscraper, we might be near one of these cities…” She points to two locations on the map. “Washington, D.C. here, or Baltimore up here. If it’s either of those, Mount Weather would be…” Her finger drifts westward before stopping on a mark far from the cities. “Here.”

Her face falls. “Best case? We’re 25 miles from the skyscraper, and it’s another 50 miles to Mount Weather. Worst case, if it’s Baltimore, it’ll take twice as long. Without supplies…” She sighs, looking around. “It’s suicide.”

Finn’s grin is small but persistent. “So… when do we leave?”

Clarke shakes her head, already feeling the weight of the impossible task before them.

“Yo- I don’t remember seeing you or that Bellamy dude before in the sky box…” Monty tilts his head curiously then Jasper jumps ahead excitedly.

“Are you are the infamous isolation girl? Whatever did you do to end up in special treatment unlike the rest of us?!”

Clarke shuffles uncomfortably brushing her arm with a grimace. “Long story and we really need to go before it gets dark, Finn said you two found a tall building somewhere?”

“Yeah, I mean we think it’s a tall tower of sorts? You can only see the top glinting in the sun from above that cliff over there, It looks about 50 miles away give or take? There is a couple of mountains in the way”

“Well, “ Clarke spreads the map and everyone huddles around it, though their blank faces gave away they had no idea what they were looking at. “If it’s a skyscraper we might be nearby one of these cities…we have Washington DC here, “ Clarkes points to one point on the lower right end of the map. “Or Baltimore up here” pointing quite a way north east. If its one of these two cities then mount weather would be…” Clarke finds the land mark and she deflates “here” She points father away to the west of those two cities “Fuck, best case scenario if we are about 25 miles away from the skyscraper, its another 50 mile trek to Mount Weather. Worst case scenario if its Baltimore, though downhill It will take twice the amount of time! We will die of dehydration or starve before getting to and from”

“So… when do we leave?” Finn asks with an awkward smile.

Clarke shakes her head, her frustration evident. “Without supplies, it’s a suicide mission.”

“It was a suicide mission the moment they sent us here,” Wells speaks up from behind her, his voice tight but resolute. “We might as well try.”

“You’re not going anywhere like that,” Clarke says firmly, gesturing toward his injured ankle.

Finn steps in, shrugging casually. “So, Clarke, Monty, Jasper, and me. That’s four of us—”

“That sounds like a party. Make it five, count me in,” Octavia says as she strides toward them, her arms swinging confidently. Bellamy follows close behind, his expression darkening.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, his voice low and sharp.

“Going for a walk,” Octavia replies with a raised brow, her tone daring him to challenge her. “You won’t control me, Bellamy. I’ve been controlled my whole life, and I won’t stand for it anymore.”

Bellamy exhales heavily, his frustration evident, but after a beat, he nods toward the group. “Keep her safe,” he says, not waiting for a response before pulling Octavia into a brief hug getting distracted by someone calling for him at the makeshift camp He jogs back, his steps heavy with tension.

The group exchanges glances, Finn and Jasper shrugging off the moment as they start moving toward the cliff. Monty trails behind them, his gaze flicking between Octavia and Clarke.

Clarke lingers for a moment, her eyes meeting Wells’. She offers a silent nod of farewell before turning to follow the others. Octavia falls into step beside her.

“Hey, before you get any ideas—Finn is mine,” Octavia says, her voice light but pointed.

Clarke grimaces in disgust. “Before you get any ideas: I don’t care.”

Leah huffs proudly and shakes her head along with Clarke in distaste at the mere idea of her soulkin merging souls even if briefly with such a tiny little daemon.

Its barely midday and they are able to fully see the majesting skyscraper in the distance before everything goes to shit. 

Jasper takes a spear to the chest, the force of the blow sending him staggering back before he collapses. Monty cries out as an arrow lodges into his shoulder, the impact spinning him to the ground. Octavia goes missing somewhere in the midst of chaos.
The group, reduced to two and a half, stumbles into an underground bunker, panic driving their movements. By some miracle, the space contains sealed bottles of water and a trove of spoiled food. Clarke finds an old medkit on the wall and leather satchels filled with dried berries and jerky that seem more recent.

She shudders at the realization: this might be a resting spot for whoever attacked them. The thought spurs her into action. She sends Leah outside to stand watch, her daemon disappearing silently into the trees. She prowls outside, serving as an invisible watcher to notify Clarke in case of any movement, friend or foe whilst she works on Monty’s back.

Luckily it’s a shallow injury and Clarke manages to disinfect it cleaning it after boiling some water and patching it up. By the time they are done though its getting dark so they all decide to crash at the bunker for the night. Leah and Monty’s daemon, who he reveals to be an otter, taking turns to stand as invisible scouts outside while the trio of teens rest for the night

While Leah prowls the perimeter, Clarke works on Monty’s back. His wound is shallow, and she manages to clean it with boiled water before patching it up.

By the time she finishes, dusk has settled over the forest.

They decide to spend the night in the bunker, despite the risks. Leah and Monty’s daemon, who, he reveals to them that he will be a white otter named Josh, take turns scouting outside. Finn’s daemon, Rico, perches on a high shelf inside, keeping watch over the trio as they attempt to rest.

The night is restless, filled with the haunting sounds of the forest. Dawn comes too soon, and they scramble up the hatch, jogging back toward the dropship. They take advantage once again of their unrevealed daemons and Clarke sends Leah to scout ahead while Monty's daemon, Josh, lingers at the back, ready to alert Monty to any danger that might be following behind them. Rico clings to Finn’s head, its small body swiveling to scan both sides as they run covering all their angles.

They reach the dropship hours later, exhausted, hungry, and dehydrated. Earth’s gravity weighs on their bodies in ways they aren’t used to, the strain of the journey evident in every step.

Clarke pushes through the dense foliage just in time to see Wells on the ground, blood dripping from his hands as he clutches Murphy’s neck, a knife poised to slice his throat.

“What the fuck is going on?!” she shouts, her voice cutting through the chaos.

All eyes turn to the trio. The crowd, gathered in a tense circle, parts slightly as Bellamy steps forward. His wolf daemon growls at anyone who dares approach too closely.

Bellamy’s gaze lands on Finn first, then scans the woods behind them. When no one else appears, his jaw tightens. “Where’s the food?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous. “Where’s my sister?”

Finn steps forward, his expression grim. Rico snarls softly from his shoulder. “We didn’t make it to the skyscraper.”

Bellamy’s voice rises. “Then what the hell happened out there? You look like shit.”

“Please,” Clarke snaps, her sarcasm biting. “We were out there with barely any supplies while you’ve been here, covered in grime and mud, wasting your energy fighting each other. Tell me—did you find food? Water? Shelter?”

Her gaze sweeps over the crowd, meeting no resistance as they shuffle uncomfortably, avoiding her eyes.

“That’s what I thought.” She levels them with a glare and spins back toward Wells, her voice sharp. “Wells, where’s your wristband?”

Wells glares at Bellamy, his voice bitter. “Ask him.”

Clarke’s fists clench, her knuckles white as her nails dig into her palms, certain her long fingernails will leave raging dents the moment she releases the tension. Leah prowls around Bellamy and lays down, placing her head on the ground and shaking her head behind him, she stares up at Clarke, green eyes peering to her own keeping her centered. Clarke breathes out through the grit in her voice can still be heard. “How many?”

When no one answers her eyes pierce through Bellamy's.

“How many?” Clarke demands, her voice trembling with barely restrained fury.

“Twenty four and counting, princess” Murphy replies on the side sardonically.

“Twenty-four and counting, princess,” Murphy replies with a sardonic grin.

“You idiots…” Clarke turns to the crowd, her glare piercing. Half of them hide their bare wrists, while the rest avert their eyes. “You think this is a joke? Life support on the Ark is failing—that’s why they sent us here! They need to know if Earth is survivable again, and we need their help to survive out here, to help us against what’s out there—”

“What’s out there?” Bellamy snaps. “Where is my sister? Where’s the guy with the goggles?”

“Not what. Who,” Finn says, catching his breath.

“Grounders,” Monty adds from the back. His words drop into the silence like a stone into deep water, only broken by Murphy’s scoff. 

“That’s not possible”

“They shot me” Monty continues, showing the bloody patch on his back.

“It’s true,” Finn insists. “Everything we thought about the ground is wrong. There are people here. Survivors.”

“Good news,” Clarke interjects, “is that the radiation won’t kill us here.”

“Bad news is, the Grounders will,” Finn says grimly.

“Says the weaklings who ran with their tails between their legs!” Bellamy shouts. “You left my sister behind!”

“You think we had a choice?” Monty snaps, stepping toward him despite the growling wolf at Bellamy’s side. “Jasper took a spear to the chest! He is my best friend! And we had to run, we didnt want to leave anyone behind. We thought Octavia was right behind us.”

“Because you didn't care! If I had been there—”

“But you weren’t!” Clarke interrupts, stepping between them and gently pushing Monty back before fists can fly. Her voice drips with venom as she faces Bellamy. “You were too busy doing whatever the hell you want, to care. Forcing everyone to take off their wristbands. For what? To play king? Well, congratulations, Bellamy. You’ve just gotten us all one day closer to death—on the Ark and here on Earth. I wish you had been there. Maybe you or your mutt—” The wolf daemon bristles, growling, but a dark, withering look from Clarke silences it. Bellamy shifts uncomfortably as Clarke closes the distance, forcing him back until his shoulders press against a tree. “Maybe you would have taken the hit instead of them. One less big-headed, useless idiot to deal with,” she seethes.

The silence is deafening.

“We are stronger than you think.” Bellamy speaks as he looks to the crowd, stepping around her and avoiding her gaze. “She is one of the privileged, if the Ark comes down, she will have it good. How many of us can say the same?”

Wells, Finn and Monty scoff shaking their head whilst something within Clarke snaps as Bellamy's impassioned speech continues.

“We can take care of ourselves! The wristband in your arm makes you a prisoner, we are not prisoners anymore! They say they will forgive your crimes, well I say you are not criminals!”

“As if condemning the whole Ark and the rest of us who isn’t fit to survive, as you say, is not a crime?” Clarke’s voice carries a different weight than moments before. Soft and melodic, seemingly passive in its essence, calm. Almost too calm.

“They sent us down here,” Bellamy retorts. “We’re fighters. Survivors. The Grounders should be worried about us. Whatever happens to them up there in the future—they had it coming.”

“How many up there do you think deserve that?”

Clarke prowls around him now, her motions calculated. Leah mirrors her, emerald eyes glowing as they stay locked on Bellamy.

"They locked Octavia just for being born, she did nothing wrong. They had it coming" he doubles down.

“You’re right,Bellamy—most of us aren’t criminals,” she continues, her voice a sharp edge. “But you say it so easily.” She stops, her arms loosely folded behind her back, studying him as if weighing his worth. After a moment, she looks at him through her lashes, her gaze heavy with disappointment.

“Have you really thought about the implications of what you’re saying?” She addresses the crowd now, her words sharp but filled with purpose. “I don’t stand with the Council. The Chancellor floated my father, his best friend, without a shred of regret. Floated my father In front of his own wife and daughter, I barely got the chance to say goodbye. Accused of treason for trying to warn everyone about the life support failing. I watched his daemon suffocate before they floated him into space.“They put me in isolation for two years to shut me up. Waiting for my turn once I turned eighteen. You had each other in the Skybox. I only had my daemon and four walls.”

Chapter Text

Leah circled the group uneasily, her sleek form tense, tail flicking restlessly as her eyes darted between the shadows of the trees. From the moment they’d started this expedition, her behavior had been off. Twice now, she’d fixated on something unseen in the treetops—ears perked, fur bristling, letting out low, warning growls.

Each time, Clarke had called her back, her voice steady but strained. Yet Leah always returned to her patrol, never fully relaxed, her sharp gaze sweeping their surroundings as though expecting danger to strike at any moment.

The group paused at a clearing to drink from a small stream. Clarke knelt by a flat stone, checking their progress on the map spread before her. She tried to focus, but her attention was pulled to Leah, who had gone still, her laser-focused gaze pinned to an empty branch at the edge of the clearing.

Clarke frowned and was about to stand and investigate when Bellamy’s voice rang out behind her.

“Maybe if people stopped standing around giving orders, we’d actually get moving!”

Clarke turned, catching the tail end of Bellamy’s glare aimed squarely at Atom. A small crowd had gathered, their interest drawn to the brewing confrontation.

“Someone has to do it,” Atom shot back, voice tight. “Otherwise, they’ll take even longer.”

“And who said you could do it? Think you’ve got the guts to play chancellor?”

“Do you?” Atom sneered. “What was it again? ‘Whatever the hell we want’? Or is it just ‘whatever the hell you want’?”

Bellamy stepped closer, his tone low and threatening. “If the position’s up for grabs, I’ll take it.” He squared his shoulders and bumped Atom hard, nearly provoking a fight.

Before things could escalate, Clarke moved between them.

“That’s enough!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “We don’t have time for this. Every second you waste fighting is another second we lose. If you want to lead so badly, then prove it—by doing something useful for once. Atom,” she added, turning to him, her voice softening. “Monty needs help with the water filters. You used to work on filtration systems back on the Ark, didn’t you?”

Atom blinked, surprised at the recognition, and the fight drained from his posture. He nodded silently, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes.

“Can you help him out?” Clarke asked, her tone almost pleading, accompanied by a small, encouraging smile.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Since when are we taking orders from you again?”

Atom shot Bellamy a side-eye glare, but Clarke placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Atom, please?”

After a tense moment, Atom exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing. He nodded at Clarke and jogged off toward Monty without another word. Clarke turns and gives Bellamy a deadpan look “Bellamy. You still have your gun?”

Bellamy just lifts his shirt, showing the gun in response.

“Good, you take the front of the group and keep watch.” She walks around him and hoists a backpack filled with staps from the dropship.

Bellamy scowls and scoffs. “And why would I do what you say?”

Clarke gives him a saccharine smile as she leans in to whisper. “Because you want them,” She nods with her head to the watching crowd. “To follow you. And right now? They only think one of us is fit to do it. And its not the person with a gun and a daemon.” She lifts an eyebrow daring him to reply back.

“And for them to follow me…I have to follow you... I still don’t see a benefit to it, princess. Besides…” Bellamy muttered as he stepped closer, towering over her, “You’re not in charge,” Bellamy growled as Clarke turned her back to him.

“Never said I was. You should understand the difference between giving orders and working along as a team. Monty needs help, Atom is the best one to do that. If you cared to learn from the people you enjoying giving orders to, maybe they wouldn't challenge you back.” she replied, meeting his gaze with an even stare. “If you knew a single thing about being a true leader you'd know that."

A few quiet chuckles rippled through the crowd. Bellamy’s wolf daemon stepped forward, circling Clarke with a low growl, but she didn’t flinch. Her calm refusal to back down only seemed to irritate him further.

“Following you around is just going to end with all of us either killed or running for our lives. You just need more people to use as cover.”

Bellamy’s wolf daemon circled Clarke slowly, its growl low and threatening. Around them, the group murmured quietly, a few snickering at her retort. Finn and Wells approached, Finn’s eyes meeting Clarke’s with a silent question: Need help?

Clarke gave a subtle shake of her head. She wasn’t backing down.

Leah sidles up next to her finally stepping away from the tree and circling Bellamy from the back.

Clarke’s lips curled into a tight, humorless smile. “Sure, Bellamy. That was my plan all along. How truly genius of me to want to drag the only people who care enough to follow me to Mount Weather into danger.”

She brushes past him once again and hoists a heavy backpack filled with ropes and makeshift waterskins as well as dry wood for a fire. With a smirk, she shoved it into Bellamy’s hands. “Since you’re so eager to lead,” Clarke said, her tone dripping with sarcasm, “you should start off with this.”

“Leadership,” Clarke shot back, her voice sharp and mocking. “Heavy, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for a reply, instead turning her attention to Charlotte, who was struggling to secure a smaller pack. Clarke crouched beside the girl, offering her an encouraging smile as she adjusted the straps.

Bellamy scoffed loudly behind her, his wolf daemon circling once more, its tail flicking in irritation. “You really think that little stunt’s going to win people over?”

“I don’t care about winning people over,” Clarke said without looking back. Her gaze travels to the eyes of the onlookers, giving them all a pointed nod toward the supplies that still needed packing. Most of them get the hint and scramble to help her out. “I care about keeping us alive. Something you might want to try for once.”

The tension in the clearing was palpable. A few of the onlookers exchanged uncertain glances, but no one dared to step in. Bellamy’s jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping over the crowd before locking back on Clarke.

“Fine,” Bellamy muttered, hefting the pack onto his shoulder with a grunt. “But don’t think for a second that I’m doing this for you. This is for Octavia.”

“Good,” Clarke replied, rising to her feet. “They probably captured Octavia, and Jasper screamed when they took him. If the spear had struck his heart, he would’ve died instantly. He should still be alive. That doesn’t mean we have time to waste.”

Bellamy didn’t respond, but his wolf daemon huffed, padding over to him with its amber eyes locked on Clarke. He turned away, muttering something under his breath as he moved to help with the water filters.

The crowd began to disperse, murmuring quietly. A few people approached Clarke, offering thanks for stepping in. She dismissed them gently, urging everyone to focus on preparing to leave.

“Let’s move out soon,” she called out, her voice carrying authority despite her exhaustion. “Gather around in fifteen minutes!”

The group gave a mix of affirmatives, some grudging, as they returned to their tasks. Wells stepped up beside her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

“You handled that well,” he said softly. “But you need to take your own advice. You’re running yourself ragged.”

“I’m fine,” Clarke replied quickly, brushing him off.

“Are you?” Wells asked, his tone pointed.

Before she could respond, a flicker of light caught her eye—a fleeting glow, like embers rising from a fire. She turned sharply, her heart skipping a beat.

“Did you see that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Wells followed her gaze, squinting into the treetops. “See what?”

Ahead, Leah froze, her fur bristling as she let out a low, warning growl. Clarke’s pulse quickened.

“There,” she said, pointing toward a gnarled branch at the edge of the clearing. The faint glow disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only shadows.

Wells frowned, glancing back at Clarke. “Your daemon still acting up?”

Clarke shook her head, forcing herself to focus. “She’s just being cautious. She’s worried we might be ambushed again.”

“No kidding,” Wells said, raising an eyebrow.

“She’s just… jumpy,” Clarke added hesitantly.

Wells tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. “Leah. Your daemon. The embodiment of your soul. Is jumpy. But you say you are...fine?” His voice was gentle but firm. “That’s a contradiction, Clarke.”

Clarke opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself, her shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken fears.

“You weren’t there, Wells. I’m glad you weren’t. Your ankle still isn’t at 100%. I can’t even imagine what would’ve happened if you had been there.” She swallowed hard, frustration creeping into her tone. “Most of the group hasn’t had a proper meal in days. I know some of them didn’t even bother filtering or boiling the river water before drinking it. We need food, medicinal plants, anything to keep going.”

Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to take a steadying breath. “And time’s ticking. We’re wasting sunlight. Bellamy’s out here recruiting bullies and trying to convince them to take of their wristbands for some godforsaken reason, and we need him if we’re going to find Octavia or Jasper.”

Her voice broke on the names. “They were with me yesterday, Wells. And now they’re gone. I lost them.”

Another flicker of embers appeared in her periphery, this time closer than before. Clarke turned sharply, her heart lurching. But as before, the strange light vanished almost as soon as it had come.

“I swear I keep seeing some kind of fire in the trees,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. Leah let out another low growl, pacing at the base of the tree. “And I— I just—”

A sob rose in her throat, and she bit it back, her breathing unsteady.

Wells stepped closer, placing both hands on her shoulders. His steady gaze met her reddened eyes. “Breathe, Clarke,” he said softly, his voice grounding her.

She shook her head, blinking rapidly. “I feel like I’m losing my mind,” she confessed. “And I can’t help but think Bellamy might be right.”

Wells tilted his head. “Right about what?” a hint of mischief flashing in his eyes. “Oh, about needing someone to lead? Yeah, I hate to say it, but I agree with him.”

Clarke gave him a sharp look, but he only squeezed her shoulders lightly, his smile widening.

“Feel free to take charge, Wells,” she muttered. “I’m not interested in power. I just want to make sure we all stay safe. And for the record, I meant what Bellamy said about leading us to our deaths.”

Wells shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Clarke, you weren’t here yesterday. Let me tell you—Bellamy was doing just fine leading us to our deaths before you got back. Besides they already sent us here to die and we are still here.”

Clarke’s lips twitched despite herself, but she said nothing.

Wells continued, his voice dropping slightly. “And you know why no one here will back me up. It’s not about power. It’s about trust. A Jaha sent us here. And most of them trust you in a way.”

"In a way..."

Wells’ expression softened. “Give them a chance. Let us help. You’re not alone in this, Clarke.”

She  lets out a loud exhale at his words and forced herself to relax, her gaze swept over the group—Monty helping the younger kids with water, Finn checking the supplies, and scattered faces tinged with exhaustion and worry.

Forcing a deep breath, Clarke straightened her shoulders. “We need a better plan than just hoping we’ll make it to Mount Weather in time,” she said, her tone decisive. “Not everyone’s fit or fed enough to get there without collapsing.”

“Got any ideas?” Wells asked.

“Not without risk,” Clarke admitted grimly. “We’re a bunch of unarmed kids with barely any knowledge of Earth and only two visible daemons. One’s unpredictable and dangerous, and neither are a match for fully grown adults with their own daemons.”

Wells opened his mouth but shuts it right away with a frown, his eyes narrowing as he glances toward a low branch above their heads. His gaze then shifts toward the riverbank, where two kids stood too quietly. After a moment, he nodded to the branch.

“What is it?” Clarke asked, frowning in confusion.

“They like to sneak off and… experiment,” Wells muttered, his tone disapproving. “I had Rook keep an eye on them. They’re good at hiding and covering each other’s back so it's hard to catch them red-handed, but," HE turns and gives her a smirk. "good thing you can’t hide from what you can’t see.” 

Wells then scrambles toward the pair, who tried to scatter. One was quickly hauled up by Finn who had been waiting on Wells signal, and held the kid like a sack of potatoes.

Clarke frowned, pondering Wells’ words. Can’t hide from what you can’t see… Her gaze drifted to Leah’s massive form prowling the edges of the group, her movements ghosting through people unnoticed.

Suddenly, Clarke’s eyes widened, an idea forming. “Wells, you’re a genius!”

“What?” Wells turned, confused, as Finn struggled to keep hold of the squirming kid.

“That’s it!” Clarke exclaimed, her face alight with excitement. “We don’t need to know what we’re up against—we just need to know where they’re hiding!”

Wells sidled back to her, his brow furrowed. “Clarke, are you—”

“Everyone!” Clarke called out, cutting him off. “Gather around in five minutes! Don’t leave anything behind!” Her gaze darted to Monty and Bellamy. “You two—I need your help with something.”

Groans and mutters echoed through the clearing, but Clarke ignored them, her determined eyes meeting Wells’ confused ones.

“This is going to work,” she said firmly, her wild grin unshaken.

The plan is simple: turn their greatest weakness into an advantage.

As a group of mostly underaged teens and kids, they had 61 unrevealed daemons—61 pairs of invisible eyes that could travel half a mile or more ahead without getting lost or drawing attention. These unseen companions were invaluable scouts, but Clarke needed to deploy them effectively. Not all daemons could make sounds—let alone loud, distinguishable ones—which was critical for the plan's success.

Building on the original scouting strategy they’d devised the day before while they ran for their lives, Clarke gathered the group—though she noted, with some irony, that they still hadn’t settled on a better name than “delinquents.” They had to work on that sometime soon...

She enlisted the help of Wells, Monty, Finn, and Bellamy to canvas the group and gather information about each daemon’s abilities.

Some were eager to share, describing their daemons with pride. A mix of canines, small birds, insects, felines, and even a few aquatic creatures made up the bulk of the group. A few, however, were guarded or vague, unwilling to reveal much. Clarke understood. On the Ark, questioning a daemon’s nature often led to suspicion—and punishment. She didn’t pry, assuring them that any information they were willing to share would help the group.

By the end of their survey, Clarke had enough to work with. She called everyone together and laid out the plan:

“Our daemons are invisible to others, which gives us a unique advantage, all gains, no risk.” she began, her voice clear and steady. “We’ll set up a scouting perimeter as we move. Those of you with daemons that can fly or make loud cries will send them further ahead and will patrol around. Pay attention to their signals—any signs of danger or resources like food and water. I want you to establish two distinct signals with your daemons: one for danger and another one for resources. For those with burrowing daemons, keep them close and watch for edible roots.”

She unfolded a small, rough parchment onto a flat surface. “Monty, Wells, I need your expertise. Help me draw the plants and fungi we’re looking for.”

Together, they sketched out edible berries, mushrooms, and roots. Other delinquents, particularly those who’d worked on farms with their families, stepped forward to offer advice. Clarke encouraged everyone to study the drawings closely.

As the group prepared, Clarke noticed how some murmured quietly, speaking to the empty spaces where their daemons likely stood. She smiled, reassured 

A sudden burst of light interrupted the quiet chatter. Gasps rippled through the group as they turned toward the source.

"Harper! She’s beautiful!" exclaimed a small, dirty-blonde girl, barely twelve, as she approached the stunned young woman standing at the center of the light.

Harper trembled with emotion as a small brown hawk perched gracefully on her forearm. Her fingers shook as she reached out with her other hand, reverently brushing against the bird's soft feathers. The daemon closed its eyes and leaned into her touch, pushing its beak gently against her fingers. Harper’s smile widened, tears streaming freely down her cheeks.

A deafening silence fell over the group as the enormity of the moment settled in. Around her, the others exchanged glances, their gazes darting toward the empty spaces where their own daemons resided. Their eyes shimmered with unshed tears, emotions heavy in the air.

They were delinquents—banished from the Ark, robbed of futures, and sent to Earth as guinea pigs. For them, a daemon’s physical revelation had always signaled one thing: their impending execution. Eighteen wasn’t a milestone to be celebrated; it was a death sentence.

But now, for the first time, they realize they had a chance to live. To reach adulthood alongside their soul companions without fear. To touch their daemons without it being the last time.

Clarke’s eyes softened as she turned toward Leah, her own daemon. The golden-furred giant feline perched on a fallen tree at the circle’s edge, her tail swishing lazily as she scanned the surrounding forest with sharp, unblinking eyes. Leah’s calm vigilance grounded Clarke, but the revelation washed over her too. For the first time in their lives, they were free. And only a few days away…

“Happy birthday, Harper!” a younger boy called out, his voice cracking slightly but filled with joy.

The words broke the solemn stillness, and the group erupted into smiles and laughter. The younger delinquents clustered around Harper, politely asking if they could touch the hawk’s feathers. Others began an impromptu, off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Harper laughed, her voice thick with emotion, as the group celebrated.

As the singing and laughter died down, Clarke stepped forward, her voice calm but authoritative. “Alright, everyone. We’ve got a long way to go, and daylight’s not on our side. Pair up and stay close to the group.”

Bellamy, standing at the edge of the gathering, nodded approvingly. His wolf daemon prowled silently at his side, ears perked and eyes scanning the perimeter. “You heard her,” he said, his tone firm. “Keep your daemons sharp. If anyone senses something off, you speak up—immediately. No hero stunts. We survive together, or we don’t survive at all.”

The group murmured their agreement, quickly falling into a loose but orderly line as they prepared to move.

“Harper’s hawk is a good sign,” Monty murmured to Clarke as they watched Harper beam under the group’s attention. “Hawks can see far off. If she’s willing to scout ahead, that could make things a lot easier—better than relying on cries for signals.”

“That’s a great point,” Clarke said with a smile, clapping Monty on the shoulder. He winced slightly, and Clarke immediately pulled back, grimacing. “Sorry. Forgot about the-.”

Monty waved her off with a weak grin as Clarke turned her attention to Harper. The girl stood a little taller now, her hawk daemon perched firmly on her shoulder.

“What’s her name?” Clarke asked, approaching with a gentle smile.

“Mia,” Harper said shyly.

“Well, Mia, it’s nice to meet you,” Clarke said, tilting her head toward the hawk. Mia fluffed her feathers and fixed Clarke with a piercing amber gaze. “I’ve got a very important mission for you, if you’re up for it.”

Harper’s jaw dropped slightly as Mia puffed out her chest, her sharp eyes gleaming with determination.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Clarke teased.

“Yes! What is it?” Harper asked, stepping forward eagerly as Mia shifted to her forearm, wings poised for flight.

Clarke chuckled at the enthusiasm radiating from both of them. “We need a guide. Mia, I need you to fly as high as you can and look for a tall building. It should be glinting somewhere behind those hills over there.” Clarke pointed toward the horizon. “When you find it, stay airborne and keep an eye on the trail ahead. Guide us along the best path to get there quickly. We’ll follow your lead. Can you do that?”

Mia let out a sharp cry, her wings spreading wide before launching into the sky.

Harper looked after her daemon with a mix of awe and pride.

“Hey, Harper?” Clarke said softly, stepping closer as Mia circled high above. Harper turned to her, wide-eyed.

“Happy 18th birthday,” Clarke whispered, her voice barely audible over Mia’s triumphant screech.

Harper’s eyes shimmered with emotion as her lips trembled into a smile. “Thank you,” she whispered back.

Above them, Mia signaled the way forward, hovering over a clear path.

Clarke straightened and turned back to the group, her voice carrying authority once more. “We’ve got our path, people. Send your daemons out. I want all our angles covered. Walk quietly, listen carefully, and stay close to your partners. Let’s move!”

Loud excited affirmations echo through the clearing, morale soaring as the delinquents sets off with a plan.

Chapter Text

By the time the sun is starting to set.

The group has managed to gather enough food and water to sustain them, boiling the water for drinking just as the sun begins its descent beyond the horizon. One of the young one’s whose daemon is a fennec fox manages to find a very well hidden old underground Bunker located not too far from the river. It’s big enough to house most of them if the huddle together. They find very old but valuable assorments of clothes and supplies. They celebrate and gather around a small fire—kindled by Monty with an ingenious sparker cobbled together from dropship scraps—they gather, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on their faces.

The foraging team proudly presents a sack filled with berries and nuts, though no one dares to touch them until Monty and a few farmer’s sons confirm their safety. Wells contributes bundles of medicinal herbs he’s carefully identified, neatly wrapped in small cloth satchels after instructing a handful of others on how to recognize the most useful varieties.

A triumphant cheer erupts when Bellamy emerges from the thicket, his wolf daemon trailing behind, its muzzle stained with fresh blood. A trio of wild rabbits dangle from his hands, and he tosses the smallest, most battered one to his daemon. The wolf catches it with ease, retreating to devour the prize. Bellamy strides toward the firepit to begin roasting the remaining two.

Miller leaps to his feet, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “We could use the hides for satchels—or clothes! Just be careful when you gut them!”

Bellamy grins wryly. “Sure thing, kiddo. How about you show us how it’s done?”

Laughter ripples through the group as Miller steps forward eagerly, a small crowd of curious onlookers gathering around him. Others keep their distance, their stomachs too queasy for the gory work.

Clarke watches from a short distance, unable to suppress a smile. For all his rough edges, Bellamy has a way with the kids—gruff and sarcastic, but undeniably effective.

Another round of cheers erupts when Harper’s hawk daemon, Mia, soars down and drops a woven basket filled with freshly caught fish at the group’s feet. The smell of roasted meat and fish fills the air, and contented murmurs follow as the group begins to eat.

they set up about two miles from the location where the original scouting team was ambushed. Leah, Clarke’s daemon, returns moments earlier to signal the decision to stop here for the night. The forest’s shadows grow longer, and Clarke’s eyes flick nervously toward the treetops.

Despite having a small army of daemons patrolling around, Leah grows increasingly restless throughout the day, her ears twitching and her golden eyes darting upward. Clarke’s unease grows alongside her daemon’s, though she keeps her concerns to herself. No other daemon scouts have raised an alarm.

Wells notices her tension. “Something wrong?” he asks quietly, his voice steady but curious.

Clarke hesitates, then nods slightly. “Probably nothing,” she admits, her tone uncertain. 

Before Wells can respond, a guttural, haunting cry pierces the air. It echoes through the trees, sharp and otherworldly, unlike any bird or beast Clarke has heard before.

The group freezes. Heads snap upward, and daemons bristle in alarm—growling, chirping, and hissing. Only the crackle of the fire interrupts the tense silence.

Leah bares her teeth, her fur standing on end. She glances back at Clarke, who nods tightly. In an instant, the golden feline vanishes into the woods, her movements silent but deliberate.

“What was that?” someone whispers, their voice trembling.

Clarke takes a steadying breath. “Stay put,” she commands, her voice calm but firm. She turns toward Bellamy, giving him a nod to send over Homer, his daemon.

Uneasy murmurs and whispers echo around their camp.

“Silence!” Clarke’s voice commands across the clearing, silencing the nervous murmurs. She adopts a relaxed stance, projecting confidence. “You hear that?” She places a hand to her ears and looks into everyone’s eyes. “If all you hear is silence, then none of the daemon scouts have sounded the alarm. We’re safe.”

She gives them a tight smile and recalls the words her father once said to her—one of the many nights she had voiced her concerns about lying about Leah’s size.

“Sometimes fate chooses our daemons to shoulder the burdens we are destined to bear. If Leah’s size is any indication, you are destined for great things, honey.”

“You said I shouldn’t easily trust people who lie. You lied to mom and Uncle Jaha. Why should I trust you… and who would trust me?”

“If you don’t trust me, trust in Leah.”

Trust in yourself.

“If you don’t trust me, trust your daemons.”

Her words settle the group, their taut postures easing as they return to their seats and softly whisper amongst each other.

Bellamy returns from the woods minutes later, his wolf daemon padding beside him. His face is tense, his brow furrowed. “Whatever it was, I couldn’t see it. Too dark. Homer’s scouting ahead—his night vision’s better than mine.”

She exhales slowly and thanks him, preparing herself for what must come next. They can’t move forward without a plan. The cry might be a warning, or perhaps they’ve unknowingly crossed a boundary. They are unarmed and likely outnumbered.

She stands up and lifts up her hand preparing to let out a whistle but her hand stays hanging in the air when she turns around.

Sixty-two pairs of eyes look to her for guidance, hanging on her every word. She never set out to be the one at the lead—she only wanted to survive. But Clarke feels the weight of their trust pressing down on her

Yesterday—hell, just hours earlier—they were a scattered group of rowdy delinquents, each fighting their own battles. Today, they’ve proven capable of so much more. They’ve become a team. Clarke swallows hard, glancing at Monty, whose jaw is clenched, his eyes scanning the forest. Finn steps closer, Rico balanced above his head, offering silent support. Leah returns from her scouting around the perimeter just in time. Her daemon senses her distress and lays down at the back of the crowd, deep emerald eyes filling her with comfort.

“Um-okay. Listen,” Clarke begins, her voice slightly unsteady by the intense attention. “We don’t know what—or who—is out there. We can’t afford to be unprepared. We must be… ready for the worst.”

“I need a small team to head to where we were ambushed yesterday to look for Octavia and Jasper. Bellamy and I will lead the search. The rest of you…” She sighs and lifts her hand when Finn makes a sound of disapproval, refusing to let her go without him. “Wells, Finn. I need nine groups of five or six people each. Make sure there are at least two older than sixteen and one or two kids with flying daemons in each group. They’ll guide everyone back to the dropship if we need to split up. Choose a captain for each group and teach them how to find their bearings. If all is clear and nothing happens up there, you’ll go straight past the mountain and head to the city full throttle at dawn. Can I count on you to do that?”

“Yes, Clarke!” “Aye aye, Captain!” “At your command!” “Clarke for chancellor!” “Hell yeah!”

Clarke lets out a chuckle and covers her face with her hands, check and ears burning in embarrsment when she hears the different quirky responses she gets in return. Her reaction only inflaming the tirade of allusions that float about in murmurs “I bet her daemon is as pretty as her” “She can order me around all day”. Leah lets out a low huff eyes filled with mischief as she innocently tilts her head.

Clarke keeps covering her face and lifts her hand to silence the crowd. And they all fall silent in unison. She chances a glance between her fingers the faces sporting mischievous smirks.

“Just-just…Go.” She dismisses the chuckling crowd with a hand as they all gather around Finn and Wells and team up.

“I’ll go with you,” Monty says, stepping forward.

“I’m sorry, Monty, but you have to stay back with Wells, Finn, and Atom.”

“The hell I’m not! Jasper is my best friend.”

“You can’t. You’re too important. You were raised by Farm Station and recruited by Engineering.”

“So?”

“So, food and communication. What’s up here,” Clarke replies, gently tapping his head with her finger, a genuine smile on her face, “will save us all. There must be some kind of radio device in the city that we can use to check in with the Ark. You figure it out, and I’ll bring Jasper back.”

Monty sighs but gives her a nod before he stomps away back to where Wells is still teaching a few other guys gathered around the map.

Finn sidles up next to her and crosses his arms “I’m going with you.”

“What’s with you guys lately so eager to go along? I’m not defenseless. You know I trained with both Dad and Guard Miller before they both got floated. There was not much I could do in my cell besides exercise when I ran out of charcoal to paint. I mean I’m no…a man but I can hold myself just fine.”

“So warrior princess.” He whispers with a shy smile. Clarke huffs and rolls her eyes “Look, I just think you should have at least one friend who hasn’t antagonized you ever since we dropped from the Ark.”

“Bellamy’s worried about his sister. Besides, he’s got guard training and knows how to shoot. If it comes to a fight, I want to make sure we have a chance. I’d feel better if you, Wells, and Monty stayed safe, just in case—”

Finn’s eyes widened. “Clarke, you made this whole thing possible. They respect you. They trust you with their lives.”

“It’s been a day, Finn,” Clarke countered softly. “I managed to buy us a little time, that’s all. They did this as a team. Once they have an idea they can do alI of it on their own. I’m expendable.”

Finn scoffed. “The hell you are. That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve heard in my life. And we grew up on the Ark—bullshitting was practically an Olympic sport up there.”

“Wells is a strategist. Monty’s the best with tech, and you…you’re resourceful, Finn. People like you. I have...just me. Some basic medical knowledge I already taught you. So yes, I am expend—”

A sudden movement cut her off. Leah phased through Clarke’s body and sat between her and Finn, translucent yet commanding. Her head loomed two feet above Finn’s, her emerald eyes burning with intensity.

Clarke met Leah’s stern gaze, which softened as a low, sad purr rumbled from her chest.

“I don’t plan on dying out there,” Clarke whispered. “I’ve got you. That’s why I’m not scared. You know that, right?”

Finn cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping aside as though Leah’s intangible presence made the space around him uncomfortably tight. “I’ve been meaning to ask…Wells said your daemon was a bobcat. That’s not true, is it?”

“No,” Clarke replied, her lips curling into a faint smile as Leah’s proud eyes met hers. “No, it’s not.”

“So…what is she?” Finn pressed.

“You’ll find out,” Clarke she shrugs. She knows everyone is in for a surprise the moment she appears in just a few more days.

Finn sighed but didn’t press further. “I’m still going with you.”

Leah rumbled softly, tilting her head. Clarke rolled her eyes. “Fine. Just make sure the others are prepared. Huddle together,” she instructed, her gaze flickering toward the campfire. “Have three groups set firepits at least a mile out in different directions.”

“Come on, Clarke. Have some faith in us,” Finn interrupted. “Wells already sent teams out with that intent. He’s got daemon communication covered.”

Clarke sags, relief washing over her. The group was starting to work as a team, and their chances felt better already. But it was short-lived. She froze as flickers of embers fell from the sky onto her shoulders—cool and harmless, yet unnatural.

Leah’s fur bristled, her menacing roar startling Clarke. Her daemon’s eyes locked on something above them, her snarl full of warning. Clarke didn’t need to look to know that whatever had been following them had landed on the branch overhead.

“-They’ll put out the fires before calling it a night. We shou-”

“Do me a favor and call Bellamy for me. Pass me that charcoal and some paper before you go please.” Clarke interrupts him with a manic smile.

“O-okay? Uh sure…” Finn looks around confused and brings her the items she asked with a weird side-eye. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah just…just get him please. I need to check something with him.” Clarke gives him a reassuring but tense smile. Leah’s focused snarl in place. Clarke does her best to communicate through her thoughts her plan as well as scribbling down on the paper, careful not to show the content on it until Bellamy comes up.

Bellamy saunters to her “I’m not some dog to be-“ Clarke levels him with a serious look and shows him the message before speaking.

“Sorry. I just…wanted to know if you are as good shot as you say you are.”

“Of course I am” Bellamy stares at her confused but pulls out his gun regardless. Finn and Wells similar confused looks.

“How about a little practice? Wouldn’t want to be catching shots in the dark.”

“Sure…can’t waste many bullets though”

“Ok…so three shots is good?” She asks with a fake pep in her voice.

“Whatever.” Bellamy shrugs with a frown.

Clarke lets out a slow exhale and pulls out the second piece of paper and walks backwards with her hastily scribbled message, hoping he gets it. Bellamy nods. A serious frown letting her know all she needs just before she turns the paper around to reveal a hasty simple target that she pins right on the tree.

Clarke steps away and stands behind Bellamy.

“I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to shoot.” He whispers.

“Need help?” Clarke replies with a clipping tone. Filled with tension.

Bellamy scoffs and smirks “why don’t you try it then.”

“Bullets are scarce. So are our chances. I’ll bet my rations on you.” She rasps, eyes filled with tension

He looks at her with a mix of uncertainty and confusion then shakes his head, aims and shoots once. The crew gathers around in curiosity.

The shot hits right on the middle. “Is that good enough?” Bellamy calls out.

Clarke slowly takes a few steps back. “The middle is easy, why not a few inches the left?” she challenges and the crowd panders to her tone, finally she steps back just enough she is finally is able to see the flaming figure from her periphery. Small falling embers glittering on Leah’s piercing eyes.

She gasps at the sight, fighting the need to stare directly at same time Bellamy takes the Second shot.

It lands right where it needs to be, just 6 feet below.

Bellamy looks back at her and raises an eyebrow waiting for her input.

“Not bad. Lucky shot. Do it again?” Clarke raises an eyebrow back, though she nods slightly and Bellamy nods back once in understanding. Turns around and aims.

Finn and Wells keep sharing confused looks while the crowd Ooohs in unison at the challenge on Clarke’s voice. Completely unaware of what is going on inside her head.

Bellamy takes his time feet planted firmly shoulders in position. He then goofs around pointing every which way at the dirt at the trees, at the sky. Building up the tension.

Then he suddenly stops and points right where he needs to. Clarke’s eyes bore into amber fiery ones.

“Now!” Clarke’s voice booms and not a quarter of a second later so does Bellamy’s gun.

The crowds laughter fades immediately into stunned silence as a loud screech pierces the air and a bright light shines up on the branch. Leah jumps ahead and Clarke pushes her way to the front past a stunned with a grateful pat on the shoulder. Bellamy’s eyes stay stunned looking between his gun, the branch that not a few seconds ago was completely empty. And the fiery being that he just shot off it.

He thought Clarke meant there was something past it further away. Not right on it.

Wells and Finn follow behind Clarke and they all let out a gasp breath caught in their throats.

The daemon sprawled on the forest floor is unlike anything she has ever seen—its plumage shimmers as though each feather were a gemstone catching the light like wildfire. The shifting hues of red, purple, and blue ripple like a living flame, even as the daemon lies motionless. The air around it is faintly warm, and faint embers still drift lazily away from its wings.

The crowd behind her is silent, a mix of awe and fear rippling through the group. No one dares to approach except Leah, who pads forward cautiously, her golden fur bristling. She circles the fallen daemon, her movements slow and deliberate, before glancing back at Clarke with wary but inquisitive eyes.

“What the hell is that?”

The Flames stop scorching revealing an unconscious majestic looking bird engulfed in flames. Ichor of melted rock dripping from the bullet wound above it's chest.

A daemon.

“I think a better question is. Who the hell does this belong to?” Wells grimly comments.

"Who...?" Clarke mutters. "shit"

Clarke’s eyes widened as she raised her hands, commanding attention. “Listen up! I know it’s late, but call your daemons—especially those with flight or night vision. Have them keep watch. Everyone else, head back to the bunker and prepare to leave if needed. If this one got this close, we don’t know how far its friends are. Look everywhere—trees, the ground—someone is nearby, and they’re hurt.”

Murmurs of affirmation rippled through the group. Clarke turned back to the fiery, panting creature, guilt knotting in her chest. What if it wasn’t here to attack? What if it was scouting, like Jasper had been? She glanced at Leah, whose piercing green eyes met hers, brimming with understanding.

They have Jasper… now we have one of theirs, Leah’s gaze seemed to say as her tail swished impatiently.

“Or dying,” Bellamy muttered grimly.

“Not if we stop it,” Clarke said firmly, dropping to her knees beside the bird. Determination blazed in her eyes. “Monroe, Miller—grab one of the big chests from the bunker and poke some holes in it. Wells, I have no idea how to treat daemons—much less one like this—but we’ll try herbs. Maybe we can help.”

Carefully, Clarke gathered the creature’s wings, mindful of the wound, and lifted its head. She turned to Finn, who hovered nearby. “Help me with its talons.”

Finn nodded but yelped in pain as soon as he touched them. “It’s scorching!” He shook his hand, glaring at the bird. “Even the grass around it is burning! How are you holding it?”

Clarke tilted her head, running her fingers along the creature’s golden-scaled talons. “It feels warm, but it doesn’t burn me. Maybe…maybe it’s just the head and wings?”

Bellamy approached, helping Miller push the requested chest closer. “First only you can see it, now only you can touch it. You sure you are not some kind of princess pulled out from a cartoon?” he quipped, eyeing the chest warily as an ember landed on its surface, melting the plastic instantly.

“Maybe we should leave it here,” Finn suggested. “Unless you want to carry it around and set the whole forest on fire.” He says has he hurriedly steps on a flame that had started to catch some air.

Clarke shook her head, her gaze darting around the camp. “We either find the owner or take it with us. We can’t leave it to die.”

Leah paced agitatedly, her tail stirring tiny bursts of ember-light in her wake.

Bellamy glanced at his wolf daemon, then back at Clarke. “You’re right. If they have Octavia or Jasper, this daemon might give us leverage. Homer, careful—get a sniff.”

His wolf crept forward, nose twitching, but retreated quickly from the heat.

“Lucky you’re a lousy shot,” Clarke muttered with a smirk, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Blindfold me, and I’d still hit the target, Princess,” Bellamy shot back with a rare smile, draping his leather jacket over the bird to contain its heat. “You gave me no size, no shape—just a shabby note saying ‘shootattheBranch!’” he mocked in a high-pitched voice.

Clarke chuckled at his poor impression. “Well you have to show you are competent at something don’t you? But seriously Bellamy. Thanks…You could have said no. So…thank you.”

Bellamy’s smirk softened. “I’m not the dick you think I am.” Clarke, Finn and Wells exchange side-eyes and Bellamy chuckles loudly raising his hand .”Fine, not half of the time but…I can tell when it matters.”

“Good to know you acknowledge that you are an ass half of the time. That’s progress.” Clarke raises an eyebrow and Bellamy bumps her with his shoulder.

Finn and Wells exchanged puzzled glances, surprised by the sudden camaraderie.

“The jacket won’t last much longer,” Clarke warned, wiping sweat from her brow. “Take it back before you get burned. We can’t waste salves on you.”

Bellamy shrugged but nodded, stepping back as the bird whimpered under Clarke’s tentative poultice. Frustrated, she sighed. “Nothing’s working. Everything I try makes it worse.”

“Hey,” Monty called, stepping forward with a shiny cloth. “Found this fire mantle in the bunker. Thought it might help.”

“Thanks, Monty.” Clarke took the mantle gratefully. “How’s everyone holding up?”

“Tense but ready,” Monty replied. “Jake’s daemon found another bunker nearby. We’ll head there if push comes to shove.”

The group exhaled in collective relief. Clarke wrapped the bird in the fire mantle, its flames dimming slightly. “I don’t know how to treat it,” she admitted. “Anyone have ideas?”

Monty tilted his head thoughtfully. “Why not try coals or ash? It’s made of fire, right?”

Everyone exchanged uncertain looks before collectively shrugging.

“Might as well,” Everyone says in unison.

Carefully, she sprinkled a handful of cooled embers from the firepit onto the bird’s wound. To everyone’s astonishment, the flames flickered brighter for a moment before settling into a steady glow.

Clarke let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Healing fire with fuel. Who’d have thought such logic applied for daemons?”

Bellamy chuckled faintly, shaking his head. “Let’s hope this works, Princess. For all our sakes.”

Chapter Text

Bellamy’s brow furrowed as they trudged through the dense forest. “So…what is our plan?” he asked, his tone laced with skepticism.

Homer, his wolf daemon, padded ahead, navigating the tangled undergrowth with ease. The forest was alive with the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, but the most notable presence was the phoenix.

After trial and error they had managed to make a heat resistant harness that held the majestic daemon in place, all limbs curled in as naturally as possible and then restrained firmly. They had used up most of their available heat-resistant ropes and space straps to waddle the daemon like a toddler and strapped against Clarke’s chest. The fire mantle didn’t extinguish the flames completely but made for an excellent daemon sized carrier that stopped the embers from creating a forest fire.

“Besides getting away from the bunker as fast as possible?” Finn replies.

“Well yeah. Because still think we should just ditch it in the bunker and move on.”

“I mean we could but we didn’t find whoever own this one”

then they would be able to find where the bunker is. Then we would have no defense against whoever took Jasper and Octavia and we’d probably end up death anyway.” Clarke replies, stepping over a mossy rock.

The group paused, scanning the area for any sign of movement. The golden glow from it’s tail feathers illuminated the clearing, casting eerie shadows on the trees around them.

“That glow’s going to get us killed,” Bellamy muttered, shooting a glance at Clarke. “Can’t it dim down or something?”

“It’s not a flashlight, Bellamy,” Clarke retorted, her voice strained. “Besides,” Clarke looks down to the haunting pair of eyes that had been looking at her ever since the daemon woke up with a panicked startle an hour before Clarke had leaned over and held tight. Pleading to the daemon to stop struggling for the sake of its wing and explaining all they wanted was their friends back.

The creature stilled, its wide pupils contracting and dilating in rapid succession before settling. Its frantic panting slowed, and the fight left its body. With a soft, defeated noise, it nuzzled into her chest, utterly exhausted. After several minutes the daemon resigned itself and from then on, it simply stared at her, its glowing amber eyes unblinking and unnervingly intent. Clarke tried to ignore it at first, but its warmth and the soft illumination it provided were oddly comforting.

“We want them to see us. We have something they want.” Tentatively, she brushed her hand over its feathers a mix of green, black and gold in every single one of them, tracing the fiery lines. The daemon let out a quiet, almost contented coo, and Clarke fought a smile.

Behind her, Leah’s fur bristled. Her daemon let out a low, derisive huff, her sharp green eyes flashing with disdain.

“Leah,” Clarke said softly, “patrol, okay? We need you to keep watch.”

Leah’s muscles tensed, but she obeyed, falling into step beside Clarke with an annoyed flick of her tail. The tip phased through the group in a single, intentional swipe.

“I think we should ditch the thing miles away. Let them get distracted and we keep on our way to Mount weather” Myles, who had volunteered to accompany the group, chimes in.

Leah’s ears flicker in curiosity when the phoenix’s tail flickers minutely.

“Then we wouldn’t have a lead to get Octavia and Jasper back” Bellamy replies.

Clarke sighed and glanced down at the bird cradled in her arms. “I’ll bait them at the river,” she said suddenly.

The group stopped in their tracks, staring at her as though she’d suggested walking into the lion’s den. Finn frowned, disbelief etched on his face. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll stay in the river,” Clarke repeated with a shrug. “You’ll all stand watch from a safe distance. Far away. And call out if you see the grounders.”

Bellamy crossed his arms, his tone sharp. “And how exactly is that supposed to work for getting O and Jasper back?”

“Simple.” Clarke adjusted the phoenix’s bundle, giving its wide, curious eyes an apologetic glance. “They won’t do anything while I have this one. If they attack me, their daemon goes under. They won’t risk its life.”

The group exchanged skeptical looks. Finn opened his mouth to protest, but Clarke cut him off. “This is the best way to draw them out without a full-on ambush. Leah,” she called softly. “Go on. Patrol. Please.”

Leah’s gaze flicked to the phoenix, her expression unreadable. With a reluctant grunt, she resumed walking, her movements stiff with irritation.

“And what happens when you turn in the daemon and they retaliate? We don’t even know if they understand us. Might as well be savages,” Bellamy countered.

“I think this one is capable of understanding,” Clarke said. “Why else would it be spying on us? It’s not like it just happened to be sitting there for fun, right?”

The fiery daemon stirred uncomfortably, and Clarke placated it by softly running a couple of fingers over its warm feathers, scratching lightly on the top of its head. It let out a soft exhale, its body relaxing further against her as its eyes briefly closed. It nuzzled into her touch before freezing, letting out a huff, and resuming its intense stare. Clarke couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

Whoever owns this firecracker is probably a feisty one with a soft side, she thought.

Suddenly, Leah stopped and turned her head sharply, her tail lashing with unrestrained frustration. Clarke blinked, realization dawning. She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, breaking the tension and startling the group.

“Are you jealous?” Clarke asked, her voice filled with amusement.

Finn glanced at her, baffled. “What?”

“She’s talking to her daemon,” Harper muttered, rolling her eyes. “Don’t mind her. Mia’s a jealous one too. Hated when I cuddled my mom’s daemon.”

Mia, perched on Harper’s shoulder, let out an indignant sound, feathers ruffling. The group’s tension eased as they chuckled. Clarke shook her head. “It’s okay, Leah. You’re still my number one. I’ll give you all the cuddles you want soon.”

Leah huffed dramatically, her tail flicking out to lightly whip and phase through Clarke’s leg.

They trekked for another hour until Homer suddenly stopped, nose intently down in the mud after finding a track. At the same time, Mia let out a low screech above their heads, signaling their proximity to the river.

Myles muttered under his breath, looking around in panic while clutching a wooden spear.

“Well,” Clarke exhaled softly and nervously gripped the straps holding the fire mantle tighter against her chest. “This is it.”

“You’re not going out there alone,” Finn protested.

“Finn, we talked about this. Unless you have a better idea, I’ll go in alone.”

“And what’s your plan if they attack you? For all we know, they couldn’t care less about their daemon.”

“It’s a phoenix, Finn, not just any daemon. Even you have to know this could be someone important to them.”

Finn deflated, shaking his head in reluctant agreement.

“Let the princess go, Finn,” Bellamy said, his tone almost dismissive. “You heard her—she’s a big girl. Homer found Octavia’s lead. We don’t know if she could be injured if Jasper is in as critical a condition as you said, I won’t be able to carry him, even with Myles’ help. Rico can stay with her”

Rico huffed in annoyance, his face contorting in a silent snarl.

“Go, Finn. I’ll be fine,” Clarke said with a smile.

Perhaps, ‘fine’ isn’t the word she would be using right now. It was a bi of a stretch really.

Clarke shivered in place, clutching the fiery daemon tightly. Her arms, buried up to the elbows beneath the fire mantle, sought warmth.

It had been an hour since she’d begun calling out, standing precariously atop a stone in the middle of the river.

Her boots had long since soaked through, the icy water biting cruelly at her ankles with every gust of wind that swept through the valley. The cold wasn’t terrible but it was beginning to seep into her bones. Leah, ever vigilant, prowled the opposite riverbank, her sharp snarls and frustrated yowls breaking the oppressive silence every few minutes. Her only comfort lying on being bathed in the light that emanated from the daemon. Staving off the cold and the dark minutely.

Above, the same dark hawk—definitely not Harper’s—circled ominously before vanishing into the canopy.

They were out there.

At least ten of them if not more, watching her freeze to death and ignoring her pleas to speak with their leader.

Clarke clenched her trembling jaw, her lips quivering as she muttered bitterly, “Of course, they wouldn’t make it easy.”

She glanced down at the phoenix, its intense amber eyes occasionally flicking toward the shadowy woods.

“I know you’re out there!” Clarke shouted into the trees, her voice cracking with cold and frustration. “You have my friends, and I have yours! Bring them here, and you can have it back. There’s no need for tragedy on either side.”

Another five agonizing minutes passed, the only response the deepening cold. Her anger simmered beneath the surface, fueled by the ache in her limbs and the sting on her cheeks.

“If they don’t answer to me…” Clarke’s voice dropped, a whisper to herself and the daemon against her chest, trembling as much from resolve as the cold. “…will they’ll answer to you?”

Clarke takes a deep breath and calls out once again.

“My friend doesn’t have time for stubborn people to leisurely think about it. I will count one, two ,three. Minutes.” She glares at the trees menacingly. “ One. Two. Three. And that’s it. Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do!”

A minute passes in absolute silence but from the sound of her heavy breathing

“One!”

Her teeth chattered minutely, and she looked down at the proud creature in her arms. Its haunting eyes bore into hers, unyielding and unrelenting.

“Two!”

Her fingers tremble against the the warm slightly flat part of its beak as she adjusts the head of the phoenix, pressing it softly against her chest with her left hand, elbow pushing towards her navel. Locking the daemon in place. “Please, don’t make me do it” She whispers as she counts the last thirty seconds.

Ten seconds.

Clarke wets her chaffed lips nervously. Tightening her hold on the phoenix, she locks in the head firmly against her chest and traces the fingers of her right hand down its body until she found the tender spot where the bullet had torn through its wing. The daemon flinched in her hold, its eyes dilating in panic.

“Three!” Her voice echoes through the ravine. Eyes desperately looking at Leah, who is on the lookout for any movement on the other side of the river. Her anguished emerald eyes meet hers

She waits a few more seconds holding on a firm lock the struggling daemon, then looks down to the panicked eyes bored into hers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, guilt heavy in her voice.

Bracing herself, she presses her thumb against the wound, pushing firmly up to the bone of the wing. The phoenix writhed and squirmed in agony, its cries muffled by the muzzle. “I’m so sorry,” she chanted through gritted teeth, tears pricking her eyes as she wiggled her thumb deeper, loosening the fire mantle and muzzle just enough for its screech to pierce the night air.

The effect was immediate.

The phoenix’s high pitched whimper echoed in the woods soon followed by the sound of heavy footfalls. Within seconds, a massive, dark figure emerged from the underbrush, landing heavily at the river’s edge.

The phoenix’s light was too bright for Clarke to make out the details of the newcomer, casting the figure into a towering, menacing silhouette. A deafening roar shattered the stillness, and she instinctively recoiled as Leah snarled, pacing in restless circles. The daemon’s coiled muscles betrayed her readiness to fight, though both knew it would be futile.

“There you are,” Clarke whispered, her breath hitching.

Fumbling with numb fingers, she pulled a small satchel from her belt, quickly retrieving dried herbs and ash. Her hands trembled as she worked to treat the phoenix’s wound, applying the salve with whispered apologies.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured again, smoothing the mixture over the injured wing. The phoenix glared at her but ceased its struggling, a reluctant exhale signaling its surrender.

The shadow on the riverbank was soon joined by others—medium to large daemons emerging from the trees, their shapes obscured but their presence undeniable.

Clarke gulps nervously and takes a step into the river, her hands raised in a gesture of peace. The icy water surges around her knees, stealing her breath with its relentless chill.

“You have my friends,” she calls out, her voice trembling from both fear and the biting cold. “We don’t mean to c-cause harm! We just want to get to the tall building past the mountain. We’re just kids, please. Bloodshed is unnecessary. Just give our friends back, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

A woman’s voice, sharp and laced with a heavy accent, answers. “What business do you have with this… building, mountain girl?”

The distinction in her words catches Clarke off guard, and she tilts her head in confusion. Squinting into the shadows, she can’t make out the speaker clearly. She quickly adjusts the fire mantle, pulling it tighter to dim the light emanating from the daemon and envelop herself in darkness.

“None that you should be concerned with,” Clarke says, her voice firmer now. “We’re just passing through.”

“It is my concern if where you are headed is the city where my people live. State your business.”

Clarke lets out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping. Great. Now we have to circle around it.

As her eyes adjust to the dim moonlight, the figure on the riverbank comes into view. Clarke suppresses a gasp.

The woman is tall and fierce, likely in her thirties or early forties. Dark, messy blonde curls frame her face, which is adorned with streaks of mud or paint that sharpen her already striking features. Her eyes, deep and abyssal, seem to pierce straight through Clarke.

She wears dark leathers and furs, with daggers strapped across her torso and thighs for easy access. A large sword rests across her back, completing the image of a seasoned warrior.

But it isn’t the woman that makes Clarke step back.

Beside her looms an enormous daemon, a sleek and powerful panther that lets out a low snarl, circling Leah like a mirror image. The ripple of cold water around Clarke’s legs sends a shiver coursing through her body.

“Then we’ll just take our friends, give you back yours and go around,” Clarke says, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her. “We just want to survive. In peace.”

The woman tilts her head, her expression unreadable. “Your friend is dying, girl. He’s in no condition to—”

“If he’s still alive, then there’s still a chance,” Clarke interrupts, barely managing to keep her teeth from chattering. “Every second that passes diminishes that chance.”

The woman regards her with a lazy, assessing gaze, tilting her head as if weighing her words.

“You’re in no position to negotiate, mountain girl.”

Desperation sparks an idea in Clarke’s mind. Bluff your way out.

“My name is Clarke,” she says quickly. “I’m not from the mountain. We come from a space station in the sky, and the rest of my people will be coming down soon. If you choose to fight, you’ll lose. The technology we have will wipe you out. Unless—”

The woman cuts her off with a confident smile. “You are not the first to say that, and you won’t be the last to fail.”

A ripple of laughter rises from the shadows, as if her threat is some kind of joke.

“Unless you let us communicate with them,” Clarke presses on, ignoring the interruption, “and let them know not to attack you as soon as they land. The Guard has weapons—”

Before she can finish, a massive figure emerges from the trees to stand beside the woman. A burly man, towering and broad-shouldered, with a thick beard and a brown bear daemon that looms as large as the panther.

“We are no strangers to your faiyaguns and your cowardly tek, sky girl,” the man says, his tone dripping with condescension.

Leah lets out a low, guttural growl at his tone, her fur bristling. The panther daemon puffs out its chest proudly in response, making her roll her eyes in annoyance.

“You really want to bring down war?” Clarke shoots back, her voice rising. “People will die!”

“Warriors die in war,” the woman says with a shrug. “They will die with honor.”

Adrenaline surges through Clarke as she stares at the woman, anger simmering beneath her icy exterior. The casual dismissal of so many lives—her people, their people—is unbearable.

“You may not know the history of this earth,” Clarke says, her voice trembling with conviction, “but I do. War almost wiped out humanity once. Honor means nothing to innocent people. You’re really willing to risk the lives of everyone—your people and mine—when you could save them all by letting us through?”

Her voice breaks with emotion as she clutches the bundle tightly to her chest.

“Victory stands on the back of sacrifice,” the woman replies with a heavy, unyielding stare.

“Very well,” Clarke huffs, exasperated, leveling a withering glare at the gathering. “The choice is yours,” she mutters darkly.

Fueled by anger, she steps forward. The icy water climbs above her navel, its cold shock coursing through her, but she pushes through, suppressing the shudder that threatens to overtake her.

The fire sputters out with a hiss, and the daemon shifts uncomfortably beside her.

Clarke notices the facade slip from some of the grounders. Their calm resolve wavers.

Suddenly, Rico bursts from the woods, his tiny claws clinging to her shoulders, startling her. His angry snarl is directed at the grounders, though fear is evident in the trembling of his form.

“Rico, what the—” Clarke whispers hurriedly, adjusting to his weight so they don’t fall into the water.

The movement causes the phoenix’s long, fiery tail feathers to submerge, forcing a panicked screech from the fiery daemon. Its mantle quivers as the rush of cold water seeps through.

The effect is immediate. Not just the woman, but all of them—and their daemons—take a hurried step forward at the sound.

“Shall your flamebird and I be the first of many sacrifices, then?” Clarke challenges, her eyebrow arched, a slight smirk playing at her lips.

Her eyes dart across their hesitant faces. Despite the cold water and her chattering teeth, she clings to the warm comfort of hope flickering in her chest.

Leah, now standing beside the dark panther, puffs out her chest and gives Clarke an encouraging nod. Leah towers a few feet above the panther, and that small fact, Clarke finds, is reassuring. Leah’s confident stance is a reminder of her own strength.

The blonde grounder’s face contorts in disdain. She glares at Clarke with barely concealed disgust, her eyes flicking between Clarke and Rico.

“No kan laik dis gada wid da strik keryon dais kom tret’n oso heda,” a burly man grumbles beside her, his deep voice laden with irritation.

Clarke tilts her head, frowning as the woman and the man mutter in their strange, fluid language. It’s clearly their native tongue, the sharp vowels striking her as oddly familiar.

Rico’s warmth against her back is a small comfort as she waits impatiently for the grounder leaders to decide. Her legs tremble beneath the cold water, and she shuffles to keep the blood flowing.

“T-take your time, don’t mind me. It’s n-not like I’m j-jst f-freezing to death over here,” she stutters sarcastically, mostly to herself.

She chances a glance under the fire mantle, allowing a soft breeze to bolster the flames on the daemon’s feathers. The heat on her face is a small reprieve.

The daemon’s head tilts upward, its large amber eyes gleaming with both surprise and curiosity.

Clarke looks up to find the pair of grounders staring at her for a few seconds before turning around to resume their conversation.

“Your people are so hospitable, I don’t think they’ll mind if I make myself comfortable,” she says with a defiant edge to her voice.

She throws caution to the wind, lifting the mantle to fully expose the phoenix’s body. Heat-resistant straps and ropes are tangled around its form. Finn and Wells guided her as best as they could to make sure the harness would contain all its limbs without aggravating its wound. Its long, stork-like legs are tucked in safely and held with a few twists of heat-treated cables from the dropship.

Ignoring the snap of heads and offended gasps from the other side of the river, Clarke shuffles and circles her arms under the fire mantle, pressing her skin against the daemon’s fiery feathers. The phoenix flinches slightly but tilts its head, its curious eyes dilating.

“Sorry, I’m j-just c-cold,” she mutters.

A second later, the daemon’s body shines brighter and heats up to almost scorchingly warm.

Clarke sighs in relief, clinging to the warmth like a lifeline, allowing her upper body to relax slightly.

“Thank you,” she whispers, smiling gratefully at the phoenix. She leans down and nuzzles its neck in a soft embrace. The daemon startles, pulling back in surprise, its wide beak warm and comforting against her cheek.

Rico grumbles when an ember scorches the fur on his paw. He shifts higher, clinging to the nape of her shirt. Leah growls from her position near the grounder pair, who are staring at Clarke and the phoenix in stunned silence.

The panther daemon’s piercing blue eyes lock onto Clarke’s, filled with confusion, but there’s something else there too—curiosity? Mirth? Its head tilts, mirroring Leah’s contemplative gesture.

Suddenly, the burly man’s bear daemon growls and lumbers forward, the man shouting something in their tongue.

“Chon yu bilak skai gada?!” he roars.

Clarke forces herself to stay calm but lets out a low warning, “Stop right there!”

The tall woman grabs the man’s shoulder. “Hod op, Gustus!”

“Let me go, Anya!” He snaps back, then turns to glare at Clarke. “Yu na gaf you don nou set raun had ona oso Heda na keryon!” he mutters, his bear daemon predatorily inching forward.

Clarke locks eyes with the threatening daemon, offering a challenging stare.

The bear’s massive paws hit the water, snarling menacingly, forcing Clarke to take a hasty step forward. She gasps as the cold water engulfs half her torso, but the phoenix remains silent, its tail feathers sizzling in the water, droplets evaporating around them.

“I said stop!” she exclaims, her voice steady but sharp.

In an instant, the massive panther daemon surges forward, positioning itself between Clarke and the bear. Its menacing snarl echoes, its tail whipping the water into chaotic ripples.

The bear daemon freezes, cowering in place. The man mutters a respectful “Moba” and takes a step back as his daemon retreats quickly.

Leah lets out a huff that sounds like a mixture of a chuckle and a growl. Her confidence grows as the smaller bear daemon submits, knowing it would do the same in her presence.

The panther daemon huffs, its gaze sharp as it turns to Clarke. Its blue eyes fixate on her torso, then lift to meet her eyes. It gestures with its head, a silent command for her to step back out of the water before turning lazily to return to its place beside the blonde grounder.

Clarke bristles, her patience worn thin, stubbornly refusing to move. “I’m good, thanks,” she mutters through clenched teeth, glaring defiantly at the black daemon.

The panther daemon growled, fully turning to face her. Its sharp, emerald eyes locked onto Clarke with an unsettling intensity.
The phoenix stirred beside her, its head craning out to meet the panther's gaze. Heat radiated from its fiery form, escalating in tandem with the silent standoff.

"En pleni, Caelus."

The ethereal voice rumbled through Clarke, leaving her breathless. Goosebumps spread up her spine and over the nape of her neck. Leah startled beside her, leaping to her feet and prowling the edge of the crowd. Her glowing green eyes scanned the gathered grounders and their daemons, but none appeared fazed by the voice. It was as if they hadn’t heard it at all.

The panther huffed, settling back next to the woman who had commanded it. The woman tilted her head, her sharp features pinching into a frown as her gaze flicked suspiciously between the phoenix and Leah.

"Who said that?" Clarke whispered, her heart racing. Her voice barely rose above the sound of the water lapping against the riverbank, but it earned a chorus of curious and wary stares.

The phoenix turned its molten eyes toward her, and again, she heard the voice—not aloud, but inside her head.

Clarke kom skaikru. Can you hear what I am saying?

Clarke's breath hitched as she realized the fiery daemon was speaking to her. Its words were a whisper, soft yet undeniably present. She gave a small, hesitant nod.

The phoenix inclined its head ever so slightly in acknowledgment.

Well then…I shall consider your plea. Repeat after me.

"W-what?" Clarke stammered, startled. Leah floated closer and peered intently at the phoenix, her curiosity evident. Tentatively, she swiped a paw at the flaming body, phasing through it like smoke.

Clarke shook her head, still reeling. "I’m experiencing some kind of hypothermic shock. Hearing things” she muttered under her breath holding the fiery daemon closer.

You are not hearing things, you are listening to me. Clarke kom skaikru, repeat after me. Now.

Leah and Clarke exchanged wary looks. The daemon shrugged noncommittally before turning her attention back to the grounders, some of whom were starting to murmur among themselves.

"Who are you?" Clarke asked aloud, her voice shaking.

Repeat after me, Clarke. I will answer your questions later

"Why should I?" she challenges, still half sure she is allucinating.

"Because my kru cannot hear me. Of course” The daemon replies as if the words made any sense. And you must ensure they understand if you want you and your people to live."

Clarke frowned. "Why? Can’t your... daemon partner speak for you?"

"Repeat. After. Me. Do. You. Understand?"

The phoenix's voice, calm but tinged with exasperation, hovered in the air. Its feathers flustered, scattering embers that hissed upon hitting the water. Each word felt pointed, deliberate, as though speaking to a stubborn child.

“Fine!” Clarke throws up one hand in defeat, her breath forming a visible cloud in the icy air. “This is insane,” she mutters, shaking her head in disbelief as she casts a glance at the menacing figures across the river that react to her outburst by placing their hands on their weapons.

You must say it steady and loud.

The daemon instructs, its ember-bright eyes fixed on her with intense patience.

Lissen,gona. Ai laik Klark kom skaikru. Teik ai kom ai kru.  

Clarke took a deep breath, the cold biting at her lungs.

“Listen, gona,”

Her attempt is met with sudden silence. The grounders on the opposite shore stop in their tracks, their heads tilted in confusion.

The panther daemon at the forefront bristles, its fur standing on end as it snaps its head toward Clarke, meeting her gaze with intense, icy blue eyes.

“I like Clarke. Come. Sky crew. Take I…come? I crew?” Clarke did her best to replicate the phoenix’s strange intonation, frowning as she stumbled over the words her voice awkwardly shaping the foreign syllables. Her tongue fumbled the sounds, vowels heavy and uncertain.

Don’t make it sound like a question, you sound like a fool .The phoenix scolded, embers flickering in its voice.

“Sorry If I can’t magically speak a language I didn’t even know existed five minutes ago,” Clarke hisses back through gritted teeth, her breath visible in short puffs. 

Just click your k’s and open your mouth when you speak your i’s, 

Rico, perched on Clarke’s shoulder, shuffled uneasily, tilting his head to peer at her with a curious, almost skeptical expression. His small paws touched the side of her head, as though checking for signs of a concussion. Clarke barely noticed, her focus locked on the phoenix.

From across the river, the deep, booming laughter of a man—Gustus, she remembered—broke through the quiet. “Chomouda osir beda dula daun, skaigada? Yu na trigedasleng ik ekat skirsh. Minna unnu yu!” His words were accompanied by a boisterous laugh that spread through the crowd of grounders and daemons, their collective snickering echoing along the water.

Clarke stiffened but ignored them, narrowing her eyes in focus as the daemon continues.

Kos ai chich nou mou gon Klark kom skaikru.

“Cause I sheez no more gon Clarke kom skaikru” Clark repeats and frowns harder at how mechanical and wrong it sounds when it comes ot of her mouth. Struggling to mimic the daemon’s vowels.

Gustus’s laughter swells as he responds, “Skaikru ste leyios!” His grin is wide and mocking, though the sharp-eyed woman beside him—Anya, Clarke recalls—glances at him briefly, her expression unreadable. A faint smirk tugs at her lips. “Bilaik yu op chich gon gada-de?”

Clarke grits her teeth. “What did he say?”

Pay him no mind. The daemon replied firmly. Ai ste sen Klark kom skaikru wan skaigada natblida ste sen ai en ste sen chich keryon op. Fleimon-de laik yu shona. En ai laik fleimon-de. Ai laik Kerralis, keryon kom heda.

Clarke squints, eyes faltering at the amount of words she has to repeat.

“Flame on the laik you...shawna and I like the flay. Ai laik Ke-Kerh, Kar-Arh—Wait, wait you are speaking too fast!” She stumbles over the strange sounds, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “How do you roll your r’s like that?” she hisses hurriedly to the phoenix eyeing the reactions coming from the other side of the river.

Her attempts, halting but earnest, drew a range of emotion from the grounders. The blonde woman among them shifted slightly closer, narrowing her eyes as though assessing Clarke. Gustus’s smirk faltered for a brief moment, replaced by a glance of wary curiosity.

The laughter faded briefly when Clarke spoke the first few words, confusion passing between the grounders. Some still chuckled under their breath, though others now exchanged puzzled glances.

At least you’re not entirely butchering it, The phoenix muttered dryly. Focus, sky girl. This is the most important part. You have to say it all.

“I’m trying!” Clarke snaps, her breath puffing out in quick, frustrated bursts.

Stop trying. Just do it . It insisted, a few feather’s bristling embers crackling pointedly. In the past. Fools have dared try pretend they can council with me. You have to make sure they don’t believe you are one more to try.

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled, her cheeks flushed—not just from the cold but from the growing weight of eyes watching her every move.

The daemon repeats the words and Clarke chooses to mutter them under her breath to practice, the daemon correcting her on the pronunciation. She closes her eyes and chants the words like a mantra. Fog coming out of her mouth and teeth chattering.

A voice calls out from the crowd, sharp and mocking. “Yu soun lek branwada-de skaigada!” Laughter erupted anew, the jeers filling the riverbank and rippling across the surface of the water like an insult given form.

Clarke inhales deeply, her chest rising and falling as she steadies herself. Her neck cracks audibly as she tilts her head side to side, her piercing blue eyes locking onto the grounder who dares to mock her.

She doesn’t need to understand the words to feel their derision, but she’s not about to back down from a challenge—not now, not ever.

Her smirk sharpens into something dangerous. She pins her determined eyes on the phoenix daemon, its fiery plumage dimming slightly in surprise under her unyielding gaze.

“Say that again,” she commands, her voice steely but calm. “Slowly.”

The phoenix hesitates, embers shimmering in its eyes, but relents, repeating the phrase with deliberate care. Clarke focuses, her mind engraving every syllable.

“Ai shish nou mou gon Klark kom skaikru!” This time, her voice cuts through the laughter like a blade.

The echo of her words silences the riverbank. Laughter and jeers evaporate, leaving an eerie stillness. The grounders freeze, their expressions shifting from mockery to awe. Even the panther daemon halts mid-step, its piercing gaze locked on her.

“Ai ste sen Klark kom skaikru wan skaigada natblida ste sen ai keryon op!”

“Don’t you dare try to fool us with your tricks mountain girl, we won’t be as weak as to let your blasphemous words taint our ears!” Another figure, a dark furious woman steps forward, her daemon, A snarling creature Clarke doesn’t recognizes moves forward.

“Hod up, Indra!” Calls out the blonde at the front but the warriors letting out war cries muffle her words.

Recite the whole sentence, hurry!

“Fleimon-de laik yu shona. En ai laik fleimon-de.”

Clarke feels the rush of adrenaline and instills all her power in her voice and presses on, rolling the next words off her tongue with newfound confidence.

Leah springs forward in Clarke’s defense, roaring powerfully. The sound reverberates through the woods. Her claws unsheathe, and her imposing form towers over the woman’s daemon, which freezes, its snarl faltering. The dark creature steps back, clearly unnerved, as do the warriors around it.

“Ai laik Kerrali. Keryon kom Heda!” She snarls the “r’s” with a feral edge, and the phoenix tilts its head, impressed.

The effect is instantaneous. Grounders and daemons alike gawk at Clarke, their disbelief palpable. Many drop to their knees instinctively, bowing their heads, while others exchange uneasy glances. A ripple of murmurs spreads through the crowd.

Clarke’s eyes widen, her gaze darting to Leah. She feels hope bloom in her chest. “They can see her?” she mutters, her voice tinged with wonder. Her heart stutters as she dares to believe. “You are-“

Thank you, Caelus. Right on time. That was almost disastrous, the phoenix’s voice interrupts her and presses into her mind very much like the first time she heard it.

Clarke blinks, catching sight of the great dark panther mirroring Leah’s stance. Leah’s fur bristles as her tail flicks phasing through the panther’s snout when she steps aside and her eyes drift around with caution.

The dark daemon huffs in annoyance making a few small daemons cower in fear before it glances back at Clarke with its icy blue eyes, offering a solemn nod.

Clarke’s hope shatters, her throat tight with emotion. Right. It’s not supposed to happen yet, she thinks, blinking away the sting of tears.

Now, Clarke. Do you see the man with the bear keryon? The phoenix continues, non the wiser to Clarke’s inner turmoil.

“Crayon?” She asks confused.

Kery-on. Spirit, the phoenix corrects, its tone clipped.

“You mean…daemon?”

Sha, yes. Look at him when you say this: ‘Ai nou ste as raun. Gustus kom trikru. Ai kommand yu. Hod yu rein daun’

Clarke smirks, already sensing the weight of the words. The man—Gustus, apparently—is in for a reckoning. She pins him with a cool, calculated look and delivers the command.

“Ai nou ste as raun. Gustus kom trikru. I command you. Hold yu rain dawn”

Her voice reverberates across the water, carrying authority that even surprises her.

She chances a glance at the grounders and can’t help but grin when she sees Gustus’s reaction—his wide eyes and pale face betray his fear and shuffles eyes dancing between her, the phoenix and the lack panther between them.

Leah skips along the riverbank, her ghostly tail phasing mockingly through the heads of the kneeling grounders.

The phoenix’s voice sharpens. Say this next: ‘

Klark kom skaikru s-ste nan Heda listen keryon-de knight bleed ah. Fisa Keryon-de, skaigada gon laksen-ai maunon dau ripa. Lock op gon ongeda. Juice drein, jus daun.’

Clarke hesitates, but only for a moment. Her focus deepens, and she powers through, repeating the words as best she can. The phoenix corrects her in real-time, its voice insistent and relentless, but she doesn’t falter.

The final syllables leave her lips just as the phoenix throws its head back, smacks its beak repeatedly and screeches—a mix between a piercing cry and the sound of a machine gun that echoes through the woods surprising Clarke, Rico and Leah with how haunting it is. Embers swirl around Clarke in a radiant halo, reflecting off the rippling water. She stands against the frost-laden landscape, a figure of fire and light.

With a rustle of furs and clinking armor, the grounders drop to one knee in unison, bowing low. Their voices rise in solemn chant, echoing across the riverbank:

“Jus drein jus daun!”

Clarke’s breath catches. Her pulse races as she turns to the phoenix, its fiery eyes glinting with faint amusement.

You learn fast, it says, its tone somewhere between a compliment and critique. There’s room for improvement, of course.

“Thanks. I try.” She glances at the kneeling figures across the river, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What the hell did I just tell them?”

The phoenix tilts its head and ponders for a second.

You shall cross over, Clarke of the sky people. But do so from the fallen tree upstream. I am not fond of getting my feathers wet, and you’re on the brink of losing your limbs to the cold.

Clarke blinks, her mind reeling from the grounders’ reaction, but nods slowly. She registers Rico's insistent little paws on her shoulder, looking at her in awe and fear. His presence reminds her that she is standing in the middle of a cold river.

Her thoughts spiral as she hastily trudges back to the riverbank on her side of the river with wobbling legs.

The rush of adrenaline fades as she stumbles. She’s heard stories of talking daemons—legends, really. Only one’s own daemon is said to speak through the bond, and only after coming of age.

But this…this is something else entirely.

Shivering violently, Clarke stumbles back to the shore, her legs trembling with each uncertain step. The icy river water clings to her clothes, droplets trickling down her skin and forming tiny rivulets on the sodden ground beneath her boots. Leah leaps gracefully to her side of the river and circles around, her ghostly form flickering faintly in the dim light. Though Leah offers no warmth, her presence wraps around Clarke like an unseen shield against the bitter chill.

“Just w-who the hell are you?” She murmurs through the chatter of her teeth, her breathh forming clouds in the frigid air as she glances once more at the bowing crowd.

I am Kerralis kom trikru keryon kom Heda.

Clarke shivers and blinks unable to process any more foreign words anymore "T-thats a m-mouthful d-don't you h-hav' somethn' s-shor'r? 

Clarke collapses onto the wet grass with a heavy thud, the soft earth squelching under her weight. Her teeth chatter uncontrollably, the sound loud in the hushed stillness. Rico yips frantically out loud into the woods, scrambling up her shoulder, his small body trembling against hers as he tries to provide what little heat he can whilst trying to avoid the embers falling to his fur with a hiss.

"R-rico, call F-finn...s-start a fire h-here." She stutters and huffs. 

Her fingers, numb and clumsy, fumble with the ties of  the fire mantle. She pulls it loose with an effortful tug, collapsing back and letting out a shaky breath. She’s still clinging to the fiery daemon like a warm plush toy when it reminds her of its capacity for speech.

I would appreciate if you allowed me to extend my wings. I am of fire. Fire cannot thrive without air. It's uncomfortable to lay like this.

Clarke squints at the daemon, her breath escaping in short, frosty puffs. Leah, ever watchful, settles beside her in the mud. The daemon flicks her tail, her emerald glowing eyes scanning the treeline with quiet vigilance.

“Y-yeah, w-well, g-get used to it,” Clarke mutters through chattering teeth. She wrings out her soaked clothing, her hands trembling violently. Modesty is the least of her concerns as her numb fingers struggle with the tight fit of her drenched pants. “I am n-not letting y-you out of the harness n-nor out of m-my sight. For all I c-care, I just t-told them to wait unt-til I release you before t-they at-tack. Sht-f-fuck t’s freezing!”

Without warning, she loosens one of the straps holding the phoenix daemon's wings and shakes her stiff hands, then lunges forward, wrapping her arms and legs around the phoenix and clings to the unharmed wing in a desperate embrace . The daemon lets out an undignified squawk, embers cascading from its fiery feathers and hissing as they meet the damp grass.

How very dare you!

The phoenix bristles, puffing up its feathers pridefully despite being pinned and smothered by the blonde sky girl. Glowing embers float like fireflies around them, forcing Rico to retreat with an irritated hiss.

Across the river, the grounders and their daemons erupt in offended shouts. The sharp cries and snarls ripple through the crisp air, a discordant echo of Clarke’s struggle against the cold. Their outrage feels distant, though, muffled by her body’s shivering desperation.

“S-shut up,” Clarke sighs, her voice trembling but full of relief as warmth begins to seep into her frozen limbs. She scoots backward, dragging herself further away from the river until her backside meets the spongy, moss-laden grass. Nuzzling her face into the phoenix’s warm neck, she feels its feathers fluster at her touch. “Y-you’re the one who waited until I w-was waist-deep in water to s-speak up—after m-more than an hour of waiting. It’s your f-fault I’m like this.”

Speaking up takes energy. In my condition, it is a luxury I cannot afford. The daemon’s reply comes with a hint of irritation, though its embers glow slightly brighter under Clarke’s clingy grip.

Branches snap in the distance, the sound cutting through the quiet. Finn bursts through the woods, panting, his gaze darting frantically across the scene. e pauses, eyes narrowing at the still figures of the grounders on the opposite shore. Their watchful silence is unnerving, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos. "Clarke! I heard shots! Clarke!"

Rico yipps urgently calling for his attention and then his eyes land on Clarke, sprawled on the ground and clutching the fiery phoenix daemon like her life depends on it. His expression shifts from alarm to amused bewilderment. He tilts his head, blinking rapidly at the sight, his lips twitching with restrained laughter.

“Should I ask?” he quips, shrugging off his jacket as he strides toward her.

Clarke rolls her eyes, her teeth still chattering as she tightens her grip on the phoenix. “N-no,” she grumbles, pulling her knees tighter around the daemon’s glowing body. "Just hand me dry clothes, Finn. I will explain in a s-second"

Chapter Text

Finn crouches beside Clarke, his gaze darting warily to the still-kneeling grounders across the river. The frosty air carries the faint rustle of their movements, but otherwise, they remain eerily silent, their heads bowed. Finn rubs his hands together, trying to dispel the morning chill. “So... are they bringing our friends over, or what?” he asks, nodding toward the group across the water. His tone holds a mix of urgency and unease.

Clarke exhales heavily, her breath forming pale clouds that quickly dissipate in the brisk wind. “Jasper’s in critical condition,” she murmurs, brushing damp hair from her face. “We need to cross and see him, but I don’t know where they took him. Kerralis managed to get us passage, at least.” Her voice edges with frustration, though a trace of gratitude lingers in her tone.

Finn frowns, glancing at Rico, who perches on his shoulder. The small daemon immediately springs into action, gesturing wildly with its tiny arms and emitting a series of animated squeaks and chirps. Clarke arches an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching as she recalls Rico’s earlier antics. The little daemon had spent the entire encounter with the grounders staring at her with wide, incredulous eyes and tiny paws gently patting her head as though she’d suddenly sprouted another one.

Finn’s eyebrows climb higher with every noise Rico makes. He finally holds up a hand to stop the barrage of incomprehensible retelling. “Right... that makes no sense at all, Rico,” he says, exhaling sharply. He turns to Clarke, his expression a mix of curiosity and skepticism. “This alice is...?”

“The phoenix,” Clarke replies, jerking her chin toward the still-simmering daemon tucked against her chest. Its fiery plumage glimmers faintly in the dim light, embers swirling lazily from its feathers when Clarke doesn't care for correcting him on the name. “Must be someone important’s daemon, as you can see.” She nods toward the grounders, who remain prostrate on the opposite bank. All but the blonde and big man who just keep staring at them in derision.

Finn gives them another wary glance, tilting his head. “And how did that happen exactly?”

You didn’t give me time to dismiss them before you retreated. Kerralis interjects in her mind, its tone bristling with indignation.

Clarke smirks, her teeth chattering slightly. “I see... Guess it’s easier if I show you. How do I dismiss them?” She asks the phoenix.

Reshop, gona

What does that mean?

Reshop- rest/ at ease,  gona- soldier

Forcing herself upright and adjusting her grip on the phoenix, she repeats Kerralis’s words under her breath, mimicking the cadence and inflection until she’s confident. Then, she raises her voice, firm and commanding despite her shaky stance. “Gyon op! Resh-op gona!”

The grounders rise in unison, their movements fluid and eerily synchronized. A ripple of conversation passes through their ranks as they break formation and begin murmuring among themselves, glancing at Clarke and Kerralis with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Finn’s jaw drops, his gaze darting from the grounders to Clarke. “What was that?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly. He blinks at her, slack-jawed. “How did you...?”

Clarke grins, leaning against a nearby tree for support as she lets out a shaky breath. Her hands brush over Kerralis’s feathers, which flare slightly in contempt.

Leah grumbles from her place beside Clarke, her spectral tail flicking irritably. She prowls closer, phasing through Kerralis’s flaming form.

“For some reason,” she says, her tone light but laced with disbelief, “a reason I will not even bother thinking about because it makes no sense... I can hear Ker’s voice.”

Excuse me! the phoenix interrupts indignantly, its flames sparking brighter. You shall speak my name with respect, Sk-

Clarke, undeterred, tightens her grip on the daemon, forcing a startled huff of air from its fiery chest and interrupting its rant. “I feel weird rolling my r’s like that. Just deal with it,” she hisses to the daemon under her breath.

"Anyways," Clarke continues, pointedly ignoring the daemon’s protests. "Ker helped me speak with their people and—”

“Hear it?" Finn blinks, his mouth falling open slightly.  "You mean like...in your head? It talks to you?”

Clarke nods, her fingers absently brushing through the daemon’s warm, shimmering feathers. “Yeah…things were not looking good at the river.” She shoots Kerralis a sidelong glance. “By the way how is it that you know english...and also that other woman?.”

English?

"What we have been speaking so far?" Clarke replies with a hint of confusion. 

Ah I see, we call it gonasleng. It's of no use to civilians or people in the city. It's use is merely military and even then only some gonas-warriors use it.

"Huh...interesting. Anyways, thank you for helping me"

You could thank me properly by loosening this forsaken and undignified restraint.

“Nope,” Clarke says flatly, sighing dejectedly at the thought of leaving the comfort of the flaming body to change clothes. She places the bundled daemon on the floor and picks up the clothes Finn brought for her. “Not gonna happen.”

Finn looks away while Clarke turns her back and changes clothes disregarding any sense of modesty for the sake of warmth. His eyes land on the phoenix on the ground. He crouches down and clears his throat, taking a step closer to the phoenix. “Uh...hi. Care-Alice, right? I’m Finn. Nice to meet you.”

Kerralis tilts its head further, embers flicking off its feathers like tiny shooting stars. Its fiery gaze scans Finn with an air of scrutiny.

Ke-rra-lis kom Trikru…can’t say the same, I’m afraid. Pleasure is all yours.

The phoenix lets out a sharp cry—a sound halfway between a hawk’s screech and crackling flames.

Clarke chuckles, pulling on a new white shirt she turns and gives Finn an amused smile. “They say 'Nice to meet you too'.’”

The phoenix bristles under the fire mantle, its feathers flaring momentarily as if offended by her audacity.

I most certainly did not say that!

Finn frowns, casting the phoenix a wary glance. “I don’t think that’s what they said.”

At least have the decency of letting him know my name, Klark kom Skaikru. I’d rather you call me ‘daemon’ than have you Skai-goufas butchering my name like that of a house pet.

“Everyone has nicknames, Ker. Finn is just lucky his name is so short you can’t shorten it any more than that or he would have one. But sure, let’s see what Finn thinks about it.”

“What I think about what?” Finn asks, still struggling to grasp the idea of Clarke being able to talk to the phoenix daemon.

Fully clothed and looking at her own soaked boots with disgust, Clarke turns around and exhales in defeat. “Their name is Kerralis Kom Trikru, and they say the pleasure is all yours.”

“Kerh.ahliss come tree-what? How do your roll your r’s like that?”

Clarke turns to smirk triumphantly at the phoenix and it just shakes its head in defeat while Leah rumbles and rolls around in the grass tail flicking in amusement.

Ai no gonplei kom branwoda. At least your pronounciation has improved Klark kom skaikru.

"You keep saying Clarke kom skaikru. My name is Clarke Griffin what the hell is that? "

Skaikru. skai is for sky and kru is a group of people you come from the sky so you are Clarke of the sky people. I am Keralis kom trikru. My soulbond's village is of the woods. Trikru.

"Fascinating." Clarke whispers.

Now, if you are done disrespecting my name and body, we shall go, my people can’t stand here for too long, It’s dangerous to stay out here.

Clarke’s brow furrows as she carefully straps back again the phoenix against her chest at the reminder of other dangers besides the grounders and scans with worry the tree line behind them
"Where is the rest? They should have arrived by now," Clarke asks.

Finn glances back toward the woods, his expression tightening. "Myles ran off scared when he heard a loud noice. Bellamy and Harper went after him." He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I sent Rico to keep an eye on you while I scouted the area."

Clarke mutters a curse, shaking her head. "Did you find anything?"

"Nothing yet. But if Myles is heading deeper into the forest in the dark..." Finn hesitated. "Bellamy won’t stop until he drags him back. At least I trust him to do that."

Clarke exhaled sharply, her breath visible in the cold air. "We can’t waste any more time. Jasper’s condition won’t wait for us to go back and fix this. So we choose losing three of our own against two…great”

“How far away is Jasper?” Clarke asks Keralis.

Last I recall your injured friend is being treated by Nyko, the best fisa in Polis. 

"Fisa? Polis?" 

A healer. Nyko knows how to treat such wounds but your friend is weaker than our lesser warriors. Your injured friend is closer to the flame than steping foot back on the ground. The building you are headed to, is in Polis, our city. 

Clarke nods and feels exhausted just from understanding how far away that is but nods and turns back to Finn. “The grounders live in Baltimore. They call it Polis now. Jasper is there he is being treated by someone named Nyko…” Clark explains to Finn then lets the daemon’s words sink in and sharply turns back around. ”You said injured friend…What about Octavia?”

I am not familiar with this Okteivia. Kerralis tilts their head in confusion.

“She was with us when you people attacked us.” Clarke grits out and begins walking towards the fallen tree where the pair of grounder leaders are waiting.

“Your people speared Jasper, took him away and Octavia disappeared. She may be young but she knows how to find her way with her daemon. She would have found the way back to us”

Kerralis’s big haunting eyes search something in Clarke before shaking their feathers once again from the tension. Huffing at the way the straps cut at their side.

This Okteivia…her spirit. Is it present or is it an essence still?

“She is not 18 yet if that’s what you are asking. Why is that important?”

The daemon lets out another huff, feathers bristling, more embers raining up around them and a few drops of molten rock spilling from it’s wound. Clarke picks up the fire mantle and once again covers the daemon’s fiery body.

“Stop doing that, you keep festering the wound. Do I have to swaddle you once again with this so you let it heal?”

You will do it anyway, At least I’ve learned that about you. Kerralis exhales loudly withing their restraints. 

Addressing your question; Our gonas were following a group of maunon and ripas that took some of our goufas away. You people are dressed like them. Our gonas took your friend for treatment and returned to Polis for interrogation. We don’t have your Okteivia girl but our gonas are on the lookout for Ripas. We found the entrance to a set of tunnels the maunon have been using to send Ripas not too far away from here. Staying around this place is dangerous.

“You keep saying these strange words as If I am supposed to know what they mean” Clarke mutters in frustration, hastening her pace and getting closer to the pair of grounders waiting for her by the log that serves as bridge on the river. Leah already waiting at their side, eyeing them warily for any sign of danger.

I will explain on the way. Say goodbye to Finn and meet our generals. We need to go if we want to get to Polis soon.

Clarke halts mid-step at Kerralis’s words, forcing Finn to stumble into her back. Behind them, Rico barks sharply, claws skidding against the damp earth. She looks down at the daemon and blinks confused.

“Clarke?” Finn steadied himself, frowning. “What’s going on?”

"I'm not leaving him behind, it's dangerous"

"Leave who?" Finn asks equally confused

I Never said your friend was allowed to follow. 

Clarke turned sharply, disbelief twisting her features. “What? Why not?”

Finn’s eyes darted between Clarke and the phoenix. “Why not what? Clarke, what’s happening?”

Ahead, Leah growled low in her throat, the sound reverberating like distant thunder, warning Clarke to mind her actions when the two grounder leaders stiffened, hands instinctively moving to their weapons at the sight of Clarke forcibly grabbing Kerrali's flat beak. Leah’s tail lashed, her eyes locked on them with a predator’s precision.

Kerralis remained unbothered, their tone calm but unyielding. While I am Keryon kom Heda, I cannot decide alone on the fate of your people. You may see to your dying friend and plead with Heda, but until then, Skaikru cannot cross the river.

Clarke shakes her head, muttering a curse under her breath. “Of course, it couldn’t be that easy.”

“What? What did they say?” Finn asks, frustration mounting as he watches Clarke’s one-sided exchange with the fiery phoenix.

“You can’t come, Finn.” Clarke’s voice tightens. “Apparently you—and everyone else really—are not part of the deal.”

“What?! The hell I’m not!” Finn snaps, his glare cutting toward the daemon. “I’m not letting you go alone with them.”

Clarke shoots a pointed look at the grounders, now only a few meters away, their postures rigid with tension. “Then go ahead. Tell it to the ones with the bows and spears.”

Finn grits his teeth and looks down to the phoenix. “What if you tell them to let me through? You did it for her—why not me?”

Kerralis shakes their head, embers cascading like dying stars making Finn step back.

Your…circumstances give you safe passage to Polis, Klark kom skaikru. The fact that you are a natblida—holding me hostage, no less—is the only reason they didn’t kill you the moment you stepped into the river. As I said before; fools have pretended to speak for me before. Only my soulbond can validate what is said in my name.

“I’m a what now?” Clarke mutters, frowning.

Kerralis bristles and leans forward, forcing Clarke to take an involuntary step. I’ll explain on the way to Polis. Dismiss your friend. Tell him to be careful. And be wary of any spirit you see specially if its one of your missing friend's spirit.

Clarke stops abruptly, her heart lurching at the cryptic warning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The phoenix’s molten gaze flicks toward the darkened woods, its embers growing faint. Leah, sensing the shift in tension, growls softly. Clarke whispers, “Leah, sweep the forest. Fast.” Without hesitation, her daemon bolts into the shadows, her sleek form disappearing into the underbrush.

“Ker, what danger are we talking about? You said something earlier about maunons and… reapers?”

“Ripas,” interjects the blonde grounder leader, her sudden voice startling both Clarke and Finn. Rico jumps to Clarke's shoulder and snarls. The woman steps closer, her boots crunching against fallen leaves. “Corrupted people whose spirits will tear you apart or drag you away.”

“Spirits?” Finn asks, his frown deepening.

“Daemons,” Clarke clarifies grimly, her gaze narrowing as it sweeps over the grounders. “But why should I be wary of my friend’s daemon? It’s still theirs.”

“You really don’t know anything, do you, sky girl?” The grounder’s tone is sharp, almost pitying.

“My name is Clarke and as I said before, grounder. We landed only a few days ago,” Clarke replies with the same disdain the woman says 'sky girl' “We didn’t even know anyone was still alive down here. Thought the ground was a lifeless wasteland.”

“I am Anya,” the blonde grounder says, her voice clipped. Her eyes flick between Clarke and Finn, then linger on Rico perched behind Clarke protectively, her tone skeptical. “Who would have thought you carry Keryon kom Heda like a fickle candle...”

“I’m starting to understand it’s a big deal,” Clarke bites back, exhaustion thinning her patience. “But you’re still not answering my question. Why should I be wary of my friend’s daemon?”

“Because, Skaikru,” Anya says, stepping closer, her movements deliberate and unthreatening. Tension ripples through the group like an undercurrent. Clarke’s eyes dart around, searching for the black panther she knows must be nearby. “When a spirit is corrupted, it turns feral, unhinged. If your friend’s spirit is no longer loyal to you, it will hunt you. Just like ripas.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Finn says, his voice rising. “Daemons are connected to us—they’re part of us.”

Anya fixes him with a cold, unyielding stare. “Not if the mountain men have their way. They have their methods. Ripas take our people, and we never see them again.”

Her words linger, heavy and ominous. Kerralis shifts in Clarke’s arms, their feathers dimming. Embers fall to the mossy ground like fragile stars. They have taken thousands of our people over the years, the phoenix says, their voice low and grave. If they took your Okteivia, you will not see her again unless her spirit has already manifested. If she is closer to the age of reckoning, maybe. Either way, her spirit will be torn away and made to prowl around like a Ripa. This place you called it Mount Weather earlier—it is where they come from.

“Mount Weather,” Clarke whispers, her voice hollow.

A sudden rustle in the underbrush breaks the tension. Leah emerges from the shadows, her spectral form shimmering faintly. She pads to Clarke’s side, tail flicking in agitation. Her gaze scans the treeline and then the horizon, her icy green eyes filled with unease urging her to look up.

The sky above is lighter now, the darkness thinning to pale gray.

Clarke’s breath catches in her throat. “It’s almost dawn,” she murmurs.

Finn glances skyward, realization dawning on his face. “We’ve been out longer than we should have. Wells and the others—”

“They will head straight to Mount weather." Clarke interrupts,shoving him toward the woods "We need to go. Now!"

She pivots in place and starts heading back to where they came from, clutching the phoenix to her chest. A strong hand turns her around but is soon removed when Kerrali’s feather’s get bolstered by the wind and flames scatter around Clarke like a halo.

“Where do you think you are you going with Heda’s spirit?” Anya says with a stern voice.

“My people will go straight to the mountain by dawn. If what you say is true I need to warn them. Can’t let Finn go alone I have to make sure he makes it.” Clarke explains and keeps on walking back.

“Your friend won’t last long if we don’t go back now. It may be too late by the time your return.” Anya’s calm voice makes Clarke stop, steps faltering with the hidden threat in her words.

Clarke clenches her jaw and shakes her head keeping her gaze to the woods. Risking everyone else for just one or two is not a choice. She looks back and up to where the top of the skyscraper can be seen and pushes down her guilt at having to leave Jasper there. Her gaze hardens when she looks back down into Anya’s eyes, the woman tilts her head and a hint of a surprised smile as if Clarke’s determination was amusing, is visible.

“My people is in danger. I will be back as soon as I can” Clarke finishes her sentence and turns to make a sprint into the woods and join Finn.

The black panther daemon jumps up from behind Anya and cuts off Clarke’s path. Deep blue eyes staring down at her, ignoring the way Kerralis’s embers dance around in close proximity.

 Leah’s hackles raise and she stands phasing through Clarke in retaliation. Her daemon’s presence centering her as she squares up to the panther and looks back into it’s depths defiantly. “I don’t have time for this. Move or come along if you are so worried about your friend but I am going.”

The panther’s rumbles sound deeper, more menacing.

Let her pass, Caelus. She has made her choice.

The panther this time crouches and stands firm on its place, his deep blue eyes dancing across her face then down to the expectant gaze of Kerralis then shakes his head.

“Fine” Clarke snarls and pins the panther down, doesn’t look away as she speaks. “Ker, I trust you to keep your word so keep Jasper from further harm. That’s all I ask.”

Without further warning she hurriedly unstraps Kerralis.

Wait, what are you doing!? Kerralis squaks as they hit the wet stone crackling fire and embers spiraling around.

“Keep your friend if that’s what you want. I won’t risk my people to please yours.”

She shouts back towards Anya and unceremoniously throws the phoenix somewhere on the side of the riverbank.

Clarke takes advantage of the distraction and dashes away into the forest whilst everyone rushes to the daemon’s aid. She notes with satisfaction that the moment they approach the tied-down daemon they jump back from the scalding heat.

Good. That should buy her time if they try to follow her.

Clarke and Finn run as fast as they can towards the camp. Lungs on fire
The forest envelops Clarke in an oppressive silence, broken only by the sound of her hurried footsteps crunching against the moss-laden ground. Leah moves beside her, her spectral form shimmering faintly in the dim moonlight that filtered through the canopy.

She catches up to Finn with Rico on clinging to the back of his shirt.

Finn looks back at the sound of her steps and slows down to run alongside her. At the lack of light he frowns. “Where’s the phoenix?”

“They wouldn’t let me go with Ker’on my back. I didn’t have much choice,” Clarke muttered back, her voice breathless.

Finn shakes his head. “So we lost our way to the city and Jasper?”

“We’ll lose more than Jasper if we don’t make it back in time,” Clarke snaps, her tone clipped. “I didn’t want to leave him behind, but if what they said about these mountain people is true… I can’t save one person while everyone else is at risk.”

Leah’s ears flicked toward a distant sound, her sharp eyes scanning the woods.

Suddenly Leah’s hackles raise, and she gives Clarke a low rumbling warning.

“Something’s nearby,” Finn whispers, his voice tense as Rico lets out a sharp, defensive chirp. The small daemon glances around nervously, sniffing the air.

“Just keep going,” Clarke hisses between ragged breaths, her eyes darting toward the sky. The faint light of dawn visible in the sky turning from a dark plue filled with stars to a dark grey, casting a pale glow over the forest floor. “We’re running out of time.” For once wishing they chose to be lazy this time around and take their time packing up.

The two keep moving, their steps deliberate, though every shadow feels like a threat. The forest seems alive with unseen watchers, and Clarke’s skin prickles with unease. The oppressive quiet magnifies every rustle and crack of a twig, setting her nerves on edge.

Clarke’s legs burn with each step, her lungs heaving as exhaustion claws at her resolve. 

Leah growls again, louder this time, her spectral form darting ahead before veering into the underbrush. Her growl sharpens, echoing in the stillness as she melds into the darkness like a phantom.

“Leah!” Clarke hisses, her steps faltering. She stumbles over a gnarled root hidden beneath the undergrowth and her left foot gets stuck twisting in an awkward position, pain flares in her ankle as she crashes to the ground.

“Clarke!” Finn stops abruptly and turns back, crouching to help her. She winces as she tries to put weight on her foot, a sharp cry of pain escaping her lips.

“I can’t,” Clarke says through gritted teeth, her voice trembling. “I think I sprained my ankle.” She exhales shakily, then meets Finn’s worried gaze. “You have to keep going.”

Finn’s jaw tightens, his expression hardening. “You can’t be serious. I didn't leave you out there with the grounders and I am not leaving you out here alone, come one I'm sure its just a mile or two.” He reaches for her, but she swats his hands away with a frustrated glare.

“I’ll be fine,” Clarke insists, though her voice wavers. Her hand grips his arm, her gaze softening. “I’ll hide here until you get back. Just warn the others. Once they’re safe, you can come back for me. We don’t have time to argue.”

Finn hesitates, his fists clenching as frustration and fear war in his expression. After a long moment, he nods reluctantly. “Fine,” he says, his voice tight. He shrugs off his backpack and drops it at her feet.

Rico chirps indignantly from Finn’s shoulder, his small arms flailing in protest. Finn places a steadying hand on his daemon, murmuring something under his breath before setting him down. The small creature scurries over to Clarke, climbing onto her shoulder.

Clarke blinks at Rico in surprise, then looks back at Finn with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Take care of each other,” Finn says, a faint, wry smile tugging at his lips. He glances up at the sky, his expression darkening. “I’ll come back for you. Promise. I will pinch my palm three times Rico!”

Before Clarke can protest, Finn turns and jogs back into the forest. The sound of his footsteps fades quickly into the silence, leaving Clarke alone with Leah and Rico.

The forest feels impossibly still now, the tension wrapping around her like a vice. Leah pads back to her side, her spectral form glowing faintly in the dim light. Clarke watches Finn’s silhouette disappear into the trees, her heart heavy with worry.

"Be safe" she whispers, her voice barely audible.

"Leah!" Clarke calls out and Leah drops in beside her, tail flicking uneasily. "Follow him, make sure he gets back to the camp no matter what happens you follow him, you don't return unless it's with him otherwise you let me know, understood?" She gazes back at her daemon, who initially refuses but one glance at Rico and a huff later, she sprints in the direction Finn disappeared.

Rico nestles against Clarke, his tiny warmth a small comfort against the biting cold and the dread pooling in her chest. She exhales shakily, leaning back against the gnarled trunk of a massive tree. Her injured ankle throbs with each heartbeat, a relentless reminder of her vulnerability. Dragging herself into a nook beneath the tree’s sprawling roots, she tilts her head back, eyes scanning the dim sky with a mixture of frustration and despair.

Shivering, she pulls off her boots and peels away the sodden socks that haven’t survived her trek through the river. Draping them over an exposed root to dry, she brushes down her damp foot to inspect the damage. Her fingers probe the swelling gingerly, her teeth gritting against the sharp flare of pain. Suddenly Rico's ears perk up and he stands up to peek around the tree before returning rapidly to her lap.

Clarke opens her mouth to speak, but freezes at the faint sound of footsteps.

Several pairs, moving steadily closer.

The forest presses in around her, the shadows between the trees growing deeper and more menacing. Every rustle of leaves or crack of a branch makes her heart pound. Rico shifts uneasily in her arms, his small claws digging into her sleeve. Leah bristles, stepping forward with tense focus, her growl a low, constant rumble.

Clarke tightens her grip on a fallen branch she picked up earlier, testing its weight as a makeshift weapon. It isn’t much, but it’s all she has. Shifting her position, she eases the pressure on her ankle while keeping herself ready to spring into action if necessary.

The minutes stretch into an eternity, each one filled with the oppressive silence of her surroundings and the chaos in her mind. Worry for Finn and her people, anger at herself for being reckless, and raw fear for whatever lurks beyond the trees churn inside her.

A whimper breaks the stillness, followed by guttural growls that send chills racing down her spine. Clarke freezes, her grip on the branch tightening as a muffled scream pierces the air. Leah stiffens, lips pulling back in a silent snarl as figures emerge from the trees.

Several shadowed forms hurry through the woods, carrying struggling captives slung over their shoulders. Whimpers and muffled cries trail in their wake, and Clarke’s stomach twists as her eyes lock on the tall, dark figure at the rear. He drags a rope-bound captive behind him while clutching a smaller, limp form in his other hand.

Her breath catches as a familiar voice reaches her ears—Harper’s. Clarke’s heart clenches, her thoughts flashing to Kerralis’s warning.

They have taken thousands of our people over the years.

Rico growls softly, his hackles raised as another figure veers toward the tree. Clarke hastily flattens herself into the hollow beneath the roots, her heart hammering.

“Stay ready,” she whispers to Rico, her voice barely audible. “If it comes for us, we fight. If they take me... you run back to Finn. If anything happens to you and he can't warn everyone else at camp we are all doomed.”

The daemon chirps softly, his claws clutching her sleeve as he trembles.

A pair of heavy boots comes into view. The figure drags his unconscious captive—a girl no older than thirteen—through the dirt. Her small frame bears warrior’s gear, much to similar to those of the ground leader at the river. knifes and blades peeking from her back but her face is pale and bloodied, her side marked by a deep, jagged wound.

Clarke bites her lip to stifle a gasp as the figure bends to pick something up. Her heart sinks as she realizes her mistake—her socks, abandoned and in plain view.

The figure lets out a guttural snarl, straightening and scanning the area.

Suddenly, the figure crumples with a sharp, wet gasp, an arrow protruding from his chest.

“Frag ’em op!” A fierce war cry shatters the stillness, followed by the sound of clashing metal and panicked shouts.

Chaos erupts as a second group ambushes the first, their cries of rage filling the air. Clarke freezes, unable to move as a man stumbles near her hiding place, his bloodshot eyes locking onto hers. His face twists into a grotesque snarl, his movements jerky and unnatural. 

He lunges toward her, hands outstretched.

Clarke swings her makeshift weapon with all her strength, the branch cracking against his chest. The blow barely slows him. Rico leaps from her shoulder, biting and clawing at the man’s arm, forcing him back. Clarke scrambles to her feet, pain shooting through her ankle as she swings again, this time striking the side of his head.

A shadow lunges from the trees—a sleek panther with piercing blue eyes. It sinks its teeth into the man’s arm, its growl low and feral. The man screams, trying to shake the panther off, but it holds firm until he crumples to the ground, twitching before going still.

Clarke stares, wide-eyed, at the daemon. It's the same one from the river...did the grounders follow her? The panther-Anya's daemon,huffs with wide alert eyes to their surroundings, Clarke thanks him and the daemon nods briefly before turning to face another approaching figure.

Her ankle throbs mercilessly, but Clarke doesn’t have time to process the pain—more figures emerge from the trees, their distorted cries filling the air.

The chaos around her is deafening. Shadows clash with grounders armed with spears and blades, their cries of defiance mingling with the guttural roars of the maddened attackers. Clarke’s eyes dart around, searching desperately for an escape from the battlefield. She briefly considers looking for Harper, Myles or Bellamy but dismisses the thought—the scene is too chaotic. Instead, she spots a gap in the fighting—a narrow path through the trees that might lead her back toward camp.

She steps carefully, mindful of where she places her feet when her eyes land on the girl from earlier staring up at her with tired, pained eyes.

Clarke looks around helplessly, torn between fleeing and helping. She shakes her head, fighting the urge to stop, and continues hobbling away from the heat of the battle. But a soft voice stops her in her tracks.

“Beja,” the girl whispers weakly.

Biting her lip, Clarke closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before trudging back toward the girl.

“Rico, watch over me,” she whispers, dropping to her knees beside the child. The girl’s face is pale, her breaths shallow, but she’s conscious. Clarke carefully lifts her, wincing as the strain sends a fresh wave of pain through her ankle.

Rico scurries up to Clarke’s shoulder, his tiny frame trembling as he bravely looks around and clings to her with the oversized backpack still strapped to his back.

Staggering to her feet with the girl in her arms, Clarke limps toward the opening she spotted earlier. Each step is a battle against the relentless throbbing in her ankle and the weight of the girl in her grasp.

The sounds of the battle grow fainter as they move deeper into the forest. Finally, Clarke stops and lays the girl down gently.

She quickly opens the bag, pulling out a small lantern and a med kit. Her fingers work swiftly but carefully as she assesses the child’s injuries. Blood seeps from a wound on the girl’s side, staining her tattered clothing a deep crimson. Clarke’s throat tightens, but relief washes over her when she realizes the wound, while serious, is not immediately life-threatening.

“Stay with me,” Clarke murmurs softly, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her insides. 

Clarke pulls out a roll of bandages and an antiseptic spray, biting down hard on her lip to suppress her frustration at the limited supplies. She cleans the wound as gently as she can, the girl flinching and letting out a soft whimper.

“I know it hurts,” Clarke says, her voice soft but urgent. “But I need you to hold on a little longer, okay? I’m going to help you. "Ai laik Clark" she mutters the only few words she is sure what they mean in the grounder language "Do you have a name?”

Rico hops down from her shoulder, chittering anxiously as he helps gather the used supplies back into the med kit, readying them to leave at a moment’s notice.  

The girl’s eyes flutter open again, dull and unfocused. Her lips part, and she whispers faintly, “Tris…”

Clarke swallows hard and nods, even though she doesn’t understand the word. “I’ve got you, Tris” she says firmly, hoping that what she said was her name and not something else and wrapping the bandage tightly around the girl’s waist to stem the bleeding.

Rico's ears perk up once again and looks to the side in alarm, letting out little chirps of warning. Clarke’s heart races when rustling reaches her ears and becomes louder by the second.

She ducks behind a thick tree, pressing her back against the bark, listening intently. Several crazed men trudge past, carrying children over their shoulders. Clarke’s breath catches as she spots one of them holding Harper and her daemon.

Her pulse quickens for a moment, adrenaline rushing within her as she takes a split-second decision. “Rico, stop him!” she shouts, grabbing one of the grounder girl’s weapons, a long thin blade as she scrambles to her feet.

Rico doesn’t hesitate, darting forward to climb up the crazed man, biting at his hands and feet. The man stumbles, struggling to maintain his grip on his captives. Clarke grits her teeth, preparing to act.

The fierce little daemon rushes forward, scaling the crazed man with quick, sharp movements. Rico bites down on the man’s arms and claws at his legs, forcing him to stumble and struggle to maintain his grip on his captives.

Clarke sprints forward, her jagged blade clutched tightly, adrenaline surging through her veins and dulling the agony in her ankle. The man thrashes violently, snarling as Rico clings to his wrist, teeth sinking in with unrelenting force. A guttural cry escapes the man as his grip on Harper falters.

“Let her go!” Clarke yells, her voice raw but resolute. She raises the stolen blade high and drives it downward with all her strength. At the last second, the man twists, and the blade plunges deep into his throat. Blood sprays in an arc, catching the faint moonlight, as the man gurgles and clutches futilely at the mortal wound. Clarke freezes, her breath hitching as crimson pools around her feet.

Harper tumbles to the ground, her daemon flickering weakly like a dying ember. Forcing herself to move, Clarke drops to her knees, pulling Harper away from the lifeless body. Her hands tremble as she grips Harper’s shoulders, her mind reeling with the weight of what she’s done.

Rico growls sharply, snapping Clarke out of her daze. Two more crazed figures emerge from the shadows, their eyes wild and weapons glinting in the dim light. The forest air reeks of damp earth and blood, mingling with the rustling of leaves underfoot.

Clarke scrambles to her feet, raising her blade defensively. “Rico, distract one of them!” she hisses.

The small daemon dashes forward, a blur of claws and teeth, tangling with one of the attackers and forcing him off balance. Clarke focuses on the other, narrowly dodging a wide swing of his axe. She’s too slow to evade his next move—a brutal knee to her stomach. The impact drives the air from her lungs, and she collapses, gasping.

Pain explodes in her skull as the man’s boot slams into her face. Black spots cloud her vision, but she swings her blade desperately, grazing his leg. The man sneers, raising his axe high for a killing blow.

A thunderous roar tears through the night, followed by a fierce war cry. A massive feline daemon crashes into the man, its muscles rippling and claws gleaming. The man howls as the panther drags him to the ground and turns to look back at Clarke. Once again a set of familiar, fierce blue eyes look back at her and Clarke feels relief at the sight. From the panther's back -who Clarke guesses is Anya-leaps, her sword flashing in the moonlight as she dispatches the second attacker in one fluid motion.

Relief washes over her for a brief moment, but the sound of the wounded girl’s groan pulls her attention. Clarke rushes to the girl’s side, her hands already moving to check the bandages when a sudden glint catches her eye. A blade presses cold against her throat.

Clarke freezes, her breath catching. Slowly, she raises her hands in surrender, Rico clinging tightly to her shoulder, growling softly in defiance.

“Anya?” Clarke asks, her voice tinged with fear. Her heart pounds as she recalls the fragile truce they’d shared. Maybe it only lasted as long as Keralis was with her. Shit.

“Chon yu bilaik?” A sharp, velvet voice speaks from behind her.

Not Anya, then. Clarke thinks and swallows hard, her mind racing. Grounders are strange—who lets someone else use their daemon as a mount?

Clarke shakes her head slightly, forcing herself to remember what little she’s learned of the Grounder language.

“Ai laik Clarke kom...” She hesitates, making a snap decision. “Trikru,” she lies. If this person wasn’t at the river, they wouldn’t know who she truly is. Saying skaikru to anyone that was not at the river could get her killed.

The panther daemon—Caelus, if Clarke recalls correctly from what Keralis had called it—growls and roars sprinting about the small clearing Its presence is a looming threat as other crazed ripas rush past them. Clarke winces at the sound of mauling nearby, but she keeps her composure.

“Trikru?” The feminine low voice behind her sounds skeptical, tinged with disbelief or perhaps surprise.

“Yes. I’m a...fisa,” Clarke says, her voice faltering before regaining strength. She thanks her past self for pestering the phoenix daemon with questions when she had the chance. “From Trikru.” She refuses to glance back, her focus shifting to the girl trembling under her hands. If this woman sees her helping one of their own, surely she’ll spare her. Right?

The blade vanishes from her throat, and Clarke lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“A fisa that speaks gonasleng?” the voice repeats, curiosity coloring her words.

"I prefer it" Clarke mutters wiping beads of blood trickling from Tris's forehead.

“I have never heard of you before... Klark kom Trikru.”

“I—am not well known, clearly” Clarke stammers, resuming her work on the girl’s wounds.

Footsteps crunch softly against the forest floor as the figure circles Clarke, finally kneeling opposite her. Clarke refuses to meet her gaze, hiding her face behind the mess of her hair. Hoping the woman lets it go and leaves her to attend her own business. The panther surely is from the sounds of blood and gore occurring somewhere in the shadows, Clarke keeps her focus on the young warrior’s bandages. But she feels the weight of the woman’s piercing stare as seconds tick by.

“Who is your teacher?” The woman asks after a minute or two.

Clarke’s mind races. She closes her eyes briefly, pretending to focus on the girl’s pulse, buying herself precious seconds while grasping for a name. Her thoughts land on the healer Keralis mentioned in passing—the one treating Jasper. Nick? No, Grounder names are always more unusual. Nike? Nyko... that’s it!

“Nyko,” she mutters under her breath, praying the name sounds garbled enough to pass.

“Didn’t know Nyko had taken an apprentice,” the woman remarks, suspicion lacing her words.

“He didn't. You would have heard about me if that was the case but I-I just have basic knowledge he taught me in his spare time,” Clarke replies, her voice unsteady with the lie she has come up as she frowns at the injured girl, who suddenly wheezes and gurgles, her body jerking slightly.

Clarke curses under her breath and moves to lift the girl carefully, trying not to worsen her injuries. She glances up briefly, tracing a single cloaked arm in her periphery her voice urgent but firm. “Help me lift her up. Hold her arm gently—keep her steady. I need to hear her lungs.”

The woman hesitates but complies, mirroring Clarke’s movements as they shift the girl onto her side. Clarke presses her ear to the girl’s chest then her back, her heart sinking at the faint, wet crackling sound of blood in her lungs.

The gurgling intensifies as the girl coughs, liquid bubbling in her throat. Clarke’s breath catches. Her lungs are filling with blood.

“Rico! Backpack!” Clarke snaps.

“Help me move her into the light,” Clarke orders, nodding toward a brighter patch of ground. “Keep her on her side. Careful!”

The warrior silently follows, moving with surprising gentleness as they shift the girl into the light. Clarke yanks off her jacket, knowing the next few minutes will get messy. As she rummages through her supplies, her thoughts whirl. The woman doesn’t seem inclined to leave, so there’s no use in hiding her face now. Consequences be damned.

A faint beam of light filters through the canopy above, illuminating their small clearing. Relief and dread twist in Clarke’s chest—relief for the light, dread because it means dawn is approaching. She can only hope her group of delinquents fell asleep or were slow in their pack-up...or that they didn't run away from the notice of the fight.

Once she finds it she closes her eyes to center herself on what she can do right now and keeps them closed as she turns around, thinking about and recalling her mother's teachings, a rubberband hanging from her teeth as she gathers up her hair making her way to where the woman has already brought the bloodied teen to the bright light seeping through the trees. She thinks she hears the barest hint of an exhale. The flickering light hits her closed eyelids before she opens them up, glaring one last time at the light seeping through the trees.

A surprised gasp comes from below her and soon after the girl coughs again, a chilling, wet sound that snaps Clarke back into action.

Her fingers glide over the girl’s ribs, searching. Finding the spot between them, she murmurs, “This will hurt for a moment, Tris” before grabbing a thin blade from the girl’s belongings." I will return this soon"

Clarke sanitizes the blade with rubbing alcohol, wiping it down with gauze before pouring more alcohol over it. Without hesitation, she plunges it into the space between the girl’s ribs.

“What are you—”

“Hold this.” Clarke grabs the woman’s hand, pressing it firmly against the hilt of the knife. “Keep it steady. Don’t move it, don’t pull it out until I tell you to.” She says, leaving no room for arguments. “Rico,” Clarke calls, “find me a tube about five inches long—cut it down to three. And get me a needle and thread ready.”

The woman, startled but obedient, nods.

The small daemon scurries into the bag, retrieving the items. Clarke sanitizes the tube, and then steadies herself with a deep breath.

“Pull it out,” she orders.

The woman complies, pulling the knife free. Clarke inserts the tube, securing it in place with gauze. Blood trickles out, relieving the pressure in the girl’s lungs. Her breathing stabilizes.

Clarke works quickly, her hands deft as she sutures other wounds, giving quiet instructions to both the cloaked warrior and Rico.

Once she finishes tending to the last of the injured, she moves to Harper, still unconscious a few meters away. Harper and Mia appear stable, though battered and bruised. Clarke carefully checks for signs of concussion, her movements precise despite the ache building in her own body.

One by one, she repeats her process and examines the remaining injured—three younger kids lying nearby, bruised and bloodied but spared from life-threatening wounds. As the first light of dawn creeps into the clearing, she allows herself a small sigh of relief.

It's when she makes her last check up on Tris when she notices the cloaked warrior kneeling nearby, whispering softly to a young man clutching his daemon. The sight makes Clarke freeze for a moment. The daemon lies mangled beyond repair, more than half its body missing chunks of flesh. The young man whimpers, tears streaming down his face.

The warrior’s hands move gently as she takes the broken daemon from him, cradling it in the most tender of manners in her lap. Her voice is low, the words foreign yet soothing.

“Chon ste yu nomon, yu nontu?”

The young man’s lips move weakly, forming two names in barely audible whispers.

Clarke steps forward, and the warrior glances at her briefly before moving aside, making space for Clarke to kneel beside her.

“Can you save him?” The warrior asks, though a hint of sadness and hopelessness betrays her voice as she speaks.

The shallow, uneven rise and fall of the small daemon’s chest and it's mangled state tells her everything she needs to know. No amount of skill or equipment could reverse the damage.

“I can help him,” Clarke murmurs. She gently takes the young man’s trembling hand in hers. “Rico,” she calls softly, “there’s a thin blade at the bottom of my satchel. Bring it to me.”

Rico hesitates for only a second before darting off.

The young man’s dark eyes lock onto Clarke’s, wide with panic. She offers him a soft smile and begins to hum, her voice low and steady as she sings a tune her mother once sang to her as a child.

“It’s okay” She whispers softly and traces a gentle hand across his cheek and up to the crown of his head, her fingers gently tracing patterns through his matted hair.

His eyes dancing across her face and his gaze softens slightly, his lips forming a single word. “Meizin.”

“Shhh. Reshop, gona” Clarke shushes him with a gentle finger atop his chaffed lips in a whisper, recalling the few words she cared to learn from Keralis. Hoping they will sooth him.

The barest hint of a smile shows on his lips and Clarke’s smile widens though she has to breathe deeply so her eyes don’t water. A ghost of a smile touches his lips. Beside her, the warrior takes his other hand, her expression a mask of composure despite the sadness in her eyes.

“He-da,” the young man wheezes, his voice thin.

“chit du don meizen fisa jos don biyo op?”(what did the beautiful healer just say?) The woman says with gentle firmness in her voice. “reshop, gona” The young man nods weakly, his breathing slowing as he closes his eyes and his panicked wheezing stops, though his breathing is still difficult and shallow.

Rico returns, placing the thin blade into Clarke’s waiting hand. She glances down at it for a moment, and takes a deep breath.

Clarke leans forward, her voice steady despite the heaviness in her chest.

“In peace, " she whispers, her fingers trailing gently through his hair, "may you leave this shore.” she presses the blade swiftly against his wrist, slicing cleanly through the artery. The blade is so sharp it takes a moment for blood to trickle out of it in painless spurs.

“In love," She says as she gently takes the hand held by the warrior’s and swiftly slices once more. "may you find the next.” 

Clarke places the blade under his chin, his eyes open unfocused and Clarke gives him a tender smile soothing him with a gentle trace of her thumb under his cheek. “Safe passage on your travels.”

”Until our final journey to the ground,” Her voice cracks slightly as she makes the final cuts, the lifeblood draining away. The young man smiles at her with a shine on his eyes when her finger traces softly across his eyebrow for a minute and then lets out a soft exhale, his chest falling still.

“May we meet again” Clarke whispers the final verse of the poem as she gently closes his eyes with her fingers.

The warrior beside her echoes the ritual in their tongue, her voice solemn and melodic.

“Yu gonplei ste odon, Ariu kom Ingranronakru,” she murmurs. Carefully, she places the broken meerkat daemon into the young man’s arms so it sits protected by his hands and then she leans over to cut a braid from his hair. Reverently putting the braid away inside one of the many pouches in her belt. “Hofli fleimon-de laik yu shouna gothru klir na yu nes sonraun.” (May the flame guide you safely through your passage to the next life)

Clarke sits back, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. She wipes a tear from her cheek and rises unsteadily to her feet, forcing herself to focus on the others with another deep breath. The warrior stays still silent but present.

"I'm sorry, that's all I could do" Clarke whispers, her gaze lingering on the lifeless figure they have just sent off.

"It is what it is" The warrior replies solemnly taking off her long cloak and covering the young man's body with it. "The dead are gone, the living are hungry" 

 
Minutes pass in tense silence until Clarke finally leans back, her hands and clothes smeared with blood.

She lets out a long breath, her back resting against something warm and solid. Clarke frowns, turning to find herself leaning against a giant panther.

“How did I not notice the massive panther lying behind me?” she mutters, pressing her hand against its thick fur.

“Caelus has been there since you started checking up on the strik gona moments ago,” the woman replies, her voice soft. “You were in some sort of trance. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Clarke smiles faintly, running her fingers through the shimmering dark fur. Muscles ripple beneath her touch, and a low purr reverberates through the air. She chuckles softly, unable to resist the awe creeping into her voice.

The woman rises gracefully to her feet, her imposing figure casting a long shadow. “I had my doubts,Klark kom trikru” she says finally, her tone lighter than before. “But you’ve proved yourself. Nyko must be proud of you. That was...impressive.”

“Thank—” Clarke’s words falter and get stuck in her throat as she finally looks up at the woman and has a good look at her without the cloak for the first time. 

Her gaze travels up the imposing woman whose presence now feels like a storm rolling through the forest. She is young, probably no more than a couple of years older than her. She wears high, polished black leather boots that reach almost to her knees. Tight black pants hug her lean legs, and a sheathed knife is strapped high on her thigh. A long, flowing coat hangs from her shoulders, its tattered edges streaked with dirt from countless travels.

Despite its practicality and wear, the coat carries an air of regality. Subtle embroidery of swirling patterns lines the fabric, shimmering faintly in the pale morning light. Her belt brims with small pouches and tools, their contents mysterious but undeniably dangerous. Several dark belts travel along her midsection enhancing the curves in her figure. A long red sash held by an armored shoulder guard strapped on the woman across her chest traveling down her back regally like a cape all the way to the ground.

The woman’s figure is lithe and powerful, her poise as she walks closer to Clarke graceful yet deliberate like a predator sizing up its prey. A sling cradles her left arm, a spot between the clavicle and the shoulder stained with blood, though her posture remains unshaken. Her dominant hand is steady poised lazily on the blade hanging on her waist. If Clarke hadn't been so struck by the woman herself she would have apologized for making her work and lift with an injured arm.

Dark brown, wavy hair spills over her shoulders, tied back into a series of intricate braids. It’s adorned with small charms—bone beads, shards of metal, and tiny feathers. Clarke’s eyes move down the woman’s taut muscles and sharp angles, her skin smooth and tanned—a stark contrast to the dark paint that adorns her face. The paint, black and intricate, stretches across her face in delicate patterns, covering the upper half from under her cheekbone up to her eyebrows and dripping like ghostly tears down her cheeks

But it’s her eyes that make Clarke’s breath catch in her chest. A piercing set of icy green eyes, fierce yet cautious, watch Clarke with a steady intensity...They seem familiar. Those eyes dance across her face with a depth of curiosity that makes Clarke feel self-conscious. It’s haunting and beautiful, and as the morning light shines on her, it gives her an ethereal glow—a halo of sorts—making her seem both otherworldly and dangerous.

The fierce woman raises a single eyebrow, her gaze never wavering from Clarke, and tilts her head slightly ever curious. The panther daemon laying behind her grumbles, its low growl vibrating through the air. That’s when Clarke realizes that she’s been staring, her thoughts scattered, and shakes her head to clear the fog in her mind.

“Thank you,” she exhales breathlessly, still reeling from the presence of the woman before her "Thank you for saving me and helping me out with them all." Clarke nods to the young little warrior.

"It is me who is grateful, Klark kom trikru. I am in your debt for saving the yongon of our people. Anya too, she will be pleased to know her seken Tris lives still" 

"It was the right thing to do. Besides, Tris will need more help...she is not completely out of danger yet so, no thanks needed" Clarke replies shyly, not used to then her eyes trace the bleeding wound on her slinged shoulder. "That looks painful...If you want I can have a look?" she asks shyly.

"So you do know how to ask for permission. I wondered if all you did was order people around." The woman’s eyes flicker with something like amusement, though it’s hard to tell if it’s genuine or a mere glimmer of a mask she wears so well then looks down to her shoulder with a minute sigh. "This is a spirit's wound. Nothing you do for me now will close it until we are both treated and my spirit...they are difficult to treat." 

"I can give it a try too. Why don't you call your spirit over?" Clarke asks with a tilt of her head.

"As I said, they are difficult to treat. So they are away."

"I see...so Anya sent their spirit to help you save her seken then." She looks down at the last few bandages in her backpack in contemplation. "You shouldn't be out and about fighting ripas with your arm in a sling though, that's stu-I mean reckless" Clarke catches herself and looks away for a moment, missing the wary looks both the warrior and the panther share.

'Win their trust so they don't kill you' is the plan in Clarke's head. Going in full if she wants to make it out alive so Clarke pushes through. "Either way, your spirit being far away somewhere doesn't mean you can't have a head start towards healing, please let me look at it as a sign of my gratitude for saving my life."

The warrior gives Clarke an unreadable, stoic look, her expression betraying nothing but an air of quiet command. Yet, after a long moment, she nods minutely. Clarke smiles, the tension in her chest loosening just a fraction. She approaches carefully, her movements deliberate.

"Sit down over the light please." Clarke gestures, her voice soft but steady.

The woman moves gracefully, each step calculated, as though she is always aware of her surroundings. She lowers herself onto a patch of soft moss, carefully arranging the worn-down red sash, and drapes it carefully in her lap to keep it clean. Despite the poised exterior, Clarke notices the woman’s fingers toying absentmindedly with a dry leaf caught in the folds of the fabric—a small crack in the armor of her stoicism.

Kneeling beside her, Clarke winces slightly as her sprained ankle protests. She frowns when the faint light doesn’t reach where she needs it most. Acting on instinct, she reaches out, her hands landing on the woman’s inner left thigh and her uninjured shoulder to adjust her position ignoring the woman's slight yelp of surprise, she pulls her closer to the stream of light filtering through the canopy without thinking, her focus already shifting to the wound.

Behind her the panther lets out a loud quick exhale then flops onto the grass and begins rolling around, the sound of a low rumbling purr reverberating and breaking the sudden silence. 

Her fingers freeze when she glances up. Icy green eyes stare down at her in disbelief, the woman’s sharp features illuminated by the flickering light. A faint blush colors the tips of her ears, breaking through her otherwise impassive expression.

Clarke clears her throat, suddenly aware of how close they are after adjusting her position. She quickly peels back the sopping bandages from the woman’s shoulder, focusing on the task at hand. “So… do you have a name?” she asks, hoping to ease the sudden awkwardness.

The panther daemon lets out another quick huff and rolls over again, his black tail swishing through the grass before slapping Clarke lightly on the back of her neck. 

"-nou get in…!" 

She jumps slightly at the unexpected contact and the sound of the low voice that murmured fast and unintelligible

Clarke freezes, her heart racing. “Did you hear that?” she asks, glancing around the shadowy clearing.

The woman’s sharp eyes scan the surroundings, narrowing slightly, but she shakes her head. “I did not hear a thing.”

Shaking her head, Clarke mutters, “I must be imagining things.” She refocuses on the wound, peeling away the last of the bloodied bandages to reveal a thin layer of herbal paste. “Rico, can you get a fire going? I’ll need some water to boil these herbs,” she says.

The woman tilts her head, her gaze following the small raccoon daemon as he scurries off. Her curiosity deepens, but her eyes flick briefly to Caelus, as if silently conferring with him.

Clarke rummages through her bag, pulling out clean gauze and a bundle of herbs Wells had collected the day before. 

Rico returns minutes later, the small pot of boiling water balanced in his tiny hands. He places it carefully at Clarke’s feet, his movements unusually careful.

“Thank you,” Clarke murmurs, reaching down to ruffle his fur. Rico chitters happily, his excitement palpable. She hands him a curved piece of mirror-like metal. “Here, redirect some sunlight with this. I still can’t see very well.”

Rico bounces eagerly, holding the reflector steady to cast more light on the wound. Clarke chuckles at his enthusiasm, but when she turns back, she finds herself unexpectedly close to the woman’s face. Startled, she jerks back slightly.

“You have a surprisingly agitated spirit… Klark,” the woman murmurs, her voice low and deliberate. The foreign accent wraps around Clarke’s name, the sharp click of the “k” sending a strange flutter through her chest.

“Rico?” Clarke asks quickly, redirecting the attention to the daemon. She glances down at him, hoping to conceal the blush creeping up her neck. “He’s a cute little thing, isn’t he?”

At her words, Rico crosses his small arms and lets out a pointed huff, his tiny nose twitching in mock indignation. Clarke can’t help but laugh softly. When she looks back, she catches the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the warrior’s lips—fleeting, almost imperceptible, before it disappears behind her stoic mask.

“Don’t let him fool you, though,” Clarke teases, her smile widening. “See the mess he made out of those reapers.”

“I will make sure not to underestimate him,” the woman replies smoothly, the faintest trace of amusement coloring her tone. Her eyes narrow slightly, studying Clarke. “But I meant you.”

“Me?” Clarke blinks, caught off guard.

“You and your spirit,” the woman clarifies, tilting her head slightly. “You seem… unlike each other. From the way you speak and handle yourself I mean. I'd wager some of our generals lack the type of command that you withold. If he wasn't here I would have assumed your spirit to be...different.”

Clarke hesitates, her fingers pausing in their task as she considers the words. Should she tell this stranger the truth—that Rico isn’t her daemon? That her spirit is way more formidable than the black panther behind them? Something in her gut tells her to withhold that information for now. She follows the instinct, as she has so many times since she arrived to the ground.

“Well, you know what they say,” Clarke begins, her voice quieter. “Our spirits reflect our souls, but also our desires. I guess sometimes… I wish I could be more like Rico. Just small and excitable but still fierce. No bigger responsibilities or fate hanging over me. Sometimes I feel like I’m just surviving, you know? And all I want is to live a little.”

The words come out unbidden, carrying a raw honesty that surprises even Clarke. She looks up, meeting the warrior’s icy green gaze. There’s something unreadable in those eyes, something searching, and it sends Clarke’s heart racing.

For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then the warrior breaks the silence. “Leksa,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry?” Clarke asks, momentarily dazed.

“My name,” the woman says more clearly. “Leksa kom Trikru.”

“Lexa kom Trikru,” Clarke repeats softly, letting the name roll off her tongue. "It's pretty, I like it" A faint smile graces her lips as she meets Lexa’s sharp gaze. “So...trikru huh? ” Clarke asks hoping the question makes sense.

For the briefest moment, a smile flickers across Lexa’s face. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual scowl when the panther daemon behind her rolls more effusively in the grass, rumbling with contentment. Lexa shoots him a piercing glare, though the blush at the tips of her ears betrays her embarrasment.

Clearing her throat, Lexa regains her composure. “Don’t mind him,” she says, her tone flat.

Clarke arches an eyebrow, glancing at the daemon. “Is he always this… itchy?”

“Must be parasites,” Lexa replies dryly, her lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible sneer.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about dae-spirit parasites,” Clarke says, furrowing her brow in thought.

“No need to trouble yourself. I’ll have Anya handle his bath,” Lexa says curtly. At that, the panther freezes mid-roll, his head plopping to the ground in defeat. Clarke suppresses a grin, guessing the daemon isn’t fond of baths.

“Anyways,” Clarke says, refocusing on the wound. “Lexa, this might sting a little. Rico, hop up on my shoulder and keep the light steady.”

Lexa doesn’t even flinch as Clarke cleans the wound with careful precision. Her gaze never wavers from Clarke’s face, studying her as she works which makes Clarke self-conscious, the intense scrutiny making it hard to focus on the task. She shudders minutely and asks Rico to get her the jacket she was using, the early morning chill finally getting to her after the rush of running for your life and saving someone's life has died down.

Clarke’s frown deepens as she inspects the injury. It’s small and clean, a perfect entry point. A bullet wound—likely from a low-caliber weapon.

“Low what?” Lexa asks suddenly, her voice breaking through Clarke’s concentration.

Clarke startles, realizing she must have muttered aloud. “Sorry, I—didn’t realize I was speaking out loud.”

Lexa’s head tilts, her curiosity evident. “What did you say?”

Clarke hesitates. “Um… I was just wondering how your spirit got hurt.”

Lexa’s gaze shifts away, her expression hardening. “I don’t know. I wasn’t there when it happened. It just hurts…a lot at times.”

Clarke frowns but doesn’t press further, sensing the discomfort in Lexa’s clipped response.

A moment of silence passes before Lexa speaks again. “I have to ask, Klark,” she begins, her voice low but steady. “What are you doing in the middle of rippa-infested woods at night?”

Clarke sighed, deciding honesty was her best option, and she did not have the energy to find any more excuses. “I was looking for my friends,” she says, her voice tinged with weariness. She focuses on wrapping the bandage around Lexa’s arm, avoiding her piercing gaze. “They got lost, and I— I just need to find them. Harper—the girl over there with the hawk spirit—was with them. As soon as I finish here, I’m going to keep searching.”

Lexa’s brow furrows as she considers Clarke’s words. “Alone? Without weapons?”

Clarke shrugs noncommittally, refusing to elaborate any further.

"Klark kom Trikru,” Lexa repeats, almost to herself. Something in the way she says it makes Clarke feel like she’s being carefully measured—and judged. “You should be careful wearing those clothes around. Someone may confuse you for maunon” Lexa says quietly, her tone laced with something Clarke can’t quite place. 

Clarke stops for a split second and looks up at Lexa then just shrugs, not wanting to say anything else that may give her away. She feels she already made a fool of herself already even though Lexa hasn't commented on anything just yet. Lexa tilts her head with a slight frown as if not getting elaboration on her comment is a courtesy the woman is not used to be denied. 

"I mean it Klark. I would have sliced your throat hadn't you mentioned Anya's name." 

"Well its a good thing you didn't. You would have at least three dead bodies to handle and months of recovery instead of a few weeks If I didn’t patch you up" Clarke deflects with a smile.

Lexa tilts her head and narrows her eyes. "How is it that you know Anya?"

Clarke freezes as she looks into suspicious icy green eyes.

“Heda!” A voice rings out, cutting through the tense air. Clarke jumps, startled by the sudden interruption. She looks up sharply to see several disgruntled-looking grounders rushing toward them. Their expressions shift to relief as they catch sight of their… friend? Leader? Chief, maybe? Something about the way they approach this woman marks her as different. Clarke frowns. She looks so distinct from the others. Heda. That word—it tugs at her memory. Where has she heard it before? Something Keralis make her say but never elaborated...

Lexa raises her good hand in a calming gesture, stopping the group in their tracks. She speaks to them in that strange, lilting language. Clarke is thankful Lexa has respected her preference when they first traded words. The grounders give Lexa small bows, cast wary glances at Clarke, and then retreat, disappearing into the trees.

“Looks like my savior has a lot of people to attend to,” Clarke comments with a tight-lipped smile once the grounders are out of earshot.

“You could say that,” Lexa replies, her tone distant as she gazes off toward the woods.

“Well, I am sure you are very busy with...all of this so I won’t keep you any longer. Thank you for letting me repay my debt, Lexa. Just keep your arm in that sling for a few more days. Do some shoulder exercises in about a week, and you should regain full mobility as soon as your—da-spirit?—is treated.”

Lexa’s eyes snap back to Clarke, sharp and focused, her gaze so intent it makes Clarke avert her own.

The warrior nods once and swiftly rises to her feet. Caelus, the panther-like daemon, appears at her side in an instant, pressing against her for support. Lexa steadies herself, resting her hand on his sleek fur, and looks down at Clarke for a long moment, hesitantly.

Clarke lets out a tired sigh and plops down where Lexa had been sitting. She tilts her face up to the early morning sunlight, savoring the warmth against her skin, and closes her eyes to escape Lexa’s intense gaze. Reaching into her satchel, she pulls out the last bandage, then kicks off her boot to expose her swollen ankle.

“Rico, boil down a few more herbs for me, please,” Clarke says.

The little daemon scurries off, eager to obey. He gathers branches for the fire while Caelus watches both her and the daemon with quiet curiosity. Clarke works to apply the leftover warm herbal mixture to her ankle, but the angle is awkward. She unwinds the bandage and starts over, gritting her teeth at the pain.

“You’re hurt,” Lexa states, her voice laced with disapproval. She frowns, her piercing eyes fixed on Clarke’s inflamed ankle.

“It’s just a sprain,” Clarke exhales, leaning back against the tree. Stretching sends a fresh wave of pain through her foot, but she pushes it aside. A very abused, very poorly cared-for sprain, she admits to herself, but it’s nothing compared to the injuries she’s treated today.

“And yet you tended to all of us before yourself?” Lexa’s tone is matter-of-fact, tinged with disbelief.

“ You helped too—one arm in a sling, the other bleeding. Besides, triage is a thing, you know? It’s just a sprained ankle. Hardly life-threatening.”

“Tri...ash?” Lexa repeats, tilting her head in unison with Caelus, both of them clearly puzzled.

Clarke suppresses a smile. “It’s a...fisa term. Forget it.” She focuses on rewrapping her ankle, but the bandage slips loose again. Frustrated, she sighs and begins unwrapping it once more.

“What are you going to do now?” Lexa asks, leaning casually against Caelus with her arms crossed.

“Don’t worry about me. Your people are waiting for you. You should check back with them—they seemed worried.”

“They will wait as long as I tell them to,” Lexa replies flatly.

“That doesn’t seem very considerate toward them,” Clarke says, frowning. Rico scurries up beside her and places his cold little paws against her ankle. Clarke hisses at the sting but can’t help a small sigh of relief.

Lexa takes a step toward her, only to falter and retreat back to her previous position against Caelus. “Consideration is not required. It is their duty to wait. If there is an emergency I shall go, otherwise, we leave when I say we leave.”

Clarke looks up at her, narrowing her eyes. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It is what it is,” Lexa replies without a trace of emotion.

Clarke huffs as her bandage slips again. Suddenly, Lexa steps forward and crouches in front of her. “Let me,” Lexa says softly, reaching for the bandage.

“You don’t ha—” Clarke begins, but Lexa cuts her off with a sharp side-eye. The unspoken command in her gaze silences Clarke immediately, one that brooks no argument. Clarke reluctantly relents, letting Lexa take over.

Lexa silently tends to Clarke’s ankle, eyes glancing up at hers searching for signs of pain when sudden movement in the trees catches their attention. Two grounders emerge, carrying a stretcher. Clarke startles, her heart racing as she watches them approach. They move toward the injured girl lying nearby, clearly intending to lift her.

Clarke’s foot slips slightly from Lexa’s grasp as she tenses, and Lexa catches it mid-air with surprising gentleness. Their eyes meet briefly, Lexa offering an apologetic glance before turning to address the grounders in their language. The men nod in understanding and lower the stretcher just above the injured girl.

“Hod up!” Clarke shouts, panic sharpening her voice.“You can’t just lift her like that! Be careful with her left side- Hold on Lexa” Clarke disregards Lexa’s look of disbelief. She struggles to her feet, ignoring the throb in her ankle as she limps furiously toward the scene. Her half-wrapped bandage trails behind her, and Rico darts after it, snatching it up in his little paws

The grounders recoil slightly at Clarke’s outburst, startled by her urgency. She kneels beside the girl with a wince, carefully moving the stretcher parallel to her body. Placing one hand over the girl’s shoulder and the other beneath her head, she crosses them to keep the girl’s neck stable.

“Okay, now—move her carefully,” Clarke instructs, her tone firm and precise.

The grounders hesitate, glancing uncertainly between Lexa and Clarke. The tension in the air is palpable. Clarke narrows her eyes, frustrated. “I won’t be able to move her to the stretcher on my own, you know?” She lifts an expectant brow at Lexa.

Lexa regards her with a momentary flicker of surprise before giving a curt nod to the grounders. Finally, they move to help.

Clarke points to one of the grounders, a man whose thick beard nearly obscures his face. “You, get on my side. Lift her from the back and under her thigh. You,” she gestures to the second grounder, “don’t touch the bandage—place one hand under her shoulder and the other under her thigh. Lexa,” she turns her gaze to the commander, “you lift her legs.”

Lexa’s eyes widen slightly at the sound of her name, the surprise visible even through her usually composed demeanor. For a split second, she hesitates, then steps forward with purpose. She moves into position without question, her sharp mind processing Clarke’s instructions with the efficiency of a seasoned leader.

Clarke takes a steadying breath as they coordinate their movements. Together, they lift the injured girl with care and precision, placing her onto the stretcher without aggravating her wounds.

Once the girl is secure, the grounders look to Lexa for further instruction. She speaks to them briefly, her voice low and commanding. They bow their heads. “Sha, Heda,” they murmur in unison before carrying the stretcher away into the forest.

Clarke watches the grounders disappear into the forest, the word Heda lingering in her mind. It feels weighted, tethered to something half-remembered. Krayon kom Heda. The phrase spins in her thoughts, itching at the edge of her memory. What did Keralis say that it was?

Turning to Lexa, Clarke breaks the silence. “Where are they taking her?”

“We take those who were kidnapped by the Ripas back to Polis,” Lexa replies evenly. “There, they’ll receive treatment and their families will be informed.”

The answer provides clarity, but Clarke’s thoughts remain distracted. Krayon…what does it mean again? The question nags at her, creating a faint crease in her brow.

As she ponders, Caelus nudges the back of her knees with his snout, forcing her to sit down with a huff. The panther daemon settles behind her, his large body warm and solid as he rests his head on the ground, looking up at her with watchful blue eyes.

Rico scurries over, the soiled bandage from earlier clutched in his tiny paws. Lexa’s frown deepens as she observes him.

“I’m not bleeding, a little dirt won't cause me problems” Clarke reassures her with a small smile. “It’s fine. I’ll clean it later.” She reaches out to take the bandage, but Lexa shakes her head ever so slightly.

Without a word, Lexa kneels gracefully before Clarke and lifts her injured foot onto her knee. Her movements are swift and efficient as she begins rewrapping Clarke’s swollen ankle.

“For a fisa,” Lexa begins, her tone carrying a mix of curiosity and judgment, “your complete disregard for your own wellbeing is unfathomable. Though I admit, it’s interesting to see you in the element. If I was a fisa and it was my life, I would prioritize it above many others.”

“I just do what I think is right,” Clarke replies through a yawn, exhaustion settling over her. “I can’t leave someone injured or sick behind…not if I can help it.” Her voice grows softer as her thoughts flicker briefly to Jasper.

She exhales deeply, leaning back against Caelus’s warm fur. The daemon’s steady breathing lulls her into a rare moment of calm. She pats the spot between his ears absently, and he leans into her touch. Her mind wanders briefly to Leah, wondering if her daemon has followed her instructions to find Finn and only return if there’s trouble. The loneliness is sharp, but she’s grateful Leah isn’t back just yet. No news is good news, she thinks.

Shaking her head, Clarke forces herself to focus on the present. What’s my next move? Where do I go from here?

Lexa’s voice pulls her from her thoughts. “It’s an admirable way of thinking,” she says quietly. “I can’t say I agree, but it’s admirable nonetheless.”

“You’d leave someone behind,” Clarke presses, “knowing they’ll die if you do?”

Lexa’s tone is steady, but her words are resolute. “If I live, many others do as well. If I die, many others follow. I honor those who give their lives for me so that more may live.”

Clarke tilts her head, disbelief flickering across her face. “And if it’s someone you love? Wouldn’t you risk it all for them?”

Lexa’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Her hands remain steady as she finishes bandaging Clarke’s ankle, but her piercing green eyes darken with something unspoken.

“I have lost the ones I loved because of who I am,” she says after a long pause, her voice heavy with restrained emotion. “But I’ve learned to recognize it for what it is.”

Her gaze locks with Clarke’s, her expression cold and distant. “Weakness.”

Clarke’s breath catches, her heart twisting at the weight of the word. “What is? Love?” she asks incredulously.

Lexa nods, her face a mask of solemnity. “Yes.”

Clarke’s shock quickly turns to indignation. “So you just…stop caring about everyone?”

Another nod, just as quiet and deliberate.

Clarke shakes her head, her voice trembling with conviction. “I could never do that.”

"Then you put the people you care about in danger," Lexa whispers, her tone low and solemn.

Before Clarke can respond, the pair of grounders return with a stretcher. This time, they keep their heads lowered, moving silently as they set it down near Harper. Clarke’s heart sinks in realization, her pulse quickening.

“Wait!” she blurts out, scrambling to push herself upright, her palms pressing against the ground.

But Lexa reacts quickly, placing firm pressure on Clarke’s injured ankle. Clarke gasps, the sharp pain stopping her in her tracks.

“Klark,” Lexa says firmly, her voice steady but not unkind. “I am not rebandaging your ankle again. Say what you need to say from where you are.”

“No— I...” Clarke falters, her voice trembling. “I wasn’t going to stand up, I just—please, don’t take her away. I’ll stay with her. Please.” Her gaze shifts to the grounders, her eyes wide and pleading.

Lexa studies her for a moment, her expression unreadable. The seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity before she gives a subtle nod and shares a few words with the grounders. They exchange a glance, bow slightly, and murmur, “Heda,” before taking one of the other kids and retreating into the forest. The foreign word rattles again in her brain. Kerrali's voice echoing somewhere in her memory.

Ai laik Kerralis kom Trikru, Keryon kom…

“Heda...” Clarke whispers, her voice barely audible.

Lexa’s eyes snap to hers, sharp and alert. Clarke narrows her gaze, her thoughts racing as she studies the warrior’s face. The distant calls of birds echo through the dense forest, mingling with the rustle of leaves swayed by a gentle wind. Yet, the moment feels stifling, heavy with an unspoken revelation.

Alarms sound in Clarke’s mind, urgent and insistent. The pieces are so close to fitting together, the answer just out of reach. If ai laik means ‘I am,’ kom is ‘from’ or ‘of’… Keryon is… Her brow furrows as she recalls her brief conversation with Kerralis.

“Crayon?” she whispers aloud, the word foreign on her tongue.

Kery-on. Spirit, Kerralis had corrected her.

Her thoughts shift to the memory of the daemon’s posture: regal, commanding, yet restrained. Beneath its fierce presence, there had been kindness. It mirrors Lexa—her poised strength, her controlled ferocity, her moments of startling compassion.

Clarke’s heart begins to race. Her breathing quickens, each inhale feeling harder than the last as tension knots in her stomach. The puzzle pieces slot together, one by one, forming a picture so blatantly in front of her that she feels foolish from not seeing it before.

“Klark?” Lexa’s concerned voice draws her back.

She’s closer now, kneeling in front of Clarke, her bandaging long forgotten. Her good hand steadies Clarke’s shoulder, and there’s concern etched in her guarded eyes.

‘My spirit…is difficult to treat.’ Lexa’s words echo in Clarke’s mind.
‘Yet you carry Keryon kom Heda like a fickle candle.’ Anya’s voice follows, reverberating with clarity.

Clarke’s gaze drops to Lexa’s sling, her mind retracing the path of her injury. A spirit wound—small, precise, and familiar. The same caliber as Bellamy’s gun.

With that last thought the final piece of the puzzle clicks into place.

Ai laik Kerralis, Keryon kom Heda.

I am Kerralis. Heda’s spirit.

Lexa is Heda therefore...Kerralis is her daemon.

Lexa kom Trikru is the Heda. The leader of the Grounders. The one who could take them to Polis, to a chance at survival, and maybe even a working radio.

“You are Heda,” Clarke says, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Lexa’s brow furrows at her tone, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. “I am,” she replies cautiously.

Clarke shakes her head, incredulous. Placing a steadying hand against Caelu's side. “You’re the Heda?”

“Snap em dalop nami.”(Took her long enough) The low, gravelly voice startles Clarke, its tone both amused and concerned. It rattles in her mind, as clear as if someone had spoken beside her.

Her head whips around, searching the shadows of the trees. But all she finds are three pairs of eyes watching her: Lexa’s, Rico’s, and Caelus’s.

Her gaze locks with Caelus’s. His piercing blue eyes meet hers with a sharp intelligence that feels…unnerving. She feels the weight of his gaze, the faint twitch of his whiskers as he looks at Lexa, then back at her.

“Chit skechi em au?” (What is wrong with her?)

The words, harsh yet worried, tumble into her mind again. Clarke stiffens. Just like Kerralis she hears him. Though slightly different. 

Lexa tilts her head, her frown deepening. “Do you feel alright, Klark? Is something wrong with Caelus?”

Clarke narrows her eyes, suspicion creeping into her voice. Her mind races, trying to untangle what just happened. “I’m fine,” she says carefully, her tone measured. “I just… I think I need to rest.”

Her thoughts churn. There’s no such thing as people with two daemons… Or maybe…wait I don0't have two daemons and I can hear two daemons beside mine. Maybe she hears daemons like I do. That makes more sense-

“You’re sure?” Lexa presses, her voice soft but firm as her piercing green eyes search Clarke’s face.

“Yes.” Clarke forces a weak smile, brushing away the unease crackling between them. “I haven’t slept much. I’ll just… wait until Harper wakes up.”

Lexa’s gaze lingers, unconvinced. After a pause, she nods slowly. Clarke leans back against Caelus’s warm fur, closing her eyes. The steady rhythm of his breathing offers fleeting comfort, but her thoughts churn.

“Come to Polis with me,” Lexa says suddenly, her tone decisive. “It’s not safe to stay here, especially not in your condition. You are not staying in ripa-infested woods, alone, with an injured foot.”

Clarke opens her eyes and sighs, her resistance already wavering. “I—” She hesitates, searching for an excuse, but nothing comes. After everything they just went through, and her assessment of the fierce leader, Lexa’s concern for her well-being feels warranted. “I’m not alone,” Clarke says eventually, her voice quiet. “A friend is coming back for me.”

Lexa’s expression hardens minutely, a faint edge of disapproval in her gaze. “It’s not my place,” she begins carefully, “but someone who leaves you injured and alone, in woods teeming with ripas and pauna, is not someone I would call a friend.”

Clarke bristles at the implicit judgment but bites her lip, knowing Lexa isn’t entirely wrong. “It was an emergency,” she says defensively. “I forced him to leave.”

Lexa’s head tilts slightly, her eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Clarke hesitates, caught in the weight of the question. The faint rustle of leaves overhead seems louder in the tense silence. She feels the full weight of Lexa’s gaze, steady and unyielding, as she deliberates.

Should she lie?

Or throw caution to the wind and place the fate of her people in her hands...

Clarke bites her lip and closes her eyes. "Before I answer I must apologize." She says.

"What for?"

"I lied to you. My name is Clarke Griffin, I'm not a healer from trikru. I come from a Space station called the Ark. We fell from the sky just a couple of few days ago." 

Clarke opens her eyes to see Lexa's head tilt minutely, fierce green eyes narrow in contemplation.

"I know." Lexa says after a few seconds without a trace of hesitation or doubt. "I've known all along who you are and where you come from. Klark kom skaikru. So you better tell me the truth," Lexa continues as she circles around Clarke, the air around her feels charged, long gone is the Lexa that looked at her with a hint of hidden concern or compassion. Clarke understands as the woman steps closer and pierces her with fierce cold eyes that she is in front of Heda Lexa and not Lexa kom trikru anymore. "What is it that brings you here?"

Chapter Text

“You… knew?” Clarke repeats, her frown deepening as she searches Lexa’s face for something—anything. Hurt tinges her voice, uninvited but undeniable. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Lexa doesn’t flinch. Her expression remains composed, a masterful mask of calm that only fuels Clarke’s growing irritation. “You claimed to be one of us, but your clothes—your demeanor—they betrayed you. Why would I say anything?”

Clarke’s hands curl into fists at her sides. She shifts her weight, her injured foot protesting the movement, but she refuses to show any weakness. “So, you just lied to me? Pretended to believe me and waited for me to slip up? For what?”


Lexa tilts her head, her voice calm but cutting, sharp as a blade. “I had a strange girl who didn’t even know the language, pretending to be something she’s not. When the first sentence a stranger with a snacha for a spirit gives you is such a blatant lie, wouldn’t you want to know what else they have to say?”

“Snacha?” Clarke asks confused by the word.

“Your spirit—Rico,” Lexa clarifies, gesturing toward the raccoon daemon clinging defensively to Clarke’s side. “The ones with snachas as spirits don’t have the most honorable reputation among my people.”

Rico leans back, crossing his tiny paws, offended. Clarke’s frown deepens, her fingers absently smoothing his fur as if to console him. Lexa raises a placating hand. “I am not one to carelessly judge someone from the form their spirit takes and I have witnessed owls,wolfs and stags commit the worst of warcrimes. And I will not underestimate yours but I have learned some...tendencies can be discerned from the shape one’s spirit takes. That is all.”

Clarke narrows her eyes and steps closer, standing tall as she clutches Rico’s fur to stop him from leaping forward. “You’d be surprised.”

Caelus steps forward, his menacing prowl a low rumble of warning that makes Rico falter. The massive panther's presence silences the raccoon’s protests.

Lexa’s gaze hardens, but her voice remains steady. “I’m still waiting for an answer, Klark. Why were you sent here?”

“Why do you care?” Clarke retorts, her voice edged with defiance.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Lexa counters.

“Your daemon seemed talkative—why don’t you ask them?” Clarke mutters bitterly.

“Don’t you think it’s inefficient to ask them when I have you right in front of me?” Lexa replies coldly.

Clarke chuckles darkly, shaking her head. “Seems inefficient to ask me if you already know the answer.”

“Do I?” Lexa’s voice is calm, but her gaze sharpens, a silent dare for Clarke to deflect again.

“Stop answering my questions with more questions,” Clarke snaps, her frustration bubbling over.

“I’ll answer yours,” Lexa promises, “when you answer mine. I never lied to you.”

Clarke scoffs, crossing her arms. “Omission is still deceit. You and your spirit are alike—I’ll give you that. How do I know you’re not just pretending to answer me again?”

Lexa takes a measured step forward, her hand resting lazily on the hilt of her sword. A faint smirk tugs at her lips as her gaze flickers to Rico, who trembles under her scrutiny. Her eyes an amused icy green as they narrow on Clarke's unaffected glare a second later. “You make it difficult not to answer with another question, Klark. Don't ask me questions you cannot answer yourself with full honesty.”

Clarke huffs but relents uncrossing her arms looking away, her gaze landing on the bodies of the crazed men Lexa and Caelus dispatched. “Would you have spared me if I hadn’t lied?” She asks in mix of a rasp and a whisper.

A tense silence stretches between them. The forest seems to hold its breath, the rustling leaves and faint nocturnal calls amplifying the weight of the moment. The air carries the scent of damp earth and pine.

Lexa’s eyes narrow slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “If you posed no threat,” she says at last, her words deliberate, “I would have considered it.”

Harper stirs behind them, a faint groan breaking the stillness. Her daemon, Mia, flutters her wings, signaling her return to consciousness. Clarke exhales, tension spilling from her shoulders. Without a word, she moves wide around Lexa, keeping her distance with cautious steps

“I think you understand why I had to lie,” Clarke says over her shoulder. “You said it yourself—if I hadn’t mentioned Anya’s name, you’d be picking up bodies here. Considering something doesn’t mean you’d have spared me.”

“If you were in my position, would you have done anything differently?” Lexa’s tone is calm, almost curious.

Clarke glares at her refusing to speak, the light seeping through the trees reflecting in her stormy blue eyes. The question hangs heavy in the air. She wouldn’t have done anything differently, and it stings to admit that Lexa had outplayed her so easily.

“You revealed your true name to me for a reason, Klark,” Lexa reminds her with a curt tone.

“That was when I thought I could trust you with it,” Clarke snaps, bitterness lacing her voice. “So forgive me for not being so… keen to share anymore.”

“Don’t let your feelings for my deception veil your judgment. I won’t apologize for allowing you to believe I believed your lie. I heard what I needed to hear from you, Klark, It’s clear your intentions are honorable and your desire to help your people is true. I will listen if you have something to say.”

"I have a few things to say, alright. None of them pleasant"

Lexa steps closer, her shadow falling over Clarke like a mantle of authority. Her voice is low, steady, and unyielding. “I do what I have to do to protect my people, Klark kom skaikru. Just as you lied to protect yours. Or am I wrong?”

Clarke meets her gaze, losing the defiance flickering in her eyes. “No, you are not” she says, her voice resigned now. “I just didn’t know if you were friend or foe. And to be honest, I’m still not sure.”

“That is entirely up to you, Klark. I am not the one injured and alone in dangerous territory. Which one do you think benefits us both the most?”

Rico suddenly yelps and looks down at his paw briefly then he jumps in place pointing to his paw with his black little eyes .

“I will pinch my palm three times Rico,”

Finn’s signal. He’s coming back.

Clarke exhales sharply, relief washing over her. She glances at Harper, at Mia, and then back to Lexa. “I’m not alone, I'm not afraid of you and we are not a threat to you,” she says, though her voice wavers faintly.

“Then prove it,” Lexa replies, her voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with quiet command

Clarke takes a deep breath, her mind racing as she debates whether to trust Lexa with the truth—or whether she can afford to.

“I have nothing to prove to you, Heda,” Clarke says, exhaling the title with a mocking tone, petty in her frustration. The slight clench of Lexa’s jaw is her only reward, but it’s enough. “I owe you nothing else. I hoped you’d help, but honestly? I am at a disadvantage no matter where I look. I don't think I can trust your word. I’m tired. I’m dirty, cold, and I haven’t slept in over a day." Clarke sags her shoulders with a weary sigh. "My friend is on his way, and your people probably have dozens of injured who need treatment. Just allow me to look for my friends among them. That’s all I ask.”

Lexa regards her for a long moment, then nods. “Very well.” After a pause, her voice softens but remains firm. “The offer to come back with us still stands, Klark. It is dangerous to stay alone outside the border.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “To whom is that offer extended?”

Lexa’s brow furrows slightly, genuine confusion flickering across her face. “To you, of course.”

Clarke scoffs, a bitter chuckle escaping her lips. “Yeah, I’m not falling for that twice in one day. Thanks, but I’ll manage.”

Lexa’s mouth opens as if to respond, but her gaze flickers down to Caelus for a moment, a silent exchange passing between them until her eyebrows raise minutely and her gaze snaps back to Clarke. The brief hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed. Clarke narrows her eyes, suspicion coiling in her gut.

“I can arrange safe passage for more than just you, if that’s what you seek. Past the border, you and your people will be safe.”

Relief surges through Clarke, though she hesitates, her gaze drifting upward to the now fully lit morning sky. The stars are gone, swallowed by pale blue. “Thank y—” she whispers, but Lexa interrupts.

“Most of you will have to remaine at Polis’s borders. I will need to speak with my people before allowing a group of strangers into the city. If you seek an audience, I will meet with your leader.”

Before Clarke can respond, Mia’s soft chirp breaks the moment. Harper stirs, a faint groan escaping her lips as she lifts a hand to her head. Caelus tilts his head, craning over Clarke’s shoulder to study her.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Clarke soothes, glancing at her empty water bottle. Her gaze darts to Lexa, an apologetic smile tugging at her lips. “Do you have water by any chance?”

Lexa nods silently, uncrossing her arm and disappearing into the woods at a brisk jog.

Harper groans again, her voice raspy as she sits up, cradling her head. “Ugh, I swear I’ve never had moonshine hit me like this before.”

Clarke chuckles softly, kneeling beside her friend and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Believe me, you’ll wish this was just a hangover.”

Harper’s groggy laugh morphs into alarm when she spots Caelus looming nearby. She startles violently, her legs thrashing. One foot catches Clarke’s face, and both women tumble backward with yelps of pain. Clarke ends up leaning against Caelus’s chest, cradling her nose, while Harper groans from her own fall.

“What the hell, Harper?” Clarke hisses, her voice muffled by the sting in her nose.

“Is that—” Harper stammers, pointing at Caelus. “That’s your daemon? No wonder you stand up to Bellamy’s; poor thing’s tiny next to this!”

“No,” Clarke mutters, wincing as Rico offers her a dirty rag. She gently pushes it aside. “This one belongs to one of the grounders.”

The crunch of leaves behind them draws their attention, and Harper’s gaze snaps to the source of the sound. Lexa steps into view, a waterskin in hand. Harper gasps, stumbling back in alarm. “Who is that?” she asks, her voice shaky. Mia flutters to her shoulder, and Harper looks at her daemon for reassurance before glancing back toward Clarke and Lexa. Slowly, she steadies herself, muscles relaxing by a fraction.

“Oh,” Harper says tentatively, her eyes darting between Clarke and the imposing figure. “So, you were able to strike a deal with the grounders at the river?”

Lexa steps forward silently, her movements deliberate as she holds out the waterskin to Harper. The girl hesitates before accepting it with a small “thank you,” though her wide eyes linger on Lexa in a mix of fear and reluctant awe.
When Lexa turns her attention to Clarke, her gaze lingers curiously on the scene: Clarke leaning comfortably against Caelus’s massive frame, Rico perched in her lap like an oddly content sentinel. Clarke offers Lexa a faint, grateful smile as she rubs her nose Lexa gives her a small nod in acknowledgment before moving to stand beside Caelus, leaning against his sleek, muscled side facing Harper.

Clarke sighs, sinking back against the panther daemon’s soft fur. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breaths calm her. Her nose throbs painfully, and she tilts her head back to stem the blood trickling from it. Her eyes meet Caelus’s, his brilliant blue gaze fixed on her. His head tilts slightly, the tip of his tongue poking out as his nose twitches, sniffing the air. His warm breath tickles her face, and Clarke can’t help but laugh softly.

“You’re… weirdly adorable,” she murmurs.

Caelus freezes, blinking at her in what can only be described as sheer disbelief. His voice reverberates in her head, deep and rich, tinged with indignation. “Chit don yu jos tag ai laik?” (What did you just call me?)

Clarke startles briefly, but a grin spreads across her face as she hears him speak again. When he snarls, her laughter grows. Harper and Rico both stiffen, the raccoon daemon letting out a low whine as Harper shuffles back nervously. But Clarke, unperturbed, leans in closer, studying Caelus’s face. His expression is fierce, yet his eyes lack any true malice—a familiar look that tugs at her memory. A mirror image to Leah's harmless snarls whenever Clarke teases her. Her fingers always itched to touch her whiskers whenever she did.

Her grin deepens. “You think you’re so menacing,” she teases.

Clarke bites her lip to stifle a laugh. The voice reverberating in her head lacking the violence his gnarly expression promises. Emboldened, she reaches up and lightly grasps his whiskers.

The snarl drops from his face immediately, replaced by wide-eyed shock.

Clarke takes her chance, sitting up straighter and nuzzling her face against his snout. Her voice softens, still playful. “It’s cute,” she says, scratching beneath his chin. For a moment, Caelus leans into her touch, eyes closing in reluctant pleasure, before abruptly pulling back with a low grumble.

A quiet chuckle breaks the silence, and Clarke glances over Caelus’s shoulder to see Lexa. The commander stands with one hand partially covering her mouth, her piercing green eyes sparkling with amusement. Though her face is composed, her shoulders tremble slightly with suppressed laughter.

“Em nou ste leyos, Lexa, em ste—” (It’s not funny, Lexa.) Caelus growls, his pride clearly wounded.

Lexa drops her hand, her lips twitching upward briefly before she smooths her expression into neutrality. Her gaze flicks to Clarke, whose brow arches in curiosity. Though Clarke doesn’t fully understand their language, the way Caelus addressed Lexa confirms her growing suspicion: Caelus is speaking to Lexa and Clarke stops hearing him if she is not in contact with him.

She files the observation away for later as Lexa composes herself and meets her gaze, her expression serene and composed but piercing greens sparkle as they dance across Clarke’s face filled with amusement. Lexa makes no further comment. Instead, she straightens and shifts her attention to Harper, who is looking at Clarke as if she had grown a second head.

“Will you and your friend need to find shelter too?” Lexa asks, her gaze shifting to Harper.

Clarke looks over at Harper, who hesitates before replying, “We’ll figure something out ourselves.” Her tone is clipped, but after a pause, she adds, “Thank you for the offer and the water though.”

Lexa studies her for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she inclines her head slightly. “I will keep my word, Klark. Even if you question my motives.”

Clarke narrows her eyes, suspicion still evident. She opens her mouth to reply, but Harper speaks first, her voice shaky as she addresses Clarke. “So… this is one of the grounders?”

Clarke glances at Lexa, who stands quietly, her gaze steady and unreadable. Harper’s question hangs in the air, and Clarke hesitates, debating what to say.

“Right,” Clarke begins slowly, weighing her words. “This is, um…” She falters, caught between introducing Lexa by name or by her title.

Lexa straightens, her presence commanding even amidst the stillness of the forest. “Ai laik Heda,” she says simply. “Commander of the twelve clans.”

“You like… Heda?” Harper stammers, clutching the waterskin tightly. Her gaze flickers nervously between Lexa and Clarke. “Who—or what—is Heda? What a weird way to introduce yourself…” She mutters the last part, then seems to realize she’s spoken aloud. “I mean—uh—I like… water. Thank you for the water.”

Clarke snickers but doesn’t correct Harper, choosing instead to glance up at Lexa. Her lips twitch in amusement, but she says nothing, her expression carefully neutral. Clarke can’t help but think, This woman could have an entire conversation with just nods. True to form, Lexa inclines her head once, then puts on that familiar stoic mask. “I need to arrange our departure with my people,” she says coolly. “Decide quickly if you’ll stay with or follow me.”

Clarke stiffens, her jaw tightening. “I need time,” she replies firmly. “I need to speak with Harper. Alone.”

Lexa’s sharp gaze lingers on Clarke for a heartbeat longer than necessary before she nods once more. Without a word, she turns and strides into the shadows, Caelus padding silently after her. The forest seems to exhale in her absence, its oppressive tension easing.

Harper slumps against a nearby tree, shaking her head. “She’s terrifying,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “Kinda hot, but terrifying.”

Clarke chuckles, though exhaustion weighs down her laughter. “I think it’s just the warpaint. If Kerralis’s demeanor is anything to go by, at least there’s some kindness in her somewhere. Though…” She pauses, narrowing her eyes. “I wouldn’t fully trust her word.”

“Kera-who?”

“Her daemon.”

Harper gapes at Clarke, her brow furrowing. “You’re telling me that flying, fire-hazard menace is hers? And she has someone else’s daemon at her beck and call?” Harper gestures with her hands in an exaggerated explosion. “I thought she was terrifying before, but now I’m just…” She throws up her hands. “The people you meet, Griffin. I don’t envy you.”

Clarke snorts and shakes her head, steering the conversation back on track. “What happened to you? Were Myles and Bellamy captured too?”

Harper’s face crumples in thought, her expression darkening. “I—I don’t know.” She frowns, her voice hitching. “Myles was being a paranoid idiot and bolted when we heard shots in the distance. Bellamy went after him. Finn sent Rico to you, and I had Mia keep an eye on them.” Harper’s face contorts with guilt and sorrow. “Next thing I know, Mia calls out that they ran into someone. Finn and I split and—” Her voice cracks, tears spilling down her cheeks. “We heard shots. Myles—Myles—” She chokes on his name, covering her face with her hands as her shoulders quake. Mia nuzzles her cheek, wings trembling in shared grief.

Clarke crawls over, kneeling beside Harper and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Harper clutches at her, sobbing into her embrace. Clarke wraps her arms around the girl, holding her tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll—”

“Myles is dead,” Harper interrupts, her voice muffled by Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke freezes for a moment, the weight of the words settling heavily. Gently, she rubs Harper’s back, murmuring soothingly. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

Harper cries harder, and Clarke holds her a little tighter. They stay like that for several minutes, Harper’s sobs gradually subsiding into quiet sniffles. Finally, she pulls away, wiping her face. “I don’t know what happened after that. I—I heard growls. I think I saw Bellamy’s wolf, but then something hit me in the back, and…” She swallows hard. “I woke up here. By the way, what happened to you back there? Are you okay?” Harper’s gaze sweeps over Clarke, horror creeping into her features as she takes in the bloodstains.

Clarke offers a weary smile. “Long story, but it’s not my blood, so don’t worry. You’re the only one who managed to make me bleed today.” She chuckles lightly, patting her nose for emphasis. “But we need to get back to camp. The people who kidnapped you are still around. Finn went ahead to warn everyone; he’s coming back soon.”

Harper frowns, scanning the forest warily. “Then we need to let him know where we are.” She looks to Mia, who bristles before taking flight, her wings cutting through the trees. “Feeling our daemons’ presence only gets us so far.”

“Good idea,” Clarke says with a faint smile.

Harper exhales, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “So,” she asks, her tone lightening ever so slightly, “what did I miss?”

Clarke sits back, running a hand through her hair as she processes everything that’s happened. Clarke explains, her voice tinged with sardonic humor. She recounts how she nearly froze to death, discovered she can hear other people’s daemons—a revelation that saved them all to be honest—and encountered the terrifying Commander of the grounders whilst she wrangled for both her and Harper's life, Commander who’s now offering an uneasy alliance. Harper listens in shock, especially when Clarke mentions the daemon connection, her disbelief giving way to a mix of awe and unease.

Mia, Harper’s hawk daemon, reacted with excitement, her claws digging into Clarke’s shoulder, prompting a wince and an apology. Clarke tried to explain her new ability, admitting it’s still unpredictable and bewildering. Harper reflects on the strangeness of hearing another voice in one’s head and how jarring it would be. Clarke agrees, revealing how close she came to questioning her own sanity.

“And… this ‘terrifying commander’ of the grounders—what’s her deal? And why do you keep staring at her like you want to break her hand one moment and then kiss it better the next?” Harper asks with a frown.

Clarke frowns, her brow furrowing as she processes Harper’s words. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, genuinely puzzled.

“Oh, come on,” Harper says, giving her a knowing look.

“I stare because I don’t trust her,” Clarke says firmly, brushing off Harper’s implication. “She’s probably the most dangerous person on the ground. I’m trying to figure out what her angle is so I can keep us all alive.”

“If you say so,” Harper says, her tone sly.

Clarke stops herself from commenting any further, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is figuring out what to do next. Lexa—or Heda, as she is called by her people—offered us safe passage past the river, I just don’t trust her.”

“Do we have a choice?” Harper asks quietly, her voice tinged with both concern.

Clarke exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Not really, at least not much. Mount weather is a no go and the only big city close to us to get our radio fixed is the one the grounders live in,” she admits. “But I hate feeling like I’m being played.”

Their conversation is interrupted when Mia swoops down with news that Finn is nearby, bringing Atom, Monty, and Miller. Clarke is surprised but relieved to hear Monty is safe, though she worries about his decision to leave the bunker. Recognizing Monty’s skills could be critical, she resolves to get him to Polis to work on the radio.

Clarke quickly decides to speak with Lexa while Harper waits for the others. She instructs Harper to tell the group to stay put and avoid rash decisions. With Rico by her side, Clarke limps cautiously into the forest, following Lexa’s path

Each step sends a dull ache up her leg, but she presses on, determined. The ground is a grim tapestry of blood and bodies, the aftermath of the battle illuminated starkly by shafts of sunlight breaking through the tall trees. The smell of death mingles with the earthy scent of the forest, thick and suffocating. Clarke swallows hard, forcing the nausea down.

Ahead, voices drift through the trees. Her chest tightens, her breath hitching instinctively, but then it eases as Leah’s presence brushes her senses. She is close, which means Finn is close. The comfort is immediate, a soothing balm that steadies her. She hadn’t realized how much she craved the closeness of her daemon until now.

The clearing Clarke steps into buzzes with tense energy, the scene a mix of controlled chaos and palpable grief. Grounders move with purpose, tending to the wounded and organizing stretchers while murmurs in their native tongue fill the air. The morning sunlight barely penetrates the thick canopy above, lending the space a dim, somber hue. Blood streaks the trampled earth, mingling with the muted cries of the injured.

Lexa stands at the center of it all, her posture regal and imposing even though she is probably the shortest of the group of grounders she commands. She issues orders in her language, her voice calm and unwavering. Caelus prowls nearby, his sleek form exuding an air of restrained menace. Lexa looks up and raises her arm and a bird alights on Lexa’s outstretched hand, dropping a small cluster of delicate flowers before darting away. With a subtle nod, Lexa pockets the flowers within the sling holding her arm and resumes her conversation with her subjects.

Clarke hesitates at the clearing's edge, her presence drawing cautious glances from the grounders. Their wary eyes track her movements as she steps closer, heart pounding but strides steady. Lexa’s sharp green eyes catch Clarke’s approach, lingering for a moment before returning to her warriors.

Trying not to be an inconvenience for the busy leader Clarke chooses to look around and check on the injured. Leah stays by her side  like a balm to her fryed nerves, the sight of blood and death no longer as daunting with her daemon next to her.

Caelus notices Clarke circling the clearing, her eyes scanning the injured. He prowls toward her with curiosity, brushing his tail against her waist as he walks around. On her shoulder, Rico trembles, clutching her shirt. Clarke raises a hand to scratch his cheek, her touch calming him slightly.

Leah huffs at the casual manner Clarke shows affection towards the raccon and Clarke is certain her daemon will be grumpy the moment she realizes she essentially cuddled Caelus while she was gone in a mission.

“Hello, Caelus,” she says after checking a young man with a shallow wound on the thigh, her voice steady despite her quickened pulse. “Want a cheek rub too?” She smirks as she turns to meet the panther’s glare.

Caelus halts mid-stride, his head tilting in what could almost be surprise. The growl falters, replaced by a huff, and he settles in front of her, towering slightly as his unrelenting blue gaze locks onto hers.

From the corner of her eye, Clarke sees Leah step closer, the golden lioness daemon’s presence commanding as ever. Leah’s low growl thrums through the air, a sound of quiet power that bolsters Clarke’s confidence. Clarke raises an eyebrow at Caelus, daring him silently to posture harmlessly, but her bravado wanes as Lexa approaches, her sharp gaze cutting through the charged air.

Lexa’s gait is as poised as ever, though curiosity flickers behind her composed exterior. Adjusting the strap of her pauldron with deliberate precision, she lets her eyes flick briefly toward her warriors who stare at Clarke in bewilderment-before settling on Clarke. “I assume you didn’t come here to disrespect Caelus again,” she says, her tone calm but laced with authority.

“I never meant disrespect,” Clarke counters, a teasing lilt to her voice. “He’s just… adorable.”

Lexa’s frown deepens, her eyes narrowing in faint affront. “You are the first person, besides one of my natblidas, to call him that.”

The unfamiliar word catches Clarke’s attention. “Natblida? what is it? she asks, tilting her head slightly.

"Something you don't need to concern with-"

"Kerralis called me that before, I believe it does if that's the single reason they gave me that allowed me passage to Polis. What is it?”

Lexa's eyes widen in surprise and she sharply turns on Caelus with a severe frown. Clarke looks at the woman and narrows her gaze in mistrust, what if she is lying and pretending to be Kerrali's spirit...no wait...she never said Kerralis was her daemon she just assumed...sure she is important but who is to say there no other leaders, other commanders above her? 

Lexa lets out a sigh before shaking her head minutely and composing herself before her gaze returns to Clarke's. 

Lexa ever so slightly inclines her head and silently stares at her with slight disbelief, studying Clarke as if deciding how much to reveal. For a moment, she seems to weigh her answer, her piercing eyes resting somewhere around Clarke’s nose with interest, prompting Clarke to self-consciously wipe it. Finally, she issues a curt order to nearby warriors, who approach Caelus with an ornate harness of sorts and a thick brush. The panther allows them to work with reverent precision.

“It's a sensitive matter that cannot be carelessly shared, all you need to know I will tell you with time,” Lexa says, turning away abruptly “Now, do you have an answer for me, Clarke of the Sky People?”

Lexa strides away, her movements purposeful, and Clarke hurries to catch up, choosing her words carefully. “More like a request,” she says, matching Lexa’s brisk pace. “I need your help.”

Lexa arches an eyebrow, her expression neutral as she leads Clarke to a quieter part of the forest. “Go on,” she says, her voice cool.

Clarke sighs, steadying herself. “I have people waiting for me nearby and another group farther away, back at our dropship. It’s where the rest of my people are.”

Lexa halts near a fallen grounder, their pale, lifeless form set apart from the others. Clarke watches in silence as Lexa kneels, her movements methodical. She repeats a ritual Clarke recognizes: cutting a small braid from the deceased’s hair and threading one of the flowers into it before pocketing it in one of the satchels in her belt, several different flowers now decorating it. Her face remains impassive, but her eyes flicker with a mix of sorrow and fury. When she stands, her voice cuts through the quiet.

“You said you needed help?”

“I ask that you wait for my people to arrive. They’ll follow your warriors past the river,” Clarke explains quickly. “And I need a small group to escort another team to deliver a message to those at the dropship.”

Lexa’s expression hardens, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You expect me to risk my warriors for your people—strangers who could very well threaten them?” Her voice remains calm, but the steel beneath it is undeniable. “Request denied.”

“They’re not warriors,” Clarke says firmly, her tone sharp with urgency. “We don’t even have weapons.”

Lexa’s gaze flickers to the sling holding her injured shoulder. Her pointed look feels like a silent dare for Clarke to lie her way out of it. Clarke bites her lip, backtracking quickly. “That was an accident. Bellamy’s the only one armed, and he’ll lay it down if it means keeping his sister safe.”

Lexa’s eyes narrow, unimpressed. “The answer is still no. If your people make it back to the river, my warriors will not attack them. That is all the courtesy I will give.”

“They’re kids!” Clarke exclaims, stepping forward, ignoring the sharp flare of pain in her ankle. “We’re just trying to survive.” Her voice softens into a plea.

“Then survive,” Lexa says, her tone ice-cold. Her gaze sharpens. “I won’t risk my people by staying here any longer than necessary. If your people makes it past the border and they behave my warriors shall not attack them, that is all the courtesy I can give.”

Clarke clenches her teeth, frustration bubbling beneath her composure. Her mind races for a way to shift Lexa’s stance. Her eyes drift to the injured scattered across the clearing. Lexa’s warriors and their daemons are few, their numbers stretched thin. An idea begins to take shape.

“How about an offer, then?” Clarke says, her voice steady, tinged with urgency.

“This is not a negotiation, Klark,” Lexa snaps, her eyes narrowing as she strides around Clarke, heading back toward the center of the clearing.

Clarke plants her feet. “You don’t have enough people or stretchers to take everyone back to Polis in one trip,” she says, gesturing toward the injured. “Our camp isn’t far. We have people who know basic medicine. Escort us there, let me send a message to the ones back at the dropship and we’ll help treat the wounded on the way back. You’ve seen me work. I’ll personally tend to the ones most in need.”

Lexa pauses mid-stride, her gaze flicking back to Clarke. The faintest glimmer of interest passes over her face before her features smooth into neutrality. “You will care for my injured?” she asks, her tone skeptical but measured. 

Clarke steps closer, meeting her eyes directly. “If it means saving lives, yes. We’re not so different, Commander. We both want to protect our people. Help me, and I’ll prove to you that my people aren’t your enemy.”

Lexa’s expression remains unreadable, but her sharp eyes study Clarke with unnerving intensity. The silence stretches taut between them.

“And I suspect you don’t want to leave the bodies behind either, the ones who don't know medicine can help carry them,” Clarke adds, her voice steady but firm. She gestures toward the edge of the clearing. “The time you’d waste going back and forth or waiting for reinforcements could be spent working together. None of us will have to stay here longer than necessary, as you said.”

Nearby, Caelus rises to his feet, his sleek black coat catching the dim light. His newly adorned harness gleams, intricate patterns coiling around his powerful frame. He steps forward with an air of regal irritation, tail flicking in an annoyed rhythm as his piercing blue eyes dart between Lexa and Clarke. With a dramatic huff, he lays down again, his tail thumping against the ground. 

Lexa’s attention drifts briefly to her daemon, her lips pressing into a thoughtful line. Finally, her gaze shifts back to Clarke. “You may have your escort to deliver the message,” she says evenly.

Clarke exhales a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank you,” she says, sincerity lacing her voice.

Lexa’s expression doesn’t soften. Instead, her tone turns sharp. “But I will ask for one more thing in return.”

Clarke hesitates, her chest tightening. “What is it?”

Lexa’s eyes narrow, her voice cold and resolute. “Deliver to me the this Bellamy who harmed Kerralis. He will face trial in retribution as our tradition demands"

Chapter Text

The stars stretch endlessly above Polis, their faint glow barely competing with the Great Flame burning steadily at the pyre atop the city’s tallest building. The fire flickers with quiet authority, an eternal testament to the strength of the Commander’s spirit. Its light casts long shadows across the platform, painting the jagged edges of the ruined skyscraper in hues of amber and crimson.

Lexa sits at the edge of the platform, one leg dangling over the abyss, the other bent beneath her, serving as a perch for her elbow. Her chin rests lightly on her hand, her green eyes fixed on the horizon past the mountain range that obscures her vision from the place where her thoughts linger. The mountain that holds their biggest enemy.

The faint murmur of the city below is a distant hum, barely audible over the steady crackle of the flame. Up here, where the wind rushes freely through the broken steel beams and shattered glass, she can breathe—unburdened, if only for a moment. She looks every inch the broody Commander regal and composed, though the tension in her shoulders betrays the weight of the day's events.

Behind her, Kerralis perches atop the pyre, their colorful fiery plumage casting flickering shadows along the cracked concrete. The phoenix spirit shifts, tucking their head beneath a wing, but their sharp gaze flickers toward Lexa, Heda's spirit awareness a constant pulse at the edge of her mind.

"The Azgeda clan is clearly pushing for war against the Mountain," Lexa murmurs, voice low, laced with quiet weariness.

Kerralis exhales a slow breath, embers flaring as they ruffle their feathers. “Foolish in their ambition, as always,” they reply. “They want to weaken the other clans—especially Trikru, given its proximity to the Mountain.”

Lexa tilts her head slightly, considering. “They have a point, though,” she admits. “If the Mountain has managed to get Ripas past our best blockade at TonDC and into the bordering villages… we need to find where the breach is soon.”

“And we will,” Kerralis reassures her. “Anya is already on her way to meet Indra.” Their voice is steady, but there is an undercurrent of concern that Lexa does not miss. “But Azgeda is playing a dangerous game. They seek advantage, not resolution. We cannot risk a war with them when a united front is the only way to face the Mountain.”

Lexa nods absently, her mind returning to the tense negotiations earlier that day. The ambassadors had bickered ceaselessly, each arguing their own grievances and ambitions under the guise of concern for the coalition. Azgeda’s envoy had been the loudest, their sharp words carrying accusations and veiled threats alike.

The memory brings a flicker of frustration to her expression. “They keep testing me,” she mutters, fingers curling briefly into her palm. “They test the strength of this coalition, the strength of my position as Heda.”

“As they always will,” Kerralis replies. “Leadership is earned anew every day, Heda. You have done it before. You will do it again.”

Lexa huffs softly, leaning forward until her forehead rests against her forearm. “Why do you have to conceal yourself all the time? If they could see you as I do...” she mutters, voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

Kerralis lets out a quiet, knowing hum. “If they did, we wouldn't be struggling with having them obey. You know this. Knowing who is capable of leadership and who is a natblida is a better asset to have in my opinion, safer as well. I trust at least half of the envoys have the best intentions in mind for the Coalition”

“That’s still only six clans out of twelve we know we can trust with that.” She replies with a sigh.

Her mind replays the day’s council meeting—the tense negotiations, the veiled threats. The Azgeda ambassador had been particularly insistent, pressing for aggressive action against the Mountain while making pointed jabs about her reluctance to act. Posturing, of course. Nia was always testing her.

Lexa had held firm, navigating the storm of politics with steady patience. She allowed the bickering to play out, let them argue over trade disputes, border patrols, and the growing Ripa problem, before steering them toward what truly mattered: unity against their shared enemy. The Mountain had already proven its reach, and if the clans allowed old grudges to fester, they would all fall one by one.

“It just means that we still have to find the ones capable of being their clan’s ambassador among the coalition, be patient, Heda.”

“You don’t need to tell me to be patient. I am patient,” Lexa huffs and lets her forehead drop softly against her forearm atop her knee. “It’s the mountain people and the coalition you have to convince to be patient.” She murmurs.

“You are the coalition, Heda...” Kerralis snickers at their own joke

Lexa doesn’t reply, a tight smile making appearance as she only lifts her head and gazes out at the sky. Her breath catches slightly when a faint streak of light draws her attention. It’s barely perceptible against the night’s vast expanse, but its descent is steady, trailing fire as it falls.

“What is that?” she whispers, eyes narrowing.

Kerralis lifts their head, blue gaze sharp as they follow her line of sight. “It falls from the sky,” they note, tone laced with intrigue. Their fiery form brightens as they stretch their wings. “A star?”

Lexa watches the light pass overhead, tracking its path as it disappears beyond the northern mountains. A strange unease settles in her chest. “Perhaps… but it’s not the season for falling stars.” Her voice is doubtful, cautious. She stands abruptly, turning toward the stairs leading back to her quarters. “I’ll send a scout. I want to know where it lands, what it is.”

Kerralis steps forward, their warmth radiating against her back. “I’ll go,” they offer. “It’s late. And I can get there faster than any of our flying scouts. The people need you here on a good night’s rest for tomorrow’s meeting before the ambassadors leave.”

Lexa hesitates, then nods. “Find out what it is and report back immediately.”

Without another word, Kerralis leaps from the pyre. Their wings ignite, carrying them swiftly into the darkness. Lexa watches until they are but a distant ember in the sky. The night feels heavier in their absence.

Her mind turns back to the Azgeda envoy, to the fragile threads of unity she must maintain with the threat of ripas preying at Polis's borders. Yet the streak of light lingers in her thoughts, as an omen.

-

The flickering glow of candlelight dances across the stone walls, casting long, restless shadows over the room. The air inside is thick with the scent of smoldering wax and the lingering traces of smoke from the Great Flame outside. The deep blue of early morning still lingers beyond the balcony, where the cool air filters in, stirring the fabric of the heavy curtains.

“It’s already warm as it is. Do you have to alight every candle within reach every time you come down?”

Lexa stirs at the voices threading through her consciousness, her body sluggish with sleep. She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know Kerralis is perched near the balcony, his fiery plumage illuminating the space.

“I do,” the phoenix spirit replies with quiet finality. “It’s dark in here.”

A deep, rumbling sigh. “It's barely morning, and you give off all the light we could ever need. If there were urgent news, you would have woken her immediately through the bond. Let her sleep—she turned in late last night.”

“You were supposed to get her down if it got late.”

“You know very well I cannot fit up there without the risk of falling to my death,” Caelus grumbles, stretching one large paw before settling again. “Do you want to move on to the next Commander so soon?”

“And what is the bond you two share good for?”

“You don’t think I called for her to come down? Do you even know her?”

Lexa exhales a tired breath, shifting slightly before stretching her legs out. “I am certain your discussion would be far more productive if it weren’t detrimental to the subject of such a discussion,” she mutters through the bond.

Finally, she places her feet on the cool floor, blinking against the flickering light of the candles surrounding the balcony. As expected, Kerralis is perched atop the railing, his feathers burning a steady, radiant gold-orange against the early morning gloom. At the foot of her bed, Caelus’s hulking form blocks out most of the candlelight that would otherwise reach her. When he moves, deep blue eyes meet hers, apologetic but unrepentant.

Lexa rakes a hand through her tousled hair, stifling a yawn. “How is it you both always seem to forget I’m in the room when you decide to talk through my bond?”

Kerralis dips their head in reverence, shaking their plumage slightly and sending a soft rain of harmless embers to the stone floor. “Apologies, Heda,” they say smoothly. “I did not mean to wake you with our morning talk.”

Caelus lets out a yawn of his own, stretching languidly before padding to Lexa’s side. He presses his broad head against her briefly before nudging her back toward the bed with his weight.

“Sleep.”

Lexa lets out an unbidden laugh, a rare sound in the early morning quiet. “Caelus, move!” she chuckles, shoving his head away. He lets himself be pushed, grumbling, before tumbling unceremoniously onto his side with a heavy thud.

Shaking her head fondly, Lexa leans down to scratch between his ears. “I’m awake now either way,” she says before turning to Kerralis, her gaze sharpening. “What did you find about the falling star?”

Kerralis shifts their weight slightly, talons clicking against the balcony railing. “I don’t know what it is exactly,” they admit, tilting their head  “But it is a large structure, much bigger than any missile the mountain has sent and far less destructive. It landed a few marks past the mountain range, just beyond the river that marks the border near the farming villages.”

“I could hear voices,” Kerralis confirms, their feathers bristling slightly. “But nothing distinct. I came back to inform you before investigating further.”

Lexa frowns as she stands, making her way toward the chest containing her garments for the day. “Voices?”

Caelus tilts his head, watching Kerralis with idle curiosity. “We could send one of our scouts. It doesn’t have to be you. What is it that intrigues you so much about it?”

Kerralis ruffles their feathers in mild agitation. “It feels… familiar. Something I have seen in past Heda reincarnations.” Their tone is quiet, contemplative. “I want to take a closer look.”

Lexa nods, feeling the faintest stir of unease prickling at the back of her mind. She scratches the spot absently as she laces up her boots. “Go,” she instructs. “Scout the area. See if it has any connection to the Ripas roaming nearby. Stay concealed at all times.”

Kerralis inclines their head in acknowledgment. “I will return as soon as I gather enough information.”

With a graceful leap, they take flight, their fiery wings illuminating the early morning sky before fading into the distance.

By the time Lexa finishes gearing up, Caelus has sprawled across her bed, licking his paws with lazy contentment. She smirks and pats his head fondly, lowering her voice. “I have a feeling we won’t have much time with the natblidas after today.”

Caelus huffs, stretching out before slipping off the bed with a practiced ease. “I know. I’ll wake them for training. You should break fast before your meeting with the coalition begins.” His gaze meets hers knowingly. “I’ll meet you there.”

Lexa nods and watches as he pushes out of the door, his heavy paws silent against the stone floor. She takes a steadying breath, moving to each candle one by one, blowing them out in slow succession. Only once the last flame is extinguished does she follow him out.

-

It is nearly sunset when Kerralis returns.

Lexa stands before the great war table, listening to Indra’s latest report. One of the spiritless mountain dwellers had been intercepted at the river— a boy, barely past the age of reckoning, suffering grievous wounds. He had been transported to Polis, where Nyko would tend to him. The circumstances of his presence were troubling. He wore no suit, no sign of the usual Mountain attire. Stranger still, a group had been spotted near the border, scattering before their scouts could intercept them.

Lexa is just about to dismiss her envoys when the telltale flare of light signals Kerralis’s return. The phoenix descends gracefully onto the balcony behind her throne, their wings sending a ripple of heat through the chamber. She raises a hand, halting one of the warlords mid-sentence.

Kerralis bows their head in thanks before taking flight once more, sweeping around the room. They phase through the air above the ambassadors, their fiery presence igniting the overhead candles as they pass. The light casts a renewed glow over the chamber, drawing immediate reverence.

“May the Flame guide us all,” the assembled warriors murmur in unison, standing and bowing deeply.

Lexa doesn’t turn as she speaks through the bond. “What have you found?”

“Hard to say for certain,” Kerralis replies. “But overall? They are children. Not even a handful of them have reached the age of reckoning. They fight among themselves, and bicker over scraps. They have no weapons—save for one, who seems to be their leader one of the few with present spirits. I don’t think they are related to the mountain people. And if they are I would say it’s a distraction rather than a strike group.”

Lexa’s brow furrows slightly. “Was anyone able to see you? Their leader?” 

“I could have phased through them, and they would be none the wiser. So no one with enough insight to see me, no”

Caelus, still seated at Lexa’s side, flicks his tail. “Phasing through people is considered rude, Kerralis.”
Lexa gives a Caelus a cautionary pat on the head in light reprimand.

“They don’t pose much of a threat,” Kerralis continues, ignoring Caelus’s interruption ”, most spent the day wasting time and effort fighting, lying around or having sex, seems a small group headed our way but I didn’t see them on my way back. No sign of ripas either”

“There was a boy captured at the river,” she says. “He will be brought before us soon.”

“I saw him,” Kerralis notes. “Lanky. Had a spear through the chest. You won’t get much from him anytime soon—if at all.”

Lexa exhales silently, schooling her expression before addressing the room.

“Gyon op.”

The warriors rise as she casts her gaze over them, her next words deliberate.

“The flame has information to share regarding the sky people who fell last night.”

-

The early morning air is thick with the scent of burning tallow and damp stone, the dim glow of flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows across the chamber walls. The towering spire of the Great Flame looms beyond the balcony, its light reflecting against the darkened sky.

Kerralis departs at first light, wings igniting as they rise into the vast expanse, disappearing beyond the mountain ridge. They leave with a singular purpose—to keep watch over the fallen star and the strange newcomers who arrived with it. Below, Polis stirs to life, warriors and traders beginning their daily routines, the ever-present murmurs of war against the Mountain whispering through the streets.

Lexa has no time to dwell on those murmurs. She spends the day orchestrating border patrols, overseeing supply lines, and preparing to personally join the search for any lingering Ripas. The coalition’s response must be swift and decisive, each clan contributing their warriors and resources to the effort.

Her group is set to depart last, alongside Anya’s, after final negotiations with the ambassadors of the coalition. The weight of their demands presses heavily on her shoulders—Azgeda’s insistence on open war against the Mountain, Trikru’s concerns over Ripa attacks encroaching on their villages, Floukru’s hesitance to commit forces so far inland. Each voice clashes against the next, and it is Lexa who must find balance among them.

By sunset, the discussions are done. The ambassadors return to their territories, and Lexa finds solace in the quiet familiarity of the training grounds, putting the natblidas through one last lesson before she departs.

The glade hums with the sounds of the young novitiates’ disciplined movements, their soft footfalls barely disturbing the earth. The older ones listen intently, their faces set with the same determination Lexa once carried at their age. Anya observes from the sidelines, her peregrine hawk-Osleya- perched in the bare branches above, eyes ever watchful. At Lexa’s feet, Caelus reclines, lazily flicking his tail, allowing the younger natblidas that barely can pick up a twig lest a blade to tug at it playfully, his tolerance a silent testament to his familiarity with them.

Lexa tests them, probing their knowledge of their future responsibilities as Heda. 

She barely has time to register the moment it happens.

A sudden sharp, drilling pain lances through her shoulder. 

The breath is punched from her lungs, and she falters mid-step, vision tilting as she stumbles. The sudden loss of balance sends her crashing sideways, but Caelus moves instinctively, bracing his body beneath her to keep her from collapsing outright.

A burning sting spreads through her arm like wildfire, and she hisses as blood seeps through the fabric of her long-sleeved coat, the dark stain spreading too quickly for comfort.

Immediately, the older natblidas spring to their feet, hands tightening around the hilts of their training weapons, their eyes darting toward the tree line. Anya is already moving blade drawn in her defense, her hawk launching into the air with a sharp cry, scanning for unseen threats. The younger ones kneel, confused but obedient, their eyes flickering between their mentor and the warriors now standing at attention.

Titus calls for Nyko. Lexa barely registers his voice as she exhales shakily, shifting so her back rests against Caelus’s warm fur.

“I didn’t feel anything,” Caelus growls, his deep voice a low vibration through their bond. He twists his head, inspecting himself until realization dawns. His ears flatten. “Kerralis…?”

Lexa meets his piercing blue eyes, her own widening slightly in understanding. The connection flares between them, and she closes her eyes, reaching inward, seeking out the flickering tendrils of her bond with the great Heda spirit. It is not as strong as hers with Caelus, but it is there, pulsing faintly like a dimly burning ember.

Kerralis has been hurt.

Without hesitation, she forces herself upright, gritting her teeth against the pain and shrugging off the worried hands of the natblidas. The wound is secondary. This takes precedence.

“Anya,” she snaps, voice sharp despite the tightness in her chest. “Send your spirit ahead and notify Gustus. They should be halfway there by now. The attack didn’t come from within Polis.”

Anya frowns, stepping closer. “You’re bleeding. What do you mean?”

"Heda's spirit"  Lexa states, barely suppressing the tremor in her voice as she presses a hand against her shoulder. "They were struck"

Titus stiffens beside her, his gaze darting between her injury and Caelus’s unharmed form. “Impossible,” he mutters. “Heda’s spirit has never been injured in all my time as Flamekeeper. Nor in my teacher’s before that.”

Lexa doesn’t answer. She cannot afford to.

“Titus, take the natblidas with you,” she commands, already moving toward the stone halls that border the glade, dragging Anya along with her. “We can’t afford to wait. I’ll check in with Nyko and follow as soon as I can. Take Caelus with you.”

The panther spirit snarls, planting himself firmly in place. “I’m staying with you.”

Lexa exhales sharply, lowering her voice. “We don’t know what happens if Kerralis…” She wets her lips, steeling herself. “I will see if Nyko can help. You can feel Kerralis through our bond. Guide Anya to them and bring them back.”

Caelus hesitates for only a moment before nodding. He meets her gaze and presses a comforting touch against her side. A small pulse of warmth floods through their connection, easing the burning ache in her shoulder.

Lexa allows a brief moment of relief before turning to Anya. “Bring them back safe,” she murmurs, voice lower now. “And make sure no one else knows of this. If anyone asks, there was an accident—say Caelus was injured. His fur is thick enough that no one will question it.”

Anya clasps Lexa’s forearm in understanding before turning away, vanishing into the night.

-

Midnight drapes over Polis like a heavy cloak, the war chamber lit only by the low glow of the hearth. Lexa paces restlessly, the weight of uncertainty pressing against her chest. Nyko’s salve dulls the pain, but the wound still lingers, a reminder of the danger Kerralis could be in. Her only reprieve is that it's the only wound she has sustained.

Titus remains buried in ancient scrolls, searching for any record of Heda’s spirit sustaining injury. None exist.

She doesn’t know if she should leave or stay.

Her decision is made for her when the doors to the war chamber burst open.

“Heda!” Ryder kneels before her, followed by two warriors, their expressions grim. “Forgive my intrusion. We have received word from the bordering villages behind the river. A massive group of Ripas has attacked and taken several of ours—men, women, spirits, and children alike.”

Lexa stills. Her pulse steadies, her face unreadable, but inside, something tightens—cold and suffocating.

“How many?” she asks, her voice controlled. “And how long ago?”

“Half the village. It was a large group. One of the villagers’ spirits sent word. A fast one. It happened not long ago.”

Lexa exhales slowly, forcing herself to think. Their warriors are too far ahead to intercept the Ripas directly. But if the attack happened nearby… if they move now, they can follow the trail before it disappears.

No other course of action remains.

She strides forward without hesitation, reaching for her sword, the weight of it grounding her.

“Summon the fastest warriors we have—mounts, flyers, anything that can track them.” Her voice cuts through the chamber like steel. She does not wait for Ryder to follow before she moves, her steps already quickening into a run.

“I am not letting those Ripas get away with our people.”

-

Within minutes, Lexa leads a force of thirty elite gonas—fifteen of them on the fastest steeds Polis has to offer. The night air is cool against her skin as they push forward, galloping beneath the ghostly glow of the waning moon.

By the second candlemark, they pick up the trail.

Two more candlemarks pass in relentless pursuit. The rhythmic pounding of hooves fills the silence of the forest, only broken by the distant rustle of unseen creatures moving through the undergrowth. Lexa rides at the head of the pack, her grip firm on the reins, despite the dull ache in her shoulder the muscles in her legs bracing against the steed’s movements.

Then, without warning, pain sears through her arm.

A sudden, indescribable agony flares from the wound, as if it is being torn open from the inside. Lexa barely bites down her groan, her breath stuttering as the pain lances through her entire body. Her vision momentarily swims, and she nearly loses her grip on the reins.

Her horse rears, letting out a sharp, protesting neigh as she forces herself to remain upright, digging her heels in to steady herself.

She cannot stop. Not now.

She grits her teeth, pushing forward, knowing full well that if her warriors sense her injury, they will abandon their pursuit of ripas to make sure she is safe. Her people cannot afford such distraction.

Then, just as suddenly as it came, a ghostly touch flutters across her mind—a soothing balm, cold and refreshing against the raw pain. The agony ebbs, leaving behind only a dull ache. Lexa exhales slowly, pressing her lips into a thin line.

The first assault comes swiftly.

Half of their force remains behind to aid the wounded villagers. The rest charge onward, pursuing the bulk of the Ripas that managed to slip past the border.

They gallop until the terrain becomes too dense for horses, the thick foliage forcing them to dismount. The warriors move quickly, boots hitting the earth in quiet precision as they follow the deep tracks left in the mud by the retreating Ripas.

The sky shifts above them, dawn creeping ever closer. Moonlight still filters through the canopy in fractured beams, offering scarce visibility in the dim forest.

Then—

Lexa feels it.

Caelus is close. His presence hums in the back of her mind, a steady, reassuring pulse that soothes her frying nerves and settles in her body feeling a less weighted. She had never been away from either of her spirits since she ascended as Commander. The tiredness anyone would get from having their spirit far away had never been something she had known. It was always either Kerralis or Caelus at her side even in battle. It's what gave her an advantage over others, especially since Kerralis could choose whether to use a physical form or not. Which they never did, always choosing to stay concealed unless they were alone or in the presence of other natblidas.

They had never considered the fact that having two spirits could also be a weakness. They would have to think of countermeasures to this happening again.

But Kerralis—

She cannot feel them nearby and it still jarring.

Was Kerralis struck down by one of these Ripas?

Lexa pushes forward, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword. As soon as the enemy is in sight, she does not hesitate.

“Kill them all!”

The order rings through the air, and her warriors clash with the Ripas in brutal combat.

Caelus surges past her, his massive form a dark blur as he barrels into the enemy, teeth sinking into the throat of the first Ripa he reaches. Lexa wastes no time, cutting down the nearest foe with a swift, precise arc of her blade before turning to the next. The battlefield is chaos, the cries of warriors and spirits alike mixing with the snarls and growls of combat.

The Ripas begin to falter. Some drop their stolen cargo to fight back, while others attempt to flee with their captives in tow.

Lexa growls in unison with Caelus, her body already moving before she has fully registered the sight ahead. She sprints forward, her sword clutched between her teeth as she leaps onto Caelus’s back in one fluid motion just fumbling slightly as pain shoot up her shoulder from the movement. Her fingers tighten around his thick fur as she leans forward, allowing him to gain speed.

“Where is Kerralis?” she asks, voice tight through their bond.

“Safe,” Caelus responds, his focus unyielding.

Relief floods through her, washing away the worst of her unease.

“Good,” she exhales. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ahead, she spots movement. A figure—too small to be one of hers—stumbles forward, struck hard in the stomach. They crumple to the ground, barely conscious before a Ripa delivers a vicious kick to the cheek.

Lexa doesn’t think. She reacts.

“Faster, Caelus!”

Caelus roars, muscles coiling as he propels himself forward. The moment he closes the distance, he pounces, his powerful frame crashing into the Ripa about to strike the downed figure. Lexa leaps from his back, using the momentum to bring her sword down in a deadly arc, ending another foe just as a small spirit—some sort of raccoon—scurries to its fallen human’s side.

Lexa follows its path, her gaze shifting swiftly across the clearing. Among the battered captives, her attention locks onto the one she has just saved.

The first thing she notices is the hair.

Even in the dim glow of approaching dawn, it catches the light—golden, tangled but striking. It is a color rare among the clans, found mostly in Azgeda’s bloodline. But as Lexa moves closer, she notes the stranger’s clothing—nothing like anything worn by Azgeda. Or any clan, for that matter. Maunon?

Her grip tightens around her sword.

“Caelus don’t let a single one of them escape alive.” She commands to her spirit as she silently approaches the woman whose hand’s are busy with the young warrior in front of her and places the tip of the blade against the blonde's throat.

A soft gasp escapes the woman’s lips as she raises her hands in the universal sign of surrender. Her raccoon spirit jumps onto her shoulder, puffing itself up with a growl, trying to appear bigger, braver. But Lexa can see the truth in its trembling limbs—the spirit is afraid. More afraid than it lets on.

Then, the stranger speaks.

"Anya?" she whispers, voice raspy and tight with emotion.

Lexa’s grip on her sword hilt tightens. The name rings through her mind, throwing her momentarily off balance.

"Chon yu bilaik?" she demands, voice low and authoritative. Who are you?

"Ai laik Clarke kom…Trikru." The blonde hesitates for a split second before answering, 

"Trikru?" she echoes, disbelief flickering across her face before she composes herself. Her gaze shifts to the small spirit still gripping its master’s shoulder in fear. A racoon...Then it clicks— A lie. This stranger just lied to her.

Lexa watches her closely, tilting her head in quiet observation. Just who might this be? Mountain? Or is she one of the children that fell from the sky? Lexa tilts her head and surmises a bit more prodding would help answer those questions.

Caelus drags a struggling Ripa into the clearing, its hold still locked onto a kidnapped child. With a swift, brutal motion, the panther spirit snaps the creature’s neck before sprinting off again. The wet crunch of breaking bone makes Clarke flinch, her hands instinctively dropping back to the young warrior in front of her. Lexa watches over the blonde’s shoulder and over the dim light of a strange lantern she recognizes the face of her mentor’s current Seken. Tris. Her heart aches for the young pale warrior.

Tris’s complexion is deathly pale, her body motionless except for the faint, shallow rise and fall of her chest. Blood pools beneath her, stark against the damp earth.

"Yes, I am a…fisa," Clarke continues, her voice a wary whisper in clear gonasleng. "From Trikru."

Lexa’s fingers flex against her hilt.

A healer? A blonde healer from Trikru? The words taste false on her tongue. Trikru raises warriors, not healers. Even among the few medics they possess, none go unnoticed. Floukru she would have believed, reluctantly. The clan welcomed anyone who ran from their clan willing to contribute, a deserting healer from Azgeda would have made sense. Floukru’s peaceful ways often breeding the best healers within the coalition but a blonde healer with a snatcha for spirit nonetheless... It's just plain ridiculous.

Curiosity for how far this woman will go to save her own skin overtakes her and after a long, considering pause, she lowers her blade. The blonde relaxing her shoulders immediately.

"A fisa that speaks gonasleng?" she asks smoothly, switching to the warriors’ tongue.

Clarke doesn’t even falter. "I prefer it."

Lexa hums, letting her eyes linger. "I have never heard of you before... Klark kom Trikru." She stresses the name just enough to make her skepticism known.

Clarke’s fingers still slightly as she presses a clean rag against Tris’s wound, but her voice remains steady. "I—am not well known, clearly."

Lexa steps closer, her own cloak shifting around her as she kneels across from Clarke, opposite Tris’s unconscious form. The healer’s golden hair cascades in loose waves, shielding part of her face from Lexa’s sharp gaze. Something about the way Clarke refuses to acknowledge her presence fully as she works piques Lexa’s curiosity further.

She wants to push the hair back. To see the stranger’s face fully, to strip away the veil of mystery. But instead, she settles for resting her hand on the handle of her blade, quelling the impulse.

“Who is your teacher?”

Clarke doesn’t answer immediately as she mutters to herself and looks down at the odd bracelet on her wrist. Her hand wraps around Tris’s thin wrist, two fingers pressed firmly against the girl’s pulse. Lexa watches the motion closely. She narrows her eyes at the bandages lining Tris’s torso, head, and arms. Hurried but masterful. Maybe the healer part was not a lie…But Trikru? Nyko is one of the only true healers in her clan, and even he has no true apprentice that she knows of. Floukru she would have believed, reluctantly but it would have made more sense. Floukru’s peaceful ways often breed the best healers within the coalition. The clan welcomed anyone who ran from their clan willing to contribute, a deserting healer from Azgeda would have made sense...If Azgeda wasn't also a warrior's clan. 

"Nyko" Clarke mumbles under her breath almost dragging the name between her lips.

Lexa stills. Nyko?

First Anya. Now Nyko. That can't be, she's never heard even a description of her from them. And Clarke would certainly would have raised some eyebrows and whispers.

"Didn’t know Nyko had taken an apprentice," she remarks, watching closely for Clarke’s reaction.

The woman hesitates just a fraction before responding. "He didn't. You would have heard about me if that were the case, but I—I just have basic knowledge he taught me in his spare time."

Before Lexa can question her further, Tris suddenly jerks violently, her chest rising in a deep, gurgling gasp. Clarke curses under her breath, hands moving fast.

"Help me lift her up," she commands. "Hold her arm gently—keep her steady. I need to hear her lungs."

Lexa falters for just a moment.

Clarke’s tone of voice shifted to one of authority in an instant, taking Lexa by surprise and finds herself obeying before she even thinks about it.

She helps the blonde healer and does as she says and turns the young warrior to the side, surmising her questioning can wait until she makes sure Anya's seken is safe of peril. Clarke presses her ear against Tris’s back. After a long moment, Clarke suddenly stiffens.

"Rico! Backpack!" she snaps.

The raccoon spirit leaps into action, bolting across the clearing. Lexa watches, intrigued, as Clarke shifts Tris carefully into her arms.

"Help me move her into the light," Clarke orders, nodding toward a brighter patch illuminated by a strange-looking lantern.

Lexa moves without thinking, carefully adjusting Tris’s weight as they lower her to the ground. 

Rico returns, dragging an oddly constructed bag nearly twice its size. 

Lexa looks down worriedly as Tris. Her side lips spurting gurgles of blood and Lexa can only stare as Clarke is already stripping off her jacket, revealing a thin, fitted grey chemise underneath and turns rummaging through the bag, facing up to the sky every few seconds warily. Lexa frowns and looks up around them in alert though the only sounds she hears is the sounds of Caelus’s growls echoing in the forest as he dispatches Ripas and drags in carefully the survivors closer to the clearing before he sprints off again.


When Lexa looks back down her breath falters in a soft exhale.


Clarke strides back to Tris’s side with eyes closed, stray beams of moonlight illuminating the features of her face, brows furrowed in concentration. A small band hangs between white teeth as she gathers up her golden waves in a low ponytail.

The light glow illuminates every angle—strong cheekbones, the determined set of her jaw, the striking contrast of her dark lashes against pale skin. Then, Clarke turns her head up, meeting the light with an irritated glare, her blue eyes burning with a fierceness as if the sky had offended her. Lexa does not expect. 

They are impossibly deep, darkened further by the shadows around them.

Something unfamiliar stirs in Lexa’s chest.

Then Tris coughs violently, and Clarke moves.

She’s a blur of efficiency, fingers ghosting over Tris’s ribs, searching—sensing. "This will hurt for a moment, Tris," she murmurs. Then, almost as an afterthought, she whispers, "I will return this soon."

Lexa blinks in confusion before she realizes Clarke is speaking about Tris’s own throwing knife.

Before she can question her, Clarke uncorks an odd vial that she had taken out of her bag, douses the blade in a clear liquid, wipes it, then does it again—before driving the knife without hesitation into Tris’s ribs.

Lexa jerks. "What are you—"

Clarke catches her wrist mid-motion before she can reach for her sword. In a smooth, unrelenting movement, she redirects Lexa’s hand onto the knife’s hilt.

"Hold this."

Lexa stares, her pulse thrumming in quiet shock. Clarke’s fingers squeeze hers once, firm but fleeting, before she returns to her work.

"Keep it steady. Don’t move it, don’t pull it out until I tell you to." She commands her before calling for her raccoon spirit and giving a hurried set of instructions with foreign words that Lexa cannot comprehend.

Lexa obeys.

She doesn’t know why.

She only watches as Clarke and her spirit work in complete sync, hands flying between supplies, murmuring strange foreign words Lexa cannot understand. 

She barely has the presence of mind to pull out the knife when Clarke tells her to. She feels so out of her depth, over 5 years being Heda. She is usually the one giving out commands and orders not the other way around. The strangeness of it all—the entire situation—unsettles her in a way she cannot yet define.

But Clarke does not stop.

She moves to the injured next child. Then another. Then another. A woman possessed by single-minded purpose.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Lexa lays her desperate need to understand, to interrogate, to command someone's attention to do her bidding. And she watches, allowing her curiosity to grow with each second.

-

Caelus drags in one of the last survivors, his powerful form moving with careful reverence as he releases the scuffed, bloodied body onto the damp earth. Lexa’s heart stutters at the sight—her breath halts for a fraction of a second before the heat of fury floods her veins.

The young man can’t be more than a few moons past his spirit reckoning, yet his body is torn, barely holding on. Blood clings to his trembling hands as he curls around his wounded spirit, a small, battered creature whose thin chest barely rises with each labored breath. The boy squeezes his eyes shut, lips quivering as he clutches the fragile form against him, as if sheer will alone could keep them both from slipping away.

Lexa meets Caelus’s deep blue eyes, sees the rage mirrored there, the same quiet grief burning beneath the surface.

"Jus drein," she seethes through their bond.

"Jus daun" Caelus nods, solemn and unrelenting. He lowers his head, pressing his nose briefly to the young warrior’s forehead, a quiet acknowledgment of his suffering—of his fate—before turning away with deadly purpose. His massive form disappears into the trees, a blur of black fur and vengeance.

Lexa exhales sharply, suppressing the trembling in her fingers as she kneels beside the injured man. His breaths are shallow, wet with the telltale sound of blood filling his lungs.

"Yu ste klir, konop," (You are safe, young man) She murmurs, voice soft as to not startle him.  “Ai laik Heda, lus yu blinka au gona, yu na chich op?” (I am The commander, open your eyes warrior, can you speak?") She asks and reaches out carefully, prying his stiff fingers from his spirit with quiet reverence. The creature is small, a meerkat spirit with matted fur and deep gashes across its body. It barely twitches as she lifts it carefully onto her lap. 

"Sha, Heda," he rasps, his bloodied fingers twitching. Yes, Commander.

"Chon ste yu tagon, gona?" (What is your name,warrior?)

"Ariu," he coughs, pain lacing his every syllable. 

Lexa nods, grounding herself in ritual, in duty. "Chit ste oyu kru?" (What's your kru)

"Ingranronakru." he falters as he wheezes.

"Chon ste yu nomon, yu nuntu?" She asks softly. Leaning close so she can clearly hear the names of the ones she will face, the ones she needs to thank for the strength they raised their son with. Such wounds clearly not gained without a fight.

"Ademi en Lufaus," Ariu barely manages to whisper, his body trembling violently.

She hears careful steps behind her and she glances back briefly noticing Clarke’s eyes roaming through his body with concern. There is no fear in her expression—just something quiet, solemn.

With a flicker of hope she has for the young warrior Lexa moves to the side for Clarke to kneel beside her. “Can you save him?”

Clarke’s sharp blue eyes keep searching until her gaze lands on the trembling, bloody little spirit lying on her lap.

She hesitates—just for a second. “I can help him” she murmurs, taking Ariu’s hand softly between her own and Lexa notes the way the healer emphasizes the word 

Lexa stills.

"Help him." Not save him.

The weight of understanding sinks like a stone in her chest. Her hope shatters quietly, piece by piece, as Clarke’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around Ariu’s hand.

Lexa’s jaw clenches, her body taut with barely contained fury. The Ripas. The mountain men. Again and again, they take what is hers. Again and again, they leave her people in ruins, families shattered, blood spilled on their land. Her hands tremble with rage and helplessness—rage that demands retribution, that begs for blood in return.

Then—

"Rico." Clarke whispers the name of her spirit. Her voice is soft, pulling Lexa from her spiraling thoughts "There’s a thin blade at the bottom of my satchel. Bring it to me."

Lexa clings to the soft husky quality of her voice, briefly wondering if Clarke is aware of her state of mind, if she is speaking out loud to her spirit for her sake when such a simple request could have been placed through her bond with her spirit.

She forces herself to watch Clarke instead of the body in front of her, anchoring herself to something other than the overwhelming grief threatening to consume her. Settling her green eyes onto the soothing depth of the blue ones beside her that look down at Ariu with an emotion that Lexa has long not being able to muster, not in front of others. A weakness on it’s own that tethers her to the moment lest her thoughts stray to ones that demand a river of maunon blood to be spilled for every single drop of his.

Clarke then begins to hum an unknown melody whispering reassuringly with a smile when Ariu looks up at her in distress and she softly cradles her fingers through his hair.

Ariu’s breathing steadies for a moment, his glazed eyes flickering open.

"Meizen," he whispers, barely audible. Beautiful.

Clarke smiles down at him, brushing trembling fingers through his sweat-matted hair. "Reshop, gona," Rest, warrior. She murmurs, her low husky voice in clear trigedasleng and Lexa wonders why or how Clarke knows these words. 

Lexa’s eyes dance around Clarke’s face as soft beams of dawn’s light reflect on her unfathomably blue eyes and illuminate the golden stray waves that couldn’t be contained on her hasty braid, caressing her cheeks and framing her face.

Lexa’s heart clenches. She can't help but agree with Ariu's earlier statement.

“He-da,” Arius wheezes looking up at her, his voice thin. She 

Lexa exhales, the corners of her lips barely lifting beneath her cloak “chit du don meizen fisa jos don biyo op?”(what did the beautiful healer just say?)  Lexa replies firmly, a sad smile hidden behind her cloak. “reshop, gona” She commands.

Ariu nods weakly. He closes his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips.

A different kind of hope replaces the primal feeling of rage she felt earlier at the sight of Ariu’s satisfied smile.

A hope for a peaceful, painless death.

A death that Clarke delivers in the most beautiful, merciful and mesmerizing way.

Lexa doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches as Clarke cradles his final moments with unbearable kindness.

She watches on as the healer gently guides him through his last breath, an unknown, beautiful poem spilling low and soothing from her lips. Feels the softest of grips pry away the tight one Lexa held on Ariu’s hand to slice painlessly through his wrist.

Lexa’s eyes don’t know where to find purchase as Clarke’s hand commands Ariu’s death in the gentlest of manners.

Her left hand guiding the thin blade with deadly precision while the other traces gently across his temple smoothing away the last remnants of pain from his face. Her smile soft, caring and gentle in contrast to the deep blue eyes barely concealing deep seated sadness within them.

"May we meet again," Clarke whispers, reverently closing Ariu’s eyes.

It is the softest death Lexa has ever witnessed. She swallows.

Many times, since taking the mantle of Heda—and even before—Lexa has pondered her own death. Inevitable, foreboding. A certainty she has accepted since the day she first held a blade in her hands. Always, she has pictured it as inevitable, a brutal end befitting a warrior, a commander. Perhaps at the edge of a sword in the heat of battle, perhaps in the cold silence of an assassin’s blade. Something swift, brutal, and impersonal.

She has never questioned it. Why would she? All Hedas before her have met the same fate. Her life is not her own; it belongs to her people. Her duty is to them, not to herself. What she does as Heda is what matters. Not how it ends. A warrior’s death. A commander’s end. Heda's spirit to guide her onto the next vessel of her journey.

And yet—

For the first time, she wonders.

For the first time, she dares hope.

Not for a warrior’s death. Not for the swift, cold justice she has always imagined.

But for something else.

Something softer. Something quieter.

A death that is met not with violence, but with gentle hands and whispered words that promise a future reunion. An end in which death is not a cold respite leading to a warm flame.

A death that bears the face of someone with deep blue eyes, and golden hair and the kindest of smiles.

She looks down at Ariu's peaceful face as she recites her own people’s rituals, Rituals from Trikru. The weight of duty settles heavily on her shoulders, familiar, but beneath it—something new. A whisper of uncertainty. An unfamiliar ache. She returns his still spirit to his hands and finds herself envious of Ariu’s death at the hands of this Clarke kom Trikru, who clearly is no Clarke kom Trikru.

She lifts her head and finds her eyes drawn to Clarke, who had respectfully stepped away to tend to the living as Lexa whispered the flame's parting words for the dead before draping her cloak over him

The healer moves with quiet efficiency, tending to the wounded with an unshaken resolve. There is something relentless about her, something unwavering in her need to fix things, to save what she can—even if it could be futile. Even when it is not her own people.

She watches the blonde silently, eyes tracing the lines of her furrowed brow as she works. Watches the way her hands move, sure and steady, the way her shoulders tense when she finds a wound too deep to mend. Watches the way she bites her lip in thought, the way she mutters to herself in frustration when something does not go as she intends.

Watches the way she cares.

Lexa does not understand her or her motives.

And it infuriates her.

Lexa prides herself on her ability to read people. To decipher their strengths, their weaknesses, their motives—whether they hide behind steel or honeyed words. It is a skill honed through years of war, of diplomacy, of survival. And yet, here is Clarke kom Trikru—who is not Clarke kom Trikru—slipping through her grasp like sand through her fingers.

She has never met a healer who does not hesitate before taking a life. Never met a warrior who wields a blade with such precision with hands made for healing. Never met a liar who mourns so sincerely for a stranger.

A mystery. A contradiction.

And Lexa hates not knowing.

Lexa finds herself so frustrated at the lack of knowledge and the desperate need to know more about the beautiful neindropa (Impostor)

She exhales sharply, willing herself to let go of the questions buzzing in her mind, the ones demanding answers she is not yet ready to ask.

Because in the end, does it truly matter?

Clarke is a liar.

But Clarke is also someone who holds to life with a steely grip and commands death soft like a whisper. Who offers healing with determination and also offers death with a steady hand and sorrow-laced words instead of cruelty. Who seals and sutures wounds of people who is not her own and also who guides a dying man to the flame and mourns him as if he was her own.

And if she is capable of that—if she is capable of this—then perhaps, just this once, Lexa can forgive and wait for the truth.

She will forgive Clarke’s lies.

She will hear her out when she finally chooses to speak them.

And until then, she will watch.

Chapter Text

Caelus returns soon after, his presence a grounding force as he pads across the clearing and settles behind Clarke. His large form sprawls comfortably, grooming his fur with slow, deliberate strokes. Nearby, Lexa leans her back against the rough bark of a towering tree, eyes flickering between the young children scattered throughout the clearing, the healer tirelessly working beside them, and the small raccoon spirit that clings protectively to her shoulder.

Lexa watches Clarke move with unwavering focus, her hands deft and sure as she pulls out various herbs and tools. The blonde is absorbed in her task, oblivious to the way Lexa's eyes track her every movement. There's a quiet efficiency to her, a confidence in the way she handles herself when she is focused. Rico sits at the foot of one of the kidnapped that seems to be Clarke’s friend by the looks of it. Similar clothing clinging to the girls figure, a hawk bigger than Anya’s laying by her side.

The forest hums with life in the early morning light. Beams of sunlight filter through the canopy, dappling the ground with shifting patches of gold. The scent of damp earth lingers in the air, mingling with the faint, coppery tang of blood and the sharp sting of herbs crushed beneath hurried hands.

A sigh escapes Clarke’s lips, long and weary, before she leans back and finds herself leaning against Caelus’s softly mutter in surprise but also fascination as her fingers absently curl into the thick fur within reach.

Lexa watches, surprised at the casual intimacy of the gesture. Few dared to touch Caelus so freely—fewer still without consequence. Yet her panther spirit merely releases an undignified purr, melting under Clarke’s ministrations.

Lexa shifts uncomfortably at the sensation that crawls down her spine, something unfamiliar stirring beneath her skin. It is not unpleasant—if anything, it is too pleasant, and that in itself is unsettling.

She pushes off the tree and stands abruptly, shaking off the lingering sensation.

“I had my doubts, Klark kom Trikru,” she admits finally, tone lighter than before. “But you’ve proven yourself. Nyko must be proud of you. That was… impressive.” The words are genuine, yet she watches Clarke closely, curious to see how the woman will react to the subtle test—to the deliberate mention of Nyko, her supposed teacher.

Clarke glances up, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips before it falters. Her expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across her face. Her mouth opens as if to respond, but the words catch in her throat when Lexa steps closer.

Blue eyes drag slowly up her body, appraising. Stunned, as if she were truly seeing Lexa for the first time.

Lexa tilts her head, intrigued. If Clarke were from the Mountain, would she recognize her?

Caelus interrupts before she can speak. “She is a sky girl,” he informs her, a rumbling amusement beneath his words. “Bargained for her injured friend’s life in exchange for Kerralis’s.”

“You said Kerralis is safe.” Lexa’s brow arches at that while looking down at Clarke, surprised of this piece of information.

“They are,” Caelus confirms with a grumble. “They sent me to—”

“Thank you” Clare finally finds her words interrupting their secret conversation. “For saving me and helping me out with them all”

Curiosity picks up again when Clarke’s eyes meet hers requesting shyly to let her treat her shoulder. Such a contrast in the way she held herself earlier to the meek way she asks now. One moment fearless healer, unwavering in her care for others. The next, she is this—a demure, hesitant and shy person like any other.

“So you do know how to ask for permission. I wondered if all you did was order people around." Lexa cannot help but tease her for it, the amusement barely concealed in her voice. She watches, satisfied, as the blonde’s face colors with the faintest blush.

And was it any other wound, she would accept the offer.

But she does not know how Nyko or Titus would react if she allowed a stranger to tend to a spirit wound. 

Kerralis's wound.

“This is no ordinary wound,” Lexa excuses herself, voice careful. “Nothing you do will close it until both I and my spirit are treated. And they…” She pauses meaningfully. “They are difficult to treat.”

Clarke tilts her head, persistent. "I can give it a try too. Why don't you call your spirit over?"

“As I said, they are difficult to treat. So they are away.”

“I see…” Clarke mutters, fingers toying with the strap of her odd satchel. “So Anya sent their spirit to help you save her Second, then.”

Lexa stiffens and frowns confused. “Anya’s spirit?” she echoes in her head. “I haven’t seen Osleya around… she would have brought news already.” Her gaze sharpens and looks around. “Did she also come with you, Caelus?”

“No,” Caelus answers, thoughtful. “She was returning to Polis with Kerralis…”

Lexa exchanges a glance with him, something unsaid passing between them before she refocuses on Clarke.

The blonde is still murmuring to herself, thinking aloud.

“Please,” she says then, voice quieter. “Let me at least look at it. As a sign of gratitude for saving my life.”

There is a silent plea hidden in her eyes.

Lexa studies her for a long moment, curiosity gnawing at the back of her mind. Clarke is offering more time with her.

Time freely given.

Time that Lexa can use.

She won't waste the opportunity.

She nods, and a dazzling, relieved smile spreads across Clarke’s face.

Lexa is not prepared for it.

It is—bright. If a little…mischievous as if the offer itself had a hidden meaning that Lexa failed to grasp.

It’s unsettling.

She clears her throat and follows as Clarke gestures for her to sit in the light. Settling down with practiced poise, she glances around the clearing, tamping down an uncharacteristic feeling of unease. Her fingers pluck absently at a leaf caught in the folds of her sash as she waits. Caelus lounges at her feet, tail flicking idly.

Lexa turns her attention back to him.

“You said she bargained for her friend?” she questions him. “How exactly? How did you meet?”

Caelus huffs. “Not much was shared about why they are here. She spent almost all night shouting at the river. Anya suspected an ambush and wanted to find whoever was letting Clarke know we were there first—”

Lexa barely has time to react before Clarke grabs her, hands firm sending up a shudder through her spine as they land on her thigh and shoulder and then she drags her closer to the light.

Lexa lets out an undignified yelp, eyes widening in disbelief. What—

“I think this one has never been taught, to ask for permission in her life..." she thinks loudly, staring down at Clarke—who, to her utter shock, doesn’t even acknowledge what she’s done.

Doesn’t so much as glance up.

Doesn’t seem the least bit aware of the way she has just handled the Commander of the Twelve Clans like it was nothing.

Completely oblivious of the state she just left Lexa in.

Clarke simply leans in, inspecting the salve coating Lexa’s wound with a look of deep concentration.

"The audacity...” Lexa thinks in utter disbelief.

Caelus laughs—a deep, purring rumble of amusement reverberating through their bond. “This sky girl is something else! First Kerralis, now you! You should have seen their face-You should have seen your face. I will somehow make sure none of you ever forget—even in future lives.”

Lexa pointedly ignores him, still staring at Clarke, at the absurdly casual way the healer had just handled her.

Then Clarke finally glances up—seemingly realizing their proximity all at once. She startles, clearing her throat awkwardly and pulling back.

Lexa can't even smirk nor revel in the momentary flustered look on her face. Still caught up in the whole affair.

“So,” Clarke begins, hastily peeling off the healing plaster Nyko had spent an entire candle mark applying. “Do you have a name?”

The question stuns her.

Lexa stares.

Of all things—

She does not remember the last time someone has asked her that.

She does not need to be named. Wherever she goes, she is Heda. Her identity is a given—more curse than blessing.

And yet, Clarke does not know.

It is refreshing...

Caelus, however, revels in her mortification it seems as he rolls over in laughter—his tail flicking out so wildly it slaps Clarke on the back.

“She doesn’t even know who she’s talking to?!” he cackles through their bond. “What have you two been doing all this time? It has been marks!”

It is embarrassing.

Lexa pointedly does not respond, but her ears burn as her ever annoying panther spirit rumbles behind Clarke.

The healer yelps, twisting to glance around in alarm.

“Did you hear that?” Clarke asks, eyes darting through the trees.

Lexa and Caelus immediately fall silent, listening. But there is nothing—only the sounds of the forest waking in the morning light.

“I didn’t hear anything, did you?,” Caelus admits.

“I did not hear a thing,” Lexa echoes carefully for both Clarke and Caelus’s sake.

“I must be imagining things,” Clarke mutters, shaking her head before refocusing on her task. “Rico, get a fire going. I’ll need some water to boil these herbs.”

And it’s so innocuous. So innocent. An oddity in itself that picks at Lexa’s curiosity.

Her gaze lingers as Clarke moves, her mind turning.

Her eyes follow the raccoon spirit doing as he is told while Clarke looks for something in the depths of her bag.

Such a strange thing, she thinks. The way Clarke addresses her spirit. Lexa watches the small raccoon spirit scurry away, her curiosity piqued.

It’s odd, the way Clarke speaks aloud to her spirit rather than through the bond.

It would be more efficient to do so, Lexa does it all the time, it comes naturally to her.

The thought gnaws at her, pressing at the edges of her mind. Was it for her? A courtesy, to let Lexa know what she was doing? Somehow, that didn’t feel quite right. But if not for that reason, then why?

She turns to Caelus. “Did she speak aloud with her spirit at the river like this?”

“Not that I recall,” Caelus responds lazily, licking his paw. “Mostly, he just clung to her and growled at us if we got too close. Poor little thing was trembling like a leaf. I’d have wagered he’d relieved himself in fear.”

“Really?” Lexa tilts her head, even more intrigued. “So he’s brave enough to growl at you-“

“And Anya, and Gustus…and Indra”

She lets out a breath of amusement, almost shaking her head. “Somehow, I can’t see that happening.I just find it so…strange that her spirit is a snacha of all things, given her drive and talents”

“Maybe sky people are blessed differently in matters of spirits”

“Perhaps…or Clarke is dangerously good at it and all of it is a facade” Lexa counters suspiciously, though the thought doesn’t sit very well in her mind. “What about Clarke? Was she also trembling like a leaf?”

“She was trembling but for different reasons”

“How so?”

"She stood atop a rock in the middle of the river, started yelling her head off, which, I will say, was quite amusing at first. Stayed there for a long time. She was alone, our scouts couldn’t find anyone behind her, yet she knew we were there- "

Lexa gets distracted when Clarke thanks her spirit and fondly ruffles his fur when he returns with the boiling water and then hands him a small metallic object with an instruction that the spirit eagerly complies with. The enthusiasm pulling a soft chuckle out of Clarke’s lips.

She doesn’t even realize she’s leaning closer. Finally, unable to contain her curiosity any longer she indulges herself giving in.

“You have a surprisingly agitated spirit…Clarke,” She murmurs.

“Rico?” Clarke asks quickly. She shyly glances down at him and steadily refusing to meet Lexa’s eyes, an unexpected blush coloring her cheeks when Lexa’s eyes don’t follow hers and stay on Clarke’s face. “He’s a cute little thing, isn’t he?”

The racoon gets upset at the monicker and Clarke laughs under her breath, low and contagious, inadvertently pulling a smile out of Lexa.

Caelus huffs through their bond, a sound of amusement. "-So Anya, naturally, assumed she was trying to lure us into an ambush from the mountain. If we had had candles to measure Id wager we stayed there three to four marks at least. Even Anya was getting tired of waiting for her to get back to shore"

Lexa raises an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.

“Persistent. That I can certainly picture happening.” She thinks, an amused smile widening in her lips and immediately composes her face when Clarke looks back up at her.

“Don’t let him fool you, though,” Clarke says oblivious of the conversation she isn’t privy to. Smile widening. “See the mess he made out of those reapers.”

“I will make sure not to underestimate him,” She acknowledges to Clarke. She knows she is being judgmental of the odd master-spirit pair. They are both brave and fierce sure, but so different it’s…intriguing, almost unnerving. “But I meant you.” She finishes trying to pry more information away from the blonde.

“Me?” Clarke blinks in surprise.

“You and your spirit, you seem… unlike each other” Lexa clarifies, tilting her head as she appraises Clarke and the raccoon at her side.

Her spirit companion so meek, clingy and eager to please.

Completely contrary to the young blonde in front of her, imparting orders without a care to get things done, a fierce independency in the way she holds herself.

Even when she is acting shy it's as if she cannot help but behest attention to her words, orders, disguised as questions and pleas. Hiding in plain sight.

Lexa’s eyes narrow slightly as she continues her appraisal “From the way you speak and handle yourself I mean. I'd wager some of our generals lack the type of command that you withhold. If he wasn't here I would have assumed your spirit to be...different.”

Bigger, menacing, imposing, beautiful if we are being vain…anything but a racoon. Hidden in her words.

Clarke’s body tenses ever so slightly, fingers stopping short of her shoulder, but it doesn’t escape Lexa’s notice.

“Well,” Clarke begins after a moment, her voice quieter now, “you know what they say. Our spirits reflect our souls, but also our desires”

Lexa watches intently as Clarke’s fingers still against her satchel.

“I guess sometimes… I wish I could be more like Rico,” Clarke continues, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Just small and excitable, but still fierce. No bigger responsibilities. No fate hanging over me. Sometimes, I feel like I’m just surviving, you know? And all I want is to live a little.”

Lexa stares.

The words resonate in a way she did not expect.

She studies Clarke’s expression, the way her features shift between longing and resignation.

That same thought…

It’s one Lexa has had many times before.

She has devoted her life to duty, to her people. Her fate was decided for her the moment she took up the mantle of Heda. To be selfless. To be Heda before she is Lexa.

Her only tether to that part of herself that she cannot allow herself to live being Caelus.

The panther spirit that has accompanied her ever since she was born.

Keeping her sane, being rebellious, a little selfish and emotional for her, being the one that puts himself between her and Kerralis when Heda’s spirit pushed for her to give more of herself  than she could afford. Mediating and taking the blame if needed, for her sake.  

So there had always been that other part of her, one that wanted to rebel, she knows it. To fight Titus close-minded teachings, to question whether tradition was something she should follow blindly or transform for good.

Sometimes I feel like I’m just surviving. And all I want is to live a little.

And now Clarke is giving voice to a buried piece of her, a thought she has never dared to say aloud.

Live a little.

That flickering thought pushes her own name out of her lips in a whisper before she can even think it through.

Clarke looks up, startled by the shift in tone. “I’m sorry?” she ask, confused.

Lexa breathes out, allowing herself to say it again, fully this time. “Lexa kom Trikru.”

“Lexa kom Trikru,” Clarke repeats softly, testing her name. "It's pretty, I like it" Clarke whispers shyly and she meets Lexa’s eyes.

Lexa swallows, unsure why the words make something warm settle in her chest.

Clarke shifts slightly, tilting her head. “So… Trikru, huh?”

Then—immediately, scrunches her nose, as if cringing at her own question.

That little gesture summons a smile to Lexa’s lips.

“The Commander of the twelve clans, smiling like a child because someone said her name is pretty...I thought I would never see that again.”

Her smile vanishes in an instant as heat rushes to her ears. Behind Clarke, Caelus flops onto his back with a satisfied huff, wriggling shamelessly against the earth, thick fur catching bits of dirt, grass, and dry leaves. He rolls with all the dignity of a common house cat, completely unbothered by his audience.

Lexa watches in silent exasperation.

“Shut up, Caelus,” she mutters through their bond, but the panther only rumbles in amusement, flicking his tail lazily in the air.

She clears her throat, forcibly dragging her attention back to Clarke.

“Don’t mind him.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow, sparing the ridiculous panther a glance before shaking her head. “Is he always this… itchy?”

“I’m itching to know what else you’ll do or say to bring back that silly smile, sky girl,” Caelus drawls, rolling lazily onto his side. “I like this one, Lexa. She is fun. We should bring her back with us”

Lexa grits her teeth, torn between amusement and the desire to smack him in the head—not that it would do anything but make her hurt herself.

“Must be parasites,” she replies to Clarke flatly, containing her irritation

Clarke, sweet, naïve Clarke blissfully unaware of the turmoil within Lexa’s head comments on her lack of  knowledge on the matter.

“No need to trouble yourself. I’ll have Anya handle his bath,” Lexa says pointedly looking at Caelus.

The effect is immediate. His ears twitch, and his rolling stops mid-motion.

“You wouldn’t,” he growls, lifting his head in alarm. “You hate it when Anya does it—she uses the bristly brush and scrubs too hard.”

Lexa shrugs imperceptibely, inspecting her nails with feigned indifference. “I can stand it. I know you hate it more than I do. So don’t test me.”

Caelus huffs, defeated, and flops down with a resigned grumble, resting his head between his paws.

Satisfied with her small victory, Lexa watches as Clarke sets to work, grinding herbs into a paste with practiced ease. The morning sun filters through the trees lightly, catching in the loose strands of Clarke’s golden hair, making them shimmer like spun light. Every once in a while, Clarke’s fingers brush against her exposed shoulder as she works, the lightest of touches, and yet, Lexa feels it everywhere.

The tingling sensation spreads down her spine, foreign but not unwelcome. She focuses on Clarke’s face, on the way her sharp features soften in quiet concentration. Her blue eyes, striking in their depth, flicker up to meet Lexa’s briefly before darting back down, as if caught doing something she shouldn’t whenever they meet Lexa’s. Now she is getting shy? What gives?

Lexa has to summon all of her self-control, stays as still as possible choosing to cling to the stinging feeling of the salve Clarke is applying to her wound to keep her from shuddering at the tingling feeling the touch evokes.

Lexa shifts her focus to another matter entirely when she feels she is about to lose that fight.

“What else happened at the river? I am guessing Anya eventually came out and the spoke?” she asks Caelus through their bond.

Her gaze follows the blonde’s motions—the way she mutters under her breath, barely audible, her lips pressing together in thought.

The panther huffs, ears flicking back slightly as he recalls the events. “Not out of her own volition. No. Clarke became desperate and threatened us”

Lexa frowns unable to picture the blonde healer in a situation she could threaten someone. “She was bluffing, right?”

“Oh, not at all. She had us right were she wanted. I am sure you felt what happened next. Didn’t you feel a lot of pain a few marks ago?”

Lexa blinks rapidly in surprise. “That was her?”

“Yes. Pushed her fingers into Kerralis’s wound until we came out, even jumped into the water with them soon after, walking deeper and deeper whenever Anya refused to give in to her demand.”

Lexa doesn’t feel the irritation she should at the memory of the searing pain that had nearly dismounted her in the midst of the chase. If anything…

She finds it amusing.

In fact, she almost laughs.

It’s brilliant. Reckless, dangerous, but brilliant.

So, this Clarke wasn’t just a pretender and a healer—she was strategist too. Desperate, yes, but willing to put herself at risk if it meant achieving her goal.

She tilts her head, watching Clarke more closely as she applies the finished paste to Lexa’s shoulder, her fingers skimming across heated skin. Then a thought nags in her head. “She pushed her fingers into Kerralis?” Looks down with a frown to the unmarred skin of her hands but for light bruises.

“Wait she jumped into the water with- How? She should have burned herself”

“Perfect entry point.” Clarke mutters loud enough for Lexa to hear, interrupting her questioning. “A b- wound-likely low-caliber…”

“Low what?” Lexa asks curiously, startling Clarke from her musings. “Sorry, I—didn’t realize I was speaking out loud.”

“My apologies I thought the fact she is natblida was clear already.” Caelus tilts his head toward Clarke.

Lexa stills.

“What did you say?” Lexa tilts her head and looks at Clarke’s bruised face curiously, cuts or anything. She asked out loud unable to keep it within her bond. Prompting Clarke to answer a question that was not directed at her.

A natblida from the sky…so that’s how Kerralis got hurt in the first place. How else.

Clarke hesitates. “Um… I was just wondering how your spirit got hurt.”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there when it happened.” Lexa shifts away from her eyes, feeling her jaw tighten in irritation at Clarke’s musings when the answer is: herself. “It just hurts…a lot at times.”

Clarke shuffles awkwardly, rummaging through her bag as Lexa ponders in silence.

“What was her demand?” She asks, finally.

“She wanted her friend back” Caelus supplies.

Lexa’s frown deepens. “That’s it? The boy was speared and on his way to the Flame. What…” She stops herself, glancing at Clarke as she tends to her wound.

Right. She is a healer. She probably hoped to help her friend. But… “Is that the only thing she wanted?”

“Yes…she didn’t ask for much else though she mentioned she and her people were on their way to Polis.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t say. Kerralis vouched for her to cross, since she is a natblida, and her friend is at Polis but she retreated when we explained why her friend got hurt in the first place and the Ripa situation. Dropped Kerralis at our feet and ran back here. Said something about her people heading to the mountain by dawn.”

The mountain.

Lexa looks up at the early morning light, remembering how Clarke’s gaze had strayed upward constantly, distress evident in every glance.

So that’s why. She had to get back to them before dawn.

Guess it's to late for that now...

Her stomach tightens uneasily.

“I assume she didn’t say why they were headed there either?”

“No.”

Lexa draws in a deep, centering breath, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. For every piece of information Caelus reveals, countless more questions arise. Clarke is a puzzle—one Lexa has neither the time nor the knowledge to crack as she would like. She shifts her attention back to the blonde, watching her movements more closely. There is urgency in her hands, tension in her shoulders as she grinds a few more herbs between her fingers, her focus unyielding.

Lexa indulges in her curiosity again.

“I have to ask, Clarke,” she begins, her voice low, probing. “What are you doing in the middle of Ripa-infested woods at night?”

She doesn’t ask directly, gauging Clarke’s reaction instead—wondering if the woman will be truthful or if she will continue to dance around the answers

Clarke exhales audibly, her hands momentarily stilling before pressing too tightly against the bandage she’s wrapping around Lexa’s bicep. Her gaze remains locked on the task. “I was looking for my friends,” she admits after a pause. “They got lost, and I— I just need to find them.” She glances toward the clearing where the other injured lay. “Harper—the girl over there with the hawk spirit—was with them.” Clarke’s raccoon spirit, Rico, is still curled protectively at Harper’s side, his little black eyes darting back and forth between Clarke and Lexa, ever watchful. “As soon as I finish here, I’m going to keep searching.”

Lexa studies her carefully.

“Alone?” she questions, brow furrowing. “Without weapons?”

Clarke simply shrugs, as if the woods crawling with Ripas are as peaceful as the Floukru shores in spring.

“Clarke kom Trikru,” Lexa murmurs, voice lined with judgment. The name, the falsehood of it, sits heavy on her tongue. She knows Clarke is lying, yet the woman still clings to the pretense, and Lexa is beginning to lose patience.

Her gaze flickers to Clarke’s odd attire—easily mistaken for something a maunon might wear. Glaringly ovbious. That is foolish. Dangerous

“You should be careful wearing those clothes around. Someone may confuse you for maunon,” Lexa speaks slow and deliberate, the clear warning in her words an attempt to make the blonde understand that Ripas were not the only thing she should be concerned with. Not while she was in the middle of a dangerous turf between her people and the mountain men.

She expects Clarke to react—widened eyes, tensed shoulders, something that signals understanding of the danger she is in.

But Clarke merely stops for a brief moment, looks up at her—then shrugs.

Lexa clenches her jaw, irritation rising.

Is Clarke fearless, arrogant, or simply a fool?

“I mean it, Clarke,” Lexa presses, voice sharper now. “I would have sliced your throat had you not mentioned Anya’s name.”

That, at the very least, should have unsettled her.

But Clarke does not flinch. She merely blinks and shrugs again, expression unreadable as she vaguely comments on the fact that Lexa didn’t, as if it was a given.

Lexa feels frustration rise up at the non-commital response she gets once again from the blonde that reveals absolutely nothing about her, her people, why they are here, where they are headed if not the mountain.

Why is she still pretending to her?

Lexa exhales through her nose, willing herself to remain composed. She does not like this game, this guessing, this infuriating dance where Clarke weaves half-truths and deflections around herself like armor.

If she will not offer information willingly, then Lexa will push her in the right direction.

“How is it that you know Anya?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

For the first time, Clarke stills.

A beat of silence.

Lexa catches the faintest shift in her posture—shoulders tensing, fingers curling around the fabric of her odd bag. There it is.

But before Clarke can answer, rustling from the trees cuts through the tension.

Lexa’s warriors emerge from the woods, faces lined with wariness filling with relief at the sight of her. The battle had ended, and she had taken too long to return.

She lifts a hand, stopping them in their tracks. Their sharp eyes scan the clearing, lingering on Clarke with scrutiny, no doubt noticing her odd attire. They give her their report, the losses they suffered and the current status at the battlefield. She nods solemnly taking in their words as she speaks.

“The Ripas that fled this way have been handled,” she informs them. “Bring something to take the young ones here. See to the wounded. The dead, we carry home. Even those among ripas, they had families too before the mountain did this to them”

“Sha, Heda”  The warriors bow, then disappear into the trees, swift and obedient.

“Looks like my savior has a lot of people to attend to,” Clarke comments once they are out of sight.

“You could say that,” Lexa replies, though her mind has already begun pulling at new threads—new concerns.

Her warriors had suffered minimal losses but too many goufas had been wounded, too many would never return home. The weight of their lives presses against her ribs, heavier than any other weight.

“Caelus, where did Anya and Gustus’s forces go?” she asks through their bond.

“They were on their way back to Polis, escorting Kerralis.”

Lexa frowns.

“Heda’s spirit needs no escort,” she counters, irritation creeping into her tone. “If they are safe, they only need to walk back—if they cannot fly.”

“Kerralis is unable to conceal at will at the moment,” Caelus informs her. “The whole ordeal took a toll on them.”

Lexa feels another weight settle in her chest.

Of course.

“But we need our warriors protecting our people, why—”

“They can’t control their fire either, Lexa,” Caelus interrupts. “Do you want them to cause a wildfire all the way back to Polis? Our warriors are escorting them for our villages' sake. Not the other way around.”

Lexa clenches her jaw.

This was not good. She had hoped to keep the entire affair quiet. If word spread that Heda’s spirit had been wounded—that Kerralis had been weakened—there would be those who would seize upon the opportunity.

Nia.

If the Azgeda queen caught wind of this…

Clarke shifts slightly, her sharp gaze flickering toward Lexa, as if sensing the weight of her thoughts.

With a few final instructions on how to care for the wound, Clarke releases Lexa’s arm. The sting is long gone beneath the odd, stretchy bandage she’s secured around it. Just enough pressure to hold the wound together

Lexa nods in gratitude and moves to stand, Caelus rising alongside her, offering a silent but steadying presence.

Her eyes sweep across the clearing, taking in the dead Ripas, the injured children.

We don’t have enough people to take everyone back. We would have to wait for the ones that got least injured to be able to walk, we need to call for help from the bordering villages. She thinks.

Lexa takes a step forward, then falters.

Clarke hasn’t moved.

The blonde has moved swiftly and sits at the base of the tree where Lexa had been moments ago, head tilted back, resting against the bark, eyes slipping closed. Sunlight streams through the canopy, painting golden streaks across her face. She blindly rummages through her bag, exhaustion written in every line of her body.

Lexa watches her for a long moment in thought.

It is past dawn already.

Has Clarke’s people already left for the mountain?

Will she chase after them?

Lexa hesitates, the question on the tip of her tongue.

Should she ask Clarke to return to Polis?

The woman is a natblida, regardless of her origin. Lexa cannot simply let her wander freely—especially not with Kerralis exposed. 

She turns to Clarke once more, watching the way the woman breathes deeply, momentarily lost in the morning light deep in thought.

Lexa exhales slowly through her nose, trying to settle the rising unease in her chest. The more she thinks, the more complicated this becomes.

A natblida, wandering alone.

Unprotected.

She had managed to take Ontari from Nia years ago, wrenching the girl from the queen’s iron grasp before she could mold her into another weapon like she had attempted to do with Stalus, a natblida warrior from Azgeda borders that miraculously had been found right after Heda Kemji kom Trishankru had passed on to the flame. The mysterious natblida that failed to beat her at the Conclave even though he had the advantage of fighting alongside his spirit. She was too young and Caelus was still not able to fight by her side but still had been an invaluable asset on the fight.

Ontari had seen Kerralis, just as Clarke must have. That had been enough to claim her right as Heda. Enough to make her Heda’s novitiate.

Nia had been furious.

She hadn’t known how Lexa had found out about Ontari, only that she had. And when Nia had feigned ignorance—claimed she had no idea the girl was a natblida, had of course been willing to surrender her—Lexa had taken one look at Ontari’s back, at the evidence of countless lashings that surely would have drawn dark blood and knew it was a lie.

And it was the only reason the Azgeda Kuin had knelt to her.

Now, Clarke stands—or rather, sits—on dangerous ground.

If Nia found out…

She doesn’t want to take Clarke by force. Doesn’t want to execute her either. But if she resists…She might have no other choice.

“Rico, boil down a few more herbs for me, please,” Clarke’s voice interrupts her troubled thoughts, calm and certain.

Lexa watches as the raccoon spirit scurries to do as he’s told, little paws working with surprising efficiency.

“There he goes again, tiny little excitable thing… you are right it’s odd,” Caelus mumbles, but Lexa is barely listening.

Her gaze has caught on something else.

Clarke has removed her boot, carelessly, without thought.

Her foot is blistered, swollen, red at the ankle.

“You’re hurt,” Lexa murmurs, frowning.

Clarke huffs, stretching her foot with a grimace. “It’s just a sprain.”

“And yet you tended to all of us before yourself?” Lexa shakes her head in disbelief.

This woman—this frustrating, stubborn woman—has spent marks tending to others without rest, ignoring her own injuries

Clarke barely spares her a glance, brushing off her concern. “You helped too—one arm in a sling,” she nods toward Lexa’s bound shoulder, “the other bleeding.” She gestures vaguely to Lexa’s bicep, still wrapped in Clarke’s odd, stretchy bandage. “Besides, triage is a thing, you know? It’s just a sprained ankle. Hardly life-threatening.”

Lexa tilts her head slightly. “Tri…ash?” she and Caelus question in unison, both of them frowning.

Clarke pauses, then shakes her head. “It’s a fisa term. Forget it.”

Lexa files the word away for later, watching as Clarke struggles to wrap her own ankle.

Her fingers fumble slightly, tired and clumsy from exhaustion.

Lexa presses her arms across her chest, leaning back against Caelus to keep herself from intervening. She wants to help—knows she can help—but Clarke hasn’t asked for it, and something in Lexa demands that she wait.

Instead, she settles for asking, “What are you going to do now?”

Clarke exhales, clearly hoping to avoid the question. “Don’t worry about me. Your people are waiting for you. You should check back with them—they seemed worried.”

Lexa narrows her eyes.

Again another question unanswered, deflected. And its as if Clarke wants to get rid of her. As if Lexa’s presence is an inconvenience.

“They will wait as long as I tell them to,” Lexa replies, barely able to conceal her irritation behind a cold mask.

Clarke frowns, lips pursing slightly, her fingers still tugging at the bandage. “That doesn’t seem very considerate toward them.”

Clarke’s spirit -Rico. Comes up and places his paws against her ankle pulling a hiss and a sigh out of Clarke’s lips.

Lexa watches, brow furrowing.

Will you wrap your ankle already?

A strange feeling coils in her stomach, and she catches herself almost reaching for the binding herself.

Why don’t you ask for help?

The thought comes unbidden, and she shifts against Caelus, pressing herself more firmly into his side, grounding herself against the strange need to kneel and help her.

“What is wrong?” Caelus asks her puzzled by her unusual behavior. And Lexa finds herself without a proper answer for him so she answers Clarke instead with a tense jaw.

“Consideration is not required. They must wait. If there is an emergency, I shall go. Otherwise, we leave when I say we leave.”

Clarke’s deep blue eyes meet hers, narrowed slightly in challenge. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

Lexa tilts her head.

She’s heard those words before.

She had said them once, long ago, questioning her mentor in the same way Clarke defies her now.

Lexa gives Clarke the same answer her mentor gave her and-ever since- never questioned.

“It is what it is” She says flatly. And Clarke’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, fierce deep blue eyes locking onto her in defiance, biting her lip as if fighting off a response.

Lexa wonders if Clarke will always look at her this way—whenever she doesn’t agree, whenever Lexa makes a choice she doesn’t like.  

Clarke huffs instead of replying, her bright blue eyes straying from hers. her fingers slip over the fabric again, failing to secure it properly.

Lexa’s patience snaps.

She steps forward crouches in front of the stubborn healer. Challenging Clarke to refuse her help with the most intense gaze she can muster. Finds herself entirely too satisfied with herself when the blonde’s refusal dies in her tongue with a blush.

“What are you doing?” Caelus asks behind her, bemused as she begins winding the oddly stretchy cloth around Clarke’s foot.

Lexa doesn’t look at him, simply says “Helping”

“I can see that…but why?”

Lexa doesn’t have an answer.

Or rather, she has one, but it’s one she can’t explain.

I just felt like doing so.

I wanted to.

That wouldn’t be enough.

So she stays silent, working mechanically, winding the stretchy cloth around Clarke’s foot.

The blonde’s bruised and blistered skin twitches slightly in her hands, and Lexa glances up instinctively, watching for any sign of pain. But Clarke doesn’t stop her—just watches, pink creeping up her neck, lips pressed together like she isn’t sure what to do with the attention.

Lexa looks down again, making sure the bandage is secure.

Footsteps approach, and Clarke stiffens slightly as Ryder and Balton emerge from the trees.

They carry a short hand made gurney made of cloth, sturdy sticks and rope, meant for lifting the injured and carrying them back. Their eyes flicker to Lexa, widening slightly as they take in the sight before them.

Their Heda, kneeling in the dirt, tending to a stranger.

Lexa forces herself to ignore them, focusing instead on the twist of fabric around Clarke’s foot.

“I wonder what they think of their Heda, kneeling down to tend to a stranger?” Caelus hums, his tone lined with something dangerously close to amusement.

Lexa falters, just for a moment.

Clarke’s foot slips from her hands, and she hastily lifts it back into place, meeting Clarke’s eyes in apology.

“They think of nothing. Their duty is beyond gossip,” she replies stiffly. “No one questions my actions, Caelus.”

“Are you sure about that?”

No.

But it’s too late to pretend now.

Lexa lifts her chin, composure settling back over her like armor, and rises smoothly to her feet.

She turns to Ryder and Balton, nodding toward Tris.

“Take her first.”

Lexa watches as her warriors bow without hesitation before moving toward Anya’s second and moving u one of her arms.

“Hod up!” Clarke’s voice startles them all, breaking slightly as it rises above the sounds of the clearing. “You can’t just lift her like that! Be careful with her left side—Hold on, Lexa!”

Lexa barely has time to register what’s happening before Clarke slips past her in a blur of single-minded purpose. The raccoon spirit struggles to keep up, tripping over the now-loosened bandage trailing behind its master.

The shift is immediate.

Gone is the girl who blushes and averts her gaze.

In her place stands the fisa who gives orders disguised as instructions, unbothered by the warriors watching her, as if their hesitation is an inconvenience more than anything else.

Clarke plants herself beside Tris, arms crossed across the young warrior's shoulder and head, and an exasperated eyebrow raised like a teacher waiting for her students to catch up already.

“I won’t be able to move her to the stretcher on my own, you know?” she says, pointedly.

Lexa’s warriors look between Clarke and Heda, uncertain. Their expressions silently plead for instruction, waiting for their leader’s approval before taking action.

Lexa doesn’t hesitate. She nods once, and that’s all the permission they need.

She trusts Clarke with Tris.

If this is what’s best for her, Lexa will let Clarke take charge.

But then—

“Lexa,” Clarke says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her blue eyes are unwavering, filled with expectation. “You lift her legs.” She orders her.

Lexa’s name rolls off the blonde’s lips with such ease, so casual and direct, that it catches her off guard.

She takes a split second to compose herself, refusing to let her warriors see even a flicker of surprise. Then, without a word, she steps forward and follows Clarke’s instructions with the same determination.

Once Tris is secured the way Clarke wanted, Lexa steps back, adjusting her posture to address them.

She orders her warriors to take Tris back carefully and to ensure no one—no one—touches her except an experienced healer. Then, they are to return for the others.

Clarke watches them go, her eyes lingering on Tris until they disappear into the trees.

Turning to Lexa, Clarke breaks the silence. “Where are they taking her?”

“We take those who were kidnapped by the Ripas back to Polis,” Lexa replies evenly. “There, they’ll receive treatment and their families will be informed.”

Clarke nods absently and her gaze turns distant.

As if her mind is no longer here. Leg slightly raised to prevent her bare, swollen foot from touching the wet ground completely.

Caelus prowls behind Clarke, his presence weighty and deliberate. He watches her in silence for a moment before nudging the back of her knees.

“You know,” He hums, exasperation bleeding into their bond, Clarke stumbles, catching herself on a sharp inhale before she lands with a huff. “when Kerralis said the girl was as stubborn and persistent as you, I thought it was an exaggeration. But now? I wholeheartedly agree.”  

Caelus doesn’t move away. Instead, he steps back just enough to lay down behind her, watching her with those deep blue eyes, curiosity evident in every inch of his body. “Skyfisa can’t help it if something gets in her mind, won’t stop until its done. Regardless of her own wellbeing it seems.” He finishes.

Rico appears at Clarke’s side, the dirty, leaf-ridden bandage clutched in his tiny paws like a war trophy.

“You two are wrong. I wouldn’t risk my life for hopefully saving another. Only if I am certain I will save someone would I do something about it.” Lexa replies.

Caelus scoffs.

“You came here with a wound on the shoulder while we didn’t have news on Heda’s spirt for just a mere possibility on catching those Ripas, don’t lie to me like you lie to Kerralis, Lexa. I know you.” He says in reprimand.

Lexa frowns lets out a slow breath, the words hitting deeper than she wants to admit. The frown carved into her brow deepens as she watches Clarke about to use the dirty bandage without a second thought—just because it’s not bleeding.

Lexa moves before she can stop herself.

She kneels without thinking, snatching the bandage from Rico’s paws before Clarke can take it. She shakes it out, removing the worst of the dirt and debris, and without waiting for permission, she lifts Clarke’s injured foot onto her knee.

Clarke tenses slightly in surprise, lips parting like she wants to protest. But Lexa’s fingers are already working, firm yet careful, re-wrapping the ankle with practiced precision.

“I’m ambidextrous,” she answers Caelus belatedly. “I can handle a sword just fine as I am.”

"It's not my point," Caelus grumbles.

Her gaze traces the angry red swelling, the heat radiating from Clarke’s skin. Too much heat. Clarke likely has been moving on it all night. Hadn’t she even noticed the strain she was putting on herself?

She hears Caelus’s words like an annoying echo and he does have a point in regards to the healer.

Clarke seems to have little care for her own self when it comes to other’s safety over her own.

“For a fisa,” Lexa muses, adjusting the wrap, “your complete disregard for your own well-being is unfathomable.”

She ties the bandage off, her fingers lingering for a beat too long against Clarke’s calf before she pulls back. Her eyes flick up, catching Clarke’s gaze through the golden light filtering through the canopy. “Though I admit, it’s… interesting,” she says, tilting her head ” to see you in your element. If I were a fisa, and it was my life, I would prioritize it above many others.”

“I just do what I think is right,” Clarke replies through a yawn, “I can’t leave someone injured or sick behind…not if I can help it.”

It’s such a stark contrast to how Lexa was raised no life—no life—is paramount to her own.

That is what she was taught. That is what Heda is. She values her people, protects them, but her own survival is not just about her. She cannot allow herself to be reckless. If she falls, so do they.

It’s… an odd kind of selflessness, one Lexa seldom sees.

Not many warriors think like that. Most healers she’s met don’t, either.

Lexa exhales through her nose, something unfamiliar stirring beneath her ribs.

She looks at Clarke properly this time.

Exhaustion clings to her like a second skin. Her blinks are slow, her shoulders sagging just slightly, her words slurring at the edges from fatigue.

The golden light filtering through the canopy spills over Clarke’s face, illuminating her in a way that makes Lexa’s stomach twist.

Were all sky people like this… or just her?

The thought lingers.

She speaks before she can let her thoughts wander too far.

“It’s an admirable way of thinking,” she says quietly. “I can’t say I agree, but it’s admirable nonetheless.”

Clarke’s brows furrow slightly. “You’d leave someone behind,” she asks, voice tinged with something like disbelief, “knowing they’ll die if you do?”

Lexa meets her gaze steadily, feeling the weight of Clarke’s question settle between them.

“If I live, many others do as well,” she replies evenly. “If I die, many others follow. I honor those who give their lives for me so that more may live.”

She expects Clarke to nod in understanding, to accept it as law, as truth, as every warrior does.

Instead, Clarke just… stares at her, something unreadable flickering behind those striking blue eyes.

“And if it’s someone you love?” she presses. “Wouldn’t you risk it all for them?”

Lexa’s breath catches.

For the first time since this conversation started, she finds herself faltering.

Her jaw clenches. The memory of Costia stirring unbidden.

She shoves the name back, locking it away, but the wound it left behind lingers.

“I have lost the ones I loved because of who I am,” she says after a long pause, her voice controlled but heavy. “But I’ve learned to recognize it for what it is.”

“Weakness” She meets Clarke’s gaze head-on, urging her to understand.

Lexa watches as Clarke’s breath catches, her expression shifting—something wounded, something disbelieving.

“What is?” Clarke asks, incredulity laced in every syllable. “Love?”

Lexa gives a single, solemn nod. “Yes.”

Clarke’s reaction is immediate. Her eyes widen in shock, then narrow with growing indignation. “So you just… stop caring about everyone?”

Another nod. She can't speak. Not now.

Clarke shakes her head, disbelief lining the edges of her voice. “I could never do that.”

Lexa holds her gaze, unwavering. Of course you couldn’t, that I knew already.

"Then you put the people you care about in danger," she murmurs, her voice low and measured.

Clarke opens her mouth, no doubt ready to argue, to refute, to challenge, but before she can—

The soft crunch of approaching footsteps draws their attention.

Lexa shifts, her expression smoothing into careful neutrality as Ryder and Balton return once again a stretcher, their movements efficient, heads lowered understanding their earlier hidden command. Pretending their Commander is not kneeling with a hand on a strange bossy blonde’s foot. They move silently, setting it down near the unconscious girl—the one Clarke called Harper.

Clarke sits up wide awake eyes wide with panic.

“Wait!” Clarke blurts, her body jerking as she tries to push herself upright.

Lexa sees the movement before it happens. Anticipates it. Of course she would try to move again.

She reacts swiftly, pressing firm but measured against Clarke’s injured ankle.

Clarke gasps, a sharp inhale between clenched teeth, the pain stopping her in her tracks.

Lexa doesn’t remove her hand.

“Clarke,” she says, her voice steady, her touch just light enough not to cause real harm. “I am not rebandaging your ankle again. Say what you need to say from where you are.”

“No— I...” Clarke speaks with a tremble in her voice “I wasn’t going to stand up, I just—please, don’t take her away. I’ll stay with her. Please.” Her pleading gaze shifts between Lexa and her warriors.

Lexa’s eyes roam Clarke’s face, her pleading eyes chipping away at her resolve.

Stay as in… the woods?

Lexa turns her head just enough for her warriors to see, eyes never straying from Clarke’s trying to find a reason to deny her plea but finds none- At least not one in good reason.

She nods her consent. “Take the others first”

“Heda” Her warriors bow and follow her orders after a moment.

Clarke’s eyes narrow slightly and follow their trail. Head tilting ever so slightly in deep thought.

Lexa absentmindedly fiddles with the last thread of cloth, she is essentially done with Clare’s foot. Stretching this time with Clarke as she stretches the odd fabric between her fingers.

“Heda” Clarke whispers, voice soft and barely audible but it sends a pulse of awareness through Lexa’s spine.

Her eyes snap to Clarke’s, her posture straightening unconsciously.

A cool breeze rustles the trees overhead, shifting the golden morning light in dappled patterns across the clearing, but the air feels thick, heavy with something unseen as green eyes meet focused blue. Clarke’s gaze is sharp, scrutinizing, searching. Her brow furrows in concentration.

Lexa looks to Caelus and tilts her head.

“Did she say something else just now?”

“No, she just said Heda. Don’t even think she knows what that means”

Lexa holds Clarke’s gaze, steady and unreadable, but something prickles beneath her skin.

She has seen this expression before. In council meetings. In the eyes of wary ambassadors who are so close to uncovering the hand she plays before she switches her move.

Clarke exhales, her brows knitting together, her lips parting as if to speak—but no words come.

And then—

“Crayon?” Clarke mutters a bit louder than a whisper. Then something in her gaze shifts.

Her eyes snap back to meet Lexa’s eyes widening ever so slightly in some kind of realization and her breathing coming in in short puffs as seconds pass.

But Clarke doesn’t answer.

She’s lost somewhere in her own mind, her eyes distant, her breath coming faster. Lexa watches closely as emotions flicker across her face.

Confusion, realization, disbelief. And then—fear?

Lexa moves before she fully registers why.

She shifts closer, kneeling in front of Clarke, her bandaging forgotten. With her good hand, she grips Clarke’s shoulder—steady but firm.

“Clarke?” she murmurs, searching Clarke’s wide eyes for the source of her sudden distress.

But Clarke isn’t looking at her. Not exactly.

Her gaze has dropped to Lexa’s sling tracing a slow ascend to Lexa’s bandaged shoulder.

And then, Clarke’s expression changes.

A type of realization that dawns like the sun cresting over the trees, slow and blinding.

The words leave her lips in barely a whisper. “You are Heda.”

Lexa’s brow furrows at the weight of Clarke’s tone. A flicker of confusion crosses her face. “I am,” she confirms oblivious as to why now that seems to be relevant for Clarke.

Unless…

Clarke only shakes her head as if she can’t believe it. As if the truth is something too vast to comprehend. She places a steadying hand against Caelus’s side.

“You’re the Heda?” Clarke asks emphasizing the word, voice thick with disbelief.

Lexa watches her carefully, the wariness settling deeper in her bones.

She knows.

“Took her long enough,” Caelus says, some concern slipping in his tone at the way Clarke clenches her fist against his fur.

Immediately Clarke’s head turns and looks around warily searching for something among the trees before settling her eyes on Caelus.

His confused eyes move from Clarke to Lexa in confusion. “What’s wrong with her?”

Clarke stiffens and holds her breath looking down at Caelus with wide eyes and deep suspicion. Lexa’s brow furrows and she tilts her head trying to catch Clarke’s attention. “Do you feel alright, Clark? Is something wrong with Caelus?”

A long pause.

Clarke looks straight at Caelus. Her breath is uneven, her body impossibly still.

In an instant her tone shifts measures her response. “I’m fine,” she says. Too careful. Too controlled. “I just… I think I need to rest.”

She watches Clarke closely, searching for the tell, the falter—but Clarke meets her gaze with tired conviction.

“You’re sure?” Lexa presses.

Clarke forces a weak smile, brushing past the tension still hanging between them. “I haven’t slept much. I’ll just… wait until Harper wakes up.”

She’s lying.

Lexa doesn’t know how, but she knows she is. And somehow it doesn’t bother her as much as it should.

Clarke exhales softly and leans back against Caelus, closing her eyes.

Lexa should let it be.

Should leave her to rest.

Lexa doesn’t know why it matters to her that Clarke doesn’t stay in the here. Alone in this place, unprotected.

She tells herself it’s because Clarke is valuable.

A natblida.

A healer, an asset.

A potential threat.

Nothing more.

She almost considers let Clarke know that she is not fooling anyone, at least not her, by saying she is from Trikru. Just so she can have a reason to take her away from here.

And yet—

Clarke lied to her again. Has made her choice.

But the words slip past Lexa’s lips before she can stop them.

“Come to Polis with me.”

Clarke’s eyes snap open. Her bright blue eyes looking up at her in surprise.

Lexa doesn’t let herself falter. Her voice is decisive, leaving no room for argument. “It’s not safe to stay here, especially not in your condition. You are not staying in ripa-infested woods, alone, with an injured foot.”

Clarke sighs, already looking as though she wants to argue. “I—”

Lexa sees it—the way her resistance wavers, how exhaustion drags at her limbs, how the fight seems to weaken in her shoulders.

Still, Clarke straightens, leveling Lexa with a quiet defiance. “I’m not alone,” she says eventually, her voice soft as if unsure of the words. “A friend is coming back for me.”

“Caelus?” She asks through the bond, the question implicit. Is she lying again?
“She left the river with a boy around her age when they found out about the mountain, but most of the time, she was alone.”

Lexa’s expression hardens with disapproval.

Somehow she finds herself more annoyed with the truth. You were sent alone, on a suicide mission. Got injured and they left you here? Discarded you as if you were worthless? What kind of concept do sky people have of ‘friends’?

“It’s not my place,” She speaks carefully, feeling the tension in her jaw. “but someone who leaves you injured and alone in woods teeming with ripas and pauna is not someone I would call a friend.”

Clarke’s jaw tightens clearly offended by the implication of her words, but Lexa doesn’t take it back.

“It was an emergency,” Clarke defends. “I forced him to leave.”

Lexa tilts her head, her sharp green eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Even though she has an idea why. She wants to know if Clarke will continue to lie to her or if she will trust her with the truth. “Why?” She asks.

The question lands heavy between them.

The faint rustle of leaves overhead seems louder in the silence. Lexa watches Clarke close her eyes and bites her lip with a frown before releasing a soft exhale and apologizing with her eyes still closed.

"What for?"

"I lied to you. My name is Clarke Griffin, I'm not a healer from trikru. I come from a Space station called the Ark. We fell from the sky just a couple of days ago." 

Lexa’s heart skips a beat. Finally. No more pretenses.

“I know”

Some kind of disappointment fills a space in her chest as she sheds herself of the last threads of Lexa kom Trikru she allowed Clarke kom trikru to see in order to meet this Clarke Griffin as Heda Lexa.

The first thing Lexa learns from Clarke Griffin is that she is way more outspoken and brazen than Clarke kom trikru.

Lexa had to admit that turn of events was something she never expected when Clarke understood who Heda was and where she stood in this acquaintanceship. She expected compliance, respect even some type of plea. A reason as to why or how they had ended up here.

For Clarke to ask her to take her to Polis for once.

Lexa would have merrily agreed if that was the case.

But Clarke Griffin stands up to Heda with no remorse or filter. She meets her head to head with no concealed suspicion nor apologies for her lies.

And Lexa finds its even more disarming and exhilarating by the second.

She watches the unbridled fury in Clarke’s deep blue eyes as she throws accusations that Lexa expertly answers and deflects back turning Clarke’s questions back to her.

They circle each other in a careful game of ‘You did, I did. I ask, you ask.’ that Lexa finds is as annoying as it's amusing. With no one yielding a single straightforward answer.

Until the blonde finally snaps with a glare. “Stop answering my questions with more questions”

“I’ll answer yours,” Lexa concedes, stepping closer, “when you answer mine. I never lied to you.”

Clarke crosses her arms tightly and scoffs. “Omission is still deceit. You and your spirit are alike—I’ll give you that. How do I know you’re not just pretending to answer me again?”

“What did you do for her to say that Caelus?”

“I did nothing to her. I am sure she is talking about Kerralis here.” Caelus defends himself with a grumble

Lexa takes a slow, deliberate step forward, resting a hand lazily against the hilt of her sword. Her gaze flickers briefly to Rico, who flattens his ears and presses against Clarke in fear. She is scared? Then he gaze goes back to Clarke’s unyielding glare. Maybe she fights fear with anger…Perhaps I am being too aggressive?

“You make it difficult not to answer with another question, Klark. Don't ask me questions you cannot answer yourself with full honesty.” She answers with a softer, briskier tone of voice. To try to reassure her.

Clarke huffs, but her shoulders drop ever so slightly, tension easing as her gaze flickers toward the bodies strewn across the forest floor. Sometime during the conversation her warriors had taken all of the remaining people Clarke had treated, leaving only her friend and the grueling sight of maimed bodies from the Ripas.

“Would you have spared me if I hadn’t lied?” Clarke whispers, a low husk that reverberates in Lexa’s bones.

The rustling leaves overhead seem louder, the distant calls of birds echoing through the dense forest. The crisp morning air carries the scent of damp earth, of blood not yet washed away by time.

She considers her words and thinks back to that single moment where her blade inched closer and closer to the blonde’s neck and she hesitates before she finally speaks. “If you posed no threat,” she answers, deliberate in her wording. “I would have considered it.” And she would have, but also. Not really. Not without some type of injury inflicted upon her.

Clarke’s friend stirs and the tension in Clarke’s shoulders eases with an exhale. Her guarded eyes flicker to Lexa as she moves wide around her carefully keeping her distance and kneeling upon her friend then she speaks over her shoulder calling Lexa out on the omission again.

“Considering something doesn’t mean you’d have spared me.”

Clarke read through her words as if she had thought them herself.

And Lexa wonders if Clarke can see her intention so clearly because she is not so different from herself.

She tilts her head with curiosity “If you were in my position, would you have done anything differently?”

Clarke stills.

And Lexa finds the answer in her silence. She lets the silence stretch impatiently. Let’s Clarke sit with it.

They have played a senseless game long enough.

“You revealed your true name to me for a reason, Klark,” she says, voice curt now.

Clarke turns, eyes flashing. “That was when I thought I could trust you with it.” There’s bitterness in her tone, raw and unfiltered. “So forgive me for not being so… keen to share anymore.”

And it hits her harder than she lets on show in her face.

She is at fault in that, she must admit.

“Maybe approaching her as Heda demanding answers was not the best move. Give her some space.”  Caelus comments, his watchful eyes centering her thoughts.

Lexa exhales evenly. “Don’t let your feelings for my deception veil your judgment. I won’t apologize for allowing you to believe I believed your lie. I heard what I needed to hear from you, Clarke.” She pauses then continues when Clarke doesn't say anything else. “It’s clear your intentions are honorable, and your desire to help your people is true.” Lexa takes another measured step feels herself pleading with it. “I will listen if you have something to say.”

"I have a few things to say, alright. None of them pleasant"

Lexa looks at the way Clarke unconsciously moved closer to her friend, protectively shielding her from even Lexa’s shadow.

A reminder of Clarke's selfless, terrible habit.

So she appeals so Clarke’s selflessness instead. “I do what I have to do to protect my people, Clarke kom Skaikru. Just as you lied to protect yours.” She stops an gauges the effect of her words. “Or am I wrong?”

Clarke hesitates. Then, she releases a slow breath, her blue eyes losing their fire. “No,” she says, the fight gone from her voice now. “You’re not wrong.”

Lexa watches the words settle into Clarke like a stone sinking into deep waters.

The blonde looks away. “I just didn’t know if you were friend or foe.” She says with a bitter smile. “And to be honest, I’m still not sure.”

Lexa lets the thought sit and lets Clarke make that decision for herself.

Rico waves to Clarke and Lexa follows the movement curiously, for the first time Clarke doesn’t speak out loud when she meets her spirit’s eyes. Lexa notes the way Clarke’s shoulders relax immediately after her brief interaction with the racoon spirit.

With an exhale, Clarke's eyes briefly glance to her friend then back to Lexa, the fire resurfacing again.

“I’m not alone, I'm not afraid of you and we are not a threat to you,”

“Then prove it,” Lexa challenges.

For a moment, Clarke hesitates, her lips pressing together, and Lexa can almost see the war waging in her mind. Weighing her options. Deciding how much she is willing to share.

“I have nothing to prove to you, Heda,” Her title falls from Clarke’s lips with derision. So akin the way Nia always did whenever they met. It sits uncomfortably in her gut and Lexa feels her jaw tighten at the thought.  

Clarke continues letting her shoulders sag, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “I owe you nothing else. I hoped you’d help, but honestly? I am at a disadvantage no matter where I look. I don't think I can trust your word. I’m tired. I’m dirty, cold, and I haven’t slept in over a day." Clarke lets out a weary sigh. "My friend is on his way, and your people probably have dozens of injured who need treatment. Just allow me to look for my friends among them. That’s all I ask.”

The dismissal is implicit. Clarke won’t say more.

Lexa ponders on her next move and finally decides she has no more to give either.

Her warriros took the last of the children not too long ago, she should return to them soon.

She nods and gives in as well.

“Very well.” Then, after a pause she lets her voice soften, though it does not lose its edge. “The offer to come back with us still stands, Klark. It is dangerous to stay alone outside the border.”

Clarke’s eyes narrow suspiciously at her offer. “To whom is that offer extended?”

Lexa frowns, momentarily thrown by the way Clarke asked the question. “To you, of course.”

Clarke scoffs, a bitter chuckle escaping her lips. “Yeah, I’m not falling for that twice in one day. Thanks, but I’ll manage.”

Twice?

Lexa is about to respond, but Caelus shifts at her side, his sharp blue eyes meeting hers. Tail flicking in the air.

“She was assured she could cross to Polis but the courtesy wasn't extended for her people. She became very upset when her friend was threatened if he was to cross the river.”

So that’s what she meant. Lexa’s eyebrows lift slightly in realization, her gaze snapping back to Clarke.

“I can arrange safe passage for more than just you,” Lexa offers carefully. “If that’s what you seek. Past the border, you and your people will be safe.”

Relief floods through Clarke’s expression, but she hesitates. Her eyes drift upward toward the sky, now a pale shade of blue between the trees.

“I like that idea. Which means Kerralis and Titus won’t like it-“ Caelus interjects, reminding her of her stern advisor and flamekeeper.

“Thank y-“

“Most of you will have to remain at Polis’s borders.” She backtracks and watches as Clarke’s shoulders tense so she aims for neutrality. “I will need to speak with my people before allowing a group of strangers into the city. If you seek an audience to determine any future accommodations, I will meet with your leader.”

Before Clarke can respond her friend stirs and she turns. Caelus approaches and looks at the little hawk spirit with curiosity.

“I’m surprised you offered before I suggested it. I usually have to pester you about such decisions before you even consider them”

“There is nothing to consider here. I want her to come willingly. It’s the best way I can do that”

“So did Kerralis but they were not about to bring a hoard of strangers along just because of one natblida no matter how special she is.”

Clarke immediately moves toward her friend, but stops short, her gaze darting to Lexa. “Do you have water by any chance?”

Lexa nods once to Clarke, wordlessly, turning around. “It’s also in our best interest that the mountain doesn’t get access to any more people to turn into Ripas. Keep an eye on her.”  she answers to Caelus before and disappearing into the woods at a brisk jog.

The scent of damp earth and pine fills her senses as she moves quickly, retrieving a waterskin from where her warriors had left supplies. She finds a couple of them tending to the children that had woken up and others picking up the ones that hadn’t made it. With a few more instructions to get a scout past the river to give a message she takes a sip of water herself and takes another waterskin for Clarke and her friend.

Lexa steps into the clearing, waterskin in hand, with Clarke out of sight and Caelus’s big form sitting in front of the girl-Harper was it?

She is about to ask where Clarke went when she hears the raspy quality of her voice grumble somewhere in front of Caelus.

“This one belongs to one of the grounders,”

Lexa steps closer, the sound of crunching leaves beneath her boots drawing Harper’s attention.

The girl stiffens. Eyes wide. “Who is that?”

Lexa notes the way her muscles tighten, the way her hand twitches toward where a weapon might usually rest until her spirit chirps and agitates its wings beside her and the young woman relaxes soon after."Oh"

"So, you were able to strike a deal with the grounders at the river?” She asks to Clarke.

Lexa steps forward, silently, choosing to get more information about them by their conversation and extends the waterskin to Harper. The girl hesitates, eyes darting between Lexa and Clarke, before cautiously reaching out and accepting it. A small, wary “thank you” escapes her lips.

Lexa nods and watches as she takes a tentative sip, still eyeing her as if expecting her to lash out at any moment.

When Lexa finally turns around she exhales, tilting her head slightly as she observes the scene before her.

Lexa has to fight to keep her composure as she notices the way Clarke has settled, curled comfortably against Caelus as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, nursing her nose for some reason and Rico comfortably perched in her lap.

“Looks cozy, did you offer yourself as seat Caelus? How chivalrous of you.”

“She bumped into me and just stayed there. She is tiny. What if I move and she injures herself?”

She lifts her eyebrow amused and looks at Clarke, for all her resistance, fits too easily into the space they occupy.

She doesn’t let herself dwell on the thought for long. Nods once when Clarke offers her a grateful smile and she moves to stand beside Caelus, leaning against his muscled side, her gaze settling on Harper with quiet curiosity.

Clarke exhales, her body sinking against Caelus’s side, as if finding comfort in his presence. Lexa watches in quiet curiosity as Clarke tilts her head back slightly, breathing through her mouth and pinching her nose with a rag.

“What happened to Clarke is she ok?”

“I seem to have scared her friend. Got a kick in the face this one” Caelus looks down at Clarke, obscuring Lexa’s sight of her face. Lexa can feel his amusement through their bond, an idle curiosity humming beneath the surface as he sniffs the air around the blonde. ”She might have broken her-”

Clarke’s melodious laugh fills the space.

“You’re… weirdly adorable,” she murmurs.

Lexa barely suppresses her chuckle at the way she feels Caelus tense beside her and presses in further. His voice reverberates through her bond, deep and rich, tinged with indignation.  “What did you just call me?”

“I could have you as a snack little sky girl”  He snarls at Clarke menacingly. Lexa knows there is no real threat from the sound of his voice, though Clarke doesn’t know that and from the way her friend and Rico tremble in fear she surmises he's showing his teeth menacingly. Lexa moves to place a hand between his ears to calm him down as to not startle Clarke.

-But then the blonde surprises them once again.

“You think you’re so menacing,” She mutters teasingly and Lexa sees Clarke’s hands reach out to grab Caelus’s whiskers.

Lexa stiffens.

For the first time in her life, Lexa witnesses her proud and battle-hardened spirit completely caught off guard.

The clearing is utterly silent.

Clarke, oblivious or simply reckless, takes it a step further. She nuzzles her face against his snout, fingers scratching beneath his chin with a softness that almost makes Lexa’s breath catch from the sticking sensation running through her spine. 

“It’s cute,” Clarke murmurs, voice teasing but undeniably affectionate. A hand reaching around his ears and another one to scratch under his chin which prompts him to release a deep purr.

Caelus, to his eternal shame, leans into the touch for a fraction of a second.

Lexa’s neck tingles and her lips part, but she presses them together almost immediately. A chuckle threatens to spill from her throat, but she holds it back, barely lifting a hand to partially cover her mouth. Once its out she remembers the way Caelus teased her earlier and fights to stifle her giggles. “Caelus kom Trikru handled like a purring kitten. Aden just won himself a meal”

Realization slams into Caelus like a physical force, and he pulls back abruptly with a low, indignant grumble. He slinks away, his tail flicking sharply in irritation.

“It’s not funny Lexa,” Caelus startles and catches himself pulling back from Clarke’s hands ”this sky girl just called your fearsome spirit adorable. I am a grand panther spirit, not someone’s pet cat. Be more dignified and compose yourself, woman.”

Lexa suppresses her smile but she knows her eyes can’t hide the mirth, she can’t recall the last time she had laughed like this. She looks down to Clarke’s inquisitive absolutely fearlesss blue eyes and Lexa lifts her eyebrow amused. “Perhaps you are losing your touch, Caelus”

“Shut up. You should have seen the way she snuggled Kerralis. It has nothing to do with me. This girl has no self-preservation nor consideration for other’s spirit’s personal space.”

Lexa shakes the desire to inquire further and at the reminder of her other spirit she directs her curiosity somewhere else. Flickering her gaze towards Harper and offering once more shelter-which Clarke refuses in not so many words and after a curious introduction with the girl Harper, who calls herself ‘water’ for some reason, Lexa turns to Clark who also finds it amusing and then speaks.

“I need to arrange our departure with my people,” she says. “Decide quickly if you’ll stay with or follow me.”
Clarke stiffens, her jaw tightening visibly. “I need time,” she replies. “I need to speak with Harper. Alone.”

Lexa studies her for a long moment. Stubbornness seems a major quality of hers. She notes the tension in Clarke’s shoulders. Finally, she inclines her head slightly in acknowledgment and turns without a word.

“What if she doesn’t want to come along?” Caelus speaks, padding behind her.
“She will”
“You weren’t so sure earlier, what changed?”
“Because she cares about her friends more than she cares for herself. Perhaps if she was alone, I’d think otherwise, but I know now that she isn’t, I am certain she will plead for them.”
“Want to bet on that?”
“Betting is beneath us Caelus…Besides you know I would win, and I never bet for a lost cause.”
“Whatever you say, Lexa.”

Lexa listens intently as the scout relays his report. Reinforcements won’t arrive until late in the evening.

The plan is clear—those in critical condition will be taken to Polis immediately, while the rest will be moved past the border for the night, kept safe under the watch of stationed warriors. They will return to Polis by morning.

It’s not ideal, but it’s the best they can manage with their current numbers.

She will need every able spirit to hunt or forage. If they rely solely on their dwindling supplies, they won’t have enough to sustain them all through the night.

A sharp little trill cuts through the hushed murmurs of the warriors. Lexa lifts her arm without looking, and a jay bird spirit swoops down gracefully, perching lightly on her wrist. A moment later, the bird releases a small bundle of delicate flowers into her palm before darting away into the dense canopy above.

Lexa rolls the petals between her fingers for a moment before tucking them into the sling supporting her arm, an action done without thought. Ritual. Instinct.

Then, she feels it.

A shift in the air.

A ripple in the way her warriors stand, the flicker of cautious glances cast toward the clearing’s edge.

Clarke steps in cautiously. 

Caelus prowls nearby, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he takes stock of her movements. His tail flicks once, deliberate before he stalks closer, his presence a silent weight pressing against the clearing’s already charged atmosphere.

Lexa lifts her gaze briefly, catching Clarke’s for a fraction of a second before returning her focus to her warriors. A silent acknowledgment delivers the message that Clarke is not a threat, so they all relax. Nothing more.

“Send a few hunting spirits to the outskirts,” she commands evenly, eyes still on her people. “We need food for the night. Ration what we have left—make sure the ones awake eat first. Prepare Caelus’s saddle. We carry as much as we can.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Lexa turns slightly as she continues her round across the battlefield and observes as Clarke moves among the injured, fingers ghosting over wounds with an almost instinctual gentleness. The way her blue eyes darken—not with hesitation, but with something deeper. A sorrow.

Caelus moves toward Clarke, slow and deliberate. He brushes his tail against her waist as he circles her, a quiet challenge in his posture. The raccoon spirit clings to Clarke’s shoulder, trembling slightly.

Lexa watches as Clarke soothes him absently, fingers skimming over his fur with practiced ease.

“Hello, Caelus,” Clarke says lightly without turning as she finishes checking a wounded warrior. Her voice steady and fearless. Once she is done with her assessment she turns with a smirk and adds, “Want a cheek rub too?”

Caelus halts mid-stride.

Lexa feels his indignation flare through their bond.

Clarke meets his glare head-on, her expression unfazed, teasing. Whilst Rico trembles like a leaf about to drop from the steady stalk of her shoulders.

Interesting.

Clarke lifts a brow at Caelus, silently daring him to respond.

Lexa steps forward, adjusting the strap of her pauldron with deliberate ease, letting the moment stretch one second longer before she intervenes.

“Enough, Caelus,” she murmurs through the bond. “Or you will find yourself embarrassed in front of our warriors.”

Caelus flicks his tail in irritation but does not argue. There is no true hostility in him, only wounded pride. “She is fearless, I will give you that,” he mutters begrudgingly.

Caelus moves toward Clarke, slow and deliberate. He brushes his tail against her waist as he circles her, a quiet challenge in his posture. The raccoon spirit clings to Clarke’s shoulder, trembling slightly.

Lexa watches as Clarke soothes him absently, fingers skimming over his fur with practiced ease.

“Hello, Caelus,” Clarke says lightly as she finishes checking a wounded warrior, voice steady despite the slight tremor in her pulse. Then, with a smirk, she adds, “Want a cheek rub too?”

Caelus halts mid-stride.

Lexa feels his indignation flare through their bond.

Clarke meets his glare head-on, her expression unfazed, teasing.

Interesting.

She lifts a brow at Caelus, silently daring him to respond.

Lexa steps forward, adjusting the strap of her pauldron with deliberate ease, letting the moment stretch before she intervenes.

Lexa lets the pause settle before she speaks.

“I assume you didn’t come here to disrespect Caelus again,” she says, voice calm but edged with quiet authority.

Clarke turns to her fully, amusement flickering in her gaze. “I never meant disrespect,” she replies smoothly. Tilting her head, she smirks slightly. “He’s just… adorable.”

Lexa frowns.

“You are the first person, besides one of my natblidas, to call him that,” she says, watching Clarke carefully, mild disbelief coloring her tone.

Clarke’s brows furrow slightly at the unfamiliar word. “Natblida?” she echoes. “What is that?”

Lexa’s jaw tightens. “Something you don’t need to concern yourself with—”

“Kerralis called me that before,” Clarke interrupts, sharp suspicion creeping into her voice. “I believe it does concern me. That was the only reason I was allowed passage to Polis. What does it mean?”

Lexa stills. She knows Kerralis’s name?! Kerralis called her?

Her gaze snaps to Caelus. “Caelus. Explain.”

The panther daemon exhales, flicking an ear. “Not much to explain,” he says casually. “She is a true flamekeeper—besides being a natblida. I thought that was clear by the way she spoke Trig. Kerralis was the one who taught her at the river to convince Anya and Gustus not to attack her. And they sent me in to protect her. You were so invested in not letting her go, I assumed you already knew.”

Lexa’s chest tightens, but her face remains unreadable.

No, she did not know. And thinking back...she should have.

“No it wasn’t. This changes everything, Caelus. I know we share one soul but not everything is clear when you fail to mention such important details”

“It's not my fault you are distracted, I have been perfectly clear all along. You are just not listening.”

Lexa composes herself, exhaling slowly, forcing her thoughts into order. When she looks back at Clarke, the blonde is watching her intently, studying her expression. The small streak of black clot under her nose—a telltale mark of dark blood running through her veins—validates at least part of the claim.

Clarke wipes it away self-consciously.

Somewhere behind them, warriors approach with Caelus’s harness, preparing him for their day ahead.

“We cannot afford to let her out of our sight now.” 

Clarke’s blue eyes narrow as if reevaluating everything she thought she knew. Lexa can see it—the careful assessment happening behind her gaze. The way she looks at her, as if considering, perhaps for the first time, that there is more she has yet to learn here.

No.

She cannot. Not yet. She needs to know more than ever how Clarke ended up here and where she comes from.

“It’s a sensitive matter,” Lexa says finally, voice measured, neutral. “One that cannot be shared lightly.”

She turns away before Clarke can press further, focusing on her duties instead. “Now, do you have an answer for me, Clarke of the Sky People?”

“More like a request,” Clarke hesitates but then falls into step beside her, limping slightly attempting to match Lexa’s brisk pace. Lexa slows down for her sake. “I need your help.”

Now she asks for help? Lexa arches a brow but does not stop walking. “Go on.”

Clarke exhales, steadying herself. “I have people waiting for me nearby. And another group farther away—back at our dropship. It’s where the rest of my people are.”

Lexa slows as they approach the fallen form of one of her warriors. She kneels, movements precise, and carefully braids a small section of their hair, weaving a delicate flower into the strands before cutting and tucking it into the satchel at her waist.

The contents in it threatening to spill as much as her heavy heart

Jord. Nyx. Nedy. Zach. Eisen. Ariu.

All of their ceremonial braids carefully arranged with different flowers to differentiate them.

And so many more she has left to braid.

She stands and remembers Clarke’s presence, staying awkwardly at the edge of the temporary cemetery

“You said you needed help?” Lexa urges her to continue.

“I ask that you wait for my people to arrive. They’ll follow your warriors past the river,” Clarke explains quickly. “And I need a small group to escort another team to deliver a message to those at the dropship.”

Lexa’s expression hardens.

This request sits wrong in her gut. Recalling Kerrali’s report before they went missing and became injured.

Clarke is not their leader, she can't vouch for all of them. Sure she probably was at fault but she was not the one to inflict the wound. It was one of them, someone who carried a firegun. Who knows how many more would turn against them.

“You expect me to risk my warriors for your people—strangers who could very well threaten them?”

Clarke shakes her head with pleading eyes. “They’re not warriors. We don’t even have weapons.”

Lexa watches pointedly and ensures Clarke’s eyes stay on hers as she glances at the shoulder Clarke had bandaged before, the blonde saw it, she can’t deny it. Lexa almost challenges her to lie to her face again.

Clarke bites her lip. “That was an accident,” she admits. “Bellamy’s the only one armed, and he’ll lay it down if it means keeping his sister safe.”

Lexa narrows her eyes cautiously. No one but Clarke could see Kerralis, she is lying to her once again. Her eyes stray to the little spirit clutching the back of her shirt.  Snatcha-bound people I swear…

“The answer is still no. If your people make it back to the river, my warriors will not attack them. That is all the courtesy I will give.”


“They’re kids!” Clarke steps forward and flinches slightly. “We’re just trying to survive.”

Lexa meets her gaze, unwavering. She has given her plenty already and keeps asking from more while she lies between her teeth giving nothing in return.

No.

“Then survive.” She replies coldly. “I won’t risk my people by staying here any longer than necessary. If your people makes it past the border and they behave my warriors shall not attack them, that is all the courtesy I can give.” She repeats.

Silence stretches thick between them.

Then—

“How about an offer then?” Clarke presses

Lexa exhales sharply, impatience creeping into her tone as she strides around the blonde. “This is not a negotiation, Clarke.”

“You don’t have enough people to take all the wounded back in one trip,” Clarke points out. “Our camp isn’t far. We have people who know basic medicine. Escort us there, let me send a message to the ones back at the dropship and we’ll help treat the wounded on the way back. You’ve seen me work. I’ll personally tend to the ones most in need.”

That—

Lexa pauses mid-step.

That is a practical solution.

Clarke steps closer, meeting her eyes directly. “If it means saving lives, yes.” And that, Lexa knows is true. “We’re not so different, Commander. We both want to protect our people. Help me, and I’ll prove to you that my people aren’t your enemy.”

If they have a fraction of your conviction. Perhaps…

“And I suspect you don’t want to leave the bodies behind either, the ones who don't know medicine can help carry them,” Clarke adds as she gestures toward the edge of the clearing. “The time you’d waste going back and forth or waiting for reinforcements could be spent working together. None of us will have to stay here longer than necessary, as you said.”

Clarke’s brow stays strong, the depth of her blue eyes piercing and determined, sealing the offer with a small mutter of a plea.

I don’t want to send my warriors so close to the place we have seen the Ripas come from…I need…

“Lexa stop thinking it so much, we need their help as much as they need ours,” Caelus chimes in with irritation. He strides in newly-saddled, his tail flicking and his eyes darting between her and Clarke. “I know already you will ask so I will spare you the thought,“ He then lays down with a huff. “I will escort them.”

Lexa purses her lips into a thin line, unable to find a refusal then looks back to Clarke.

“You may have your escort to deliver the message,”

Clarke exhales in relief. “Thank you,” she says, sincerity lacing her voice.

But Lexa is not finished.

Her people won’t just let what happened today stand.

Her voice drops, cold and unwavering as she demands for the one who harmed Kerralis to face Keryon gonplei.

Clarke stays silent for a few seconds, pondering her response. Lexa awaits.

“What will happen to him?”

“Typically the affected decides their punishment”

“Typically…but this is not a typical situation I assume?” Clarke asks cautiously.

“In no easy terms…He has affected with his action the whole coalition. A simple punishment like a similar scar on his shoulder won’t be enough for my people.”

“What? Why not? You are their leader aren’t you?”

“It’s a weakness I can’t afford to show, Clarke. Kerralis was wounded, he’s Heda’s spirit, the symbol of my strength. And they were shot by your people. I can’t just let you all in when you have caused me harm. Someone has to answer for that.”

“So what…he is going to die?”

Lexa halts before speaking, carefully measuring her words “There is a possibility that could happen. If his spirit is not strong enough”

“You can’t be serious! There has to be another way.”

“Tell me, Clarke. What would your people do if your leader was attacked?”

“They are just kids. They would retaliate. Of course.” Clarke says looking aside biting her lip, then her eyes snap to Lexa’s with a shine. “But not If I am alive to stop them. They would hold their grudges if I can convince them no harm, no foul.”

“You are the sky people’s leader?” Lexa asks with skepticism. Not because she didn’t think Clarke could do it, She was well aware she could. But usually it came to one’s spirit when it was time to decide for one’s leader.

“The ones on the ground? Yes. I refused but they insisted.” Clarke simply answers with a shrug.

Lexa blinks taken aback and processes what she just learned. Then she looks to the trembling spirit on Clarke’s back and feels ashamed to ask.

“Caelus?”
“This one I don’t know. Nothing was mentioned about her being their leader…”

Lexa’s lip purse in a tight line “Clarke, I believe I have been lenient with your lies. I won’t be taken as a fool again so choose your words carefully going forward”

“What, you don’t believe me?” Clarke looks baffled for once.

“Do you see me alone and injured in the woods?”

Clarke looks around to the empty space they chose to have this conversation and then looks at Lexa’s bandaged arm “Yes?” She answers hesitant but pointedly

“She’s got you there, Lexa”
“Not helping Caelus.”

“No, Clarke. What I mean is that my warriors came with me. If I fell to injury and couldn’t move they wouldn’t leave me behind. Because I am a priority for my people. They protect me and I protect them. Do you really think I can believe-“

“Maybe not you but I told you already we are not warriors. I came alone because I told them to. And believe me they tried very hard to follow. Finn almost risked all of us because I was too clumsy. I told him to go. If the sake of your people lied in them leaving you behind wouldn’t you tell them to do it too?”

Lexa sighs sensing they are not going anywhere on this conversation.

“Prove it and we can negotiate the terms of this alliance with your people.”

“And Bellamy?”

“He’s still guilty”

A sharp exhale escapes Clarke’s lips, her frustration evident. “And what if I refuse?”

Lexa tilts her head slightly, voice turning cold. “Then I will reconsider my generosity.”

Clarke stiffens.

For a moment, the clearing is silent, save for the distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze.

Lexa holds Clarke’s gaze, unyielding. She does not want war with these people—not if it can be helped. But she will not bend on this.

Not for Clarke.

Not for anyone.

Clarke looks away first.

Her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. Then she mutters something under her breath, too low for Lexa to catch.

“What was that?” Lexa asks.

Clarke’s eyes snap back to hers, frustration simmering in their depths. “I will think about it. Let’s discuss this later”

Lexa studies her for a long moment, then nods. “See that you do. Choose your envoys”

Without another word, she turns sharply, signaling the conversation’s end.

She does not look back to see if Clarke follows.

Instead, she moves toward her warriors, issuing orders in a calm, steady voice. The injured must be prepared for travel. The dead must be honored. They must move swiftly, lest more danger find them before nightfall.

And yet, despite all the demands clawing for her attention, she cannot quite shake the weight of Clarke’s gaze burning into her back.

Lexa stands near the center of the clearing, listening to the last reports from her remaining warriors whilst she arranges for Ryder to bring their mount. Most of the injured have already been sent ahead to Polis, leaving only a handful of her people to secure the area and prepare for the final departure. Caelus keeps watch atop a tall sturdy tree close to her, his blue eyes tracking every movement with quiet vigilance.

A group of strangers, Clarke's friend's- lingers near the treeline, shifting uneasily, their eyes darting between the warriors and gazing in awe at their spirit companions at the makeshift camp. They clutch their crude weapons with white-knuckled grips, their wariness palpable. Only one among them—Harper—seems at ease, her hawk circling overhead in lazy arcs.

Lexa notes their hesitation, their obvious relief when Clarke steps out of the woods behind them.

The moment they see her, their rigid postures soften, tension uncoiling from their shoulders. A collective exhale passes through the group as they step forward to greet her.

The raccoon spirit, Rico, is the first to react. He leaps from Clarke’s shoulders and hurtles into the arms of a boyish man, wrapping himself around his face with delighted squeaks.

“Hey, Rico! I was so worried, buddy.” The boy—Finn, she recalls—laughs, struggling to pry the overenthusiastic daemon off his head. “Did you keep Clarke safe?”

Lexa tilts her head slightly, intrigued by the interaction.

“Harper, you had one job!” Clarke scowls.

“Hey, don’t look at me.” Harper lifts her hands in surrender. “Finn couldn’t sit still. You know how it is. And I’m not you—I can’t convince anyone to do something they don’t want to.”

Before Clarke can reply, the boyinsh one-Finn steps forward and pulls her into a tight embrace.

Lexa watches as Clarke exhales sharply, momentarily stiffening before melting into the embrace with a long sigh. Rico clings to them both, making a small, contented noise.

Something about the way Clarke grips Finn’s jacket, the way she sags against him, makes Lexa turn away. It feels… intimate. Not in a way that suggests lovers, but something deeper—something old and unshaken. She busies herself by adjusting the straps of her armor, focusing on the crisp morning air, the distant rustling of the trees, the faint scent of damp earth.

When she glances back, Clarke is wiping at her face, her expression carefully schooled into something neutral as she turns to the rest of her group they greet her some with wide smiles and the others with a grimace. They converse in hushed voices occasionally glancing Lexa's way. She watches as the blonde's brow furrows and furrows, shakes her head, t. Clarke meets her gaze once or twice, her eyes hard, but eventually, she lifts a hand dismissively, signaling the end of their discussion.

Then, she strides toward Lexa with purpose, her friends warily behind "Commander, we are ready, Harper and Monty" Clarke exhales introducing, the tan scrawny boy to Water's(Harper) side, he lifts his hand with an awkward smile, "They will stay here and help where they can. I’ll go back with Finn, Miller, and Atom to the camp with our sheltered people. Miller will guide them back here, and I’ll gather the rest from the dropship with Finn and Atom.”

Lexa turns her gaze to the one called Miller—a tall, sharp-eyed young man. “You’ll know your way back here?”

Before Miller can answer, Harper steps forward, pushing her hands into her jacket pockets before lazily gesturing skyward. “Mia’s our guide.”

Lexa follows the motion and sees the hawk still circling overhead. She nods in approval, then turns back to Clarke, her gaze briefly flicking to the bandage wrapped around her ankle. Clarke seems to catch her frown down at her, and she shuffles for a moment looking up at her with a grimace. "I was hoping to ask for one last thing. I-" Clarke takes a deep breath, flushes and shakes her head. "You know what it's fi-"

Lexa tilts her head

"Commander, ma'am" The boyish young man whose Clarke spirit desperately clings to steps forward and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, Clarke sags then shakes it off annoyed and looks to the side refusing to look her in the eyes. He gives Lexa a small cautious bow and smiles charmly. "Clarke can't stay here, We can carry her back but we couldn't help but notice your uh... warrior here has a daemon that could help with our travel since she is hurt."

Ryder tilts his head curiously and Lexa narrows her eyes. "Why can't Clarke stay? That would surely solve the need for her to request another favor"

Clarke rubs at her temple with a sigh and places a hand on Finn's shoulder. 

“Believe me, I tried to convince them, but I can’t.” She shakes her head, exasperated. “The only other person the ones at the dropship wll listen to isn’t… available right now. So it has to be me. Forget about it, Commander you don't need to give more than you already have. Finn, Atom, and Miller have all offered to take me anyways.”

Lexa raises an eyebrow. “Take you?”

Finn crouches in front of Clarke, hands resting behind his back. “Your carriage awaits, rincess.”

Clarke’s expression darkens as if she already regrets bringing it up. “On their backs.” She grumbles, clearly hating the idea. “Or their arms. You get the gist—so don’t worry, I won’t be walking if they can help it." Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Anyways the sooner we go, the sooner we can get to Jasper. I am guessing he will be our escort?" Clarke continues looking towards Ryder uneasily. 

"No, I need him and his spirit back soon. He's your escort's escort and messenger for the first part of the trip"

At Clarke's frown, Lexa turns her head slightly and signals Caelus, who leaps down from his perch in the trees. He lands with a heavy thud in a prowling crouch, dust rising in the air. Sunlight catches on the polished silver of his harness, the intricate engravings gleaming in the morning light.

The Sky People freeze.

“Holy shit!” Finn yelps, scrambling backward so fast he trips over his own feet and lands on his back. He shuffles frantically until his back hits the nearest tree. Harper stifles a laugh, clearly enjoying that she’s not the only one who had the experience.

Caelus stands taller, puffing out his chest with satisfaction.

“Caelus will see to it that you are protected,” she informs Clarke smoothly, barely sparing Finn a glance. “He will ensure you reach your destination quickly and safely.”

Her gaze flickers to Finn, still clutching his chest. Then to Clarke, who stares at Caelus with something unreadable before glancing around the clearing, concern flickering in her eyes.

“Everything alright, Clarke?” Lexa asks, watching the way her hands twitch at her sides.

Clarke shakes her head as if clearing her thoughts. “Yes, Commander. Thank you. We should be going.”

Lexa's eyes flicker to the careful way Clarke walks, unvoiced uneased coiling in her gut.

“Cae-”

“I know that look, Lexa.” Caelus exhales dramatically then strides forward, cutting off Clarke's way, brushing off against her side. The blonde looks down at Caelus with a frown, Caelus's gaze meeting Clarke's with a nod before looking back towards Lexa. ."I will take Clarke on my back. It’s faster anyway.”

Clarke turns following Caelus's gaze, confused. “Commander?”

Lexa takes a moment to answer, the word feeling strange coming from Clarke’s lips. She’s become so accustomed to hearing her own name from the blonde that her title feels foreign. Lexa forces the thought to the back of her mind, looks down to Caelus then nods.

Clarke's eyeswiden in realization when Caelus signals with his head to his back and lays down flat to the ground in front of her. His tail lazily tapping on the ground, her gaze landing somewhere to the side in panic before glancing back to Lexa. “I—No, Commander, I said it's fine.”

Lexa frowns, following her gaze and seeing nothing but air. She refocuses on Clarke, her expression unreadable. “It will take you less time to ride Caelus than to be carried by your friends. He has a saddle. There is no reason to refuse.”

Clarke remains still for a moment before silently nodding.

Her eyes, however, flicker with something… apologetic.

Lexa doesn’t understand why.

Still, Clarke steps forward, hesitating beside Caelus. She lifts her hands slightly, fingers hovering in the air as if unsure what to do.

Lexa watches, unimpressed.

“It’s similar to riding a horse,” she supplies, stepping closer. “His movement can make it difficult to kee a straight back, so you have to lean forward.”

Clarke mutters something under her breath.

Lexa arches a brow. “What was that?”

“I haven’t even seen a horse up close, Commander,” Clarke grumbles. “Let alone ride anything.”

“Oh,” Lexa purses her lips in thought then she turns to Clarke’s friends. “You can start your journey back to your camp. I will make sure we match your pace soon.”

Clarke turns sharply. “Wait, what are you doing?”

Lexa lifts a hand, signaling for Ryder to get closer. 

Ryder approaches swiftly, bowing his head.

“Get a spare horse or mount spirit and join me,” Lexa instructs, waits for her guard to be out of earshot then turns to Clarke. “It’s better if I show you. I will teach you how to ride for the first mark and I will return once I know you won’t be falling off Caelus."

Clarke’s friends hesitate at the border, shifting uncomfortably. Clarke exhales. “Guess I’ll catch up later.”

Finn flashes her an exaggerated grin. “Don’t take too long, Princess.”

Clarke glares.

Lexa, even with an arm on a sling effortlessly mounts her panther spirit and offers her hand for Clarke to take. "Take the front" 

“I -uh sure.” Clarke hesitates looking at her friends Harper and Monty, who are looking at her amusedly and takes Lexa’s gloved hand.

"Azgeda has similar titles for their future leaders. Should I address you by your title?" Lexa asks as she guides the blonde carefully, helping her settle in front of her, mindful of Clarke's injured foot.

Clarke mutters under her breath and shakes her head. "Just Clarke, Commander" shuffles as forward as she can. Lexa hovers her good hand visibly over Clarke's shoulder. 

“May I?”

Clarke frowns and looks back at Lexa confused. “May you what?”

“Remember that Clarke doesn’t seem to have a concept of asking for permission to touch, Lexa”

Lexa’s lips lift ever so slightly in amusement.

“Yes, Caelus I remember.”

“Touch you, Clarke,” she answers plainly, "I know it is likely a foreign notion to you but It’s a flint-steel way to the flame for my people if you don’t ask for permission before touching the other. You should tell your people that.”

Clarke scoffs and crosses her arms defensively “Consent is well known by my people too, Lexa”

Lexa's lips lift at the corners at the way Clarke's shoulders tense defiantly, unaware she has dropped Lexa's title.

“Do you? My apologies I thought you didn't,” Lexa murmurs closer to Clarke's ear, seeing the way the blonde tenses even more. “I have yet to witness it from you.”

Clarke sputters. “I-It’s been a while since I had to ask permission, but I can assure you we do.” She exhales sharply. “Yeah. You can.”

"Alright," Lexa places her hand around Clarke’s midsection, "We’ll start slow. Without moving."

Steady but firm, she adjusts her grip ensuring the blonde doesn’t slip once Caelus shifts beneath them. She can feel Clarke's tension like a drawn bowstring, the stiffness of her back as if she’s bracing for something far worse than simply riding.

"Just don't say anything that will make her choke me with the harness, Lexa"

“Relax,” Lexa murmurs, her voice near Clarke’s ear. “If you stay rigid, it will be harder for you when you dismount, trust me.”

Clarke exhales sharply but doesn’t immediately comply.

Lexa thinks for a moment and decides to change her approach to make Clarke comply. She's fiercely independent, when it comes to people's perception of her seems she rather fall on her face than ask for help, stubborn. Lexa smirks, her next words edged with amusement. “Or perhaps you’d rather be carried in your friend's arms instead?”

“No,” Clarke snaps, her body jolting slightly. “I’m fine. I just…” She sucks in a breath, forcing her shoulders to relax.

Lexa hides her satisfied smile, proving her theory about the blonde correct as she feels the tension slowly seep from her frame. Clarke leans forward slightly, her hands gripping the guide with less desperation, her thighs pressing more securely against Caelus’s sleek form.

Play her ego by challenging her competence, use her people against her.

“Better,” Lexa acknowledges, her own posture adjusting and leaning forward to sit more comfortably on Caelus's saddle.

Ryder’s horse gallops and settles beside her. The spirit’s dark mane shimmering as he bows to her along with Ryder. 

He watches the scene with mild curiosity but says nothing, merely awaiting instruction.

“Check the perimeter around us as we travel” Lexa commands to Ryder. Her guard bows his head and follows along th death Clarke's friend took earlier.

Clarke's eyes widen and she smiles blindly following the tall creature’s form with excitement. “The ground is so cool” she whispers to herself.

“A spirit horsey gets her excited, yet she treats me like a pet. I'm stronger and faster.” Caelus grumbles underneath them. “Unbelievable”

"Is that jealousy what I hear, Caelus?"

"As if," Caelus grumbles and moves smoothly beneath them, muscles shifting like a wave of tension coiled in perfect control. "Let's go" Clarke stiffens immediately, gripping the guide in front of her hard. 

The others watch from a short distance away, expressions ranging from awe to muted horror. Monty lets out an exaggerated exhale. Harper smirks, crossing her arms over her chest.

The panther daemon steps forward with smooth, fluid grace. Clarke wobbles slightly at the first movement, her breath catching, but she quickly steadies herself.

Lexa allows her a moment to adjust before speaking again. “You’re holding too tight,” she instructs, her voice calm. “Loosen your hands, but keep your legs firm. Caelus will follow your movement. Do not fight against it—let him guide you as much as you guide him.”

Clarke swallows audibly but obeys, her fingers unfurling slightly. The next few steps Caelus takes are steadier, and Clarke’s body moves more naturally with his gait rather than against it.

Lexa nods approvingly. “Good.” She waits a few more sets around the camp to let her get used to the movement. “Let's will pick up the pace,” Lexa decides, reaching forward and patting the side of Caelus’s saddle.

The shift in speed is immediate.

Caelus prowls forward with a smooth but faster gait, and Clarke instinctively leans back, pressing against Lexa’s chest for balance.

Lexa’s lips curve slightly resisting the urge to take her arm out of the sling to steady her. She leans forward instead, moving Clarke back into position “Forward, Clarke.” She murmurs,

“I know,” Clarke grits out, adjusting quickly.

Lexa ponders her next question. "How far away is your camp from here.?"

"I am not sure," Clarke holds tightly with one hand and lifts the other wrist to look at one of her her odd bracelets, lifts it up to the light and squints her eyes at it."About two hours?  One if we run, probably. Hey Monty, how long did it take you guys to get here?

"Well, Finn caught up to us just as we were leaving, and didn't let us rest so about an hour if you are running for your life the whole time. Two to three at an easy pace I'd say."

"Thanks, Monty" Clarke nods, "There you go, Commander so give or take...ten to thirteen kilometers?"

Lexa blinks once and lets the silence linger. "What's a kilometer?"

"An hour?" Caelus echoes.

Clarke straightens and looks back at her in slight disbelief, their position forcing them to be in such close proximity she can clearly see the way Clarke's deep blue eyes dilate adjusting to the light, they remind her of Caelus's. Clarke gulps loudly, the movement instinctually drawing Lexa's attention down. Clarke tenses and turns away. "Huh, you guys don't measure time or distance?"

"Like marks?" Lexa tilts her head curiously. "We do, but not sure they would be the same"

Clarke purses her lips in thought. "How many 'marks' do you have in a day?"

"From dawn till dusk?"

Clarke nods. 

"Around twelve, sometimes more depending on the season"

Clarke turns with a curious frown and a slight smile "Interesting, so not so different. Let's call a mark an hour"

"So your camp is a mark away?" 

"Running the whole time, apparently. Why?" Clarke asks

Lexa takes a moment to think and then asks. "How long will it take your people to get ready to leave?"

Clarke frowns and looks around for Monty. "Monty? What are the others doing if not going to mt weather?"

Monty scratches his chin, "Wells just had everyone increase the daemon perimeter range and stay inside the bunker whilst he and some others were sent for breakfast."

"Alright, thanks Monty...then half an hour maybe? Depends how far our scavengers went" Clarke answers.

Lexa hums an idea forming. "How about we get ahead of your friends on Caelus and let them know to be prepared? By the time your Finn arrives, they will be ready to leave and I will return to camp with them. Saves some time"

Clarke looks to the side in contemplation and after a few seconds, she nods with a smile.

"Sounds like a plan. Let's catch up to the others and let them know."

Caelus sets a fast pace through the woods, mindful of his passangers.

Lexa initially corrects Clarke's posture a few words exchanged here and there, she never speaks to Caelus allowing both of them to pay attention to their cues since she won't be there to act as a buffer for Clarke's trip to hi other friends.

Clarke despite her initial contempt takes her advice in stride, doing as told so eventually Lexa allows the silence to settle between them as they move, the wind picking up slightly through the trees. The morning light filters through the canopy, casting dappled patterns across Clarke’s golden hair, making the strands shimmer despite the dirt and dried blood tangled within them.

Lexa watches her carefully, noting the furrow in Clarke’s brow as she concentrates and moves in sync with Caelus's body. The determined set of her jaw, the way she gnaws on the inside of her cheek when she thinks too hard.

She is dedicated. Too stubborn for her own good.

And despite herself, Lexa finds it… admirable.

Soon, they reach Clarke’s waiting friends, who pause at the sight of their eyes widening in astonishment as she rushes past on Caelus. Clarke releases an exhilarated scream when Caelus pivots on a tree and jumps to land in front of them. It's so sudden Lexa has to lean all the way down, pushing on Clarke's back and holding tight with both her arm and thighs to the stirs and the saddle's lead.

"Caelus! it's her first time, she could have fallen!" 

Lexa reprimands.

"She looks like she is having fun" Caelus replies with an easy-going rumble.

He's proven right when she feels her whole body tremble over Clarke's. Giggles and laughter pushed past her lips. Holding onto Caelus's shoulder blades and neck in a death grip whilst her body is squished between Caelus's and Lexa's.

"That was fun" She exhales breathlessly, echoing Caelus sentiment. Lexa shakes her head and leans back giving Clarke some space.

Finn, of course, is the first to react. He lets out an exaggerated chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, Princess, I think we’ve officially seen it all"

The shorter one strides in with a smile and bows with a flourish"It's an honor to serve you, Princess. Oh, mighty daemon whisperer” Whilst the taller tan friend snickers behind his palm.

Clarke doesn’t respond immediately, but Lexa doesn’t miss the way her ears turn red. "Stop it."

Lexa bites the inside of her cheek, curiosity piqued. “Is your royal bloodline known for whispering to...daemons?”

Clarke lets out a long, suffering sigh.“I am not a Princess.”

Lexa hums, unconvinced. “And yet your people keep calling you that.”

Clarke mutters something under her breath, but Lexa catches the words 'damn Finn' somewhere in the mix. “It’s a nickname, not a title,” Clarke mutters, glaring at Finn, who grins in return. “It's stupid. Anyways, Finn”

Lexa looks over to the boy that looks up at Clarke with an easy smile, then looks at Lexa warily. She tilts her head at the way Clarke’s spirit, Rico is now clinging to his shirt, at ease as if he belonged there. Some type of unease settles in her stomach.

Ryder's steed's loud galloping alerts the group and they tense at the sound. "What is that?"

Lexa lifts her hand,"That's my personal guard, Ryder. He will accompany you to and from your nearby camp."

Clarke turns to look at Finn. "The commander and I will rush ahead and let the others know about our plan. It will give them time to be ready by the time you guys arrive to guide them back. Saves us all the time and I get to practice."

The young man's eye Caelus and Lexa warily, jumping between them and Clarke. He frowns and nods. 

Rico jumps over from his shoulder to Caelus's shoulder then on Clarke's lap. The blonde looks down to Finn in surprise. "Finn it's not-"

Lexa's eyes follow his steps as he gets closer and places a hand over Clarke's. "You insist on going where I cannot follow. Please, Princess just so I know you are safe."

Clarke sighs. "Fine, just this last one time."

He steps back and looks up at Lexa with a determined glance. "Make sure she doesn't fall"

"Can't promise she won't fall. Depends how good of a listener she is. But will do my best, Finn of the sky people"

With a final nod they turn around and leave the group behind. This time, Clarke leans forward correctly, shifting her weight in tandem with Caelus’s stride. The ride becomes noticeably smoother, her balance better. 

Lexa feels the smallest flicker of satisfaction by her progress.

Half a mark later, Clarke calls out for Caelus to stop.

Lexa glances around, scanning the surroundings with a sharp eye. The area is relatively open—a clearing nestled between the base of a rocky cliff and a narrow river winding through the terrain. Long-extinguished firepits and scattered cooking pots mark signs of past habitation, but there’s no movement, no voices. It’s too quiet.

Lexa frowns. “Why have we stopped here?”

Clarke doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, Rico scurries down from her shoulders, darting toward the rock face with an excited chitter. Clarke smiles, watching him go. “We’ve arrived.”

Lexa dismounts Caelus with effortless grace, swinging her leg over in a single, fluid motion. She turns to Clarke, offering a gloved hand.

Clarke eyes the gesture with a raised brow, an almost playful challenge flickering in her tired blue eyes. “What, you don’t trust me to get off on my own?”

Lexa simply arches an eyebrow and steps back, clasping her hands behind her back.

Clarke rolls her eyes but can't quite hide the twitch of amusement at the corners of her lips. “I was joking,” she mutters, but then hesitates when she realizes Caelus hasn’t crouched down for her to dismount.

When neither Lexa nor Caelus makes a move, Clarke lets out a sharp huff. “Unbelievable,” she grumbles under her breath as she swings her leg over, struggling with the stirrups. She clings to the saddle awkwardly, hesitating as she glances down then lets out several unintelligible words fall from her lips.

A low, rumbling chuckle echoes through Lexa’s bond.

“She just called you an asshole,” Caelus notes dryly. “Don’t prove her right.”

Lexa suppresses her smirk when she hears her spirit's name spilling out between huffs. “I assume it’s not just me she’s directing that at.”

Clarke remains stuck in her awkward dismount, still gripping the saddle with one hand and the guide with the other, her leg hovering mid-air.

Caelus hums, amused. “She didn’t ask me to lay down. I thought she wanted to challenge herself. She seems like the type.” He nods his head toward Clarke’s still-hovering foot. “See?”

Finally, Clarke drops down, landing on unsteady feet. She stumbles, and before she can hit the ground, Lexa steps forward instinctively, catching her by the arms. The jolt stings Lexa’s shoulder, but she barely registers it as Clarke sags against her for a brief moment before straightening.

Clarke exhales a small, self-satisfied huff, looking up at her. “So, do I pass the test, Commander?”

Lexa lets her lips curl at the corners—barely a smile. “You are improving,” she concedes. “I trust you can do it alone from here. Riding for the first time can be exhausting. If you need to take a break, tell him. Just be careful when you dismount. Wait for him to lie down first.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “Then why didn’t he lay down?”

Lexa tilts her head, feigning innocence. “You didn’t ask.”

Clarke’s jaw drops slightly, disbelief flashing across her face. “Seriously?”

“Communication is important among my people, Clarke,” Lexa replies smoothly.

Clarke groans, shaking her head. “Good to know. Also good to know you grounders have a sense of humor too.” She lifts her hands in exasperation before muttering, “Float off, Lexa.”

Lexa watches her, amused by the odd phrase.

Before she can respond, a voice cuts through the clearing.

“Clarke?”

Lexa turns as a young girl, no older than Tris, emerges from the bushes near the cliff wall.

"Hey Charlotte" Clarke sighs in relief and strides forward.

“Guys, Clarke is back! She made it!” the girl turns around and calls. Suddenly, more whispers and rustling echo from the shadows beneath the cliffside.

Charlotte moves to greet Clarke but suddenly halts mid-step, eyes widening in alarm as she takes in Lexa and Caelus standing behind her. She stumbles backward, landing hard on the ground.

Charlotte keeps a wary eye on Lexa before answering. “He went out to forage for breakfast with some of the others right after Finn returned. He said you were hurt and left to find you… he—”

“He found me,” Clarke interrupts with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry.”

Lexa senses movement before she hears it—soft shuffling from the shadows beneath the cliff. More figures emerge, most barely older than Tris, their clothes ragged, their faces smudged with dirt. Some rush to Clarke’s side, murmuring greetings with relief, while others linger at the edges of the clearing, watching Lexa and Caelus with open wariness.

Caelus prowls forward, his sleek frame casting a long shadow across the ground. Some of the younger ones flinch. Clarke murmurs quiet reassurances, but their hesitation doesn’t fade.

Through the bond, Caelus speaks lowly. “I thought Kerralis was just being overconfident, but… they are all spiritless.” His voice carries a rare note of sadness.

“Alright, everyone,” Clarke begins, her voice firm, commanding. “I don’t know what Finn told you, but Mount Weather is no longer an option. We need to leave as soon as possible.” A ripple of murmurs spreads through the group, but Clarke continues without pause. “We’ll wait for Wells and the others to return, have breakfast, and gather anything we might need for the trip. If we’re ready before they get back, we’ll scavenge for supplies.”

Lexa watches as the group absorbs Clarke’s words with quiet discipline. They follow her—no, they trust her.

Clarke turns to Lexa, stepping beside her. Lexa keeps her posture relaxed but lets her hand rest lazily on the hilt of her sword, ensuring her presence remains imposing.

“This is the Commander,” Clarke announces. “She has agreed to let us cross into safer land on the condition that we help her people. So, I need you all to gather medicinal herbs and whatever light food you can carry.”

A boy, no older than fifteen, steps forward hesitantly. “Will they keep us safe from the ones that hurt Jasper?”

Lexa feels Clarke glance uncertainly once, before schooling her features and addressing him with a smile. “We can keep ourselves safe, Seth,” Clarke says gently but firmly. “They’re just helping us get somewhere safer—that’s all.”

Another girl pipes up. “What about the radio? Our parents up there need to know we’re okay so they can come down, right?” Most of the younger ones nod along to her question.

Clarke lifts her wrist, tapping the odd clunky bracelet on her wrist “This,” she explains, “is what’s keeping them informed. I won't stop looking, just because Mount Weather is a no-go does it mean we are without options? Make sure it stays on. As long as it does, they’ll know we’re alive and safe. You focus on that—I’ll handle the radio”

Lexa narrows her eyes slightly at the mention of ‘parents up there,’ her gaze scanning the strange metallic bracelets almost all of them wear.

Satisfied, the group nods, seeming to accept her words.

Clarke takes a breath, then grins slightly. “Now, I trust you and your daemons—” she falters briefly, then corrects herself, “—I trust you can handle what we need to do. Right?”

The response is immediate. “Yes, Clarke!” they echo, voices loud and sure.

Lexa lifts an eyebrow, thoroughly impressed now.

“So, she wasn’t lying when she said she was their leader,” Lexa muses through the bond.

“I never doubted it,” Caelus replies. “She grabbed my whiskers. I won’t take anyone else but someone important to dare do that and live.”

Lexa hums in mild amusement. “Aiden does it all the time...”

“He’s your best novitiate. He is important,” Caelus defends.

Lexa smirks slightly but says nothing.

Clarke finishes issuing orders, and her people move with efficiency—some disappearing back into the cave, others forming small groups to prepare for departure. Lexa watches as a few of them steal quick, curious glances her way but otherwise avoid her gaze. She takes that as a sign to remove herself from the center of their camp and ease the lingering tension.

“I will check the perimeter,” she informs Clarke, already moving toward Caelus.

Clarke barely spares her a glance, busy speaking with a younger boy about medicinal herbs. “Knock yourself out, Commander,” she mutters distractedly.

Lexa frowns at her choice of words, the light manner in which she just wished her harm, but takes in stride since nobody else seemed to react to it.

She completes two full rounds, ensuring no immediate threats linger nearby. On the third, she spots Clarke by the river, kneeling with a small group as they gather red algae and moss. She watches as Clarke reassures them with quiet words, her exhaustion evident in the slow blinks, the slight sway of her body.

Lexa’s gaze flickers to Clarke’s boot, where her bandaged ankle is concealed. It won’t hold up for long if she keeps pushing herself. Lexa exhales sharply and urges Caelus into another round, giving herself space to think.

She returns to camp in time to intercept Clarke’s friends—Someone identifying as Wells who seems to be in charge of the group—coming back from their foraging trip. The encounter nearly turns hostile, their instincts screaming distrust at the unfamiliar warrior on a large black panther blocking their way. But Lexa quickly de-escalates, leading them into the clearing and allowing Clarke’s group to confirm her presence as an ally—at least, for now.

As they merrily settle in for breakfast, the boy from earlier approaches her hesitantly. Wells. He offers her a small grilled fish on a stick, and for Caelus, a raw one. A symbol of trust.

Lexa inclines her head and accepts it, though the plainness of the meal is unfamiliar. She eats without complaint, her gaze drifting across the camp.

No sentries. No scouts. No protection.

Lexa frowns. It’s reckless. Dangerous. If they’ve made it this far without being captured, it’s pure luck.

She chews the last of her meal and rises, intent on finding Clarke and giving her a piece of her mind about the careless manner in which her people traverse such dangerous woods.

Wells hands her a bundle of rations. “Take these to Clarke’s group,” he says. “She probably won’t stop to eat unless someone forces her to or unless everyone else already has”

Lexa simply nods and mounts Caelus, heading back toward the creek. Their friends know her well it seems. Good.

She finds Clarke’s group washing up, their bags full of gathered resources. They sit idly by the water, chatting quietly. But Clarke is missing.

Lexa frowns. Where…?

A small movement catches her eye. Charlotte waves at her from a nearby tree, placing a finger over her lips before nodding toward its massive roots. A streak of blonde peeks out from the tangled brush.

“She fell asleep after your last round,” Charlotte whispers.

Lexa exhales unaware of the breath she was holding then nods acknowledging her words and takes out some of the rations Wells gave her and offers the bundle to her. "Your other group arrived with food. Eat before heading back.”

The girl moves warily around Caelus's imposing form and takes the bundle filled with warm food. Berries and smoked fish.

Lexa turns toward Clarke but pauses as Charlotte speaks again.

“Um… Miss Commander?”

Lexa glances back.

Charlotte shuffles her feet. “Could you… let her rest a few more minutes?”

“Yes, please,” another boy adds. “She’s been taking care of all of us since we got here.”

A third, older boy-close to the reckoning age- with kind eyes who reminds her of Aiden but older, chimes in. “She’s barely slept since we landed. We were keeping watch so she could sleep for once.”

Lexa blinks, taken aback by their genuine concern.

Two days…?

The children look up at her, hopeful.

"Please, madam Commander. Just until we are done with our meal at least?" The Aiden look-alike asks.

Lexa considers them for a moment before inclining her head. “Very well. I will wait until you are done to wake her and she eats before we leave.”

The relief on their faces is immediate. “Thank you, Miss Commander,” Charlotte says with a grin and they all gather around the bundle to take out their meal.

"Wait Miss commander!" Charlotte takes a hasty step with an outstretched hand as Caelus turns around  "Just don't tell her Please? We know she is very stressed about not letting it show, she will just be worried she took a nap whilst we were waiting for her and push herself harder."

"I am aware that she has that terrible habit. Rest assured, go eat your meal, young one."

"Thank you Miss Commander" They all grin up at her and turn to sit down and enjoy their meal. 

Lexa smiles softly and turns around curiously endeared by the sky kid's polite way of addressing her.

“That was oddly soft of you, Miss Commander.” Caelus teases through the bond.

Lexa smirks. “They are harmless kids, Caelus. I’m not a monster.”

Caelus strides forward, adjusting to the shifting weight as Lexa soundlessly dismounts.

She glances back at the children eating, completely exposed. No sentries.

“Check the perimeter,” she orders. “I’m surprised they made it this far without having been taken by the Mountain.”

Caelus nods and disappears into the trees.

Lexa carefully walks up to the tree the stubborn healer has finally surrendered into.

Clarke sleeps soundly, her breath slow and steady, her body curled slightly into the curve of the tree’s massive roots. Loose strands of blonde hair fall across her face, shifting gently with every exhale. Her spirit Rico, was asleep and curled at her feet. Even in rest, there’s a tension to her—creases between her brows, fingers twitching slightly as if she is still on high alert even in her exhaustion.

Lexa studies her quietly, arms crossing over her chest as she leans against the tree.

This was the same girl who had faced down her warriors all of them twice her size and held them in spades with a single call of Kerralis's name apparently. Had fiercely fought off ripas to save her friend, had challenged Lexa herself without fear, and had grasped Caelus’s whiskers with an audacity that still left him seething whenever he remembered. And yet, here she was—slumped against a tree, smudges of dirt on her face, shielded from the small streams of morning light passing through the leaves, completely vulnerable.

Lexa exhales slowly, allowing her gaze to drift lower, noting the subtle rise and fall of Clarke’s chest. The worn fabric of her shirt shifts with every breath. There’s an almost surreal stillness to her in this moment, so at odds with the constant restless motion that Lexa has come to associate with her.

She hasn’t slept properly in days.

The knowledge lingers uneasily in Lexa’s mind.

It explains the slight hesitation she had seen earlier, the way Clarke’s steps had begun to falter despite her stubborn determination. It was easy to overlook—Clarke carried herself well, forced herself to function despite the toll her body had taken. But exhaustion clung to her now, seeping through the cracks in her facade.

Lexa lets out a slow breath, looking back toward the others, still gathered at the water’s edge. She watches as they eat, voices hushed but easy, a stark contrast to the tense, survival-driven atmosphere they had been wrapped in before.

They are so young.

Younger even than some of Lexa’s newest warriors, too soft for the reality of the world they had been thrown into. And yet, Clarke had led them, protected them, and even now they stood watch over her.

Lexa looks back down at Clarke, gaze lingering on the way her fingers curl loosely over the fabric of her own sleeve, as if she were holding onto something even in sleep.

She steps forward, careful not to make a sound, and crouches beside her.

Clarke’s face is softer in sleep, the weight she carries in wakefulness momentarily lifted though still guarded.

Lexa doesn’t wake her.

Instead, she pulls one of the wrapped rations from her belt and sets it down within arm’s reach.

Then, as an afterthought, she unclaps her sash, draping it lightly over Clarke’s shoulders. Surely past Commanders can agree the sash is not being tainted by someone with a lack of leadership or strength.

She doesn’t stop to question the action, nor does she let herself linger on it. Instead, she straightens, turning on her heel and stepping away, scanning the perimeter with sharp eyes.

Her mind shifts back to the disturbing reality of Clarke’s group—so many of them without spirits.

Spiritless children, completely unaware of how vulnerable they are.

Caelus emerges from the trees, his silent form slipping through the underbrush with ease. His piercing blue eyes meet Lexa’s.

“No threats nearby,” he reports through their bond. “But I don’t like this place.”

Lexa exhales slowly, nodding in agreement.

“There is something deeply unsettling about a camp full of children without spirits,” she murmurs. “They are defenseless.”

Caelus lets out a quiet huff, his tail flicking once in agitation. “How have they survived this long?”

Lexa’s gaze drifts back to Clarke.

Because of her.

She doesn’t say it aloud, but the thought settles heavily in her chest. Unsure if her words from earlier about her condition to allow the sky people, they way in which she pushed Clarke was too harsh.

Caelus tilts his head, observing her for a moment before chuffing lightly. “You are hesitating on your decision again.”

Lexa’s eyes snap back to his, sharp. “I do not hesitate.”

Caelus chuckles, a deep rumble. “Then what would you call this?”

Lexa doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns back toward the others, lifting her chin.

“Wake her after they are done, let her eat” she instructs. “Then we move.”

Caelus watches her go, his blue eyes glinting with quiet amusement as he settles beside Clarke’s sleeping form, standing guard.

"Clarke, climb on Caelus" She commands her, her voice carrying a no-nonsense attitude. Caelus lies down with a huff beside her to drive her point across.

Lexa watches as Clarke shifts uncomfortably, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. Her hair is a mess, tangled from resting against the rough bark of the tree, and bits of fish cling to her already dirt-streaked jacket. She absentmindedly strokes Caelus’s head, her fingers threading through his sleek dark fur as if it’s second nature. The touch once again dragging a surprisingly pleasant feeling down her spine.

“I thought you were back at camp?” Clarke murmurs, voice still thick with fatigue.

Lexa breathes out through her nose, barely suppressing the shudder when Clarke's fingers scratch under Caelus's cheek. “I was. And there is something I want to discuss with you, but that can wait.” Her green eyes flicker over Clarke’s slouched posture, the exhaustion that clings to every line of her body. “First—get on Caelus.”

Clarke tilts her head, eyes narrowing in mild confusion before she glances around noticing the lack of kids around. “It’s fine, I’ll ride once we’ve—”

“I am not asking, Clarke.”

Lexa steps closer, pressing the leather lead into Clarke’s hand before nodding toward Caelus, who stretches out further, waiting expectantly.

Clarke’s jaw tightens, but she relents, throwing her hands up in mild exasperation. “Fine! They don’t call you Commander for nothing, I see,” she mutters under her breath.

Lexa wordlessly offers a hand to help her mount. Clarke hesitates but takes it, her grip strong but wary. She swings her leg over Caelus’s broad back, wobbles slightly, and adjusts her posture as the panther spirit rises fluidly beneath her.

Satisfied, Lexa steps back and begins walking toward the treeline. Caelus follows, his stride smooth and sure.

Once they are a few paces away, Lexa turns, leaning casually against one of the taller trees, arms crossed over her chest. She lets a beat of silence pass before speaking.

“Finn and the others arrived not long ago. I sent your friends here at the river back already so you could rest. Your people are ready to leave whenever you are.”

Clarke exhales, her shoulders sagging slightly as she nods. “Alright… Now I get why you’re so insistent.”

"I wanted to discuss something with you I find concerning."

Clarke straightens, instantly wary. “What is it?”

“You lot travel far too at ease,” Lexa states. “No sentinels. No one standing watch. I’m honestly surprised you’ve made it this far like this. I understand you are only passing through Polis, but—”

Clarke suddenly laughs, a soft, unexpected sound that makes Lexa’s words catch in her throat. She looks up, affronted by the reaction.

Clarke waves a hand quickly, attempting to stifle her amusement. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you—I just find it ironic that you’re so concerned about our safety when, not hours ago, you were prepared to leave us to fend for ourselves.”

Lexa opens her mouth to counter, but Clarke continues.

“Besides, just because you don’t see us standing watch doesn’t mean we aren’t aware of everything around us.” She smirks. “We managed to evade your scouts all day yesterday. We’ve hidden from the Ripas even when we didn't know what they were all night. Didn’t you notice?”

Lexa frowns slightly, considering. “My scouts reported no sign of your people in the area… The only one who could find you was Kerralis, and they said none of you…” Her words trail off as realization clicks into place.

She glances up at Clarke, who meets her gaze with a smug arch of her brow.

“As I said,” Clarke repeats. “Just because you don’t see them, doesn’t mean they aren’t there. If anyone should understand how useful that is, it’s you.” She tilts her head knowingly. “With Kerralis at your side, I figured you’d recognize the advantage of an invisible presence among the trees.”

Lexa inhales slowly, amusement flickering across her features as the full picture becomes clear.

“You have a wide-range, invisible scouting party,” she murmurs, unable to keep the admiration from her voice. Her lips twitch slightly, equal parts impressed and exasperated. “You’re completely defenseless, yet no one can land a strike on you… It’s reckless and brilliant at the same time.”

Clarke huffs, shaking her head. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Lexa allows the smallest quirk of her lips. “That’s because it is. I almost want to recruit whoever devised it as a war advisor.”

Clarke crunches her nose in mild distaste. “You’re looking at them. And they would rather stay out of wars, sorry.”

"Of course she did, no wonder someone so bold and reckless can come up with such a wild idea" Caelus adds

Lexa hums, eyes glinting with amusement. “Pity. ”

The tension between them eases, the conversation shifting into something lighter as they walk along.

Then, Lexa’s demeanor shifts again, posture straightening. “There is another matter to discuss.”

Clarke eyes her warily. “Should I be concerned?”

“Your people’s future accommodations.”

Clarke immediately tenses, shoulders squaring as she braces herself. “You made yourself clear, Commander. We won’t be allowed inside Polis—I get it.”

Lexa regards her steadily. “I said I would discuss your people’s future with their leader.” A beat. “And since you have proven yourself as that leader…” She lifts an eyebrow. “I want to explain why I cannot allow you within the walls of Polis yet.”

Clarke’s expression tightens. “I thought we settled this. I’d rather not reopen a discussion that could undo the progress we’ve made.”

Lexa watches her carefully before speaking. “Once the Ripa threat is neutralized, your people will be allowed inside Polis as guests. In any other situation, I would offer you refuge immediately.” A breath. “But it’s not that simple.”

Clarke remains silent, waiting.

“You saw how many were taken,” Lexa continues, her voice quieter now. “How many fell. Your people arrived just before the last Ripa raid, wearing clothing similar to the mountain men. That alone is enough to stir suspicion.” A pause. “Keeping you outside the walls and ensuring the one who attacked Kerralis surrenders his weapon is the only justification I can offer my people to put them at ease.”

Clarke shifts in the saddle, processing her words. “I understand, Commander. You do what’s best for your people. I can see that. But…” She exhales sharply. “I can’t give you Bellamy.”

Lexa studies her, then speaks with measured deliberation.

“I will pin the assault on Kerralis on the mountain men,” she states. “I just need one of your jackets to place on a dead Ripa—make it seem as if one of your own was taken and turned.”

Clarke blinks, caught off guard by the offer.

“Only we know the truth, and I forgive your transgression given your people's circumstances.” Lexa continues. “You will make it seem as though you found Kerralis and just used them to make it across. It's not ideal but it's better than you being the culprit. Ensure your people keep it a secret. And have this Bellamy of yours surrender his fayagun before coming back.” She meets Clarke’s gaze evenly. “My warriors have seen you aid our wounded. With your people assisting in their transport today, they will be more inclined to accept you.”

Her entire body seems to relax, tension melting from her shoulders.

“I—” Clarke stammers, then shakes her head, almost disbelieving. “Thank you?” A breathless laugh escapes her. “I just… you were so adamant before. I thought…” She exhales, meeting Lexa’s gaze with something softer now. “Thank you, Commander. I’ll find a way to make this work.”

Lexa dips her head slightly, acknowledging her gratitude. “See that you do.”

Clarke exhales slowly, nodding as she processes Lexa’s words. Tension eases from her shoulders, but her brows knit together in thought. “I’ll talk to them,” she says, running a hand over her face before letting it drop to rest against Caelus’s saddle. “I can’t promise they’ll be happy about it, but they’ll listen.”

Lexa watches her carefully, weighing the sincerity in her words. “For your sake, I hope so,” she states simply. “Otherwise, our arrangement will not stand.”

“I know,” Clarke replies, meeting Lexa’s gaze head-on. Her fierce blue eyes filled with determination.

Satisfied, Lexa steps forward and rests a hand lightly on Caelus’s shoulder. The panther spirit huffs, shifting slightly beneath Clarke’s weight but remains still. “We should go,” Lexa says, nodding toward the path. “Your people are waiting.”

Clarke nods once, adjusting her grip on the saddle before guiding Caelus forward. Lexa walks beside them, her own pace steady and relaxed.

The forest stretches around them in muted greens and golds, the late morning light filtering through the canopy in scattered beams. Birds call softly in the distance, and the river murmurs nearby, but the air between them is quiet—pleasant.

Clarke clears her throat after a few moments. “Lexa.”

The way she says her name is different now. Less cautious. More certain. Lexa's stomach swoops oddly at her name falling from her lips like this. She swallows against the strange feeling it stirs and glances up at her. “Yes?”

Clarke hesitates for only a second. “I’ll make sure my people follow through on this,” she says. “And I’ll do what I can to keep the peace. But if anything happens… if your people turn on mine despite everything we do to prove ourselves—”

Lexa stops, tilting her head slightly. “If they do,” she interrupts, her voice calm but firm, “you will have my word that I will intervene...I expect no less from you in return. You are aware now of our traditions...”

Clarke holds her gaze, then nods. “I promise.”

Lexa resumes walking, the path ahead winding toward the clearing where the others are waiting. “You have much to prove, Clarke,” she says. “But so far, you have not disappointed me. Quite the opposite really.”

"Is that another compliment hear?"

"Take it however you wish, Clarke of the Sky people"

"I think I will" Clarke smirks, more at ease.

The send off is quick and efficient. The sky people walk well-rested and fed behind Wells and Ryde at the front.

At the back of the line, Lexa rides her steed, Caelus prowling silently at her side. She catches the looks of awe from Clarke’s people—wide-eyed stares lingering on the massive, muscled form of the horse Ryder brought for her to ride. 

To Caelus’s endless offense.

Lexa can feel his indignation through their bond as he huffs loudly, tail flicking in irritation.

It doesn’t help when Clarke, perched atop Caelus, pats his head in mock reassurance. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m sure they all thought you were big and badass too.”

Caelus tenses beneath her. Lexa barely stops him from shrugging her off in retaliation, but he does move with intent—just enough to make Clarke clutch at the guide in her hands and for Rico to let out a startled squeak, nearly tumbling off her shoulder.

Lexa exhales, shaking her head.

Her gaze shifts back to Clarke after a moment, watching as she adjusts her grip, her knuckles no longer white as they had been when they first set off.

“You will be fine from here?” Lexa asks, voice steady.

Clarke nods. “Yeah. I think I’ve got it.”

Lexa studies her for a beat longer, then reaches over, pressing her forearm against Clarke’s in a grounding touch. “Do not fall.”

Clarke blinks, startled by the brief contact, then smirks. “I’ll try not to embarrass myself. Make sure they don’t stray. Will see you soon”

Lexa’s lips twitch, the closest thing to amusement she allows herself. With a final nod, she releases her and straightens.

Without another word, she mounts her steed, nods to Finn in acknowledgment, and falls into step at the back of the line.

The journey back is quiet. Not in the way of peace—but in the way of two forces carefully circling one another, waiting to see who will make the first move.

The sky people and hers work together, but the air between them is stiff with hesitation. Mistrust lingers in the sidelong glances exchanged over the stretchers of the wounded, in the way hands hover close to weapons, in the way neither side dares to turn their back fully on the other.

Yet, despite it all, they move as one.

The younger ones—along with Wells Jaha—take to tending the injured, offering food and water, carefully placing damp cloths over fevered brows. The stronger ones, both from Clarke’s people and Lexa’s, shoulder the weight of the dead in silent understanding.

Step by step, the tension bends under necessity.

By the time they reach the river, the wariness has not disappeared—but it has settled into something less sharp, something begrudgingly cooperative.

The crossing is seamless.

When they arrive at the first bordering village, they are met by its chief along with Indra, already informed of their alliance through Ryder’s messenger. The welcome is not warm, but it is efficient. The most critically wounded are taken in immediately, while the rest settle into temporary shelters just outside the village walls.

By the time the sun is high overhead, the tension has settled into something quieter, an uneasy truce forming between the two groups as they prepare for an afternoon meal.

Lexa stands at the center of the camp, speaking with Indra and Ryder about the next steps. She is listening, absorbing their reports, when it happens.

Lexa barely has time to take in the shift before something is wrong.

A sharp prick at her neck.

Then another.

Her breath stutters.

Another sting—against her thigh. Then her side.

Lexa’s fingers twitch toward her sword, but her limbs feel heavy. The world tilts, just slightly, as the murmurs around her distort. Her warriors’ faces blur at the edges of her vision, and she catches sight of Indra stepping forward, concern flashing across her features.

The murmurs around her distort, the world tilting in a way that shouldn’t be possible. She catches Indra’s gaze, sees the concern flash across her face as if from a great distance.

Something is wrong.

Caelus—

Her breath falters. Her fingers stretch out instinctively, searching for the tether of their bond—

And feels nothing.

Her chest tightens. Panic, sharp and unfamiliar, claws through her as her knees buckle.

Voices rise in alarm.

The last thing she hears is a distant shout.

The last thing she sees is the dappled sky above, spinning wildly, as the ground rushes up to meet her.

Then—

Darkness.

Chapter Text

Clarke watches as Lexa disappears into the trees, the last of the delinquents fading into the dense foliage like ghosts.

She should feel relief.

She does in some capacity. But she can’t help the unease that coils in her stomach.

It’s not just the tension of leaving behind her friends under a fragile alliance, nor the weight of the responsibility she now carries. It’s something different.

Lexa had looked back both confident and wary.

And though Clarke knows the woman is likely nothing if not disciplined, something about that departure unsettles her in a way she can’t quite place.

A low, rumbling huff sounds beside her, the warmth of Leah’s massive frame phasing through her leg in silent support.

Clarke doesn’t need to look down to know her daemon is uneasy, too. She feels it in the way Leah’s steps are more cautious than usual, in the way her muscles stay coiled, ready for movement. She walks beside Caelus, her green eyes scanning the trees like she expects something to lunge out at them at any second.

Clarke reaches down, as if brushing her fingers through Leah’s thick fur, grasping air. The daemon’s ear flicks in response, but she doesn’t leans into the non-existent touch like she normally would.

She’s on edge.

The wind shifts coldly, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth, and Clarke reflexively pulls the long red sash higher up her neck, shielding her face from the crisp morning air. She had woken up with it draped over her, the soft yet sturdy fabric holding in the warmth she had barely noticed at the time. She had meant to return it, had every intention of tossing it back to its rightful owner—

But then Lexa had grasped her forearm, eyes locking onto hers with quiet insistence, and simply said, Do not fall.

And Clarke had forgotten all about it, the pleasant full body shudder she barely suppressed at the contact taking precedence.  So, she chose to toss some wit back instead.

Now, she breathes in the scent of the fabric—something faintly sweet and smoky, as if fragrant flowers had been set aflame, yet with the grounding freshness of wet pine needles beneath.

She thinks of Lexa’s daemon, and somehow, the scent fits. Kerralis is wildfire consuming a forest, while Lexa is the ancient oak whose roots run deep beneath a raging river.

So contradictory. So balanced.

Just like the woman herself.

The sudden shift from Then survive out in the woods to I will lie to my people so you can live had been just as jarring. First, harsh, ruthless, and commanding. Then, still confident, but kind.

Like the fierce war paint she wore as armor that couldn’t quite mask the quiet kindness in her sharp green eyes.

That much Clarke was able to discern from the fierce leader of the grounders. That distinct hint of something else.

Clarke realizes that maybe that’s just it; The Commander is the paint she wears and Lexa kom Trikru—if that was even her real name—was the real person peeking through.

Leah exhales sharply, the giant cat’s tail phasing through Clarke’s calf. Clarke knows what she’s thinking.

Why are you still thinking about her?

An unspoken question in her icy green eyes.

And It’s almost laughable really.

An irony.

That her daemon questions with her sharp eyes why she is thinking about the one who has the exact same shade of green in hers.

She ignores the unspoken question.

She doesn’t have other answer but ‘She just can’t help it’

What the hell happened while I was asleep?

What had changed? Is the question that nags at her the most. What had shifted the careful balance between Lexa and the title?.

She thinks back, retracing their journey, their banter, their conversations. But nothing stands out—nothing that could explain why or how she changed her adamant stance. Clarke was just buying them all time when she agreed to think about it. She was preparing to just pretend her way through it, to get whatever she needed for Monty to work on a radio, hopefully grab Jasper and bail as soon as they got the chance.

Lexa’s sudden change of heart was a surprise but it was wholeheartedly welcome. It lifted a weight off Clarke’s shoulders.

Clarke exhales sharply, shaking the thought from her mind as she refocuses on what lies ahead.

They have a long journey back to the dropship.

The woods stretch endlessly before them, sunlight trickling through the dense canopy in golden shards. The distant hum of insects buzzes through the air, mingling with the gentle rustling of leaves.

Finn walks beside her, his movements light and effortless, hands tucked into his pockets. Rico, perched comfortably on his shoulder, chatters softly now and then, ears flicking as he watches their surroundings.

Leah stays close at Clarke’s side, her broad shoulders brushing just short of phasing against Caelus now and then, a silent reminder of her presence. But she doesn’t look at Clarke—not fully. Her attention is locked on the trees, her ears flicking toward every sound.

She’s worried.

For once, Clarke doesn’t question why.

For a while, neither of them speak.

Then—

“She really just let you take her daemon?” Finn finally asks, breaking the silence. His tone is light, teasing—but there’s something sharper underneath.

Clarke glances down at Caelus, at the sleek black fur and the slow, lazy flick of his tail. Leah makes a small, irritated noise beside her, ears flicking back.

“I don’t think let is the right word,” Clarke mutters, rubbing a hand over her face. “More like… assigned.”

Finn snorts. “Right. Because that makes it less weird.”

Leah rumbles again, this time low and unimpressed.

Clarke sighs. She had expected this. Of course Finn would be wary—it’s in his nature. But she’s too exhausted to argue.

“I’m not saying I trust them,” she says carefully. “But I think we got the best deal we could hope for.”

Finn hums in agreement, but there’s skepticism in his expression. “They’ve got an army at their beck and call. Just a little help from us can’t be all she wants, she is just saving time with that. Could have rejected us if she wanted, right?” He juts his thumb toward Caelus, who looks utterly unbothered. “And this one? There’s no way he’s just here for protection and a ride.”

Leah lets out a growl of agreement.

Caelus lets out a long-suffering huff, ears twitching back in irritation.

Clarke smirks. “Careful, Finn. I have reason to believe he understands English.”

Finn side-eyes the panther. “Of course he does,” he mutters. Then, after a pause, “And I don’t suppose it’s a coincidence that The Commander just so happened to know everything about you before even meeting you?”

Clarke hesitates, then exhales. “I think she can hear and talk to him.”

Finn frowns. “I was just speculating that she had been at the river all along but you are saying she can hear him? Isn’t the fire birdie her daemon?”

The panther daemon lets out a low snort underneath her, likely from the nickname Finn tagged on their oh so great Heda spirit.

“How do you think she knew about me if not because of this one?” Clarke gestures at Caelus. “He was with Anya the entire time. He had to have told her. I noticed the way she sometimes paused when she was about to speak. From what I could gather it’s not a secret for her people that she can.”

Finn stops in his tracks. “Wait—you think they know something about you being able to hear other’s daemons?”

“I know they know,” Clarke mutters. “They called me natblida or something, Kerralis too. Commander Lexa was bery secretive about it so not sure it’s good or bad.”

Leah growls.

Finn runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “So we’re being followed?”

“Probably, who knows. Leah couldn’t find anyone” Clarke mutters.

They keep on walking at a brisk trot uphill when another thought crosses Clarke’s mind.

“What happened to Bellamy?” Clarke finally asks, unable to suppress the gnawing worry in her gut.

Finn’s expression darkens. “I don’t know,” he admits. “He kept mumbling about people in the trees, saying we all had to go to the mountain. He said they had Octavia and his wolf—then he just left. No explanation.”

Leah stiffens at Clarke’s side, her powerful muscles tensing beneath her sleek coat.

Clarke grips the saddle tighter. “You just let him go?”

Finn exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “He had a gun and a crazed look in his eyes, Clarke. What else was I supposed to do? I barely made it in time to convince everyone that was a terrible idea. When no one agreed to go with him, he left.”

“Crazed look?” Clarke repeats, her brows furrowing.

The panther daemon’s stride falters ever so slightly.

“At first, yeah,” Finn continues, glancing up at her. “Seemed… off somehow.”

Clarke meets his gaze. “You don’t think the ones at Mount Weather did something to him, right?”

“If not the grounders, then who else?” Finn shakes his head, frustration creeping into his tone. “You said the phoenix didn’t know anything about Octavia. The commander asked for Bellamy after you told her it was him who shot. And that woman—Anya—what she said about the Reapers back at the river?”

He exhales, eyes scanning the trees warily. “They warned us not to trust even our own people. Who’s to say they haven’t already done something to him?”

Clarke looks down at Caelus, considering her next move. A part of her debates revealing her ability to hear daemons, to ask Caelus outright—but there’s no guarantee he’ll answer. And even if he does, she wouldn’t understand a word of it.

She sighs, pushing the thought away. It’s not much of a secret if I can’t even use it when it matters.

Then—

Something else clicks.

Clarke’s breath quickens, her mind racing as she processes what Finn had just said.

“He insisted on going to Mount Weather?” she asks sharply, suspicion creeping into her voice. “And then he just left?”

Leah bristles beside her, her fur rising along her spine.

Her daemon doesn’t hesitate. She steps forward, already anticipating Clarke’s next move.

Caelus’s shoulders coil like a bowstring, his body taut beneath her.

He knows, too.

Finn looks between them, confused. “Yeah, I just told you—wait, what am I missing?”

Clarke doesn’t waste time explaining. She leans forward, pressing her body closer to Caelus’s back. “We need to hurry.”

Caelus takes off into a smooth, powerful sprint.

“Hey—wait! Clarke, what the hell—” Finn stumbles after her, his breath coming fast as he struggles to keep up. The uneven terrain slows him, his boots catching on roots and loose dirt.

Caelus huffs, annoyed, but slows his pace.

As soon as Finn catches up, the panther daemon lowers himself to the ground, his intelligent blue eyes locking onto Finn’s. A low growl rumbles from his throat—not in warning, but in command.

Clarke doesn’t hesitate. “Come on, Finn,” she urges. “We don’t have time. Bellamy left hours ago.”

Finn looks at her, then at the massive panther, clearly torn between terror and necessity.

He mutters a curse under his breath, then scrambles up behind Clarke, gripping the saddle like his life depends on it. Rico chitters nervously, pressing himself flat into Finn’s chest.

Clarke shifts, making room. “Lean forward as much as you can. Hold onto the guide in front of me. Use your thighs to stay on and follow my movements—lean where I lean.”

Finn gulps audibly but nods, his grip tightening. “Alright”

Clarke whistles sharply, her head snapping toward the trees. “Leah!”

Caelus’s ears flick in annoyance at her tone, but he doesn’t protest. His blue eyes watch her expectantly and he tilts his head curiously.

A golden blur emerges from the treeline. Leah moves like a shadow, silent and swift. She reaches Clarke in seconds, her piercing green eyes locking onto hers.

Guide us. Quick.

Leah nods, muscles flexing beneath her powerful frame. She takes off in a blur, vanishing between the trees.

Clarke exhales sharply, shifting forward, her body nearly flush with Caelus’s back. Finn follows her lead, his breathing fast but steady.

Clarke clenches her legs around the saddle. “Run, Caelus.”

The panther daemon surges forward, his massive paws striking the earth in a powerful rhythm. The world around them blurs, air whistling past their ears trees whipping past as they race toward the dropship. Clarke leaning along Leah’s quick strides ahead of her.

And Clarke can’t shake the feeling that they’re already late.

A couple of hours into their relentless sprint, Clarke’s legs are screaming in protest from clenching too hard. The sky just a couple of hours away from dusk. Every jarring movement against the saddle sends a dull ache up her spine, but she pushes past the pain. Ahead, through the thinning trees, the dark, metallic bulk of the dropship emerges, standing stark against the sky.

She exhales, relieved, but Leah doesn’t slow. Instead, the massive mountain lion surges ahead, silent and deadly, her muscles coiled as she weaves through the underbrush. Clarke recognizes the change immediately—Leah is scouting. Searching around the perimeter.

Clarke makes Caelus stop until she returns, no one in the surrounding area.

The moment they cross the treeline surrounding the crash site, a voice calls out.

“Who’s there?!”

Clarke’s breath hitches, her heart pounding, but she forces herself to focus. Someone’s inside. That’s a good sign. She eases back on Caelus’s reins, urging him to slow. Her tension eases—until she really takes in the sight before her.

A wall.

Metal, scrap parts, whatever they could scavenge—stacked high, enclosing the dropship like a crude fortress.

Murphy and the others got busy while they were gone.

She barely has time to register it before Finn is already moving. He practically falls off Caelus, stumbling as his legs struggle to hold him. Clarke stays mounted, scanning the area while Finn limps toward the entrance.

“It’s Finn and Clarke! Open up!” he shouts.

A beat of silence—then, a deeper voice responds, laced with something close to relief. “Holy shit—look what the forest dragged in! You heard ‘em, open up!”

Clarke frowns at the voice, trying to place it. Leah tilts her head and phases through the barricade to take a look.

The barricade creaks as the makeshift doors groan open, revealing figures on the other side. Finn strides forward without hesitation, but Clarke hesitates when no one steps outside to greet them.

Not a second later she hears Leah’s growl from inside and her breathing hitches. It’s a low, warning sound that sends a shiver down Clarke’s spine.

Caelus’s step falter when Clarke’s thighs clench around him, he looks back at her in question just as
Leah phases through the barricade, pivots suddenly, her massive frame tensed, tail flicking erratically. Her piercing green eyes snap to Clarke’s in panic.

And then—she turns and growls at the door.

“Finn, wait!” Clarke shouts, alarm jolting through her.

Finn stops, turning to her with a confused frown—his foot already stepping past the threshold.

But it’s too late.

The moment his boot hits the ground inside, hands latch onto him.

Finn lets out a choked yell, struggling, twisting, but Clarke barely has time to register it before something whizzes past her—

A dart.

Caelus moves.

One moment, Clarke is sitting tall in the saddle—the next, she’s falling.

Caelus pivots so violently that the sudden shift unseats her. She slams into the ground, pain bursting up her side, knocking the air from her lungs. Her vision wavers, and then—

A sharp sting in her side.

Cold seeps into her bloodstream, numbing her limbs. Clarke blinks down at herself, dazed, barely making out the red-feathered dart protruding from her jacket.

She barely has time to react before Caelus is there, jaws clamping onto the back of her coat.

He sprints.

Clarke barely has the presence of mind to curl in on herself as Caelus drags her—branches whip at her face, thorns catch on her clothes, the ground scraping painfully against her exposed skin. The world tilts, tumbles—until suddenly, she stops moving,

She blinks, vision swaying all around. The urge to spill her meal pushing through her in a violent cough. Caelus snarls somewhere above her, the sound vibrating through her back like rolling thunder.

Then—a howl of pain.

Clarke’s body jolts. She forces herself to lift her head, her limbs heavy, slow—

She sees them.

Figures in strange, full body suits, wrapped in fabric from head to toe, surrounding Caelus as he pushes past them, claws ripping through their suits and making them choke and stumble back with trembling hands.

Darts protrude from his sleek fur. His legs wobble beneath him, his growl fading into a ragged breath as more of them step into sight, weapons raised.

"Keep it alive!" Someone shouts.

Clarke tries to move but her arms are leaden, her breath shallow.

A shadow falls over her just as Caelus's dark fur drops to the ground and the figures howl in cheers.

Leah's fear filled and angry green eyes meet hers as she lays down in front of her, helpless.

A pair of boots stops in front of her, phasing through her daemon's face.

Rough hands grip the lapels of her jacket, hauling her up.

She looks up , eyes squinting through the glaring light of day shining on her face.

A face looms over her, wild and unfocused.

A crazed smile splits his face, teeth bared in something that isn’t quite a grin.

“Welcome back, Princess,” He whispers.

His eyes red at the edges,  wide and manic.

“Bell-amy?” She mumbles through the haze.

“Don’t worry,” he shushes, his grip tightening as Clarke’s vision tunnels when he lifts her up over his shoulder.

“They’ll fix you up, too.”

Then—

Darkness.

Chapter Text

Cold.

It seeps into Clarke’s bones before anything else—before awareness, before thought. A deep, unnatural chill that clings to her skin like damp fog, curling around her like a phantom presence.

Then, pain.

A dull, throbbing ache pulses through her skull, radiating down her spine. Her limbs feel weighted, sluggish. When she tries to move, her body refuses to cooperate, her muscles unresponsive.

Her breath comes in short, uneven gasps, fingers twitching against smooth metal. She forces her eyes open, and the world around her is blindingly white.

Fluorescent lights.

Her pupils contract sharply, the glare stabbing into her retinas as she winces. She blinks rapidly, trying to adjust, her surroundings swimming in and out of focus.

Clarke’s stomach churns.

She jerks upright, her heart hammering against her ribs, and takes in the stark, sterile room. White walls gleam under the harsh light, smooth and seamless. Metal trays lined with medical instruments glint at the edges of her vision, their sharp, glistening edges making her pulse quicken.

For a fleeting second, she thinks she’s back on the Ark, trapped in the suffocating sterility of a cell. But no—this is different. The air is thick with something almost too clean, too artificial. The Ark never smelled like this.

And then her eyes land on something out of place.

A painting. An actual oil painting, framed and pristine, hanging on the opposite wall.

Clarke falters.

The Ark didn’t have luxuries like that. No real art, no cushioned chairs, no lavish furnishings. She takes in the comfortable sofas in the corner, the intricate embroidery on the starkly white blankets folded neatly at the foot of the medical bed.

Her heart hammers as the reality settles in.

She looks down at herself and finds crisp, white sterile clothing clinging to her skin. A simple pair of long breeches that stop just above her knees and a tank top. Her hands fly to her wrists and her heartrate jumps to her throat when she finds them empty.

Her father’s watch is gone.

Her bracelet—the one that signaled their life signs to the Ark—gone.

Two angry, red marks are all that remain, twin puncture wounds where it used to sit.

And then another realization crashes down on her, heavier than all the rest.

Leah is nowhere to be seen.

She reaches for her daemon through their bond—searches—but—

A cold, suffocating emptiness presses against her mind like a blur.

The panic explodes into full-blown terror.

She strains harder, reaching, grasping—Leah?—there’s nothing but a dim, muted echo. Like a whisper through thick glass.

Her stomach twists violently. She clenches her jaw, tries again, but there’s only that same smothering dull presence. No warmth. No silent reassurance curling at the edge of her awareness.

A sharp, choking sound escapes her throat. The machine beside her beeps in alarm, the steady rhythm spiking. Clarke rips the numerous sensors attached to her chest and pulls out the IV from her arm, gritting her teeth against the sharp sting. A thin trail of dark liquid smears against the soft fabric of her breeches, tainting the pristine white.

She forces herself to move.

Her bare feet hit the cold floor as she stumbles forward, her legs unsteady. The sterile, artificial chill seeps into her skin. She catches herself on the nearest surface and pushes forward, her breath coming fast and ragged.

The door looms ahead, thick and metallic, with a single circular window near the top.

She reaches it, pressing a trembling hand against the cold surface. Above it, a small camera blinks—a red, unfeeling eye watching her.

Clarke narrows her eyes. Fuck that. I didn’t go through all of last year's floating shit just to be caged and monitored again.

Her breath fogs against the glass as she peers through the window.

A figure in a full hazmat blue suit stands on the other side, their back turned to her, methodically spraying down a row of empty gurneys.

Clarke barely registers them—because her eyes land on something else.

A massive ghostly form curled up in front of the door. Golden shimmering fur moving along soft breaths.

Her breath catches.

Leah.

Her daemon's ears flicker, her body tense and coiled. When Clarke meets those familiar, piercing green eyes through the glass, Leah surges to her feet to face her across the window.

Clarke feels her knees buckle beneath her in relief and she leans her forehead against the window. The window fogs with condensation as a sharp relieved breath escapes her lungs, the weight of uncertainty lifting just enough to let her think clearly again.

Leah is still here. Still tethered to her. The bond is intact. Still safe.

She steps back, waiting, expecting her daemon to phase through the door like she always does. But Leah shakes her head, and when Clarke frowns, confused, she pushes her head forward.

Only the tip of her nose breaches the small circular window, but the rest of her body remains trapped on the other side. Her daemon huffs, her expression sharp with frustration.

Clarke’s stomach plummets.

You can’t phase through?

Leah’s tail lashes.

Dense metal. Like the walls of the Ark—lead-lined to prevent daemons from drifting through the cold void of space. The realization slams into Clarke like a punch to the gut. That’s why I can't feel her.

Clarke lifts up her gaze and meets her daemon’s gaze, her own eyes narrowing in determination. If you can’t come in, then I’ll come to you.

She scans the door, searching. “Is there any lock?”

Leah nods sharply, her gaze flicking toward the side of the door.

Clarke smiles and scrambles back to the bed, grabbing the IV stand. Without hesitation, she swings—shattering the camera with a sharp crack. She doesn’t stop, swinging again, cracking the small window in the door.

She expects alarms but no such thing happens.

No reaction from the figure on the other side either.

Her pulse quickens and without hesitation, she swings again with more force against the window in the door. Glass sprays outward in a jagged explosion, shards slicing into her forearm. Clarke hisses at the sting, warm blood trickling down her wrist.

Still, no alarms were triggered. Small mercies.

The suited figure on the other side continues their task, oblivious, back turned as they spray down another row of gurneys.

Heart pounding, she pushes her hand through the shattered glass, ignoring the way the shards bite into her skin. Her fingers stretch toward the lock—almost there— The sting of glass breaking skin makes her hiss, then-

A click.

The door shifts under her weight and she stumbles forward. The bond floods back, rushing through her like a wave breaking against a stone. Leah’s presence crashes over her, powerful and grounding, snapping into place so fast that Clarke has to brace herself.

She staggers, breath hitching as warmth and clarity rush through her veins. Leah growls softly, pacing anxiously just beyond the threshold, watching Clarke with sharp, assessing eyes.

Clarke doesn’t have time to savor the relief.

A jagged piece of broken glass catches the light at her feet. She snatches it up and tightens her grip looking up at Leah who is already focused on the figure ahead.

Her breath comes hard and fast and she has to take a deep centering breath, her arm stinging as blood trickles, and when Clarke finally looks down she gasps and freezes in place.

Instead of dark red blood dripping from her arm, a small puddle of dark liquid, like thin oil is spilling instead. She touches it and lifts it up her nose, the coppery tang of blood still present but the dark color itself pulls uneven breaths from her lungs.

What did they do to me?

A large metallic tube falls close in front of her and startles her out of her thoughts.

Clarke’s head snaps up to find the suited figure standing frozen in front of her. The person’s eyes go wide behind their mask.

Clarke lunges forward in an instant.

Almost falls to the ground as the person lets out a gasp and takes a step towards her. But Clarke pivots in place and uses her momentum to grab the back of their hood. She yanks the mask away and with the other hand tugs at the back of the sterile fabric using the weight of her whole body forcing the person to the ground and underneath her.

Wide, dark eyes stare back at her from a pale, startled face.

A woman. Older than her but younger than Clarke expected. Dark messy hair, cropped short to just bellow her chin.

“What are you doing?” the girl breathes, eyes darting wildly as she removes a pair of wired headphones from her ears. There’s confusion there, not alarm—like she doesn’t understand why Clarke is attacking her.

Clarke hesitates for half a second.

Then she presses the jagged edge of glass against the girl’s throat.

“Where is my friend?” she demands, her breath ragged, adrenaline spiking.

“He’s fine, you don’t underst—”

“Take me to him.” Clarke lifts her up and shoves her forward into the hall, keeping the glass firm against her skin. “Now.”

The girl stumbles but doesn’t resist. “Clarke, you’re bleeding—”

Clarke’s grip tightens. Her vision tunnels slightly. “The fuck told you my name?”

The young woman flinches. “It—it was on your chart—”

“How do you know who I am?” She presses.

“I don’t know! I swear!” The girl’s voice pitches higher, her panic growing. “Please don’t hurt me!”

Clarke exhales sharply. Think. She can’t afford to be reckless, not now

“You want to live?” she murmurs, pushing her forward through the winding concrete hallways, the glass pressing against warm skin. “Then do exactly as I say.”

The girl’s hands tremble as she slowly reaches toward her collar, fingers curling around something.

Clarke reacts instantly, twisting her around and pressing her against the wall. “Uh-uh. What do you have there?”

The girl swallows through ragged breaths. “K-keycard,” she stammers, trembling fingers moving up and lifting the plastic rectangle for Clarke to see. “It’s just my keycard.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “Where does it go?”

The young woman moves her head and points to a set of doors at the end of the hall. Clarke pulls back from the wall and pushes her forward. The girl swipes the card against a panel.

A beep. A green light..   

Doors slide open. To reveal an old but well mantained elevator.

Leah grumbles beside her at the tight fit, she can’t fit but wherever there is an elevator there are always stairs so she can go down.

"Stairs?” Clarke asks.

“They are sealed from the other side on this floor. I don't have clearance to open them” The woman nods to a big red door on the other side of the hallway. Clarke narrows her eyes and turns to Leah.

Can you phase through?

Her daemon strides and presses a big paw forward, effectively phasing through.

Clarke sighs and shoves the young trembling woman inside the elevator, pinning her against the metal wall. “Which level?”

Maya hesitates and her eyes land on the console to the elevator where an emergency button lies.

“You better take me to the right level or so help me If something happens to me or my friends you are coming down with me too” Clarke presses the glass against her throat. "Which level?!" she repeats more forcibly.

“Five,” Maya blurts out, tears brimming in her eyes.

Clarke watches her for a beat, searching for deception. Finding none, she releases her just enough to press the button.

Clarke looks back to Leah Check first if you can phase before going into any room. See you there.

She watches her daemon disappear through the dark door and the girl in front of her crumples slightly, shoulders trembling as she sobs with shaking hands.

The elevator hums as it descends. Clarke shifts uncomfortably, her arm throbbing. Her grip on the glass wavers slightly nicking the girl’s neck and making her flinch, desperate pleas dropping from her lips.

Clarke catches sight of her reflection in the polished steel.

Black streaks of blood mar her face, smeared across her cheekbones, her chin, the bridge of her nose. It drips sluggishly from the deep cut in her forearm trickling down to the floor and staining the white fabric of her top.

For a split second, she doesn’t recognize herself.

The sharp, wild look in her eyes. The way she holds the jagged weapon with white-knuckled force. And the sickly pale woman pleading for her life in front of her.

What am I doing?

She swallows hard and steps back just enough to let the woman breathe.

The woman slides to the floor shielding her face with her hands, trembling and looking down. Loud sobs released from her lips.

Clarke presses a hand to her temple, steadying herself. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse.

Tear-filled eyes meet hers, surprised.

Clarke exhales and crouches, gripping her by the arm—but gentler this time. “ I just need to find my friends,” she says. “What’s your name?”

The woman's lips tremble. “…Maya.”

Clarke nods, offering a faint, tired smile. “I’m sorry, Maya. Just don’t do anything rash, and you’ll be fine. Ok?”

Maya sniffles but nods, lifting her hands in a placating gesture. Clarke eases her grip, guiding her forward with less force.

The air beyond the elevator feels different. Warmer. Fuller.

A low murmur reaches Clarke’s ears. Voices. Multiple. Unaware. A soft golden glow spills from a wide corridor ahead, stretching across the pristine white floors.

A corridor stretches ahead, light spilling from an open entrance she hears laughter.

The second she steps into the light, she freezes.

People.

So many people. Not just a few—dozens. Maybe more. 

They sit around long tables, eating, talking, laughing like this is any ordinary meal. The smell of freshly cooked food washes over Clarke, rich and savory, and her stomach grumbles involuntarily. But that’s not what leaves her reeling. Something feels wrong.

She once was used to seeing such a scene, far less merry and way more sterile as people in the Ark gathered to eat their stale, insipid algae meals among large tables. But it had something that the current scene before her eyes lacks.

It’s the emptiness. Clarke notes. It's full of people alright, but it's just that. Just full of people.

Not a single daemon is in sight.

Not even small daemons curled at their feet, no small critters perched on their shoulders, no birds flitting from table to table. There are no daemons anywhere—not even among the few older teenagers seated near the far end. No children either.

The absence is so jarring, so wrong, that Clarke’s body locks up with dread.

Maya shifts nervously in her grasp.

A woman at the nearest table looks up, her expression open, welcoming—until it isn’t. Her face goes pale, her fork slipping from her hand and clattering against the ceramic plate. She scrambles to her feet, chair screeching against the floor, and points directly at Clarke.

"CONTAINMENT BREACH!"

The reaction is instant and Clarke doesn't know where to look as chaos ensues.

People scream. Trays crash. Bodies scramble backward, knocking over chairs in a mad rush to get away. Some sprint toward the exits, and others press against the walls as if Clarke carries the plague itself.

She stands frozen, chest rising and falling, heart hammering against her ribs. Her mind barely processes the sheer terror in their eyes.

“What the hell is this place?” Clarke breathes, gripping Maya’s collar tighter.

“Clarke?”

The familiar voice yanks her attention with a snap.

She turns sharply, scanning the chaos, her pulse roaring in her ears. And gasps when she finds the owner of the voice.

She stands near the far side of the room, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted in shock. She looks fine, clean—alive. Dressed starkly different to the way she last saw her.

But Clarke recognizes her.

“Octavia?” Clarke chokes out, taking an unconscious step forward.

But she barely gets the chance before heavy footsteps thunder behind her. Armed men round the corner, rifles raised, uniforms crisp and unfamiliar. Clarke's instincts kick in before she can even notice what she is doing and she yanks Maya against her, lifting the glass back up to her throat in one swift motion.

"Not another move!" Clarke snarls, dragging Maya slightly back towards the elevator.

The men halt, guns trained on her.

“Wait!” Octavia throws herself between them, arms outstretched. “Don’t hurt her, please!”

Clarke’s grip tightens. “What the hell is going on?! What are you doing here?!”

Octavia’s eyes dart from Clarke to the guards, back to Clarke. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, desperation flickering behind her gaze. “Just—just put it down, okay? Do what they say, Clarke. Please.”

Clarke hesitates.

Maya trembles in her grasp, her whimpering breaths ragged and uneven.

The guards step forward, cautious, fingers tightening over their triggers.

Octavia swallows hard, pleading. “Trust me. Please”

Clarke’s jaw clenches. Her fingers shake then she nods.

Slowly, she exhales, lets go of Maya, and pulls away the shard of glass from her throat.

Maya stumbles away, gasping as she bolts toward the guards. Clarke barely registers it, her body suddenly feeling too heavy, her limbs thrumming with exhaustion.

She lets her knees hit the ground, hands raised in surrender.

"Drop the weapon!"

Her eyes glance briefly to the side at Octavia's pleading gaze.

Clarke nods slowly once more then she releases the tight grip on the glass shard, letting it fall from her hand.

The moment the glass hits the floor and shatters into tiny pieces, the men surge forward and pin her to the ground.

Clarke doesn’t resist but huffs angrily as one of the beads of glass cuts against her cheek.

Narrowed eyes stay locked on Octavia's helpless frame as the guards handcuff her and take her away.

Clarke sits stiffly on the edge of a medical bed, her wrists leatherbound to either side. The harsh, sterile glow of the overhead lights seeps into every corner of the concrete-walled space, making it impossible to tell how much time has passed. No windows. No clocks. Just an endless, artificial brightness.

Leah being still a ghost her only indicator that it still not her birthday, her only consolation that she wasn’t out of it for more than a few hours.

Her daemon lies a few feet away, her massive ghostly frame coiled low to the ground, head resting between her paws. Her ears remain pricked, green eyes locked intently on the doors at the far end of the medical bay. Watching. Waiting. Guarding.

At least they patched up her arm, Clarke thinks grimly, glancing at the neat bandages wrapped around her forearm.

Small mercies.

The door finally opens without a sound, and a voice follows, smooth and measured.

“Hello, Clarke. How is your arm?”

Clarke’s jaw tightens and she straightens in her uncomfortable seat at the edge of the bed. The tone is light and gentle, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she fixes a glare on the group entering, shifting uncomfortably within her restraints.

A woman strides forward first—tall, poised, with warm brown skin and long dark curls pulled back into a neat ponytail. The stark white of her lab coat only makes her presence feel more clinical, and detached. Beside her walks an older man, his finely tailored suit and easy smile at odds with the serious guards flanking him. His hands, folded in front of him, are speckled with dark splotches of colors.

Just behind them, lingering a step too far back, is Maya—the girl Clarke held hostage earlier. She looks pale, nervous, but otherwise unhurt.

They exchange vague pleasantries. Clarke remains silent for the most part, watching the interaction like an outsider looking in. Maya is allowed to speak first—an offer, a performance—her voice carefully controlled as she assures Clarke she isn’t pressing charges nor holds a grudge.

As if that was of any use for Clarke…

When Maya is ushered aside for some kind of treatment, the older man steps forward. He gestures for the guards to remove Clarke’s restraints, and she stiffens at the contact as the cuffs unbuckle from her wrists.

“I’m Dante Wallace,” he says, extending a hand toward her. “President of the United States of America.”

Clarke pointedly ignores his hand, rubbing at the raw skin on her wrists and studying the streaks of paint in his hand instead.

Dante’s smile doesn’t falter. “I’m an artist,” he continues conversationally. “I have heard you are too.”

The words hit her like a sharp gust of cold air.

Clarke rises slowly from the bed, wary. “How would you know that?”

“Your people told me,” Dante replies, easy and unbothered. “They also told me you’re their leader.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes scanning her like she’s a puzzle to be solved. “Looks like you and I have a lot in common, kiddo.”

Leah rumbles low in her throat. Her tail flicks once, phasing through the edge of the bed as her glowing green eyes narrow.

Clarke holds Dante’s gaze, her fingers curling into fists. “What happened to my things?” she demands. “My watch. My bracelet. My clothes.”

Dante offers a patient sigh, as if explaining something to a child. “I’m sorry, but we can’t allow contaminated items inside Mount Weather. We have strict protocols to ensure everyone’s safety.”

The confirmation sends a shiver of unease down Clarke’s spine. Mount Weather.

They were in Mount Weather.

Before she can fully process it, a machine hums to life in the corner of the room. Clarke’s gaze flicks to the side just as dark liquid—begins to snake through a thin tube, trailing down toward an odd contraption attached low on Maya’s collarbone.

Clarke looks at it curiously until the man steps into her line of sight.

Her head snaps up to Dante. “How many of us did you take?”

“Thirty-three,” he answers smoothly. “Including you. But, Clarke, you’re not prisoners. We saved you.”

The words are spoken with such conviction, such certainty, that for half a second, Clarke almost believes him.

Instead, she straightens, her voice cold. “Then you won’t mind if we leave.”

She takes a deliberate step toward the door. One of the guards moves instantly, blocking her path. Clarke’s nostrils flare as she shifts her gaze back to Dante, silent accusation burning in her expression. "More than double the amount of us is still outside I need to make sure they are fine"

“Our scouts brought in everyone they could find,” he continues, unfazed. “But the savages were faster. I’m afraid we won’t be able to retrieve the ones still out there. It’s dangerous for you to go outside like this”

Clarke barely contains an eye-roll ´savages?', shaking her head instead. At least they didn’t try to kidnap us outright and steal our things. If anything they only attacked because they though we were like you. She thinks, and that single thought keeps her mind on the game. Whatever this man promises, sounds too good to be true.

“I want to see my people,” she demands.

Dante’s smile returns, warm, practiced. “Of course.”

What follows is an elaborate display of hospitality—if one could call it that. Dresses and jewelry are brought in, luxurious clothes to replace the sterile white uniform she’s been given. Clarke doesn’t touch any of the extravagant gifts and chooses the most comfortable set of clothes she can find, keeping her guard up as she quietly snaps the thin heel off a pair of shoes and tucks it away.

Dante leads her through the halls, talking freely, as if she’s an honored guest rather than a reluctant captive. He gestures as they pass through a rather noisy hall aligned with different rooms, points to the pipes they walk under explaining their measures, where their water reservoirs and their food sources come from, their filtration systems. Every detail flows easily from his lips, each piece of information offered like an invitation to admiration.

Clarke listens, but doesn’t let herself be distracted.

Leah follows beside her, weaving effortlessly through the people and corridors, phasing through anything that gets in her way. Some halls are narrow, too cramped for her bulk, but most are spacious enough for her massive form to move through with ease. Still, Clarke can feel the restless energy rolling off her daemon, the unease thrumming beneath her skin like an itch she can’t scratch.

Clarke voices the question that’s been eating at her since she stepped out of the medical bay.

"I cannot help but notice..." She begins and turns to Dante, keeping her tone even. “Where are all your daemons?”

The question hang in the air like an accusation, sharp and deliberate.

Dante’s reaction is almost imperceptible—a flicker of something behind his eyes, a hesitation so brief that if Clarke weren’t watching him closely, she might have missed it.

Then, his easy smile returns, smooth as ever. “We adapted to our life as it is,” he says simply, hands clasped behind his back as he continues walking.

Clarke doesn’t move. Leah stills beside her, tail flicking, eyes locked on the man as if she can sense the lie beneath his calm exterior. Adapted?

Dante notices she isn’t following and pauses, turning back to face her. “I imagine it must be… unsettling for you,” he continues, voice still measured, as if speaking to a child trying to grasp a complicated concept. “You’ve never known life without your daemon by your side, have you?”

Clarke’s stomach churns, but she keeps her expression neutral. Without your daemon. The phrasing alone makes her skin crawl. Leah, standing beside her, rumbles low in her throat.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Clarke says, her voice steady.

Dante regards her carefully. “Life in the ground was harsh, Clarke,” he says finally. “We had to take some measures against the radiation outside. You see it's not survivable for us."

Measures? What the hell does that mean? 

"The grounders seem to have managed" She replies with a hint of curiosity

"Natural selection ran its course, those who could survive in the radiation passed on their DNA. For better or for worse within Mount Weather's walls we never went through that process"

Clarke frowns and voices the question that’s been gnawing at her since she stepped out of the medical bay with Maya.

“Well you people may be affected by radiation but I am not,” she says, keeping her tone even. She turns to Dante, her gaze sharp. “Where is Caelus?”

The presented tilts his head in silent question. "Caelus?"

"A black panther daemon as tall as you? Hard to miss really when your giant daemon is nowhere to be felt or seen," Clarke lies with a tight lipped smile and narrowed eyes gauging for his reaction.

The hesitation is brief, a flicker of something behind his practiced expression. If Clarke weren’t watching him closely, she might have missed it.

"Ah, your daemon?"

"Yes, my daemon" She enunciates more firmly, "Where is he?”

Dante exhales as if burdened, clasping his hands behind his back. “He was injured in the struggle. Lives were lost, Clarke. You must understand, such… wild responses cannot—”

“Wild responses?!” Clarke’s voice sharpens, fists clenching. The guards behind the man clutch their rifles tighter and step forward “Lives were lost because your soldiers have a terrible habit of shooting first and kidnapping later. Don't even try to pin that on me."

Dante sighs. “Now, now. I understand you are upset but we had no choice but to isolate him in quarantine he was...uncooperative.”

Leah lets out a low, warning growl, a vibration that rumbles deep in Clarke’s chest.

Quarantine?

Clarke clenches her jaw, shoving her hands into her pockets to stop them from doing something reckless. She grips the broken heel she swiped earlier, a subtle anchor to her thoughts. "Of course, he would be uncooperative, you don't just split people from their daemons! He's a panther what the hell did you all think would happen?”

Dante lifts his hand and resumes walking, his expression still pleasant, but there’s an unmistakable steel behind his words. “I understand you care for your soul companion. But you must understand, Clarke, that here at Mount Weather, we have protocols for all of our safety. We cannot compromise them carelessly.”

“If he’s in quarantine,” Clarke says slowly, “then I want to see him.”

Dante’s smile remains, practiced and patient. “And you will, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible just yet. His condition is being carefully monitored, but rest assured, we’re doing everything we can to keep him comfortable.”

There’s something off about the way he says it—too measured, too prepared. Like he’s gauging her reaction rather than actually answering her questions.

Clarke doesn’t trust a word of it.

But before she can push further on the matter, they round a corner, stepping through a set of big doors.

Clarke falters and lets her jaw drop in surprise.

Before her, gathered in the vast, well-lit space, are her people. The remaining delinquents.

Dressed in clean, formal clothes, they sit at long tables, plates of warm food in front of them while a young unknown and pale girl talks to them and about the facilities. Some laugh, others speak in hushed voices, their postures lighter than she’s ever seen. A few glance up as she enters, their faces flickering with relief and confusion.

Clarke forces a smile and waves as she scans the room quickly, counting.

She spots Octavia near the far side, talking to Monroe. Sterling and Fox linger nearby, the latter keeping close to the back wall, arms crossed, watching the guards stationed around them.

Clarke keeps scanning.

But the weight in her stomach only grows heavier.

No Finn and no Bellamy even though he is the one person she dreads seeing after the whole ordeal at the dropship, yet she expected him to be here.

A sharp buzz crackles through the speakers lining the walls. And a few yellow lights blink intermittently.

Dante frowns slightly, then gestures toward one of the guards. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. But please, make yourself comfortable.”

He turns back to her, his easy demeanor shifting into something firmer. “Before I go,” he says smoothly, “the heel, Clarke.” He extends his hand patiently. “You don’t need it here.”

Clarke sighs under her breath, cursing herself for not being subtle enough. She pulls out the broken heel from her sleeve and begrudgingly places it in his palm.

Dante’s smile returns, smooth as ever.

“You are not fighting for survival anymore, Clarke,” he says. “You are free. You made it. Welcome to Mount Weather.”

She watches him leave, with barely contained suspicion.

Leah shifts beside her, muscles coiled, ears flicking toward the sound of Dante’s fading footsteps.

Follow him. Clarke whispers, sharp and urgent. I don’t like this place. Be careful where you go, don’t step through doors you haven’t checked if you can phase through. Try to find Finn, Bellamy, Caelus—anyone.

Leah doesn’t hesitate. She turns sharply and sprints away.

Familiar faces surround Clarke on the well-lit dinning hall, bombarding her with questions. She forces herself to stay calm, offering brief answers, and skimming over details. She tells them what little she can—that the others are safe. Or at least, she hopes they are. With no information on Caelus's status she can only hope the grounders- Lexa doesn't think they did something to Caelus on purpose.

She won’t outright lie, but she’s not about to reveal what she knows about the grounders. Not while they’re being watched.

They think the grounders are savages. She’ll keep it that way. For now.

Octavia steps forward, flashing a wide grin. “Hey, Clarke! I thought they’d lock you up forever after what you pulled at the dining hall earlier. Gotta say that's the most fun I have had since I got here, you looked about to wreck the place!” She smirks, leaning in. “Good to know I can mess around and be free within the hour.”

Clarke turns sharply, not in the mood. “What the hell is going on here, Octavia? How did you end up here?”

Octavia raises her hands in mock surrender. “Whoa—hello, Octavia! How are you doing? Thank you for stopping me before doing something stupid?”

Clarke exhales, unclenching her fists. “Sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Octavia rolls her eyes, but her tone softens. “To answer your question I got lost, kind of. One of those grounders… saved me? But not long after, we were captured. Then I woke up in a white room. Made a mess, they asked me some questions—about us, about the Ark, how we got here.” She shrugs, gesturing at the warm food spread across the tables. Then she takes a seat, stabbing into something soft and golden on her plate. “Look, I’m not about to turn down the best meal I’ve ever had in my life. It’s to die for. You should try it too.”

Clarke stares at the food, her stomach twisting. The rich, savory aroma makes her mouth water, but—

“I’m not eating their food,” she says, shaking her head.

Octavia shrugs, unbothered. “Your loss.” She shovels a bite of dessert into her mouth, moaning.

Clarke watches warily and lowers her voice. “Did they tell you anything else?”

Octavia exhales. “Just that this place is safe. That we don’t have to survive anymore. No more starving.” She gestures vaguely at the lavish setup—pristine tables, soft lighting overhead. “Don't get me wrong It’s nice as hell, Clarke. But…” Her voice drops, her expression shifting. “I’m glad you guys came along. I like the food, but the people? They’re all… weird. Smile too much. Don’t understand sarcasm. Stick up their ass. And a little...touchy. I thought I was gonna die here alone with a bunch of strangers.”

Clarke’s head snaps up. “Alone? What about Bellamy?”

Octavia’s hopeful eyes meet hers. “Wait—Bellamy was with you?”

Clarke frowns. “You haven’t seen him?”

Octavia shakes her head and turns, scanning the hall, as if expecting her brother to suddenly appear down the hall.

Clarke shakes her head, angry now. “O. He was with them when Finn and I got captured. He looked like a maniac.”

Octavia blanches. “What?! But—then he should be here, right?”

Clarke grits her teeth. “I don’t know, something is wrong. Have you seen Finn by the way?”

Octavia shakes her head again, then glances toward Monroe and the others at the next table. “Monroe, right? Have any of you seen Finn?”

Clarke follows her gaze. The group pauses their meal, turning to face her. They shake their heads.

“We haven’t seen Murph either,” Monroe adds, turning fully to face them and frowns. “They said he was hurt and had to stay in the medical bay. But they didn’t let us see him. Some kind of protocol or something.”

“They seem to like their protocols around here,” Octavia mutters. “Can’t even stay with their daemons for some dumb reason.”

Clarke spins around so fast Octavia flinches. “What did you just say?”

Octavia blinks. “What? Oh—yeah. You probably noticed already, but none of them have their daemons with them in here, can't see them for weeks apparently. Some kind of security protocol for their treatments.” She crosses her arms. "They have them somewhere else."

“No—no, that’s floating shit!” Monroe snaps, voice rising. “My 18th birthday is next month. I’m not separating from my daemon after everything we’ve been through.”

Connor and Sterling murmur in agreement.

Clarke raises her hands. “Calm down. No one is taking our daemons if I can help it,” She keeps her voice level as one of the guards glances their way. Then, turning back to Octavia—“What exactly is this protocol? Why is it in place?”

Octavia shrugs. “I dunno. They keep smiling all creepy and saying, ‘You are still young dear! You don’t have to worry about it for years!'” She says mimicking their eerily polite tone with an exaggerated smile. "Whatever the hell that means." She rolls her eyes exasperated.

Clarke frowns. How does any of this make sense? A security measure that forces people to be apart from their daemons? A protocol that just so happens to separate every single one of them who’s past eighteen?

And then there’s Bellamy.

If he was with them, then why isn’t he here? If nothing was wrong, he’d be trying to convince them of how great this place was, or at the very least watching over Octavia. But he isn’t. She didn't even know he was with them.

Clarke exhales sharply, glancing around the room. Her gut tells her something is deeply wrong. She sits at the table, reaching for a plate of fruit, feigning interest as Octavia follows suit. Her stomach twists at the sight of the food, but she doesn’t take a bite.

“Did any of you see Bellamy before you got here?” she asks, her tone casual, though her grip on the fork tightens.

Sterling shifts uncomfortably. “Last I saw him, he was fighting with Murphy. He was… acting weird.”

Octavia straightens. “Weird how?”

Sterling hesitates. “Just...weird. They got into a fight, like always. But Murphy’s daemon jumped on him out of nowhere, and then—” He gestures vaguely. “The smoke dropped.”

Clarke’s brows pull together. “Smoke?”

“It was some kind of sleeping gas,” Connor adds between bites of food. “Felt drowsy as hell. Passed out. Seems like everyone else did too.”

The others nod, confirming the same.

Clarke inhales slowly, looking around at the warm lights, the pristine floors, the untouched luxury.

A tense silence settles between them, the weight of it pressing into the space. Then Monroe shifts, her voice hesitant. “Clarke… maybe we’re overthinking this?” She gestures at the food, the comfort the colorful walls. “This is… kind of amazing.”

Connor nods, stuffing another bite into his mouth. “Yeah, what if they actually do just want to help us?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Just because they say so. It doesn't mean they don’t want something from us somehow.” She flips open the binder she was given earlier, pointing to the map inside. “Look at this.”

The others lean in.

“They gave us a layout—but no exits.”

Monroe frowns. “Well, yeah, but they said if the doors open, they kind of die. Makes sense they wouldn’t want anyone messing with it, even by accident.”

Clarke’s eyes narrow. Then something nags at the back of her mind, like an unfinished puzzle.

Shelter. Air. Food. Water. The only thing they didn't have was being able to go outside. And if they can't go outside...why wouldn't they let the ones that can go outside go? Why would they want us to stay?

“Clarke!”

The voice cuts through the dining hall and her thoughts. Sharp and unmistakable.

Her head snaps up. Across the room, standing awkwardly near a couple of guards is the doctor that treated her arm earlier.

And beside her—

Dark brown eyes meet hers.

Her breath catches and she stands up in a rush.

“Finn!”

She barely registers pushing up from the table before she’s moving. The moment they meet, she throws her arms around him, gripping tight. Relief floods her system, so intense she nearly feels dizzy from it.

“Oh my god,” she breathes into his shoulder. “I thought they had done something to you—”

“Me too,” Finn exhales, his grip firm. 

She pulls back quickly, noticing the tension in his stance. Something feels off.

She releases Finn fully and takes a controlled step back, scanning his face carefully. His easy smile is in place, but his eyes are sharp, and cautious. A performance.

The others are too caught up in their relief, voices overlapping with greetings, laughter, and hurried questions, that Finn answers just as vaguely as she did but Clarke doesn’t miss the way Finn’s fingers subtly tap against his thigh—a nervous tic.

She forces herself to do the same. She smiles, as if reassured, letting out a small chuckles along with her friends.

Clarke looks around with cautious eyes. Appreciates the large space, copious amount of food and the colorful paintings almost spilling from the walls.

Bright, sprawling landscapes. Fields of wildflowers. The ocean. Cities that no longer exist.

She glances at Finn again, catching the way his gaze drifts to the ceiling for the briefest moment.

Cameras...Right. She should have noticed.

Play along. Noted.

Her gaze flickers past him, the doctor from earlier, still lingering near the guards. They watch the reunion with polite detachment, but they’re watching. Clarke meets her eyes briefly, searching for anything beneath the surface, and the doctor smiles, too wide, too tight.

Clarke gives a tight lipped smile in return whilst she casually brushes a hand over the map, fingers trailing its surface in idle thought—except she’s not idle at all.

No exits. No labeled doors.

Just because the food is better, and the cage is so large you can’t see the bars—

Doesn’t mean it isn’t still a cage.

A cage designed to make you forget it’s a cage.

Finn shifts closer under the guise of hugging her in relief once again. “They’re watching me closely,” he murmurs low enough that only she can hear. “I don’t know why yet."

Clarke nods minutely. “Bellamy’s missing.”

Finn stiffens just enough for her to notice, his jaw tightening before he forces a confused tilt of his head. “What do you mean? He wasn’t with you?” His voice carries, the perfect amount of curiosity.

Clarke plays along, shaking her head as if just realizing it. “No. And neither is Murphy.”

“You know how they are, always fighting each other." Finn laughs confidently and practiced. "Maybe they just haven’t been decontaminated yet. I'm sure they will bring them with us soon”

Clarke hums noncommittally, barely able to keep up the act without grimacing.

She wonders how Finn makes it look so easy.

Her mind turns unbidden to Lexa's words soon after she called Clarke out on her lie. I have learned some...tendencies can be discerned from the shape one’s spirit takes. That is all. Maybe having the confidence to act in a way you don't feel is part of it. Such thoughts lead her to think about Finn's daemon, not perched on his shoulder for once.

She reaches for a cup of water just to keep her hands busy. “Where is Rico?”

Finn’s smile never falters. “They said he needed extra time. Daemons take longer to decontaminate.”

His eyes tell a different story.

Clarke takes a slow, measured sip from the cup. "They said something like that for Caelus too..."

Across the room, Octavia watches their exchange with a confused frown, her fingers twitching where they rest on the table. Clarke recognizes that type of look. She’s catching on so Clarke nods to her with a brief pointed glance to the cameras overhead and watches as Octavia realizes what is happening exactly when her jaw tightens.

Clarke glances back to Finn and puts the cup down smiling warmly, reaching out to squeeze Finn’s arm in a way that looks nothing but friendly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Finn does the same, laughing softly. “Same here.”

They hold the act for the rest of dinner, carefully measuring their words, and playing it for the unseen audience.

But Clarke doesn’t relax. Pretending that she is absentmindedly doodling on the binder as the others lead the conversation about the place. But she is sketching the places where she remembers doors were placed from her earlier rendevouz from the decontamination bay, doors that are not pointed on the map. Then, finally, she lets herself breathe and relax, just for a second—before she starts planning for ways to get out.

Eyes falling on her stitches then snapping back to the doctor lingering at the entrance hall in easy conversation with one of the guards. Her coat's pocket flashing briefly with one of those keycards similar to Maya's.

She had said she didn't have clearance, surely the doctor was cleared right?

When Leah returns soon before they leave the dining hall, Clarke surreptitiously shows her the layout, Leah makes a few additions pointing with a single claw the spots she found and a few minutes later Clarke sends her off again to look for those doors on each level, if possible find out what happened to Murphy. Rico and Caelus.

Leah looks at her with her determined green eyes, nods restlessly, and sprints off again.

The delinquents are led to a different level afterward to shower and get ready for bed. A long hall filled with bunk beds for each one of them. Restless conversation with several divided opinions on their current situation ensues, goodnights are exchanged and the lights are turned off.

As she lay on her bed and soft snores reach her ears, she gazes up at the ceiling and reaches out through the bond, feeling Leah’s presence, steady but distant. A comforting weight, a reminder that she’s still there and fine. And will soon be more than just a ghost through the halls.

And that's what she is mainly counting on.

Because if she can't get ahold of that keycard tomorrow, she will have to rely on the surprise factor and hope for the best.

Chapter Text

The ‘morning’ hums with quiet efficiency . The air inside Mount Weather is regulated, never too warm or cold, never thick with humidity or the lingering scent of bodies like in the dropship. It’s clean. Stale. Artificial. Akin to the air back in the Ark.

After feeling the soft breeze of fresh air filled with the rich aroma of trees and moss from the outside, Clarke breathes in, upset it’s being taken away from her so soon.

She wakes up to a package labeled ‘Clarke’ at the bottom of her bed. When she opens it find the note states ‘For when you feel inspired-DW’. The contents of the box makes her gasp and her throat clogs up at the sight of art supplies from charcoals to pastels and oil paints. Several beautifully crafted pencils, pens and brushes lined up along the edges.

It brings back old memories.

A tear falls unbidden from her left eye. One of her deepest wishes for years rested between her fingers.

Her father initially encouraged her artistic wiles as a kid and as years passed he soon urged her training her to be more purposeful. But she was always somehow reverting back to the artist wishing to express what she couldn’t with words. Her dreams, her fears, her illusions. Her wishful childish desires.

She remembers her mother more warmly and her father more carefree, less pushy and more forgiving in their teachings back before that fateful day she had decided to draw Leah for the first time.

Her mother had wanted her to learn medicine so she did, it came easy. They called her a genius. She consumed the knowledge and kept going as it was the only thing that brought a smile to her mother's otherwise solemn face though as years passed, she pushed harder everyday, it was never enough. For the longest time it was her only reason to learn until she finally broke down at sixteen. When her mother insisted she had to become better than her, better than anyone. She had to become irreplaceable.

If only Clarke had known…she was doing it for her. Why would the Ark get rid of their only and most viable prospect for a surgeon?

After that Clarke estranged herself from her mother, only allowing Caduceus, her mother’s daemon to coil along her shoulders, his scales gliding and winding along her torso and arms, in a soft embrace letting her know the love her mother had for her. Eventually Clarke reached out to her father to teach her something else. Something in which her mind could wander whilst her body did all the work.

When she rejected the medical and engineering route and found the guard route more appealing. Time to draw and doodle became something of the past as training got more strenuous.

That is until the day her dad was floated into space.

Then art was her only comfort through her following years in isolation. Walls filled with dark charcoal snippets of her life, her father’s face and his daemon owl Astus so she wouldn’t forget their faces, surrounded by lush greyscale forests among the stars.

Leah comes up to her side and sits beside her pulling her out of her troubled thoughts, her size too big for her to fit without phasing through in between one of the other beds. She releases a soft huff and Clarke meets her beautiful green eyes. Her daemon closes her eyes and leans forward as if resting her big forehead against Clarke’s in comfort. 

Clarke hasn’t eaten a bite since she arrived. Her stomach aches in protest, but she ignores it. She doesn’t trust the food she is given for breakfast.

They are woken up and invited to share breakfast with the rest of the mountain people as guests next to the president. They give thanks and give a warm welcome to all the delinquents before they sit down to their meals. Dante Wallace’s satisfied warm smile reaching directed to her as she clutches a drawing pad and a pencil to her chest.

She sits at one of the long dining tables, surrounded by her people. Across from her, Monroe laughs at something Sterling mutters under his breath, nudging him with her elbow as she shovels another spoonful of food into her mouth. Others are just as relaxed, indulging in what they’ve been given as well as welcome gifts that morning, from sets of cards, board games, footballs and other amenities slowly allowing themselves to be lulled into a sense of comfort.

It's nice…too nice.

"When is the last time you had  a decent meal?" Finn asks concerned, as he lifts a piece of bread he had dipped into a sauce then moans to the taste. “Holy shit this is amazing!” he says looking to the rest of them in awe and shoveling more spoonsful into his mouth.

They all gush about the food yet Clarke refuses their advances. She glances to the side and finds Dante’s eyes looking at her with a frown at her untouched food.

“I won’t eat until I see my daemon.”  She proclaims loud and steady, looking into Dante’s eyes. Silencing everyone at their table and the tables on the other side, the mountain citizens whispering to each other and glancing warily her way. The delinquents frown confused.

“Your daemon? But weren’t you-“

“My birthday was yesterday.” She lies. “You didn’t get to see him because you were at the dropship, you will understand how upsetting it is to finally being able to feel them fully, hear their voice after eighteen years, only to be separated within hours. I want to see him.”

Dante wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans back slightly, studying her. He gives a signal to one of the guards who soon walks out of the room.

Then, he smiles. Warm and confident.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” he says lightly. “Perhaps it’s time you our guests visited the daemon sanctuary.”

The room located on the lower levels of the mountain is larger than Clarke expected—yet too small for the number of people living in Mount Weather. The ceiling is high, lined with harsh white panels that mimic sunlight. The walls are sleek metal, lined with vents that hum softly as they regulate the temperature.

It’s clinical and manufactured but arranged in way that tried to replicate nature-

The ground beneath them is not soil but textured flooring designed to look like it, a thin layer of artificial grass placed over metal plating. Trees—small and precisely spaced—line the enclosure, but their roots don’t extend into the earth. They sit in contained planters, perfectly symmetrical, their growth controlled.

And then there are the daemons.

They roam, around freely. Clarke takes them in with a critical eye. At first glance, it seems almost perfect but taking a deeper look she finds the sight familiar for some reason. And she finds the reason after a second scan with her eyes.

None of the daemons are large.

They’re all small daemons, birds, foxes, rabbits, a few domestic cats. A handful of dogs and wolves, hares weave between the carefully arranged structures, but not one daemon is larger than that.

Nothing that would take up too much space.

Dante stands beside them, watching their reactions with careful interest. “Welcome to our daemon sanctuary,” he says warmly, his voice carrying through the sterile air. “Here, every daemon is cared for, protected. They are given the best possible environment to thrive.”

Finn exhales in visible relief as he spots Rico. The small racoon daemon sits perched on a synthetic branch, ears flicking up at the sound of his name. Finn takes a step closer, pressing his hands against the glass panel separating them. “Rico, hey buddy” he murmurs. And Rico rushes to the side of the glass lacing a tiny paw against it. “I can’t hear you, can barely feel you” He whispers impatiently against the glass.

Clarke turns to him sharply. "Why is it like this?"

Dante lifts a brow. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“You say our daemons will be safe here, but why keep them apart from their kin in the first place? Why not let them live with us?”

A flicker of melancholy passes through his eyes, as his land on a lonely royal eagle perched silently on one of the artificial trees of the sanctuary but he doesn’t hesitate.

“Because we had to think long-term, Clarke.” He gestures toward the preserve. “Unfortunately Mount Weather was not designed to withstand or sustain itself for long. That means if there was ever a breach two beings would have to be taken care of instead of one. That means double the exposure and double the risk, double the resources. We built this sanctuary where they are cared for without the risks that come with being exposed to radiation, the elements, or conflict. This is the best way to ensure both them and their bond are stable if emergency treatment protocols are necessary.”

Clarke shakes her head and clenches her jaw. “What about soul-sickness?”

That makes Dante pause. It’s brief, but Clarke catches it—the way his fingers twitch slightly at his side before he schools his expression.

“You surely know what happens when daemons and their humans are apart for too long,” she presses.

There’s a shift among the delinquents. Some of them had never really thought about it before. Others suddenly look uneasy.

“Rest assured, Clarke. We have spent generations refining our way of life,” Dante says smoothly. “Soul-sickness is something we have learned to manage. Our people are monitored carefully, and we have developed ways to counteract the more severe effects of prolonged separation successfully. To the point we only need to see them for a few hours every month.”

The way he says it—so matter-of-factly—sends a chill down Clarke’s spine.

Counteract?

Finn turns from his longing stare into his daemon’s eyes and frowns beside her. “So you don’t get soul-sick?”

Dante’s smile doesn’t falter. “Not at all, so long as we keep good track of it and follow the protocol for treatments…Fortunately for you Mr Collins that won’t be necessary for you just yet.”

Dante gives a signal to Dr. Singh who nods and enters the enclosure with full body gear and gently picks up Rico to bring him to another attached room. Clarke notes the manner in which most of the daemons shy away from her as she walks in.

Yet?

Clarke’s heart pounds.

A door with several decontamination holds opens to let Rico out and Finn rushes to him, everyone else gathers around the pair or moves around the giant enclosure to greet him

Clarke doesn’t join in and turns sharply towards the president. “I don’t see my daemon here. So where is he? ”

Dr. Singh turns to Clarke with a wide smile and answers instead. “Ah Clarke, I was just letting our president know earlier that your daemon is still in quarantine. He can't join you like your friend's racoon daemon did."

Dante smiles and places his hands up in a placating manner as Clarke moves to protest. “But since you said your birthday was yesterday. I am sure we can make a time exception.  Why don’t the rest of your friends go back to your living quarters while Dr. Singh guides you through our protocols and lets you see your daemon up in quarantine as a belated birthday gift?”

Clarke and Finn share a look with each other. “Sure.” She says after a second. “Lead the way.”

The tour is quick and methodical, Dr. Singh’s explanations are clipped and precise. She moves with a practiced efficiency, detailing which floors are restricted and why. For safety, she insists. The lower levels remain accessible to all, the safest in case of emergencies. The upper levels, however, are different.

“Everyone must follow mandatory decontamination between floors and wear proper gear at all times.”

Clarke listens carefully, her gaze scanning the pristine, almost sterile corridors. The walls are smooth metal, the lighting a cold fluorescent white that hums faintly. The air is filtered, clean to an unnatural degree, carrying none of the familiar scents of earth, pine, and dry leaves that she had fallen in love with from outside.

Then she asks about the first floor.

Dr. Singh’s stride doesn’t falter, but her response is dismissive “Contamination levels are too high. No one stays on that level unless to pass through the lower levels It's restricted for everyone's safety.”

Clarke narrows her eyes, her steps slowing. Leah, sensing the shift, tenses beside her. Without a word, her daemon vanishes into a swirl of movement, sent ahead to investigate. But moments later, Leah reappears at Clarke’s side, ears flattened, emerald eyes sharp. Whatever lies past those doors, she couldn’t get through.

Clarke presses her lips together. Noted.

She waits, stomach tight with anticipation, as the elevator hums softly beneath her feet, the metallic whirr of its movement smooth despite the wear. When the doors slide open at the second level, Clarke wastes no time and steps forward past the several suits lined on the wall. She turns to Dr. Singh who is taking a suit and changing into it.

Dr. Singh watches her, unimpressed as she gears up “You can go in like that and remain in a quarantine room for thirty minutes after your visit" She inclines her head to the suits with a smirk "or gear up and decontaminate in five. Your choice”

Clarke huffs and pulls a suit from the rack. “I’ll take the five.”

Dr. Singh doesn’t argue, only gestures for Clarke to follow.

The hallways narrow as they proceed, the walls closing in, sterile white and featureless. The air is thick with the sharp tang of antiseptics and something else—something deeper, metallic, and old.

Finally, Dr. Singh halts before a thick, reinforced door. A low hum vibrates through it, some unseen mechanism at work.

She turns to Clarke, voice steady but firm. “He was sedated before arrival. He may be confused. Or aggressive.”

Clarke clenches her fists. Leah remains behind her, ears pricked forward, body coiled like a spring.

Dr. Singh enters a code, and with a low hiss, the door unlocks.

Inside, the room is blindingly white. Cold. Stifling.

In the center, Caelus lies motionless.

His massive black form curls in on itself, swallowed by the sterile light, like a shadow struggling to exist in a place meant to erase it. A dark void in an artificial world. His harness and saddle are gone. A metal collar encircles his thick neck, restraints pinning his powerful limbs in place. In the corner, a bowl of water and untouched meat sit, forgotten.

Clarke’s heart clenches.

“Oh, Caelus…”

The whisper barely leaves her lips before his eyes snap open.

Deep, wild blue, unfocused at first—then sharp. A low growl rumbles, deep enough to shake her ribs. Then he lunges.

Clarke barely has time to react before she’s on the ground, heart pounding. She braces for impact, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for claws to tear into her.

But nothing comes.

Only the clatter of chains. The snarl of an animal denied its instinct.

When she forces herself to look, Caelus is still straining against his restraints, hackles raised, tail lashing wildly. His muscles ripple, coiled with fury, yet he cannot reach her.

Dr. Singh steps forward, offering a hand to help Clarke up. “I told you he would react this way—”

“Give us a few minutes.”

Dr. Singh frowns. “That’s not advi—”

“You said he was uncooperative,” Clarke interrupts, dusting herself off. “We’ve been separated since yesterday. He will keep being uncooperative if he doesn’t know what’s happening.”

Before Dr. Singh can reply, a sharp alarm buzzes through the air.

She stiffens, glancing toward the hall.

“What’s happening?” Clarke asks.

Dr. Singh exhales sharply. “Our scouts have returned. Some require medical attention.” She turns back, considering Clarke for a moment before nodding. “I will lock the door behind me. A guard will remain outside. When you’re ready, let them know.”

Then she’s gone.

The door seals shut, and Clarke exhales.

Caelus is still snarling, tail flicking erratically. His eyes track her, wild and fierce.

“Hey,” Clarke says through her mask, voice steady. “I’m here to help.”

The tail falters—just for a second—but then resumes its lashing. A warning growl rumbles deep in his chest.

Clarke takes a slow step forward then takes another step and Caelus lunges again, though this time she stands her ground. A sharp claw brushing close to her knee.

A warning hiss breaks out between his sharp teeth.

Clearly Caelus doesn’t recognize her all geared up. So dreading the time she will have to spend in that god-forsaken room she exhales, then, with slow deliberation, removes the mask, the hood, the gloves.

The sterile air bites at her skin, cold and unnatural. Caelus’s deep blue eyes lock onto her, pupils narrowing. His ears twitch. He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring.

Recognition flickers.

Clarke stays still.

Waiting.

For something. Anything.

The growl softens into a chuff. His muscles remain tense, but the sharp hostility begins to fade, replaced by something wary.

Slowly, Clarke crouches, keeping her movements deliberate. She extends a hand, palm facing up, voice low, steady. “It’s me, Clarke.”

The panther daemon lets out another low growl, the sharp ridges of his back rising slightly before they ease—just a fraction. His nostrils flare, breathing her in.

A tense silence stretches between them.

Clarke barely breathes. She knows she’s testing fate here, knows how dangerous an enraged daemon can be—especially one that doesn’t trust his surroundings.

But then—the growling fades into a chuff.

His ears flick forward, eyes narrowing slightly as his massive frame remains poised, but no longer trembling with immediate hostility.

Clarke exhales, relief breaking through her chest.

“There you are,” she murmurs. “You do remember me, right?”

Caelus doesn’t move, but his tail, once a whip of anger, now flicks slower, more controlled.

Clarke takes that as permission and carefully, reaches forward, her fingers brushing over the thick, coarse fur of his neck—right above the metal collar fastened there.

He flinches at the touch. A soft, warning snarl rumbles through him, but he doesn’t bite back again.

A small piece of his left ear is missing.

Her jaw tightens. The restraints clink softly as Caelus shifts, but she can see it now—the exhaustion beneath the anger. The deep-seated unease that lingers in his gaze.

Clarke’s hands curl into fists.

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

The panther daemon blinks at her, something softening in his stance, if only slightly.

Then, the sound of footsteps approaches from the corridor, and Clarke tenses when she looks back. The guard assigned to wait for her signal looks over the window on the other side of the door.

“Chon yu mana dula daun, skai gada?” Caelus huffs and shakes his head. Eyes menacingly staring at the small window on the door. 

Given their situation, Clarke throws caution to the wind and speaks, “Can you repeat that in english? I’m afraid I have no idea what you just said”

Caelus stills. Slowly, his gaze returns to her, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. “How do you intend to do that, sky girl? You look like a prisoner to me.”

Clarke pauses and gives him a tight-lipped smile.

"At least I have more liberties than you." 

"You let them subjugate you, I will not go down without a fight if I can help it."

"Between you and me you who is in chains?"

"Mine are physical, brittle. Yours lie within your mind, sky girl,"

"This is getting nowhere. And I have a name," Clarke mutters under her breath and narrows her eyes at him. "Look, I don't trust you completely but I trust you more than these people. If anyone asks; you are my daemon, so act like so ok? My real daemon is looking for a way out as we speak" She whispers close to him.

A pause. Then—

To her absolute shock, Caelus laughs.

Low. Amused. A deep, rumbling chuff.

“You are endlessly fascinating, Clarke of the sky people,” he mutters, tail flicking lazily. “So you can hear me…You have been able to do that this whole time?”

Clarke grimaces slightly, offering a hesitant smile. “Not exactly. I can only hear you when I’m in contact with you. Don’t ask me how that is possible—I don’t know.”

His head turns back toward the door, sharp blue eyes watching the guard shift on the other side as he exhales through his nose.

"Not too useful at the moment but glad to know at least someone has some liberties to find something to escape this place. I was trying to pull at those little indents on the walls."

Clarke frowns "Indents on the walls?"

"The air is different coming from there. Thought I could find a way out. But they somehow knew I was trying to escape. The air smelled funny and next thing I remember my chains are shorter than the last time."

Clarke's eyes follows the several little vents lined along the edges of the walls and then land on a couple of them of them, larger, still small but accessible. Lining the walls, leading somewhere. There are scratch marks, in there marking where Caelus had tried to pry them off. And right to the side, the camera looking into the room.

"They have a camera set up on that corner, that's how they knew."

"Kameras?"

"Technology, like a permanent sentry. One or more people can see what you see...So that why you are chained up so close to the ground..."

"My chains were adjusted three other times, each one shorter than the last, before you got here"

"Yeah, well those are tiny either way don't think you could fit in there, you are massive..."

“Well, I have my methods...but if anyone can find a way out and crawl through these walls, it’s you and that snatcha spirit of yours"

Snatcha...Rico

Her breath catches as an idea sparks in her head. 

The vents. The walls.

She had only asked Leah to scout. But her size kept her from going most places but that doesn’t mean a smaller daemon can’t find another way around, maybe even open the doors...A plan begins forming in her head then looks back at Caelus, heart hammering.

“Caelus, you’re brilliant.”

He huffs, tail flicking with amusement. “I’ll take that over ‘adorable,’ thank you.”

“You’re adorable too,” Clarke smirks, standing up and rolling out the stiffness in her legs. “When you’re not trying to murder people.”

Caelus lets out a deep, indignant growl.

Clarke chuckles, reaching out and pressing her hand lightly between his ears. His fur is thick and warm beneath her palm.

"Just do yourself a favor and stop trying to murder them,” she murmurs. “They’ll keep you locked up longer if you fight back. And this place is too hard to reach. I will do my best to find us a way out but I need you close. I will be back soon."

For a moment, Caelus says nothing. Then huffs.

Clarke takes it as an affirmation. She looks back to the door and not having much time to linger she turns and knocks on it to be let out. She looks back to the dejected panther daemon with a determined look to reassure him she will be back.

Her mind races with ideas as she is let out of Caelus's quarantine room and escorted back to the elevator. On her way, her gaze lands on a man being dragged into the quarantine bay, face distorted with horrifying burns and ragged breath while Dr. Singh hurries to hook a pair of tubes to the protruding disc over the man’s chest along with a few others. They all had the same metallic disc burned into their skin. Hooked into a machine that pumped an oddly colored liquid.

Clarke slows down her pace as her eyes follow the path the liquid takes just before it disappears behind the wall. Finds it odd that any kind of treatment they have has to go through a different room.

When Clarke passes by the citizens in Mount Weather on her way back to the delinquent’s shared quarters she can’t help but note their pale skin, the bags under their tired eyes, the greyed out edges on their eyes, and their tired gait as they walk. They all look borderline soul-sick.

A nagging thought itches in the back of her mind.

We have developed ways to counteract the more severe effects of prolonged separation.

Dante's words ring on repeat like an alarm, as if she is overlooking something obvious but she can't quite tell what it is. 

Just what the hell have they done to themselves?

Finn is waiting for her when she arrives, pushing off the wall near her bed as soon as she steps inside. The moment their eyes meet, he knows.

Something’s wrong.

She doesn’t speak. Not here. Not yet.

She just gives a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head, and Finn’s jaw tightens.

Around them, the others start filtering in, chatting idly, some still buzzing about seeing Rico, about the sanctuary, about how everything suddenly seems so much better now.

Clarke clenches her fists. They don’t know. They don’t see it yet.

Finn sits on the edge of her bed, keeping his voice low. “Caelus?”

“He’s fine” Clarke exhales, pushing a hand through her hair. “for now at least.”

Finn’s expression darkens with worry, but before he can say anything, the others start gathering around.

Monroe crosses her arms, eyes flicking between them. “Well?”

“What’s the verdict, Griffin?” Sterling leans back against his cot, arms behind his head. “Are we being paranoid, or are these people really just overly cautious weirdos?”

“They’re safe,” Connor interjects, brows furrowed. “Our daemons, I mean. They let Finn keep Rico here. They’re not hurting them.”

“Yet,” Clarke mutters, but the word hangs heavy in the air. “They won’t let my daemon go besides I highly doubt they will let him around like Rico here. Didn’t you notice they were only smaller daemons? Just like in the Ark.”

When Finn hesitates Clarke continues. “Think about it, they have space but it’s just as limited-if not more- as the Ark.”

A shift moves through the group—some shoulders relaxing, others tensing further.

“Honestly? I don’t care.” Roma, one of the few that agreed with Bellamy the first day on the ground says and exhales loudly flopping carelessly onto her bed. They all turn to her and she continues, “You saw them—they’re healthy, they’re being taken care of. We get to see them, even if it’s through glass. And they say they play with them once a month. It’s better than never seeing them at all.”

Clarke’s head snaps toward her, eyes narrowing. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Clarke?” She leans back against the pillows, arms crossed. “Because as far as I can tell, we have the best food we have ever had, you would know if weren’t so up in your own head to taste it. We have soft beds, games, safety. No grounders trying to kill us. No starving. No freezing to death at night.”

A murmur of agreement ripples through a few others.

“You say that because you have never seen or experienced soul sickness.” Clarke replies. “You haven’t seen what happens to people.”

“They said they got it handled. They look fine to me” She retorts with a tight lipped smile. The rest of the group shuffles awkwardly when Clarke clenches her jaw and steps closer to Roma’s bed.

“Oh Really? Do you want to get hooked up to a machine pumping who knows what every few weeks?”

Her voice hardens as she stands up to Clarke meeting her face on. “If that is what it takes, then I can live with it.”

Clarke shakes her head seeing a losing fight and turns around to face the rest of the group. “And what about the Ark? Have you forgotten?”

John Mbege crosses his arms “What about them?”

“They removed our wristbands. You remember what those did, right?”

That gets their attention. Some faces flicker with confusion, others with realization.

She takes a step forward, her voice low but forceful. “They were our only connection to the Ark. Our only way to let them know we were alive.” Her eyes scan the group. “And now they think we’re all dead.”

She gauges their reaction before she takes another step. “What do you think will happen to our people up there? They were already running out of air—we are their only chance at finding out there is another way.”

Roma scoffs. “The Ark never gave a damn about us, Clarke and you know it.”

“That’s not true,” Fox mutters.

“Oh, come on,” Roma says, sitting up. “They sent us here to die. We were criminals to them. Lab rats.” Her lip curls. “You think the Council suddenly cares now?”

Clarke’s fingers dig into her palms. “I don’t care what the Council thinks of us, they are the ones who sent us here. I care about the people up there who did care. Our families. Our friends.” She looks at Monroe, at Connor, at the others who had spoken about missing their parents. “Do you really want to just sit here, filling your bellies and playing games, while they’re up there slowly suffocating?”

Connor looks torn, fingers tightening around the blanket in his lap. “If we leave, we won’t have food. We won’t have medicine. We don’t know if we can even survive out there.”

Clarke’s chest tightens. “Yes we can.”

“Clarke is right” Finn steps beside her. “We were on our way to you guys before these people kidnapped us. None of us came in willingly. No matter how you see it they forced us onto this situation and they are trying very hard to make us comfortable so we stay. Why would they do that? ”

Silence.

Roma sighs and shakes her head. “You do what you want, Clarke. But I’m staying. I don’t care about the Ark. They never cared about me. They are living way better here than those up there. And if once my daemon presents himself I have to see him through a window once a month to have a full stomach and a warm bed?” She meets her gaze with quiet finality. “Then so be it.”

Roma’s words resonate within their space and Clarke can see the clear divide within the group.

Some faces harden, resolve forming in their eyes. Others look away, avoiding Clarke’s gaze.

She can clearly see the fracture among them widening, choices being made as seconds pass in silence.

Finn shifts closer to her side, silently conveying his support. Octavia exhales and mutters, “I’m with Clarke.”

Monroe and Fox hesitate, glancing at each other then nod. “Me too.”

A couple more voices follow but the rest sit still, refusing to meet her eyes and shuffling awkwardly in place.

Ten of them total out of thirty-two present.

Clarke swallows, jaw tightening at the sudden wide gap in numbers.

Her heart pounds, but she nods with a saddened smile. “I won’t force you to help us. I refuse to be one more on the long list of people that gets to choose what you can or cannot do. Just don’t intervene, can I at least get that from you?.”

They all finally meet her eyes, apologetically and nod begrudgingly.

“Good luck with that.” John whispers with a hand to her shoulder that feels far from comforting as they all split to their own beds and pull out their ‘welcoming gifts’

“So” Octavia uncrosses her arms, breaking the ominous silence “What’s the plan?”

Clarke looks around the room and eyes the ceiling for a split second then shrugs. “Honestly? I've got nothing. I have nothing," she says carelessly as she walks back to her bed, getting confused looks from everyone from the sudden change in her tone. "I can’t think on an empty stomach.I still need to ask the president a few things and I’m stressed. Don’t think anything can be done anytime soon. So we should just relax on the meantime, “ 

She pulls out one of the large sketchpads from the set Dante gave her and writes down on the paper.

She turns around and shows the notepad at an angle for them to see.

There is a new camera that wasn’t there this morning.
First, we need a true map to the exit. And tools.

“Has any of you ever played Pictionary?” She asks with a smirk.

They all smile wide and look at each other as they hurriedly grab a pen or pencil to join in.

The dormitory hums with quiet conversation, the occasional bursts of laughter filling the sterile, artificial air. The delinquents lounge on their beds or at small tables, pretending to enjoy their newfound comforts. To anyone watching, it looks like just another early morning with the delinquents.

In reality, Clarke and her group are gathered around a table in the far corner, locked in what appears to be a very intense game of Pictionary. Pencils scratch against paper, exaggerated groans and laughter masking the real purpose of their scribbles.

The sketches are nothing more than a carefully disguised blueprint.

With Leah’s guidance, Clarke pinpoints where she can and cannot phase through, marking the locations in rough, coded lines on the sketchpad. The others take turns adding quick, messy strokes—seemingly harmless doodles to anyone looking over their shoulders.

In the center of the page, a crude yet detailed map of Mount Weather begins to take shape.

“Pass me the red,” Finn mutters, reaching for a colored pencil. He uses it to shade in an area near the **upper ventilation ducts—**the ones with smaller daemons that can fit through the vents nod and send them over to scout.  

Within twenty minutes, they have a solid layout of the facility. They just need to find blind spots in surveillance, the vents, storage rooms, kitchens, and  it is everything they need. They have the initial stages for their plan to work.

Now, they just have to execute it.

Octavia and Fox take on 'the most dangerous role'—gathering intel on surveillance blind spots.

They learn quickly that some of the older Mountain teens are… easily distracted. A few well-placed smiles, flirtatious laughter, and suddenly they’re spilling information they shouldn’t be sharing.

“That section past Hydro is completely dead. The cameras don’t reach past the corridor between the fifth and fourth floor. They have a big storage there no one watches—old system, you know?” One of the boys brags, leaning in too close. Octavia resists the urge to gag and instead smirks, playing along.

“That’s so cool,” she says, dragging a hand down his arm seductively and bites her lip. “You should show us later.”

By the time she and Fox return, they’ve mapped out exactly where the cameras cut off and where patrols are weakest.

Meanwhile, Finn and Rico handle the tools.

Finn, ever the smooth talker, strikes up a conversation with a pair of engineers working on one of the main ventilation ducts. "Man, my girlfriend is the youngest spacial engineer in all the Ark and here I am, don't even know which way a bolt loosens up. She will think I am a loser, you guys' job is so important. I look up to you guys!"

"Well, we could teach you a thing or two young man. Can't have you dumped by your girlfriend for not knowing how a wrench works, right?" One of them says with a smile. 

"Really? Thanks a lot, man truly!"

His voice is friendly, casually leaning over a large box asking just the right questions to seem interested, while Rico scurries unnoticed beneath their feet. Out of sight of the engineers and the cameras.

A few minutes later, Finn walks away with two heavy-duty wrenches and a pair of pliers tucked under his shirt.

By the time they turn a corner, Rico has already begun his real work—loosening the bolts on the vents leading to the emergency stairs and then moving to the Quarantine Bay vents to release Caelus from the outside when its the time.

Every turn of a screw. Every quiet creak of metal shifting.

It’s all in preparation for the moment they finally make their escape. They just need to secure supplies to survive once they escape but the most important for all of this to work: A keycard.

They time their move carefully, deciding to strike during the afternoon meal when most of Mount Weather’s citizens will be gathered in the dining hall.

The air is thick with tension. Everyone knows looks around the large dining hall with barely concealed excitement.

Connor and the others pretend to play a card game, their eyes occasionally flicking toward the doors.

Finn sits at a table after a quick toilet visit, tapping his fingers idly against the wood. Rico already vanished into the toilet vents just as the dining hall begins to fill.

They all eat their meals cautiously, meeting eyes over pieces of bread and glasses of water. Clarke keeps pushing the food around without taking a bite as she waits for the next part of the plan to begin.

She is interrupted from her mussings by a hand placing a large piece of bread on her plate.

"Would you fucking eat already? You will fuck us up if you pass out," Monroe huffs across from Clarke on the table.

Clarke exhales, her voice cutting just above the sound of cutlery scraping off plates and chatter. "You never know what they could have put in your food.”

Octavia, who is sitting beside her enjoying a sweet roll, rolls her eyes. “Clarke, if they wanted to kill us, they could’ve done it already. No need for some grand poison plot."

Monroe gestures with her hands to everyone "See? Stop being so fucking paranoid and eat!”

The commotion brings attention from the tables ahead and both Finn and Sterling place their hands on Clarke and Monroe's shoulder respectively.

"Clarke, Monroe, lower your voice."

"I am not being paranoid. Just because you don't see the bars doesn't mean you’re not in a cage," Clarke snaps, shoving Finn’s hand off her shoulder.

Monroe scoffs, throwing her fork onto her plate with a clatter. “God, can you just stop for once? Stop trying to turn everything into some life-or-death conspiracy. We’re safe right now, Clarke! Or are you so obsessed with being miserable that you can’t handle something good when it’s handed to you?”

The tension at the table thickens. More heads turn. The low murmur of conversation across the dining hall begins to wane as people take notice.

Clarke narrows her eyes, jaw clenching. “Safe?” she repeats, voice cold. “You call this safe? We didn’t choose to be here, Zoe.”

Monroe scoffs, crossing her arms. “Yeah? And so what, you’d rather be out there? Freezing? Starving? Constantly watching our backs, waiting for the grounders to kill us?” She leans forward, eyes flashing. “Or are you just pissed because you don’t get to be in charge here?”

Finn tenses beside Clarke. Sterling shifts beside Monroe, his grip tightening slightly on her shoulder.

“This isn’t about who is in charge, I don't fucking care about that!” Clarke hisses, slamming her hand down on the table, and rattling the cutlery. “This is about knowing when something is too good to be true! What the hell is wrong with you? How can you sit here, stuffing your face, when you know damn well our people are out there?”

Monroe pushes up from her chair, shoving it back roughly. “I'm not saying it is right, Clarke. I'm saying that what’s wrong is you being so far up your own ass that you can’t see what’s in front of you! I’m done barely surviving! I’m done starving, I’m done freezing, I’m done fighting for my life. I just need a break. And if you’re too stubborn to take the win when we get one, then that’s on you!”

Clarke stands abruptly, matching her energy, her pulse hammering in her ears.

“You’re just acting like a child”

The table between them shakes as Monroe slams her hands onto it, leaning forward, practically nose-to-nose with Clarke now.

“Maybe I’m just sick of you always acting like you know best,” Monroe growls.

Clarke lets out a bitter laugh, stepping forward so they’re almost chest-to-chest. “Maybe I wouldn't have to if you did better.”

It happens fast.

Monroe glares at her and shoves her hard, sending Clarke stumbling back into Finn’s chest.

Finn grips her shoulders, but before he can say anything, Clarke lunges forward and grabs Monroe by the front of her shirt, yanking her forward, their foreheads almost colliding.

Gasps ripple through the hall. A guard takes a step closer.

“Don’t push me, Zoe,” Clarke grits out.

“Or what, bitch?” she spits, breath heavy. "You will whine to the president? Don't think we didn't notice the huge difference in the quality of the welcome gifts we got. Why is it that you coincidentally were the last one to arrive along with the president? I am sure the facility tour was so interesting." She says in a mocking tone, the implication behind her words clear.

There is a split second of tense silence before a growl releases from Clarke's mouth and she lunges over the table.

Her fist connects with Monroe’s cheek, sending her crashing to the floor. Both them grappling each other and pushing, sending platters of food and chairs to the ground. Monroe grabs a knife and it scrapes along Clarke's stitches, the wound opening just as Clarke delivers a hard hit below her chin.

A collective gasp and screams erupt at the sight of black blood, even among her friends. Chairs scrape against the ground as people rush to their feet muttering words like 'savages' and 'mutant' before rushing away in panic, most of her friends getting close and others shying away from the fight along the scared mountain citizens.

Clarke stands over Monroe’s limp form, breathing hard, hands clenched into fists. She lifts her fist again and is stopped by a tough hand and lifted off Monroe by a guard.

Sterling drops beside Monroe, shaking her shoulder. “Zoe? Babe? Monroe! Hey—fuck, I think she’s out.”

Another guard rushes forward, radio crackling. “Get them to medical. Now.”

Two medics lift Monroe off the ground and haul her away, Sterling running after them, like a panicked boyfriend.

"Get Miss Griffin to the Quarantine bay after she is treated to cool down and think about her actions," Dante says with a stern, disappointed look.

Clarke glares and forces herself to stay still, to keep her breaths even, to sell the act.

It’s working.

All eyes are on her and Monroe now. 

She suppresses her smirk as she is pushed toward the elevators.

From the corner of her eye, Clarke catches Finn’s eyes, he nods and watches him pinch his hand two times, then nodding to Octavia. A subtle movement—the signal to Rico to open the vents. The others, taknig advantage of the commotion should be already waiting on the corridor between the fifth and fourth floors to raid the kitchen and storage rooms for supplies.

Just as planned.

They’re in motion.

Chapter Text

The steady hum of fluorescent lights fills the sterile air, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to Clarke’s nose. The metal cuffs bite into her wrists securing her to the bed while a gauze is secured on her forearm to stench the bleeding from the cut stitches, she hisses when she inspects the damage and once again shudders at the unnatural color of her blood under the gauze.

Everything is going according to plan.

Across the room, Monroe groans dramatically, pressing a hand to her face as she slowly pushes herself up from the bed.

“Damn, Griffin,” she mutters under her breath. “You were supposed to pull your punches.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, flexing her sore fingers against the mattress. “We had to make it believable, Monroe.”

Monroe snorts, rubbing her jaw. “Yeah? You sure you weren’t just taking it out on me?”

Before Clarke can retort, the door clicks open.

Dr. Singh steps inside, clipboard in hand, flanked by two armed guards. Her sharp gaze sweeps the room, lingering on Monroe before settling on Clarke.

She eyes Clarke’s bruised knuckles, clicking her tongue as she jots something down. “Well, Miss Griffin, it seems you’re making quite the reputation during your stay here. I think I’ve seen you more times cuffed than uncuffed.”

Clarke meets her gaze evenly and gives her a tight lipped smile. “I aim to please.”

Dr. Singh hums, unimpressed. She turns to the guards. “Once I finish patching her up, and stitch her arm take her to quarantine.”

One of the guards nods sharply, adjusting his rifle.

The Dr. continues and approaches Clarke to sit down on a stool next to the bed, a tray with a few syringes, a needle and sterile gauzes on the side.

She removes the restrains on one Clarke’s wrist and lifts it up meeting Clarke’s eyes so she stops putting pressure to the wound with the gauze for her to take a look. “I believe the President will have her a night or so in there.” Dr. Singh speaks uninterested then turns to Monroe who is twitching in her seat nervously “Once you are feeling better Miss Monroe you can return to your meal-”

“What?” Clarke moves to protest but the sudden movement makes her hiss when Dr. Singh turns and presses gentler on Clarke’s wound, “She started it, cuts me open and she gets to go back while I’m stuck in quarantine for the night?!”

“Miss Griffin. You have broken out of quarantine, held hostage and threatened one of our citizens, disrupted everyone’s meal then proceeded to assault and knock unconscious one of your friends. All of that in a single day. What do you think?”

Clarke huffs and shakes her head. “More than half of those were on self-defense, If you people had given me a choice, maybe talked to me before-I don’t know kidnapping me, my daemon and my friends- I might have considered not behaving this way, but here we are.”

“You are not prisoners here, Clarke”

“So I can leave whenever I want then.”

“I’m afraid you in particular were told to think about your actions Miss Griffin”
Dr. Singh peels off the gauze and a thin line of black blood trickles down her elbow like ink.

 “Oh my god what is wrong with your arm? Did I do that?” Monroe startles and her voice breaks and stands behind the doctor. “Why is it black?” She asks, and hitches closer to the doctor’s robe though her concern is genuine.

“As if I knew. My blood was red before we were sent here.” Clarke comments gauging for a reaction from the doctor.

Clarke watches with interest as the doctor continues her work, completely unfazed by the sight of black blood.

Dr. Singh raises her eyebrows in surprise and shoots a numbing spray in the area for her to stitch. “It might have been like that in space, it could react differently now that you are on the ground.”

“But is she going to be alright?” Monroe asks over the doctors shoulder hand close to the pockets.

“It’s likely, we have seen a few savages with such…qualities. Might be related or not to it.”

“I thought you couldn’t leave the Mountain…” Clarke flinches slightly when the needle pierces her skin and keeps her eyes locked on the doctor, trying not to give away Monroe’s inching hand. "How do you know that?"

“You were brought here by scouts weren’t you? Encounters with the savages over the years harbor new discoveries.” Dr. Singh narrows her eyes as she lifts Clarke’s arm and inspects the damage as she stitches. Monroe inches closer and closer eyes fleeting between Clarke and the doctor, her hands inches closer to her robe but flinches back at the movement when the doctor turns to pick up a dry gauze and Monroe scratches her chin discreetly.

Dr Singh raises an eyebrow at the proximity and speaks “If you are feeling better Miss Monroe, you can go back to your-“

Then the overhead lights begin flashing yellow just like before and  Dr. Singh freezes.

“Those happen often what does that mean?” Clarke asks.

The doctor’s expression hardens but makes no comment as she turns sharply on her heel, attention immediately shifting.

Whatever the announcement means, it’s important enough that she doesn’t hesitate.

She shoves her clipboard into the hands of a passing nurse. “Just clean the wound and place a dry gauze over it. Miss Griffin should be alright, you can escort her out in a moment” she orders to one of the guards waiting to take Clarke to quarantine, already moving for the door.

Monroe and Clarke meet each other’s eyes in panic and Clarke’s stomach twists.

Shit.

This wasn’t the plan.

The guards, now on high alert, walk to Clarke.

“Let’s go,” one of them snaps, yanking Clarke toward the exit.

She barely has time to shoot Monroe a look—a silent abort the mission—before she’s hauled out into the hallway.

Clarke doesn’t fight, doesn’t resist as they shove her toward the elevators. But she twists her fingers subtly, forming a small gesture behind her back.

Monroe’s lips press into a thin line, understanding immediately and walks out the medical bay with a grateful smile to the nurse in passing to find the group waiting on level four and inform them of their status.

She doesn’t have the keycard.

They’re going to have to improvise.

As Clarke is pulled toward the elevator, Finn rounds the corner, moving casually—right on time.

His eyes immediately flick to Clarke’s, scanning her face.

He’s expecting her to have the keycard. Expecting to receive it in the next few seconds.

Clarke meets his gaze and subtly shakes her head.

His expression doesn’t change, but she sees it—the faint tightening of his jaw.

Finn adjusts his posture, pretending to be casual and following behind Clarke. The guards look at him warily and brusquely tell him to move away “Hey, she’s my friend and I’m just walking along on the hallway until I can’t. I just wanted to know if she is alright”

She lifts her cuffed hands slightly, feigning mild irritation. “Oh, you know. Could be better. Seems I’m famous now and only I get special treatment. Stuck in quarantine for the night. Monroe was let off easy.”

He nods understanding their situation and sighs before squaring up his shoulders. “What? No way!-“ He suddenly swivels along and stumbles against the guard in front of him. He grunts and shoulders him off of him “Oh sorry bro, I just I-“

“Chat time is over, go away kid or join her. Your choice”

“Yeah-right. No, thank you” He says with a boyish smile and with both hands in the air. He then meets Clarke’s eyes and winks mischievously. “See you soon, Clarke”

Clarke shakes her head and smiles at Finn’s antics then bites her lip worriedly hoping he has come up with a backup plan to get her out. Leah walks alongside her phasing through the guards with tense shoulders.
 
Though her worries are eased and she has to suppress a smirk when they reach the quarantine level and coincidentally the guard that Finn had ‘stumbled’ into earlier seems to have misplaced his badge prompting the other guard to mock him, uses his keycard and once Clarke is locked up in her quarantine room. They both leave to help with whatever code caused the doctor to leave in a hurry.

She keeps her breathing even, her body when a few minutes later the reinforced door unseals with a pressurized release. A figure steps inside, dressed in a full hazmat suit, visor darkened.

For a split second, she tenses, ready to fight—until Leah shows her head from behind the figure and tilts her head slightly, just enough for Clarke to recognize the movement.

This person is safe.

“What are you waiting for Princess? Do I have to bow?”

Clarke exhales in relief as he steps closer. His voice comes low through the mask’s built-in speaker.

As soon as she is out of the cell Finn gasps removing the headpiece of the suit. “That thing is suffocating. The others are waiting by the emergency stairs,” he murmurs, glancing toward the door. “No guards here—we’re safe once we make it out.”

“How did you hide from the cameras?” She asks as she hurriedly walks along the long quarantine hall looking into the quarantine cells to find Caelus.

Finn lifts a wrench, twirling it between his fingers as they walk. “Rico got the security feed botched. We’ve got about half an hour before they fix it probably.” He gestures toward the overhead cameras and Clarke notices the insistent red blinking is gone.

Clarke blinks several times and narrows her eyes, they never discussed security feeds. “Uh…how did you guys figure that out?”

Finn gives Clarke a boyish smirk. “I learned a few things up in the Ark. How do you think I was able to stay inside the skybox with my daemon for years?”

“Wait…years?“ Clarke halts minutely before she keeps on walking. “How old are you?”

“Officially or unofficially?” Finn smiles and bites his lip “Because both are incorrect”

“We so are talking about this later,” Clarke mutters amused, but her smile falters when they reach the last quarantine cell and Caelus is nowhere to be seen. “What the- He was in this one hours ago! The chains are still there…”

“Clarke, we have to go”

“No, Finn we can’t leave without him”

“We are already risking a lot here. Our friends are waiting for us. We don’t know when we will get a chance like this again.”

“Our people outside is already at risk, his soul bond could have already told the commander that she can’t feel Caelus anymore. If we return without him, what do you think will happen to all of us?”

“We just tell them what happened, they will surely understand. They gave us an escort for a reason. There was danger and Caelus took the burnt of it. That’s it”

“Think about it Finn. They have some type of war against Mount Weather and we are wearing their clothes. The commander entrusted that daemon to me on the grounds we are not hostile.”

“And we are not!”

“But they don’t know that! We can’t just go back in a group unharmed and say ‘Hey sorry, we lost your general’s daemon so she will probably die the most agonizing death known to mankind in the next few days.’ Besides we don’t even know where they are exactly. We need a guide back to them. We can’t just leave the mountain and hope for the best without him”

Finn huffs and brushes a hand over his tousseled hair, “What do you propose that we do then?”

Just then, a loud noise at the end of the hall startles them Finn clutches his wrench firmly over his head. Leah growls tense beside her and places herself phasing through Finn.

When nothing else happens after a long, tense minute of silence, they look at each other in confusion. They approach the gurneys at the end and just around the corner find a separate, smaller quarantine room. A trio of men are lying on odd individual chambers, completely naked and asleep. Some kind of dust sparkles over their body whilst a familiar machine pumps a dark liquid through the odd valve sticking out above his chest.

“What in the floating hell is that?” Finn whispers in disgust.

Clarke looks around to find the place empty she looks to the side and picks up the chart on the closest man's chamber.


C. Emerson. Test subject 05

10/23/2181 Emergency DS-571SP bis 28 dust treatment: Compatible. 
Treatment timeframe 4 hours.
Test subject 05 Plasma CG-00 under test with authorization of subject. 
Radiation burn neutralized. Secondary effects: 
Transfusion BB-00. Compatible. Pulled from Cerberus program
Test subject BB-00 containment 35 in observation, to be under sedation at all times. Do not terminate.


Clarke blinks, unable to grasp fully the terms but for a few of them. Test subject?

Her eyes travel back to the man and she tilts her head, there are a few red lines visible under his neck and flaring up his temple.
Clarke gasps in recognition.

The same man from her first visit hours ago.

The one who had been horrifically burned, skin charred and peeling from his face. Now, he looks…fine.

The burns are gone but for the few thin scars on his neck.

“It’s the treatment they were talking about.” Clarke whispers wide eyed “I saw him just before I left after visiting Caelus. He was all swollen and his skin was peeling off his face…”

“You sure about that? He looks fine”

“Positive” Clarke whispers and her eyes follow the tubes going up above the chamber and leading somewhere behind the walls, her eyes land on a large vent to the side that looks crooked with a single bolt holding it in place “Did Rico do that?”

Finn looks over and shakes his head. “He’s not that sloppy. He would have told me about this when he returned”

Leah walks in and phases through the chamber and squints her eyes gazing through the crooked vent. She suddenly freezes and her hackles raise. A low warning growl that raises Clarke’s alarms.

“Something is in the vents.” Clarke whispers to Finn and they both take a step back but Leah’s growl suddenly stops and she sits down, flicking her tail in curiosity then looking back at Clarke with that familiar tilt of her head. “Leah?” Clarke hushes.

Finn pulls at Clarke, “What are you waiting for, let's go!”

Leah's green eyes meet Clarke’s and she tilts her head again, ears flickering, gesturing at the vent with her head.

Clarke stares confused at her daemon but trusts her signals and throws caution to the wind. “I know you are in the vent.” She says out loud. "Come out"

After a few tense seconds, a low grumble resonates through the vent before it plops with a loud thud that makes both of them flinch. A pair of rounded black ears peek out and a medium-sized beefy black cat jumps down from it.

Leah crouches down all the way to the floor and gazes intently at it before releasing an amused loud huff with her nose, tail flicking curiously.

Clarke blinks, shares a confused glance with Finn and shrugs. “Someone’s daemon?”

The cat shakes its fur and looks up at them letting out a cute yowl.

Finn coos and moves to pick the cat. “Hey buddy, what were you doing up there?" The cat hisses and snarls at him with surprisingly sharp fangs, making him falter in his steps, then the cat looks up at Clarke.

Familiar blue eyes meet hers and another yowl comes out of its mouth, ears twitching in annoyance.

Clarke then notices one of the slightly rounded ears is missing a little chunk.

She narrows her eyes and speaks up in disbelief "I know you...but it can't be...”

The small black cat walks up to Clarke, head held high, and bumps his head against her knee.

"Tell your friend to show some respect. I have a name. My bond spent a lot of time thinking of one for me to be called 'buddy'"

Clarke gapes, her hands tightening under his front limbs as she lifts him up to eye level. 

"Oh my god, it is you!" she breathes, studying his familiar icy blue eyes in shock. "What the float happened to you?!"

Finn gawks, blinking at the cat in Clarke’s arms.

"That’s our panther guy? Why is he a chunky cat?"

Caelus pushes Clarke’s face away with a thick, large paw, a growl rumbling deep from his tiny form.

"I am not a house pet," he huffs indignantly. "It takes energy to shift back. And we have no time, Clarke of the Sky People. We must act now."

Clarke’s mind spins with questions, but she shakes her head, forcing herself to focus.

"Right. You’re right." She clutches Caelus to her chest tightly, ignoring Leah’s irritated huff, and turns to Finn with a relieved smile. "We got everyone. Let’s get the hell out of here."

Finn looks between Clarke and the cat daemon, his expression caught between disbelief and amusement. Then he picks up the vent's cover from the floor and screws it back in place to cover their tracks.

"Grounder daemons are so weird," he mutters, and once he is finished with the vent he turns and tilts his head toward the red door at the end of the hall. "Let's go"

They move quickly, excitement thrumming through their veins as they slip through the long set of pristine corridors leading to the emergency exit staircase.

A collective sigh of relief ripples through the group as Clarke and Finn emerge into the stairwell.

"Finally," Fox groans. "We thought we’d have to leave without you!"

Finn huffs a laugh. "Yeah, well. We had some… complications."

He nods to Caelus, who is still cradled in Clarke’s arms.

Their reactions are mixed—some tilting their heads curiously, others visibly disappointed.

Fox squints. "Uh… I thought you said your daemon was a panther?"

“Oh god,” Octavia steps closer, eyes shining. "He’s adorable."

She reaches out to scratch behind his ears, but Clarke snatches Caelus away, wary of the murderous glint in his blue eyes.

"I will bite their hands off if they dare place their filthy fingers on my fur," Caelus snarls, his words vibrating through Clarke’s mind.

She tightens her hold, feeling him tense. "He’s not my daemon for me to give you permission," Clarke clarifies quickly. "He belongs to a Grounder. And I still don’t know why he looks like this, but we don’t have time for that. We need to move."

Fox shrugs, unimpressed. "Whatever you say, boss."

Clarke exhales sharply, chuckling under her breath as she turns toward the stairwell.

"Alright, everyone. Let’s get the hell out of—"

Caelus suddenly squirms in her grip.

"Hod up." He pushes head around and up to her shoulder. "Where are you taking me?"

"Uh…to the exit? You see the door up there? That's where we are going"

The group stares at Clarke in confusion. All but Finn, who is already getting used to Clarke's seemingly random soliloquy. 

"Uh… Yeah?" Octavia folds her arms, weirdly looking at clarke. "I think we all can see the single giant exit door up there, there is no need to clarify, Clarke"

"We cannot-"

Caelus shakes his head violently, twisting out of Clarke’s grasp and jumping over her shoulder. He lands with a thud, tail lashing angrily as he plants himself firmly in front of her on the steps.

A low, menacing growl builds in his throat.

Clarke huffs in frustration and pulls at his front legs "Caelus, move!"

"No!" Caelus snaps, sharp claws digging into the floor. His small yet beefy form quivers with barely contained rage. "We can’t leave yet!"

"Yes, we are—ow, damn it!" Clarke hisses as Caelus’s claws dig into the stitches on her arm, fresh pain flaring up her limb.

She instinctively lets go, and he bolts forward, planting himself in front of the exit once more.

His fur bristles, his small body crouched low as he releases a roar—one that would have been terrifying in his true form.

Right now?

It’s kind of adorable.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Clarke snaps, rubbing her arm as she moves to grab him again.

The others attempt to help Clark, but flinch back when Caelus's claws pop out from his thick paws and growls menacingly at them-

He twists sharply in her grasp, struggling with everything he has.

"They have them!" he hisses.

Clarke blinks. "Have who?" she asks.

Caelus wriggles violently, trying to drop to the floor. Clarke grunts, adjusting her grip, barely holding onto him, his voice going in and out in her head.

"-won’t lea-th- behind!"

"You’re pushing me away. I can’t hear you unless I’m touching you. What the hell are you talking about?"

Confused murmurs ripple through the group as they watch Clarke comically grappling with the surprisingly evasive daemon.

"Uh, who the hell is she talking to?" Monroe whispers. "Clarke, do we have time to play right now?""She is talking with Caelus," Finn replies flatly. "Don't mind her"
“Who?” Connor asks beside him.
"The daemon."


Finally, after a few more seconds of wrangling, Caelus slips under her legs and she manages to grab firmly on the scruff of his neck, then she pulls. His limbs instantly go limp, blue eyes blown wide and slightly unfocused as Clarke lifts him to eye level, ignoring the strain in her arms.

"Now repeat that, so I can understand you. Leave who?”  Clarke demands

Caelus’s fur bristles, his expression darkening.

"My people." His deep voice rumbles through Clarke’s mind. "They are separating them from their spirits. They are dying. "

Clarke’s breath catches and she freezes in place. Meanwhile, the delinquents behind her keep giving her wary glances.


"I'm confused. Didn’t she say that it was a grounder's daemon?" Monroe whispers to Finn behind her with a raised eyebrow. "How can she speak to him?"

Finn scratches his neck, "A bit of a long story, but Clarke can hear this guy and some other grounders' very important daemon too. We made it out alive because she was able to"

Sterling scoffs and crosses his arms "Float off! You can't hear someone else's daemon."

"No shit that's so cool" Octavia whispers eyes following Clarke in awe.


Clarke drowns out their conversation and focuses on Caelus. Eyes filled with guilt.

“Caelus, we are barely getting out as it is.” Clarke finally says to Caelus and he looks at her with wide fearful blue eyes. “They may try to get us back, as soon as we are out of that door. The bigger our group, the harder it will be for us to hide.

She swallows past the lump in her throat before forcing out the words.

"I’m sorry. We can’t help them."

Caelus’s ears twitch, his body going still for half a second.

Then his tail lashes violently.

"Release me then, Clarke of the Sky People," he growls, eyes flashing. "I will go alone if I must."

"Not happening." Clarke tightens her grip. "If you think I’m letting you run into their hands again, you’re out of your mind."

"I will free my people and kill them all."

Clarke narrows her eyes. "They captured you once already. What makes you think they won’t do it again?"

Caelus bares his teeth. "That was different. Lexa sent me to protect you, I was to escort you back to her. I could have left but I was busy protecting you. You were holding me back"

"Then your job isn’t done," Clarke shoots back, her voice sharp.

Caelus stiffens. His blue eyes flicker with something unreadable.

"If the commander sent you to bring us back. You will bring us back."

"Uh, Clarke?" Finn shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the others. "Care to explain what’s going on? We’re not all daemon whisperers."

Clarke huffs as she finally wrangles into Caelus's submission by holding his paws with one hand and holding the scuff of his neck with the other.

“Caelus won’t leave. He says they have the grounders contained somewhere down there,” she tells the group and gestures with her chin to the door where she came through with Finn earlier..

Octavia jerks forward, eyes wide.

"Hold on—you’re saying Mount Weather has Grounders? Alive?"

Clarke shakes her head minutely. "From what Caelus said. They don't keep them alive for long."

“What do you mean?” Octavia asks “Why would they capture them just to kill them off?”}

And it's a very good question.

Clarke’s mind races and thinks back to the president’s ominous words.

We have developed ways to counteract the more severe effects of prolonged separation successfully.

That sentence rings in her ears, twisting like a knife in her gut.

Mount Weather’s technology is old. Unlike the Ark, where scientific advancements were prioritized, this place has been working with the same resources for generations. 

There is no way they just happened to find a solution to a problem the Ark hadn’t managed to solve, not without sacrifice within a place with limited resources, no matter how well prepped it was.

Clarke’s thoughts halt as she lets them sink in and she frowns.

Not without sacrifice...

There was a way to survive soul-sickness. She just had never even considered it. It was forbidden even in medieval times. A horror story whispered in forgotten texts and practiced in old civilizations.

Romanticized to no end with its twist in old earth movies and plays about young love and romantic sacrifices where their souls would merge and be as one.

Realistically there was nothing romantic about it. It was more akin to murder of the souls involved. Where one dies and the other consumes, a type of soul cannibalism that transforms the remaining soul entirely, severs the bond but keeps it tethered.

It survives on the grounds of sacrifice.

Clarke’s breath hitches and looks down to Caelus. She feels her chest tighten as the puzzle pieces fall into place.

The Ark had sacrificed the 100 delinquents out of desperation to survive. The council sent them down aware that they may not survive. Saw them as the lesser of sacrifices, disposable.

The president called the grounders savages…If the grounders have the same value in their eyes as the delinquents were for the Council…

Why would Mount Weather be any different when faced with extinction?

“The grounders are the secret to their soul-sickness treatment, “ Clarke mutters the words out loud in realization.

Finn’s brows furrow. "Wait—what? What do you mean?"

“Daemon dust. They severed their bonds by merging it with the grounder’s daemon essence to survive.”

The weight of her words crashes down on the group, stunning them into silence. Looking at the space where their daemons likely stare back horrified.

"Yeah, screw this place. I am not staying a second longer" Sterling’s voice breaks through the tension, and he turns on his heel, marching up the stairs without hesitation.

The others follow quickly, horrified and eager to escape.

Caelus tweaks weakly in Clarke’s arms.

"Release me."

"No," Clarke snaps, following at the back of the group. “It’s too risky. We can’t.”

Caelus’s growl vibrates against her chest.

And then—

He shifts.

Clarke barely has time to react before his body expands, limbs stretching, form growing heavier in her grasp.

She yelps, stumbling back as she drops him onto the stairwell.

The others look back and freeze with wide eyes.

"What in the floating hell—"

Caelus lands with a heavy huff, his panther form half of his regular size staggering as he shakes off the shift. His movements are sluggish, unsteady.

Clarke lunges forward, gripping his fur, trying to steady him.

"Caelus, stop!" she hisses. "You can’t go back! Think about your soul bond! You’re already weak, you can barely stand right now! You’ll kill her too if you die!"

Caelus’s breath heaves, his massive body trembling beneath her hands.

"She will be fine." His voice comes low, strained. "Lexa would rather die freeing our people than return a cowardly, disgraced kitten."

Lexa would—?

Clarke freezes and they stumble forward, limbs slipping against the stairs. The pain from her twisted ankle from the day before flares.

Finn and Rico rush to steady him, but Clarke barely notices.

Her grip tightens on Caelus’s thick fur.

"What did you just say?"

Caelus huffs, tail lashing. "I’d rather stay and die—"

"No—before that," Clarke demands, her voice sharp, insistent. "Lexa? Why are you saying Lexa. You’re Anya’s daemon."

Caelus stiffens, his blue eyes flashing.

"Of course not. I am Lexa’s spirit."

Clarke’s stomach drops.

A slow, creeping horror curls in her chest.

"I thought Kerralis was her spirit," she whispers.

"Kerralis is Heda’s spirit," Caelus supplies unhelpfully.

Clarke shakes her head. "Then she’s…is she not the commander? "

Caelus growls, his head shaking in exasperation

"She is Heda."

“Kerralis is Lexa's spirit or not? You can't be her daemon, you are not making any sense!”

“What is going on?” Finn turns to her in alarm at her outburst, his eyes dancing between the two, “what are you two talking about now?”

“And you are wasting time asking obvious, senseless questions I have already answered when we could be saving my people.”

Clarke ignores Finn’s question and presses on utterly confused. “Caelus, please. I need to understand this is important if you want me to help you. Tell me the truth.”

“You think I am lying? I am not like you snachabound.” Caelus bristles and turns to look into her eyes with fierce determination. “I have accompanied Lexa since before either of us had a name. I was there the day she picked up a sword before she could walk. I was there they day she first slayed a man and I was there the day the flame chose her and she ascended as Heda. ”  

He growls and shuffles warm breath hitting her face.

“I was there and have been there since the moment I first drew breath and spoke to her mind on the day of her reckoning. I am Lexa kom trikru's spirit and Caelus is the name she bestowed upon me. What is it, sky girl, about it that you don't believe?”

A heavy weight lands on her at his words. Realization hitting deep and foreboding

Ascended.

Heda is a title. Anyone can have titles.

There could be more than one Heda.

Clarke presses a trembling hand to her forehead, her mind spinning with the weight of what she’s just uncovered.

There is more than one commander then?

That’s why Lexa can’t make decisions hastily either. The grounders probably have some kind of council of commanders and Kerralis is the daemon of the one that acts as chancellor or something…And of course the one we made a deal with sent their daemon with us.

She barely registers Caelus moving past her, his body still weakened, still determined.

"Wait. Caelus" Clarke snaps back to reality, lunging forward.

He growls, shaking her off.

"I will help you," Clarke breathes, her voice low, frantic. "Just—give me a minute."

Finn and Rico exchange alarmed glances, quickening their pace.

"What do you mean, you'll help?" Finn demands. "We don’t have time!"

Clarke’s jaw clenches but moves forward without meeting his eyes.

"Okay," Clarke exhales, steady but firm as she addresses the group. “We’re splitting up.”

Octavia blinks. “Excuse me?”

“I will get into wherever they’re keeping the Grounders and free them.”

Finn gapes. “You can’t be serious.”

Clarke meets his stare head-on, unwavering. "I am. We can’t leave without Caelus. It's not even an option anymore, and he won’t come unless we take the Grounders too."

"They are not our people!" Connor snaps, frustration laced in his voice. "We don’t even know how many of them there are! Just leave him if he wants to die with the rest of them!"

Clarke’s jaw tightens. “That is not an option anymore” She repeats and takes a step forward, shoulders squared, voice steady. "If we leave without him—we," she emphasizes, pointing at their group, "might make it out alive, yes. But our people outside? They won’t. If Caelus dies, we lose any chance at seeing them again any chance to get a hold of radio communication, and with them gone—" she swallows, her throat tight, "—no one up on the Ark comes down. Everything we have done so far would be useless”

Connor’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

Finn hesitates before asking, “You made a deal with the commander. Surely she’ll understand that sacrifices had to be made.”

Clarke’s eyes harden. “We got played. Caelus is her daemon. No one said there was only one commander, we just assumed she was the one.”

Caelus’s ears flicker and he hisses beside her.

"What about Kerralis? They were important, maybe you can speak with them"

"It was already hard enough to convince Commander Lexa to spare Bellamy's life just for hurting Kerralis."

Octavia shuffles forward in alarm, "They wanted to kill Bellamy?"

"The deal we have is secret,” Clarke continues, her voice low, urgent. “It’s between me and her. No one else knows because that would put her in a bad position.  If Caelus dies, she dies. And if that happens—” She looks at Finn. “They can only blame us or Mount Weather and we are not precisely dressed as grounders. No one will vouch for our people if she is gone. We will be enemies to both Mount Weather and the Grounders if we get out without him”

The air stills as Finn’s face drains of color, he curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Clarke, this is insane. If they’re really keeping Grounders captive for that purpose, then the entire mountain is in on it. There must be hundreds of them down there. This isn’t just a quick in-and-out that no one will notice anymore.”

Clarke bites her lip, mind racing. Her eyes land on a row of hazmat suits hanging on the wall.

A dark thought settles into place.

She turns to Caelus, placing a hand on his head. His fur is damp with sweat, his blue eyes fevered and weak.

"Where did you see your people?"

Caelus flicks an ear, body still trembling. “A big room,” he murmurs. “Right next to where you found me. I got there through the same long hole.”

Clarke exhales sharply. “There’s a chance we won’t get them all out.” She hesitates. “If things go bad, we might not get any of them out.”

Caelus’s muscles tense, but his voice remains firm. “Then they will meet the Flame whole and complete. Or I will end their fight myself if I must. It is better than dying a slow, painful death apart from their spirit.”

Octavia steps forward, jaw set. "I’ll go with you."

Clarke shakes her head. “No—”

“Clarke, you said Bellamy was with them. I haven’t seen him anywhere. What if he is down there…” Octavia’s voice falters.

Monroe frowns. “Murphy too. They were together when we were taken.” She turns to Clarke, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t see them in quarantine?”

Clarke blinks. Her stomach turns. Finn and Clarke exchange a look, realization dawning.

She forgot about Murphy.

He was supposed to be in quarantine. But he wasn’t.

Clarke lifts a hand, cutting off the conversation. “We’re on borrowed time. They will notice our absence before dinner. The vents are the fastest way in—it has to be just a few of us.”

Connor groans, rubbing his face. "Then what do we do? We’ll have no way back in case—" He stops himself, but the words hang in the air.

In case you don’t come back.

Clarke takes a breath.

“Get rid of any hazmat suit you find up this staircase. We should be back soon. If alarms trigger, forget about me and open the door. The radiation will kill them before they reach us without their suits." She lets her expression harden." It should buy us time to leave.”

A heavy silence falls over them.

They all knew what they were risking. But now… now it’s real.

Clarke scans their faces, seeing the doubt, the fear. The slow, horrified realization that lives will be lost today because of them.

She forces her voice to stay steady.

"They made their choice." She swallows against the lump in her throat. “They became monsters the moment they chose a half-life over the lives of others. We are not the bad guys here. It's them or us. Remember that.”

They nod, some reluctantly, others more resolute. Then, one by one, they rush down the steps, disappearing into the stairwell.

Clarke turns to Finn.

His eyes are heavy with sadness.

She extends her hand. “The keycard, please.”

Finn shakes his head. “No. You’re not doing this again Clarke Why are you so hellbent on leaving me behind huh? I’ll go with you.”

"Finn." Clarke’s voice softens. "I am doing it because out of everyone here I trust you the most to make sure that any efforts on my part won’t be in vain. We taught the others how to survive outside, not them. Best case scenario everything goes as planned and If worse case scenario happens. They will have a chance.”

Finn’s jaw tightens. His gaze drops 3to Rico, then back to Clarke.

She lifts a hand before he can drop Rico on her shoulder again. “You can’t risk it. Not this time.”

Finn clenches his fists. “I can risk it because you’re coming back. You’re not going down there without a backup plan.”

Clarke exhales. Instills every ounce of confidence she can muster into her smirk.

"Of course I have one." She tilts her head. “Plan B.”

Octavia and Finn stiffen.

"There’s a Plan B?" Octavia asks, eyes narrowing.

Clarke glances down the stairwell.

Leah’s icy green gaze meets hers. Her daemon’s presence settles her frayed nerves, grounding her.

Clarke inhales deeply and looks back at them.

"Eventually," she whispers. “Plan B will be there to get me through today”

A genuine smile graces her lips.

She meets their eyes, steady and confident.

"And I know exactly when that will happen”

Leah phases ahead, slipping soundlessly through the walls, testing where she can’t pass through and scouting for movement.

Clarke and Octavia move swiftly through the long, sterile hallways, each turn identical to the last, making it disturbingly easy to lose track of direction.

The walls are lined with pristine paintings—landscapes, portraits, abstract swirls of color—mocking in their attempt to add warmth to a place that feels anything but.

Twice, they take a wrong turn, stumbling into sterile storage rooms. On the bright side, one of the storage rooms held their personal belongings among labeled bags. Clarke sighs out in relief when she finds her father's watch and pulls her favorite jacket on. Both her and Octavia hastily shed the comfortable but impractical  flat sneakers off their feet and put back on their own muddy boots.

Just when they are about to leave Caelus pushes a dark red fabric into Clarke's hand then looks up at Clarke with pleading eyes. She can’t help but smile down at him, takes the fabric that she now recognizes as the red sash she had forgotten to return to Lexa and winds it around Caelus's neck then ties it with a firm knot so it doesn't slip with his movement.

They press forward, quickening their pace when the familiar corridor leading to the quarantine rooms finally comes into view.

At the far end of the hall, the chamber from earlier looms.

Caelus rushes ahead, his lithe form allowing him to move stealthily, but just as he rounds the corner, he skids to a halt. His hackles rise, ears flattening against his skull. Then—he pivots sharply and carefully moves back toward them.

Clarke doesn’t even have time to open her mouth to ask him what happened before a set of voices filter through the corridor.

They freeze.

Hearts hammering, they press themselves flat against the cold walls, breath held tight in their lungs.

A voice drifts up ahead. Clarke peeks around the corner, just enough to see Dr. Singh’s profile, hunched over the chamber. Beside her, a younger man in a tailored suit, posture stiff with authority.

“He won't be waking up for another hour. The treatment takes time, but it’s working"

Clarke bites her lip, making sure there is no one else around, and signals for Octavia and Caelus to retreat with her hand when she hears a second voice, a man's

“And the side effects?”

"Unlike the savages, no side effects, but blood must be compatible. Subject Johnson was not compatible. Didn't make it."

"Well, let's hope the amount of blood we got from the kids is enough to get through these leaks"

Octavia sucks in a sharp breath beside her, and Clarke snaps her gaze back, signaling for her to move toward the door on the other side of the room.

Octavia creeps forward, but when she tries the handle, her face falls, she meets Clarke's eyes, and shakes her head, pointing to Clarke's hand and mouths "keycard"

Right

"You said this is the Griffin girl's strain?"

Clarke turns sharply at the sound of her name. She presses further into the wall, fingers curling into fists.

"It's most promising, sir. None of the few subjects with black blood we have been able to keep compare to her system."

"Better than subject MD? What about her daemon's dust?"

"I have no proof yet but based on these results I'd wager they have the perfect genotype, sir. Any of her descendants would be invaluable to our goals and her daemon's essence? Unparalleled." Dr Singh's voice lifts in excitement, "Emerson would take days on several different treatments before we could see this progress." Then her voice becomes bitter. "It's so unfortunate they are both so...uncooperative."

The man hums and clicks his tongue. "It's not necessarily bad. Worst case scenario, keep her in containment for Project Eve"

A shudder runs through Clarke's spine at the prospect of being held for one of their sick experiments.

Then a hand grazes Clarke’s arm, making her flinch.

Clarke snaps her gaze back, meeting Octavia’s wide eyes.

Right, they are wasting time.

Clarke shakes her head and glances once back and meets Leah's eyes to keep an eye on the occupied pair in the room before moving along with Octavia and Caelus to the door.

She swipes the keycard and pulls the handle but it doesn't budge. 

She swipes once again, this time looking down at the sensor, and sees the light shine red.

Her stomach plummets. The guard's keycard is of no use on this one.

Leah's warning yowl meets her ears and Clarke's eyes widen. She bites her lip anxiously and looks around, mind racing to locate an escape route—and then her eyes land on the containment room beside them.

Without thinking, she swipes the keycard, yanks the handle, and shoves Octavia inside.

Caelus stares at her like she’s lost her mind, but Clarke shoves him forward. “Move!” she hisses under her breath.

Octavia and Caelus stick to the wall on the door's side and Clarke lies on the small cot in the middle. As far as they know, she was being held in containment, might as well keep the ruse just in case they decide to peek inside.

For several excruciating moments, the voices linger outside. Until the sound of footsteps retreat. A few beats later Leah’s soft yowl filters beneath the door, signaling the coast is clear.

Clarke doesn't waste a second, throws the door open and hurries down the hall, making a beeline for the chamber room from earlier. Another door stood at the far end, but even Leah couldn’t phase through it.

That had to be it.

Octavia pulls out the wrench Finn gave her and with Clarke's assurance that he wouldn't bite she climbs onto Caelus’s back, balancing as she reaches up to the bolts on the vent. Clarke stays below, arms outstretched, ready to catch her if she slipped while Leah’s sentinel duties continue but this time at the entrance of the quarantine section.

Octavia works quickly, muttering curses as one of the bolts refuses to budge.

Then—

The door at the end of the room they couldn’t open before swings open and a tray with instruments comes into view until it stops in its tracks.

Clarke turns sharply, breath catching in her throat as her gaze locks onto a familiar pair of terrified brown eyes.

Maya.

For a moment, everything in the room stills.

The door clicks shut behind Maya and Clarke barely has time to blink in shock and dread when suddenly Octavia is crashing against her and she is tumbling to the ground. Caelus's shadow moving quickly on her periphery. Pain flares where her side meets the floor and her chin meets Octavia's elbow when she land’s on top of her.

She opens her eyes with a groan and pushes against Octavia's weight on her chest to catch her breath again.

A piercing scream meets her ears and she turns to the side to find Caelus pinning Maya to the floor with his sharp claws and a snarl that pulls an even higher pitched scream out of her.

"Caelus don't!" Clarke scrambles upright, shoving Octavia off and lunging toward them. She presses a firm hand over Maya’s mouth, muffling her cries.

Leah shows up beside her in the blink of an eye, body tense, ears pinned back likely startled by the screams. Clarke gives her a reassuring nod before turning her focus to Caelus, whose menacing snarls keep pulling desperate cries and wandering panicked limbs out of Maya.

"Hey enough with the growling!" Clarke hisses to Caelus, then looks back to Octavia who is pushing herself up from the floor with a groan. "Octavia, take her keycard and open the door"

Clarke looks to Leah's eyes and gestures with her head to scout ahead beyond the door.

Octavia moves swiftly, rifling through Maya’s pocket as the girl thrashes beneath Clarke’s and Caelus's grip. Clarke turns her gaze back down just in time to meet Maya’s burning, accusing gaze. She can see the hatred in her eyes, the resentment from their last encounter still fresh and raw. Really, Clarke can't blame her. Her disdain is entirely warranted after their last encounter. 

“I’m going to remove my hand,” Clarke murmurs, voice low but firm. “And if you don’t want this one”—she nods toward Caelus, who flexes his claws slightly against her shoulders—“to rip your face off, you will not scream. And you will do exactly what we say. Understood?”

Maya’s chest heaves. Her panicked brown eyes dart from Clarke to the massive feline pinning her down. She hesitates for a breath too long, so Caelus growls, a low, menacing sound that sends a visible shudder through her body.

Maya frantically nods under her palm.

Clarke slowly lifts her hand.

Octavia swipes the keycard against the reader, and with a soft beep, the door slides open.

As soon as it does, Octavia gasps and stumbles backward, falling hard onto the floor. Her entire body stiffens, eyes locked onto something beyond the threshold.

Clarke frowns, following her gaze.

And then she sees it.

Her breath hitches, stomach lurching violently as the sight before her burns into her mind.

"Caelus, don't let her get away," she rasps monotonously as she stands up, unable to take her eyes from the horrifying scene

Clarke steps forward, her breath falling in shallow exhales as she moves. The air in the room is thick, suffocating, filled with the sharp scent of disinfectant and something metallic, almost coppery—blood.

Right at the entrance there is a pair of grounders with rags for clothes, hanging upside down, cables and tubes attached to them in several places, blood pumping out of them and traveling into the room where the chambers lie.  A small rabbit and a hawk lie also upside down further to the side. Small protrusions blooming in between fur and feathers, sparkling particles dripping and falling into a single sparkling container.

Behind this gruesome sight lies another one just as terrifying.

Rows upon rows of cages.

Some are large enough to hold people, others barely big enough for the creatures inside. Daemons. Dozens of them. Their bodies curl into themselves, pressed against cold metal bars. Some tremble violently, others lie motionless, their eyes dull, barely flickering open as the door’s light spills in.

Clarke’s stomach churns and she has to force down the need to vomit.

A few larger daemons, mostly birds and wolves, shift uneasily, letting out weak growls or chirps at them in defiance.

The ones that aren’t moving—aren’t dead either. Their chests still rise and fall, slow, lethargic. Their fur is dull, scales dry, feathers limp. Like they’re withering away.

Inside one cage, a young girl—no older than twelve—huddles against the bars. Her skin is pale, almost grey, her lips cracked and dry. Clarke’s world tilts.

Children.

Not just daemons or adults but children too? She thinks back to the kids she nursed back to health in the forest and to the ones that didn’t make it back there. If they hadn't rescued them. This is where they would have ended up...

Her fingers tighten into fists.

Octavia scrambles back to her feet, her voice strangled as she moves to the closest corner of the room “Bell? Bellamy!”

Clarke's head snaps to the side where sure enough Bellamy lies on a cot labeled 35. For a brief moment Clarke's breath stays stuck inside her lungs at his state.

Maya makes a choked noise behind them, shifting where she’s still pinned under Caelus's weight, who growls in her face. Clarke turns sharply, eyes blazing.

“What is this?” she demands, voice dangerously low. “He was helping you out before!”

Maya’s expression tightens, her throat bobbing as she swallows hard. But she doesn’t answer.

Clarke’s patience snaps. She pushes Caelus off of her with surprising ease, grabs Maya by the collar and hauls her up, shoving her roughly forward until her back hits one of the cages.

Maya stumbles, catching herself against one of the cages. A weak, pitiful whimper sounds from within it. Clarke follows the sound and her breath catches.

“Answer me, Maya. What the hell is going on here? What are you people doing to Bellamy?”

"I don't know! I just help them with samples and track their progress. I learned not to ask questions"

"There are children here too. How could you?"

Maya’s breath shudders. She looks to the cages, to the suffering around her. And closes her eyes with guilt. She knows what’s happening here. She knows it’s wrong

"We didn't have a choice! " Maya whispers with tear-filled eyes. "Without the treatments we die, what are we supposed to do?

"Die" The words leave Clarke’s lips in a low, venomous whisper, the weight of them sinking into the suffocating silence of the room. "You just die. Like every other being on this planet who deserves to live a fulfilling life and isn’t stealing life from someone else to live a pitiful one"

Maya chokes on a sob, hands scrambling against the bars for support.

Behind Clarke, Octavia crouches beside Bellamy, pressing her fingers to his neck. Her breath shudders in relief. “He’s alive. He’s breathing.”

Relief washes over Clarke and she looks back at Maya, she pushes her into a cell and locks it up.

“Get him up, O. Disconnect the IV” she says, her voice cold, unwavering. “We will use the pliers and start working those locks. We’re getting everyone we can out of here.”

Maya's eyes widen and she shakes her head. "You don't want to do that"

"Like hell we don't-"

"Hear her out, Clarke!" A gruff familiar voice echoes among the large room and Clarke tenses, Leah shuffles towards the source of the voice with tense shoulders, Caelus's smaller shadow visible underneath her. "You don't want to wake him up"

Suddenly one of the cages at the end of the lowest row opens up and a familiar face, comes out along with a small jackal daemon.

"Murphy?" Clarke asks in surprise and disbelief

Caelus's stance widens and he growls menacingly. Murphy’s face pales and he raises his arms. The jackal daemon to his side growls valiantly but trembles in fear.

Murphy gulps and meets Clarke's eyes with a smirk that has no confidence at all. "Please tell me this one is yours, Griffin."

"Caelus, stand down."

Just then the men and women in the cages shuffle inside the cages and begin mumbling loudly. Limbs grasping at air in front of the cages. A familiar word escaping their lips. ‘Heda’ Their sounds become more frantic as seconds pass and Clarke moves forward she speaks up to silence them but her attempts fall on deaf ears.

"Caelus, they are making too much noise!"

Caelus brushes against her arm and looks up to her with determination.

"Repeat after me. Just like you did with Kerralis"

Clarke nods and listens to the words, commits them to memory and takes in a deep breath. 

"Chon you gaf get break op, time you shof op!" 

The loud murmurs quiet down instantly, followed by just quiet whispers among each other.

Murphy whistles low and impressed. "What kind of grounders studies did they teach you up in the Ark Griffin?"

Clarke looks back to Murphy and shakes her head. "What were you doing inside that cage Murphy?"

"Blending." He shrugs

"Why-You know what? it doesn't matter. We need to get out of here. The others are waiting for us to return. Help us carry Bell-"

"Oh I wouldn't touch Blake or any of the others chained to their gurneys if I were you"

Octavia looks up at him in alarm from Bellamy's side "Why not? What did they do to him?"

"I just know they did something to him and whatever it is. It's bad, trust me. If you want details. Ask her" Murphy says nodding to Maya inside the cage.

Clarke looks back down to Maya. "Well?" she urges.

"I-I don't know. He was in the Cerberus program! That's all his chart says."

"What is this cerberus program?"

"Mr Cage oversees it. We don't know exactly what happens, just that they become aggressive. They won't listen to reason. If he wakes up-" Maya swallows hard, eyes darting between Clarke and the unconscious Bellamy. “If he wakes up, he won’t be the same person you knew.”

Clarke’s stomach knots at the description that is eerily similar to what the grounders gave her of the Reapers, “What does that mean?”

She turns to Murphy, who’s watching the exchange with crossed arms and a look far too knowing for comfort. “You saw it, didn’t you? What they did to him?”

“Not really,” Murphy shrugs, but his jaw tightens. “But I saw enough not to stick around for long. I woke up in one of those rooms yesterday." He nods to the door leading to the quarantine rooms. "I saw you break out and bail with her." then he nods to Maya, "Nice moves by the way. Dick move for you to not even look around though. I copied your method but chose to move through the vents instead, I am used to it. Triggered a few alarms trying to get the hell out of here last night or whatever time it is right now. So I hid between the cages. That’s when I saw Blake tear up one of these people's throat, fighting for some type of syringe some psycho threw to the floor, then he injected it into himself like a maniac, then he passed out"

A sharp clatter echoes through the chamber as Octavia drops the IV line she was about to remove. Her face twists in horror as she looks back down at Bellamy. “You’re lying,” she spits. 

Octavia grits her teeth, fingers twitching toward Bellamy’s wrist like she’s seconds from shaking him awake just to prove them wrong.

Clarke moves quickly, stepping between her and her brother’s unconscious form. “No.”

Octavia snaps her head up, eyes burning with desperation. “We can’t just leave him here!”

Maya hesitates, fingers trembling where they clutch the bars of her cage as she speaks up. “They—break them.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Mind, body… soul. Whatever they do on that program, it makes them theirs to control. At first it is tame, but there is a side effect from partial separation that makes them aggressive.”

“Partial separation?” Clarke whispers in thought.

“He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t just give in to them!”

Maya shakes her head frantically. “It’s not about giving in. It’s conditioning. They… they program them to obey. I don’t partake in the process though I just know the theory.”

Clarke exhales sharply, her pulse hammering against her ribs and recalls the crazed look Bellamy had back in the woods.

Clarke doesn’t flinch and pushes Octavia back, even as Octavia shoves at her shoulders, hard.

"No, we can't leave him!"

“We’re not leaving him,” Clarke says, voice steel. “But we’re not waking him up. I believe what Murphy and Maya say. I saw Bellamy when I got captured. What they describe matches. He was not aggressive back then but he looked like he was at his wits end.”

Silence hangs thick in the air.

Octavia’s breathing is ragged, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She doesn’t want to listen. Clarke can see it—feel it. But then, after a long, excruciating second, she gives a sharp nod and takes a step back.

Clarke turns to Murphy. “Can you move him?”

Murphy shrugs, giving Bellamy a once-over and lifting one of his limp arms and letting it fall. “I guess it should be fine as long as we don’t rip out whatever crap they pumped into him. Not that I’d complain if it killed him.”

Octavia lunges, but Clarke blocks her off with an arm before she can get in Murphy’s face.

Murphy smirks, but there’s no real bite to it. “Relax, princess. I like him better when he’s giving me shit. Let’s just hope he doesn’t wake up wanting to kill us all.”

Clarke turns back to Maya, her patience stretched dangerously thin. “How do we unlock the cages?”

Maya swallows, gaze flicking to the dozens of suffering daemons and their humans, then back to Clarke. Her fingers tighten on the bars. "The locks are individual. Only Dr. Singh and a few others have access to the master key"

Clarke looks down at her watch and shakes her head, she catches Caelus’s gaze and places a hand on his fur.

“We can't open them all, it will take hours, we don't have time for that. We already lost enough time yapping. We get out how many we can or we don't get out at all”

His tired, saddened eyes dance across the countless cages in front of him. Clarke can see the desperation and the impotent rage within them until they lose their fire and he looks up at Clarke. "Help me convey a message, please"

Clarke nods and keeps her hand on the side of his neck scratching in an attempt of reassurance as she speaks for him.

“Dison laik Caelus, sonraun keryon kom Heda. Ai laik Clarke fossopa natblida kom Heda. En ai na breik au em honon chon emo keryon-de ste ogeda o kep medo ufnes raun gonplei. Oso souda bants dena fou em maunon kom raun hir. Taim yu drag raun, taim yu get ban au. Lif op yu meika en ai na breik yu au."

Clarke speaks up as loud and clear as she can, garnering confused glances from Murphy and Octavia once again, when she is done speaking, nothing happens for several beats.

"Emo noda honon hasta medo kwelnes raun gonplei. Mou choda fir wamplei noumou. Heda na komba raun gon yu. Em na throu daun kom yu, jos ste jug kom liwe mou" Caelus's voice falters as he speaks the next words in her mind. "Hofli fleimon-de laik yu shouna em kep yu klir"

"Hofli fleimon keryon de na shoun oso op" They all reply back reverently, as soon as she speaks the last words.

The silence is almost deafening after that until she hears several murmurs all around and several kids, men, women shuffle forward and raise their hands past their cages while several others look down and fall back silent and resigned. 

"Free the ones who have lifted their hands, they will point you to their spirits if they are still bonded. I will stand watch at the stairs." Caelus' voice reverberates low, harsh and desolate just before his sleek dark fur brushes past Clarke without meeting her eyes.

Clarke repeats Caelus' instructions to Octavia and Murphy. Murphy takes the heavy duty pliers from Octavia and cuts off the bolts while Octavia and Clarke pry a few sturdy tubes from the wall to force the cages open.

Murphy grunts as he works the pliers around the rusted bolts, sweat beading at his temple. The metal resists at first, stubborn from years of rust, but with a sharp snap, the lock gives way. The cage door swings open with a loud creak.

A young woman stumbles out, her daemon—a frail, malnourished wolf—dragging itself weakly at her side. Clarke catches the woman before she collapses, steadying her against the bars. “Can you walk?”

The woman nods, though her body trembles. 

Clarke wedges her makeshift pry bar between another cage door, teeth clenched as she levers her weight into it. The bars groan in protest before finally giving way. The boy inside—no older than sixteen—stumbles forward, eyes wide, barely able to stand.

“Come on,” Octavia urges, voice tight. “We don’t have time to be gentle.”

Maya watches from inside her own cage, fingers gripping the bars, her knuckles white. She doesn’t say anything.

Clarke doesn’t look at her.

Another snap, another creak, and another captive stumbles free and Octavia guides them to the emergency staircase where Finn and the others await. Clarke doesn't have time to get mad t him for staying so close too the doos as her helps the grounders walk up the stairs while Caelus stands as a lookout.

The process is painstakingly slow. The ones who haven’t raised their hands watch in silent, hollow-eyed resignation. Some turn away entirely, and mutter the words Clarke had repeated for Caelus, like prayer.

Clarke swallows hard. They can’t save even the ones who raised their hands.

“These pliers are not designed for this. they won't work for more than a couple locks,” Murphy grunts, snapping another bolt.

The moment the words leave his mouth, a low, mechanical whine fills the air, followed by a distant click-hiss and yellow intermittent lights flicker about the space.

Leah rushes into the room in a blur of motion, eyes wide with alarm.

Clarke’s blood runs cold.

The doors are sealing.

Clarke turns quickly, grabbing Bellamy under the arms and keeps the IV hanging from her neck as Octavia and Murphy hoist two of the freed captives to their feet.

The remaining prisoners raise their voice encouragingly.

Clarke’s lungs burn as they sprint for the emergency stairwell, feet pounding against the cold floors. Caelus stands by the door leading to the emergency stairs his ears flicking at every noise. He’s keeping watch, his shoulders tense, coiled like a spring ready to strike. Behind them, an alarm blares the shrill sound of the lockdown sequence echoing through the mountain’s steel walls.

Just as they are about to reach the door, the overhead lights flicker, then bathe everything in a sickly red glow.

"Clarke! Get-" Finn's voice gets cut off instantly as the door locks in front of them.

They all look around huffing and puffing in distress. The keycards won't work 

“Finn!” she gasps, slamming her fist against the reinforced metal. A muffled shout echoes from the other side, but it’s impossible to make out.

Murphy curses, pivoting on his heel as his wild eyes dart around the corridor. “Shit, shit—how do we get out?”

Before Clarke can respond, footsteps.

Heavy boots pound against the floors, moving fast, coming from both ends of the corridor. Clarke’s pulse spikes. They’re cornered.

Leah lets out a warning yowl back on the corridor to the quarantine rooms and urges her on.

“Back inside!” Clarke hisses, yanking Bellamy’s dead weight up with a grunt and pulling him toward the room with the cells.

But the second they enter, a hiss fills the air.

A thin, barely visible mist spills through the vents above them. Clarke breathes and tastes something sweet and sticky in the roof of her mouth.

Her heart jumps to her throat-

Sleeping gas.

“Cover your mouths!” she shouts, but her voice is already sluggish, her limbs growing heavy.

Octavia stumbles against the wall, her hands flying up to her face, eyes wide with panic as her knees start to buckle.

Murphy grits his teeth, shaking his head as he tries to fight it, but Clarke sees his movements slowing, his eyelids flickering as he pulls the cover on one of the vents and crawls in before closing it

Caelus snarls, his small form shifting, growing back into something large and menacing despite his exhaustion. He lunges toward the approaching figures, claws flashing in the red light.

A sharp CRACK echoes as something hits him—a baton, a dart, Clarke isn’t sure. The panther stumbles, his snarl faltering.

Clarke tries to move, to fight, but the gas seeps deep into her lungs, turning her limbs to lead. Her vision sways.

She sees shadows moving toward them, hands grabbing at Octavia on the floor.

Bellamy slips from her grasp.

She swings out blindly, her fist colliding with something solid—a grunt, the feeling of impact—but it’s not enough.

Her knees give out.

She barely hears the last thing Octavia says before darkness swallows her whole.

Darkness clings to her.

It’s thick, suffocating, pressing against her skull with a dull, relentless pounding. Her body is heavy. Too heavy. Like her bones have been swapped with iron.

She tries to move, but something pulls her back, cold and unyielding against her wrists, her ankles. A sharp bite of metal against her skin.

Restraints. It’s alarming how familiar they feel at this point. She thinks she has woken up to them more times than she has not in her short time on the ground.

Her fingers twitch, barely able to curl into a fist. She forces her eyes open, the world coming into focus in fragments—the overhead lights too bright, sterile white walls blurring at the edges.

The faint, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor fills the air, blending with the low hum of machines.

Then, voices.

“Keep them alive. Keep them away from your experiments. Place them all in a cell.”

Clarke freezes. The voice is deep, authoritative—familiar.

A second voice, sharper, younger, answers. “Dad, she knows too much. We can’t let her—”

“They will be treated with dignity.”

A bitter scoff. “Look around you. What good will dignity do us after all we’ve done? One of these kids makes no difference.”

“They are not savages. Keep your mongrels in your dungeons and leave the people to me.”

Footsteps echo, fading away, but Clarke forces her eyes to track their movements. Her vision is swimming, sluggish with whatever they pumped into her veins, but she sees him.

A suited man, standing at her side, peering down at her like she’s dirt under his shoe.

His lip curls.

“Prepare her for the Split. Right now. We will commence Project Eve as soon as it's done.”

Dr. Singh’s voice cuts through the haze, a flicker of something close to uncertainty lacing her tone. “Sir?”

“I said what I said. Dad needs results to change his mind is all.”

Then, Clarke’s world cuts to black.

A low, pitiful growl pulls her from the depths of unconsciousness, the sound vibrating through her bones before her mind fully registers her surroundings. Clarke jerks awake with a sharp inhale, the stale, clinical air burning her throat.

She shivers violently, her arms curling instinctively around herself, but she barely moves before her elbow hits something. Her fingers press forward, meeting smooth, cold glass. Her breath fogs against the surface, a thin layer of condensation forming as she exhales shakily.

Her pulse pounds against her ribs as her gaze darts around, taking in the small, sterile enclosure surrounding her. The walls are reinforced with thick glass, and directly in front of her, a metallic grid separates her from something beyond where another rumble begs for attention.

Slowly, her eyes travel upward, locking onto a pair of deep, electric-blue irises staring back at her through the bars.

"Caelus?"

The panther daemon is pressed against the divider, his massive body coiled tight, muscles taut with restrained fury. His claws dig into the cold metal, his tail flicking erratically, hackles raised in agitation. His breath fogs up the grid between them, hot and ragged, his entire frame vibrating with tension.

For a moment, neither of them move, the only sound between them the low, continuous growl rumbling from Caelus’s chest.

Then, a hissing sound fills the air, and a voice—smooth, clinical, laced with amusement—cuts through the buzzing in her head.

"Finally awake, Miss Griffin?"

Clarke’s body stiffens at the familiar tone, her fingers curling into fists as she slowly turns her head.

Dr. Singh stands beyond the glass, arms crossed, her expression calm.The artificial glow from the overhead lights casts shadows along the sharp angles of her face, making the smug satisfaction curling at the corner of her lips all the more sinister.

Movement catches Clarke's eyes and a relieved sighs leaves her lungs at the sight of Leah's massive form prowling menacingly behind the doctor

“You really can't stay away from the spotlight, don’t you? There is people here that I rarely see five times during the course of the year. And you lay in front of me more times that I can count in a single day.”

Clarke swallows past the nausea roiling in her gut and rolls around to meet the doctor's eyes. “I aim to please.”  She replies in the same manner she did earlier that morning.

“I am sure you will” Dr. Singh’s lips curl into a satisfied, calm smile. That almost makes Clarke shudder.

Then, the chamber hums to life.

"What is this thing?" Clarke asks in a panic. 

"You will know in a moment. You might want to share a few words with your daemon while you still can."

Clarke's heart seizes in realization and panic. “A separation chamber?”

“Splice chamber…You are a smart one you know? It’s a pity.”
 
"You are all monsters!" She slams her hands against the thick walls and pushes around until Leah's familiar gaze pulls her attention.

Clarke's eyes meet Leah's icy green ones and her daemon pushes against the glass she can't phase through. Then her eyes flicker down to Clarke's wrist, her father's watch still in place.

The small hand pointing down the large one just a couple of notches behind moves once to stay one notch behind the short hand as the thinnest keeps moving smoothly around.

5:24

And a second realization hits.

One minute.

Desperation turns into unbridled joy and Clarke releases a loud manic laugh that stops Dr. Singh in her tracks.

Plan B. Leah

Leah, who is still very much present in the room but invisible to everyone else and most importantly on the other side of the glass.

Her daemon steps back to prowl around Dr. Singh. Powerful muscles coiled and ready to bounce. Her green eyes set menacingly on the doctor’s figure.

Clarke shakes her head and meets the doctor’s confused eyes at her sudden change of demeanor "Oh you are so screwed" She whispers to herself with a satisfied smile.

Fifty seconds.

"Tell me do you know how long it takes to sing the happy birthday song?"

Dr. Singh’s smirk falters—just for a second. She recovers quickly, but Clarke sees it. The flicker of unease in her sharp eyes. The way her fingers twitch minutely against the console.

The hum of the chamber intensifies, a low, bone-deep vibration crawling up Clarke’s spine. Static flickers along the glass walls, blue arcs of electricity hissing at the seams. The hair on Clarke’s arms stands on end, her skin prickling with energy. The pressure builds, sinking deep into her chest like an invisible hand crushing her ribcage.

But she barely registers it, eyes trained on Leah.

Her daemon stands tall, muscles coiled tight, her green eyes burning like twin beacons. Unaffected. Unmoving. Completely untouched by the force trying to rip Clarke apart.

The separation—whatever the hell it is, whatever twisted experiment they’ve spent generations perfecting—is failing.

Realization hits and a laugh bubbles up Clarke's throat, sharp, manic, triumphant.

Because Clarke is not eighteen yet. And the daemon to her side inside the chamber is not hers.

“You know, for a bunch of scientists, you’re all pretty fucking stupid,” she muses, her voice edged with sharp amusement. ”What happens if the bond you are trying to split is not even in the chamber?”

Dr. Singh’s frown deepens. "Excuse me?" 

Clarke’s eyes glance briefly to her watch.

Fifteen seconds.

Clarke grins, wild and manic, still humming the Happy Birthday song under her breath, her fingers tapping lightly to the beat against the watch strapped to her wrist.

Ten

The chamber’s hum peaks, the electricity crackling wildly. Dr Singh eyes widen in some sort of realization, and she hurriedly pushes a button on the side of the chamber in panic, not before the overhead lights explode in a cascade of sparks, plunging the room into darkness. 

The back up lights turn on enveloping the room in a dark red, as Clarke's humming continues before she sings out loud the final verse of the song.

Five men in lab coats burst through the doors, their hurried steps echoing in the sterile space.

"Happy-"

Four of them rush toward the chamber, scanning frantically for damage.

"Birthday-"

Three armed guards follow closely, weapons drawn, their eyes darting between Clarke and the failing machine.

"To-“

Two of the scientists stop short, confusion knitting their brows as they stare down at Clarke singing inside the chamber completely unfazed.

"Me" She finishes the song as-

One guard extends a hand offering to help Dr. Singh, but the doctor is frozen, looking back at Clarke in fear.

Clarke's smirk widens and sees from her periphery the large hand on her father's watch move to meet the short one.

5:25

A brilliant, searing flash of light explodes through the room, white-hot and blinding, swallowing everything in an instant. The chamber’s mechanical hum screeches to a halt, the abrupt silence stretching for a single, weightless second—before the whole room shudders under the force of a deafening ROAR.

The walls tremble as if struck by an earthquake. The reinforced glass of the chamber quivers violently under an unseen force, a sudden shockwave slamming into it with the weight of a battering ram. Fractures splinter outward, webbing across the thick plexiglass in jagged, hissing cracks. The tremors ripple beneath Clarke’s feet, rattling every bolt, every joint, every carefully constructed piece of this cursed cage.

Chaos detonates around them.

Boots scuff and scramble backward in blind panic. Someone shouts orders, but the sound is lost beneath the next guttural growl—deep, menacing, and all-encompassing in its fury.

The screaming starts then—raw, panicked voices blending into one long, garbled cacophony. Metal wrenches apart, something collapses in the observation room, and bodies hit the floor with heavy thuds and squelching gurgles.

Gunfire erupts, the sharp bark of bullets cracking through the air, muzzle flashes blinking in rapid succession against the red glow of the emergency lights. The acrid stench of burning metal and melting circuits fills the air as control panels short-circuit and burst. Sparks rain down like falling embers, illuminating the frozen horror on Dr. Singh’s face, the shadows stretching and twisting across her sharp features as her carefully controlled world begins to crumble at the seams.

A thunderous bang rocks the chamber as something massive slams into the glass, a force so tremendous that the remaining fractures spiderweb further, deep and gnarled like lightning ripping across a storm-choked sky.

For a fraction of a second, everything slows—suspended in a moment of pure chaos—before Clarke registers movement to her side and hears Caelus's roar join the cacophony of sounds to pull some more screams of his own.

Clarke tumbles to the ground and braces for impact, feels small bursts of pain blossom in her chest, legs, and arms.

The air rushes from her lungs as she is yanked backward, the impact sending her sprawling, her spine jarring painfully against the hard floor. For a second, her vision swims, ears ringing, limbs frozen in shock.

Then the room stills as silence envelops it, but for the rumbling sounds of her daemon companions.
Until she is tackled to the ground.

The unbearable pressure in her chest dissipates.

Something shifts inside her, realigns, like a missing piece snapping back into place. A current surges through her bloodstream, not painful, but electrifying, like taking a breath after drowning for too long.

Fingers curl instinctively into thick, familiar fur soaked in something sticky. Warmth floods her system, an anchor amidst the chaos.

Leah.

She is here. Solid. Real. Not just a distant presence but tangible, unbreakable. Clarke clings to her, presses her forehead against her daemon’s soft fur, her breath shuddering as relief and overwhelming clarity wash through her all at once.

"Happy Birthday, Clarke."
eah’s voice fills her mind—steady, warm, absolute. A tether that has always been there, waiting, watching, pulling her back home.

A single breath escapes Clarke’s lips, making them feel whole.

"Happy Birthday, Leah." Clarke replies back through her bond as naturally as breathing.

Chapter Text

The room is a haze of flickering red, the emergency lights pulsing like a dying heartbeat against the scorched walls. The air is thick with burning circuits and blood, a mixture of singed metal and the acrid sting of ozone left behind by the chamber’s failure. Clarke barely registers any of it.

Her fingers fist into Leah’s thick fur, clinging to her daemon as if she might disappear if she lets go. The world is still reeling, her body fighting the remnants of whatever they had tried to do to her, but Leah is here. She is real. Warm. Strong. A part of Clarke that was never truly lost but feels like she’s been missing for a lifetime.

Leah shifts, adjusting her weight beneath Clarke’s grip. Her massive frame looms over her, and Clarke lets out a weak, breathless chuckle, her voice hoarse and raw. “—can’t breathe,” she rasps through a chuckle, her ribs straining under the daemon’s solid form.

Leah’s low, amused huff ruffles Clarke’s hair.

Suddenly.

A growel rips through the air, sharp and guttural, followed by a hiss of warning. Before Clarke can react, a force slams into Leah, shoving her away from Clarke’s body before she feels a sting on her shoulder, pulling a yelp out of her lips. She rolls onto her side as she blinks through the red-tinted haze of the room. Her vision swims with motion—two blurred figures grappling above her, snarling and hissing, their movements fast and vicious, claws scraping against steel, bodies colliding with bone-rattling force. Clarke barely has time to process the flash of black fur, the bared white fangs, painted red by the light of the emergency lights or something else before pain explodes along her back sharp and fast.

Clarke cries out, her body jerking from the unexpected pain.

The panther daemon stands over her in a low, defensive crouch, muscles coiled and shoulders squared, as if shielding her from some unseen threat. His tail lashes violently behind him, his snarls deep and guttural, vibrating through the floor beneath Clarke’s hands. His massive paws are dug into the metal plating, his sleek fur bristling.

Caelus snaps his teeth, his body still tense, his claws scraping against the metal. “Run, Clarke. Leave me behind and find your own. I will hold the enemy back. If you can. Close the door behind you.”

She struggles onto her elbows, eyes darting wildly across the room for an attacker, but all she sees is Leah’s massive form, Caelus’s sleek, dark figure, and herself—the only ones left breathing. Clarke’s brows furrow in confusion.

“What enemy?” Clarke starts, but the panther daemon standing protectively over her doesn’t take his eyes off Leah. His chest heaves with fast labored breaths, his ears flicked back in aggression as he releases another warning hiss.

“This idiot thinks I’m the enemy” Leah provides and responds with a hiss of her own. Tail flickering aggressively.

Her pulse pounds as understanding slams into her just as Caelus lunges and slams into Leah again.
“Don’t hurt him!” Clarke barely has time to order Leah before she meets him mid-air, claws unsheathed, fangs bared. The impact shakes the floor, sending loose debris skidding across the slick surface drenched in blood as the two daemons collide, a blur of motion and fur. Clarke’s stomach twists as she watches them grapple, yowling and hissing, rolling across the floor in a violent struggle, their snarls echoing through the empty chamber like a battle cry. She understands now the sharp stings of pain flaring across her limbs and torso as Caelus’s claws digging into Leah’s thick coat. Affecting her through their bond.

“Caelus wait—” Clarke starts, when they separate enough to not show their backs to each other in the cramped space. But her voice drowns under the low growling and hissing echoing in the spacious room.

“Clarke, stay back. Run when you are close enough.”“Clarke stay out of the way, you will get harmed.” Leah says and her voice mixes’s with Caelus’s quiet and rapid concern. Tails lashing as they prowl slowly circling each other. Caelus still strategically positioned guarding Clarke never quite losing sight of her and silently edging her towards the door with each quick bout of aggression between them.

“Leah you can’t harm him” Clarke reminds Leah. Noticing the large size difference with Caelus half of his regular size and the way he sometimes hits the floor before using his hind legs to pivot in place and keep his belly and back out of Leah’s range.

“I am trying not to!” Leah growls when Caelus launches a quick swipe at her with a menacing yowl of his own that she reflects back.

“Then stop hissing at him!”

“He’s hurt us!” Her daemon grumbles.

“Because you keep being aggressive towards him”

“Fine” Leah attempts to relax her stance to show she is not being aggressive but Caelus lunges immediately.

“Caelus stop it, she’s not-!”

Their bodies collide violently, claws swiping, jaws snapping. They crash against the chamber walls, sending another loud BANG rattling through the space. Clarke grimaces, flinching at the sound, her hands clenched her sides when Caelus drags a nasty line with a clawed hind leg against Leah’s side. She tries to find something in the room that could help but finds herself helpless.

Leah growls, clearly trying to hold back, but Caelus is relentless. He twists, fighting tooth and claw, unwilling to yield using his smaller size as an advantage in a room Leah has trouble navigating in. Always getting the upper hand and landing nearby Clarke.

"He thinks he's protecting me, Smother him or something!" Clarke says through the bond, her voice firm but desperate.

Leah huffs in frustration, shifting her weight just in time, her paws pressing into Caelus’s chest as she struggles to pin him down without hurting him. She keeps her hold, exerting just enough pressure to keep him beneath her.

Caelus growls and writhes beneath Leah’s weight, his sharp claws digging into the ground as he fights to get free.

“Well, I think he’s stupid.” Leah huffs irritably over Caelus wiggling body.

And just like that everything stops.

Caelus freezes mid-struggle, his squirming coming to an abrupt halt as his head snaps up toward Leah then glances around before some sort of realization hits. His blue eyes blink once, then twice, slowly.
Leah, ever the picture of unbothered confidence, tilts her head, her massive paws still planted firmly on Caelus’s chest. "You done now, or should I knock some more sense on that thick skull of yours?”

Caelus, for all his earlier ferocity, remains frozen beneath her, his blue eyes blown wide in confusion. His tail flicks once, hesitating, his claws no longer digging into the floor.

“Who else, dumbass?” Leah answers a question Clarke doesn’t hear. His ears flick forward, tail twitching slightly, and then he lets his eyes meet Leah’s both of them momentarily freezing. Clarke sighs, watching with bated breath as both daemons then tilt their heads at each other, mirroring the same movement, staring like they’re seeing each other for the first time. “Skaiheda?”

“You’re talking to him? You can hear him?” Clarke asks through their bond.

“Yeah, you can’t? Huh, it doesn’t work both ways…” Leah’s tone holds a rare note of curiosity. Clarke shakes her head, and that earns her daemon’s subtle frown before Leah focuses back on Caelus. “I wasn’t talking to you,” she adds dryly.

The silence stretches, thick with tension, both of them completely still as Caelus eyes glance towards Clarke then back at Leah his ears flick and Caelus tilts his head with curiousity.

Leah exhales, unimpressed. “Do I look like a bird to you? I think I might’ve hit you harder than I thought.” Leah once again answers a question Clarke doesn’t hear. Caelus huffs and pushes helplessly against Leah’s weight and Leah tilts her head again. “You could say I am by proxy. Clarke has always been outstanding, doesn’t need me to guide anyone. They just follow her.” She shrugs, the movement causing Caelus to flinch under her weight.

Clarke steps forward and places her hand against Caelus’s fur.

Clarke steps forward and places a hand against Caelus’s fur. “Caelus, this is Leah. She’s not your enemy. She is my daemon. So please stop trying to attack each other, okay?”

He studies Clarke for a long moment, then nods once.

Clarke exhales a slow breath and rolls her shoulders, feeling the ache settle deep into her bones now that the adrenaline has begun to fade. She flexes her fingers against the fresh sting of the gashes on her arm, inspecting them briefly before looking up to find Caelus watching her intently. His ears flick back, his gaze dipping once again to the matching wounds on Leah. “Apologies, Clarke of the sky people. I heard you couldn’t breathe; thought you were in danger. And I have harmed you instead.” Then he looks back up at Leah and gives her a slight bow with his head. “Apologies. Leah, spirit of skaiheda. You may draw blood in retaliation for my oversight”

Leah huffs in mild amusement at the polite way Caelus addresses her. “Just Leah is fine. And don’t be an idiot I don’t need to hurt you back for it…As much as I want to.”

“Leah…” Clarke says in warning tone. And Leah rolls her eyes.

Finally, she lifts her paws off him, stepping back with a practiced ease. She flicks her tail once, releasing a slow breath before casting Clarke a quick glance, as if to check her for lingering injuries before carefully dragging her tongue to groom the hayward strands of fur from her scuffle. Caelus rolls to stand, falters for a second, and Leah—without hesitation—turns and brushes against his side in subtle support. Caelus stiffens at the touch, his body locking in place.

Leah regards him with something akin to mild amusement, but says nothing of it. Instead, she watches as he adjusts his footing, keeping a wary but intrigued gaze on her, crouching for half a second  with ears flat to his skull, seemingly intimidated by her size before he puffs his chest and stands proudly beside her.

“Apology accepted, if only because I know you had Clarke’s safety in mind,” Leah continues, her voice neutral but edged with quiet apprehension. “However annoying it was and how poor your attempts were. It’s the thought that counts.”

“Leah!”

Leah separates from Caelus and turns to Clarke. “I’m joking!” Her voice and smug stance indicate the complete opposite.

“No you are not” Clarke shoves her but Leah barely budges and brushes against Clarke next, her massive frame moving between her and Caelus in an unmistakably possessive gesture. Clarke can’t keep her glare though as Leah proceeds to purr and bump her head tenderly with her nose.

The movement doesn’t go unnoticed—Caelus’s sharp gaze follows it, observing and studying it. He doesn’t challenge it. Instead, he exhales through his nose, seemingly accepting the unspoken new hierarchy without complaint.

He angles his head toward the shattered chamber, ears flicking as he scans the space. His tail brushes against Clarke’s knee as he speaks. “We should move we don’t know if any more of them will come.”

Clarke nods, forcing her legs into motion, shaking off the last vestiges of lingering shock. She swipes a hand across her face, smearing a bit of grime and sweat, and something else she refuses to think about and gestures for Leah to move.

“Yeah. We need to find the others.” Clarke looks down nearby to a crackling sound and finds a radio. She goes to pick it up but its attached to some sort of cable keeping it tethered to a heavy object just to the side. She pulls hard until something makes a sickly snap that echoes in the room, the low flickering red light making it hard to discern shadows from object and bodies.

“If they are smart and listened to you. They should be already outside right?” Leah’s large paws pad soundlessly against the floor as she pivots toward the hallway, her tail flicking once in silent agreement then looks around the scattered shadows in the floor. “Let’s just get to the emergency stairwell and get out of this place. The evil doctor’s keycard should be somewhere around here…”

Clarke’s stomach coils as Leah unfazed lifts up something, the brief flash of red lighting up a dismembered torso between her teeth and shakes it lightly until some more of it’s guts drops. It was just a brief second but It makes Clarke finally glance around her and she can’t deny what just happened any longer. She looks down to her hand feeling something fluid and sticky flow past her fingers and finds out that the radio wasn’t tethered to a cable, but to what remained of an hand tightly gripping to it.

Clarke swallows down past the nausea and she steps quickly outside of the room through the open door to catch her breath away from the acrid smell of burnt circuitry, melted metal and the coppery scent of blood.  She heaves on air and retches emptying out the contents of her already empty stomach on the floor, once its finally over she moves to the other side and slides down the wall once bracing her knees letting out deep breaths but they feel stuck in her lungs unable to escape that smell, clinging to her clothes.

“Close your eyes, Clarke. Breathe. I will be with you as soon as I find what we need, you don’t have to come in.”  Leah’s voice comes slow and soothing. It helps to relax her muscles. But breathing is still difficult. Every time she closes her eyes crude images invade her mind.

Caelus follows silently behind her and Clarke startles, lifting her head when he brushes against her, releasing a purr that grounds her. Clarke’s hands spread through his thick coat and she clings to his presence concentrating on the easy glide of her hand against soft fur.

“I take it is your first time you have ended someone’s fight?”

Clarke drags in a breath, her ribs expanding against the weight in her chest. She has killed before but everything else going around had kept her busy from really looking.

“Not the first time, I killed someone in the woods.” She exhales a sharply and shakes her head. “But this is…” Clarke swallows past the bile threatening to spill out again thick and acidic against her throat, “this is different, ” she glances at the room behind them and her eyes follow the bloody path of her and Caelus’s footprints on the floor.

“That time you were too busy tending to the living to care for the dead around you. So…first time you stick around long enough to properly see the aftermath then?”

When Clarke doesn’t answer, eyes trained on the radio she dropped Caelus shuffles closer, his broad frame blocking the carnage behind them. Without hesitation, he lifts a thick paw, pressing it against Clarke’s back and pulling her tenderly against the solid warmth of his chest. Her arms move instinctively, gripping his thick fur, her fingers tangling into the dark strands to stop them from trembling. He lowers his head, resting it gently over hers, his deep, rhythmic purr vibrating through his chest, drowning out the echoes of the massacre behind them. Clarke exhales, matching her breathing to the slow rise and fall of his chest, grounding herself in the steady rhythm it sets.

“Lexa’s first grand battle wasn’t a welcoming sight either,” Caelus murmurs, his voice a low rumble inside her head. “She couldn’t cry. As a child should be allowed to.” His tone dips with something akin to sadness. “She clung to Anya that night, but Anya pushed her away, insisted it was weakness—a future Heda should never show. Friznop nomonjok, all of them if you ask me,” he growls, his purring briefly interrupted by a sharp, unrestrained edge of anger. “If I could have, I would have ripped her arm off and spilled her guts right there.”

Clarke lets out a snort and a wet chuckle as Caelus’s soft tone shifts so suddenly as he curses and talks of bloody violence, catching her off guard. The irony isn’t lost on her that the massacre that occurred in that room very likely was born out of the same type thoughts from Leah.

She tries to picture a smaller Lexa, clinging to Anya’s leg in the aftermath of her first battle, desperate for some kind of comfort. But she can’t. She can only recall the commander’s impassive gaze, the way she stood amidst the slew of slain Reapers, issuing orders without hesitation, stepping over dismembered bodies as though they were little more than fallen trees.

“It seemed to me the philosophy grew on her.” Clarke murmurs against his chest  “Guess it gets easier if you live by that” she whispers.

“Can’t say it gets easier, Skaiheda.” Caelus admits, with a gruff in his voice. “It wasn’t something Lexa could easily put behind her until she ascended as Heda. The past commanders guiding her had more to do with it. By the time I was able to be there for her like this.” He murmurs and tightens his grip around her back and nuzzles slightly further to comfort Clarke, ”She had spent years under their guidance and was old enough to carry the weight of her marks. My help was not needed-” Something in his tone of voice sounded melancholic and almost resentful then he shakes his head and continues with a soft tone. “But I know it helps to know that a choice had to be made. It was you or them. You said it yourself. They are monsters. They are not innocent. They wouldn’t have spared you. Ending their fight before they end yours is how you survive. Blood has answered the blood they have spilled.”

Clarke breathes out letting his words sink in, she grips the sullied red sash around his neck, still firmly in place and finds that the scent of moss, pine and ash still clings to it. Taking deep centering breaths.

“Thank you, Caelus. “ She whispers against his chest before pulling back. Caelus stops crowding her space and Clarke scratches under his chin and finds his eyes closing slightly as his purring doubles. “Also. Please just call me Clarke.”

“Pro, Klark”

Leah steps forward, pressing her massive body into Clarke’s side making her presence known. Her thick fur brushes against Clarke’s arm in a way that feels both grounding and possessive. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t push, just stays close enough that Clarke can feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing too. Clarke exhales slowly, focusing on the warmth of her daemon, the familiar comfort of their connection thrumming beneath her skin having an even grander effect than Caelus’s.

“I found the keycard,” Leah finally murmurs, her voice low and cautious. She tilts her head, eyes flicking down to Clarke’s hand still clinging to Caelus’s chest. “You ready?” Leah asks, her tone even, but her sharp green eyes flick briefly to Caelus, her tail giving the barest twitch of disapproval at their closeness. Clarke, still leaning against Caelus, misses it.

Caelus exhales slowly, but he doesn’t move away from Clarke, his own tail brushing against her knee in quiet reassurance and checking Leah with his hind leg. “She needed a moment,” he says, his voice level but firm. “You could afford to be patient.”

Leah lets out a soft huff through her nose. “No I can’t. We don’t have time for moments, not yet” she replies coolly, but there’s no true bite to her words—not when it’s Clarke. Instead, she takes a deliberate step forward, brushing her massive shoulder against Clarke’s side, effortlessly shifting her weight just enough to separate them and enough for Clarke to stand up on her feet. Caelus, not expecting it, stumbles back half a step, his ears flicking in brief irritation.

Clarke sighs, glancing down at the keycard. Then back at the radio she had left discarded a few steps behind. Her fingers are still trembling slightly when she picks it up and pries the fingers attached to it off without looking. She looks back and thinks of taking one of the guard’s guns but stays frozen still a few feet to the door.

Leah watches closely, then nudges Clarke’s head with her snout, her breath warm against Clarke’s scalp. “You’re not weak nor anything less of the incredibly strong and caring person I know you are for needing to breathe, Clarke” she murmurs, just for her. “But don’t forget—you’re still in enemy territory. We can’t rely on an invisible eye to keep watch or the element of surprise anymore. We will have all the time to breathe and break down once we are out of here. And I will be right next to you, always. I will get it for you.”

Clarke exhales and lets her hand brush against Leah’s blood-stained fur. She feels her body light and relaxed and marvels at the incredible change a freshly established bond does to her body  they all said the eighteen birthday was life-changing but no one said it would be like this. Despite her tiredness, she feels a burst of energy as if Leah’s been storing energy for all these years just for this moment. Clarke meets her gaze and nods.

Leah comes out with a belt with a handgun holstered on it and drops it carefully at Clarke’s foot. “Don’t shoot yourself in the foot, it’s not just you anymore who will feel that.”

Leah’s version of comfort is blunt, but Clarke understands what she means, she smiles and shakes her head.

Caelus, now sitting a short distance away, lets his tail flick in mild irritation but doesn’t comment. Instead, his sharp blue eyes track the corridor. His tail flicks against Clarke’s hand “Then let’s move. We’re already running on borrowed time.”

Leah flicks her ear in silent agreement, but as they begin to move, she stays close to Clarke, her pace measured, deliberate. Caelus keeps just ahead, his posture tense, but Clarke doesn’t miss how his tail subtly sweeps back every so often, making brief contact with Clarke’s body in one way or another. A quiet, instinctive reassurance.

Even with their different approaches, they were both saying the same thing.

She wasn’t alone in this.

Turns out cats, no matter their size—daemon or not. Tend to be very territorial.

Clarke doesn’t notice at first—too focused on moving forward, eyes squinting through the red emergency lights still bathing the place, on keeping her breaths even—but then Caelus’s fur brushes against her arm, and Leah subtly shifts, stepping between them with a casual flick of her tail. Clarke nearly stumbles when she finds herself nudged firmly back toward Leah’s side In the cramped space of the corridor Leah has to stay slightly crouched as to not hit any overhead light hanging from above.

She huffs and cranes her head up to glare at Leah. “Really?”

Leah doesn’t acknowledge the question, keeping her gaze trained forward, but there’s a smugness to the way her ears flick back, as if she’s listening, waiting for Caelus to comment on it, undoubtedly ready to answer back.

Caelus exhales sharply but doesn’t comment, his pace unwavering. Clarke shakes her head, a faint, tired smile tugging at her lips despite everything.

The corridor outside the chamber is silent, save for the faint hum of emergency power thrumming through the walls.

The red lights pulse in slow, rhythmic waves, casting long shadows across the floor.

Clarke grips the keycard tightly in one hand, her other brushing against Leah’s thick fur every so often, grounding herself in their bond. The halls are eerily vacant—most of the mountain’s inhabitants must be scrambling in response to the failed procedure, but that doesn’t mean they’re safe. If anything, the empty corridors only make Clarke’s skin crawl.

Caelus notices her tension and brushes against her which gets him a low warning glare out of Leah as she nudges him back-

“You know, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you two weren’t having a silent territorial dispute when we can barely fit. The corridors are getting thinner, Leah you are massive stay ahead or stay behind and look out for danger.” Clarke mutters.

Leah looks down to where Clarke is pushed against Caelus, his dark fur scraping against the wall. Leah shakes her coat of fur completely unbothered and keeps her gaze fixed forward. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Caelus scoffs and brushes against Clarke his deep voice rumbling through Clarke’s mind. “I don’t dabble in senseless disputes.”

Clarke throws them both an exasperated look before turning back toward their path. The hallway ahead branches into two, one leading toward the storage rooms she vaguely remembers passing before, the other disappearing into darkness, likely deeper into the facility.

The overhead speakers crackle to life.

“Containment breach detected. All personnel please move to level Five. All personnel please move to level five. Access to all other levels restricted for security purposes until further notice do not approach without proper gear.”

They all have their heads tilted up and process the words once the announcement ends. Clarke scans the corridor for cameras but finds none. Either way the power seems to be down at least on this whole level. They might know something happened but the radio in Clarke’s hand indicated otherwise as she listened to the various channels to get a heads up if they were discovered.  They are preoccupied with the power outage on level six and something that had everyone very rattled on levels three and two. Medbay and quarantine.

Then a thought hits, ”Finn and the others must have opened the door ” Clarke whispers and a weight lifts off her shoulders at that.

Clarke grips the gun tightly in one hand, her other brushing against Leah’s thick fur every so often, grounding herself in their bond. The halls are eerily vacant—most of the mountain’s inhabitants must be scrambling in response to the power outage, but that doesn’t mean they’re safe. If anything, the empty corridors only make Clarke’s skin crawl. Clarke can only hope they were able to get rid of all the hazmat’s they could before getting out.

Level six is immense Clarke notes. This is where everything was stored, from food to supplies, to weapons and medicine along with one specific hall Clarke can wager Dante made sure was kept in good condition. The amount of art supplies made her heart clench in yearning.

Another turn, another wrong hall this one stacked high with sealed crates labeled in faded white paint. Clarke exhales sharply through her nose, frustration creeping into her steps.

“Maybe we could find the others…” She speaks through the bond as she looks around cluelessly. She is not sure where she currently is can only hope she finds the elevator or the emergency staircase door to find her footing.

Then Leah halts to a stop and looks carefully at a colorful painting hanging the corner of one of the intersections. “First we must find ourselves” Leah replies coldly as she looks around and her eyes light up in recognition. “I know this place…This way!” Leah pivots and dashes ahead, Clarke and Caelus huffing and puffing behind her trying to keep up the pace.

Leah turns a left and then a right until they can see the red door at the end of the corridor. “There it is!”

Leah picks up her pace instincts guiding her in excitement. Clarke and Caelus follow.

Clarke’s frown deepens as she watches Leah surge forward without slowing down as they approach the door. It takes her a second too long to realize—Leah isn’t slowing down?!

“Leah, wait!” Clarke shouts, but the warning leaves her lips a heartbeat too late.

BANG!

Leah slams face-first into the door at full force, the impact rattling the steel and sending an echoing boom through the hall.

At the exact moment, Clarke falls down with a strangled yelp, hands flying to her nose as a phantom pain explodes across her face. “FUCK—Leah!” he hisses, curling in on herself, tears springing to her eyes as the stinging pain radiates through their bond. “You can’t phase through stuff anymore!”

Leah stumbles backward, shaking out her head, dazed and momentarily speechless. Her ears flatten against her skull, and a sharp exhale huffs through her nose. “That—” she lets out a sharp breath through her nose, her voice strained and thoroughly embarrassed through their bond. “That will take some getting used to.”

Clarke groans, still clutching her own nose, her head pounding in sync with Leah’s pain.

A deep, amused rumble fills the corridor.

Caelus steps ahead staring at Leah, expression caught somewhere between bewilderment and pure delight. His tail swishes, sharp blue eyes gleaming with poorly concealed mirth, he lets out another purring chuckle—low and thoroughly entertained as he inspects the damage on the door, tail brushing on Leah’s front paws .

Leah’s head snaps toward him, her mortification instantly morphing into a withering glare. “Something funny?”

Caelus doesn’t even try to mask the smug satisfaction radiating from him. Whatever he says in return is lost on Clarke, but it makes Leah’s tail flick violently, her ears twitching with irritation. Then, her expression smooths over into something else—an expression Clarke knows all too well means trouble.

“You know what you are right, we all need to laugh sometimes” Leah says, her voice turning saccharine with sarcasm. “Watching you wiggle those chunky legs of yours earlier was one of the highlights of my day. Truly a delight. So cute.” Caelus lets out a sharp hiss, ears flattening in pure offense. Leah eyes him smugly, flicking her tail over his head as she strides past him, heading back toward Clarke then something Caelus says makes her steps slow down, she turns and lets out a low warning growl of her own- “Or what little puss?”

Clarke, still sprawled on the floor, groans in exasperation when the warning hisses and growls don’t stop echoing in the corridor. “Can we not start another fight right now?”

Leah huffs, twitching her nose irritably before shaking herself out and straightening with regained composure. “You’re right, it’s not worth it. Let’s get that door open first”

Clarke pushes herself up with the help of Leah and scrunches her nose with a grimace pushing past the sharp sting of pain that makes her eyes water. She walks up to the door and swipes the keycard but nothing happens, not even a flashing light.

She glares at it, as if that will make it more useful. “Even with high clearance, the system is down. The doors won’t open electronically.”

Caelus steps up beside her, inspecting the bent metal with a considering hum. His nose twitches as he sniffs along the edges of the door before looking back at Clarke. "The door bent. Though…"

Leah narrows her eyes, catching his train of thought. "You think we can force it open?"

"I think you already started the job," Clarke muses as she places her hand over the huge dent and notices she can see a bit of the stairwell past the hinges, her smirk widening when Leah shoots her an unamused glare.

Caelus lets out a small rumbling chuckle that Clarke can’t help but echo. Leah rolls her eyes but takes another step closer, inspecting the damage she caused.

"Alright, alright. I get it- It was very funny. Now, move smartass.” Leah rolls her eyes and checks Clarke good naturedly with her shoulder “ Let's get this thing open, maybe we can try and push" she mutters, pressing her paw against the dented metal and it makes a sound under her weight.

Clarke and Caelus huddle together to push under Leah with all their might and it groans under pressure but doesn’t budge past a loud groan. They try pushing at the same time.

Caelus’s unending purring resonates besides Clarke. “Your head seemed to be rather effective on this regard.”

Leah’s ears twitch and she grumbles. “Your skull looks thick enough. Maybe I should use yours next.”

“I’d love to see you try, skaiheda spirit.”

“Don't test me, puss. And stop calling me that!”

"I will stop when-"

Clarke huffs, exhaling in a mix of exasperation and amusement but mostly exasperation as the two feline daemons talk back to each other. Why is this my life? She thinks and looks around, catching the glint of the firebox nearby, an idea sparking in her head. She steps under Leah tuning out their hisses and growls and strides toward the emergency fire axe box mounted on the wall. With an annoyed mutter under her breath, she throws an elbow into the glass, shattering it instantly.

As she pulls out the sturdy axe to use as lever to pry the damaged hinges off, she glances back at them too involved in their bickering to notice her.

"This is going to be long." She mutters then takes a deep breath. “Alright you two, stop it and get out of my way!”

Clarke and Caelus keep a brisk pace as they ascend the emergency stairwell, the sterile glow of overhead red emergency lights casting long shadows against the walls. She is surprised the whole facility went down, their electrical system may be faulty if a failure like that made everything go down, she surmises.

The enclosed space is suffocating and Clarke feels her legs wobble but presses forward, heart hammering in her chest from the strenuous day she has had. She knows come morning she likely won’t be able to walk without stumbling about in pain. Her ankle is still quite sore though the rush of adrenaline helps, every step echos with urgency as they get closer to the top.

Behind them, Leah pads silently, the ceiling on the stairs so tall that she is able to stand upright, though the steps clearly are not designed for her physique, she contantly stumbles on steps too small for her massive paws to cling to, her presence is an imposing force regardless.. Though she moves with controlled grace, her focus is razor-sharp, her sharp eyes flickering over Clarke and Caelus, taking in every twitch, every strained breath. Ears flicking at every shift in the air, muscles coiled and ready to jump in front of Clarke if needed.

Caelus moves steadily at first, his pace strong and determined, his size just perfect enough to fit each large paw on the stairs but then his steps falter sometimes. It’s subtle—just a slight misstep, a barely-there hesitation—but Clarke sees it. She feels it in the slight slump of his shoulders, the way he sways for just a second before catching himself with a sharp breath.

Caelus stumbles and his chest rises and falls rapidly. Clarke can pick up the early stages of soul sickness seeping deep into his essence.

“Caelus?” Clarke’s voice is quiet but firm. She brushes a hand against his shoulder, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles.

“I am fine,” he answers immediately, too quickly, shaking his head as if to will away the weakness.

Clarke frowns. “I know you’re not.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, his ears flattening in frustration. “I should be fine once we’re outside these walls.” His voice is gruff, tinged with exhaustion, but he keeps moving, refusing to let it slow him down.

Leah, silent until now about his condition, releases a measured hum. A sound that is neither agreement nor dismissal. But when Caelus falters again, she moves without hesitation, stepping closer, her larger form brushing against him. The tight space forcing Clarke to step ahead of them.

“I’ve got him, Clarke. You get to the door.”

Caelus stiffens, eyes flicking to Leah, tail lashing once in annoyance likely refusing her support.

Leah doesn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, she keeps pace beside him, her steady gait forcing him to match her rhythm in the tight space of the staircase. Clarke watches as Caelus hesitates as he looks up with his cautious blue eyes at Leah, then finally exhales through his nose, allowing the unspoken support without further protest.

Clarke taps his shoulder briefly before letting her hand drop. “We just need to get to the top. The others should be waiting outside.”

Caelus nods, eyes fixed forward in focus and steps ahead of Leah.

Leah’s voice brushes against Clarke’s thoughts, a low murmur meant only for her. “He is too stubborn for his own good.”

Clarke bites back a smile. “You’re one to talk.”

“Of course I am. Who do you think I got it from?”

Clarke shakes her head and looks up, they should be passing the third level by now. The door already visible up ahead. Clarke stares at the heavy door and something about it makes her frown.
Her breathing comes out sharp and uneven, heart hammering against her ribs.

That door should be open. She should be able to see light filtering in from the outside.

Finn and the others wouldn’t have left it closed. They knew the plan.

Her feet move faster, nearly tripping over a rusted ladder lying discarded on the steps. She stumbles, catches herself with a hand against the metal railing, then pushes forward, desperation clawing at her throat. When she reaches the door, she slams her palms against it, rattling the handle, shoving against the frame with all the strength she has left. It doesn’t budge.

Her pulse roars in her ears.

“No, no, no—” Clarke mutters, fingers fumbling at the latch, trying to pry it open manually. It’s locked tight. Sealed shut.

Leah is at her side in an instant, bracing her massive paws against the steel, her muscles tensing as she forces her weight into it. Clarke grits her teeth and pushes alongside her, shoulder digging into the cold metal, but nothing gives. The door remains stubbornly in place.

From behind them, Caelus lets out a low huff before dropping onto his haunches tiredly. He watches them impassively, tail curling around his paws, blue eyes unreadable.

“It’s not opening,” Clarke rasps, frustration tightening in her chest. She presses her forehead against the unyielding door, her arms shaking from exertion as she slides to her knees bumping the door with her forehead once again. “Finn and the others would have left it open…”

Leah exhales through her nose, stepping back and shaking out her fur, barely winded. “Something must have happened when the lockdown started,” she murmurs, voice even and controlled. Her green eyes scan Clarke’s face, tracking the flickers of panic behind her exhaustion. “We’ll find another way out.”

Clarke lets out a sharp breath, her hands trembling as they rake through her tangled, dirt-streaked hair. She feels grimy, the weight of sweat, blood, and dust clinging to her skin like a second layer.

She turns around and sinks onto the steps, elbows braced on her knees allowing her head to hang low. Her fingers tighten into her scalp. The exhaustion that’s been clawing at her since she first woke up in that damned lab threatens to pull her under.

Leah moves to lay behind her, settling into a comfortable crouch, large paws bracketing her from both sides and her large chest helping support Clarke’s back. She doesn’t say anything for a moment—just watches. Then, without warning, she leans in and drags her rough tongue along the back of Clarke’s head, tongue getting stuck partially on her hair then licks again down the side of her face.

Clarke jerks back with a startled noise. “Leah! What the hell—”

Leah merely flicks her tail, unapologetic. “You desperately need a bath.”

Clarke gapes at her, half-annoyed, half-bemused. A breathless chuckle escapes her lips despite herself. “You did not just—” Clarke huffs, rubbing at her face where Leah licked her. The dryness of her skin is more noticeable now, stretched tight over the grime clinging to it. “God, I’d kill for an actual bath right now,” she mutters heavily and leans back sagging against Leah’s chest.

“Well they do say nothing beats a bath after a long day to wash your worries down the drain…”

“At this point I feel like falling and drowning down the drain instead.” Clarke mutters past the knot in her throat with hopeless tears threatening to spill from her eyes

Caelus comes up the stairs and tiredly places his head on Clarke’s lap, she lifts her hands instinctively to place them over Caelus’s ears and scratch softly. His deep blue eyes tracking a tear that falls on his nose and then meet hers with a low purr. “Do we have time to sit down and groom each other?”

“No, Why? Do you want to go next?” Clarke asks with a raised eyebrow before letting out a loud sigh and leaning back against Leah tilting her head upwards to catch her daemon’s eyes. But Leah’s eyes are locked firmly and narrowing on her hands scratching softly over Caelus’s slightly rounded ears. Clarke feels more than hears the low rumble behind Leah’s chest.

Clarke lets out a laugh and Leah startles looking down then to the side, ears flickering in annoyance.
“You are incorrigible”

“What is it?” Caelus asks innocently, completely unaware of the daggers Leah was throwing down at him.

“Not you, Caelus. Leah is just being irrational”

“Unsurprising after slamming her melon at that speed”

Clarke’s giggles evolve into laughter “melon?”

“Means ‘head’ in my language”

“Your language can be funny sometimes” Clarke chuckle then recalls the rich lilt, the pronunciation and the strength that the unusual words carried with them that made them sound…imperative. Didn’t need to know the meaning to know they meant business. “I wouldn’t mind learning it though…It’s interesting”

“I could teach you some but I am not the best teacher…Lexa and Titus teach the natblidas gonasleng, maybe you could exchange some knowledge with them in return for some lessons.”

“We will have to get to them first for that” Clarke sighs, shaking her head, but the tightness in her chest has eased, just slightly. Leah and Caelus knew exactly what they were doing—grounding her, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts before panic could fully set in.

She rolls out her shoulders and releases a long exhale “Alright, enough mopping. Let’s think of another way out...” Then she looks to Leah and Caelus. “Any ideas?”

“Well I was only able to exp-“ Leah starts.

Caelus stands up in alarm at the same time Leah’s train of thought halts abruptly, both of their ears flicker for a couple of seconds and they both look at each other for confirmation with tense muscles.

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asks Leah through her bond

“I just heard something…” Leah answers and walks in a silent prowl, down the steps, head tilting around until her ears flicker and both Leah and Caelus ‘s head snap upwards with focused eyes. Caelus stands protectively in front of Clarke while Leah stands up on her hind legs. Able to easily reach a very tall vent cover high on the wall. “Its coming from here” She sniffs around and then her ears lay back as she squints through the grids on the vent. A few seconds later her ears move forward and she tilts her head with curiosity instead of aggressiveness before lifting a paw and clawing the vent off its hinges.

The heavy cover falls with a loud echo and Caelus has to scramble down stairs to catch it between his teeth before it keeps tumbling all the way down. He returns to Clarke’s side and huffs “Care to be louder? I believe they didn’t hear you down on floor six!”

A loud gasp and choked shout Is heard echoing through the vents and suddenly Leah’s body language changes. “I knew it was you!” Her long tail flicks excitedly.

Her posture relaxes ever so slightly, weight shifting back to her haunches as her green eyes gleam with quiet satisfaction.

Caelus, however, is not amused. His tail lashes, his muscles coiled, ready to pounce. “What is it?” he growls, hackles rising.

A beat of silence follows, then the unmistakable sound of something—or someone—scrambling backward in the vent. A voice, exasperated and unmistakably familiar, follows. “Shitshit shit—!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Murphy!?” Clarke asks out loud and the panicked shuffling stops. “Leah get your head out of the vent you are scaring him”

A pair of dusty hands grip the edge of the vent, followed by a mop of sweat-damp curls and a sharp-toothed grin. “Well, would you look at that—Griffin’s still breathing,” Murphy drawls, hoisting himself forward then looking down and huffing from the height. “Huh mind getting that ladder down there? I don’t- whoa!” His shoulders barely squeeze through the opening, but Leah stands up in her hind legs and holds the back of his jacket between her teeth and pulls “Shit—okay, okay, don’t eat me, damn it—!” Leah drags him out and safely down the vent several feet tall as he squirms in her grasp with closed eyes with a final grunt, he tumbles out in a heap of limbs onto the floor at Clarke’s feet.

Clarke huffs, pressing her fingers to her temple as he groans dramatically on the floor while Caelus sniffs at him. “What were you doing over there?!”

Murphy, dusting himself off and looking entirely too pleased with himself, raises an eyebrow at the large panther daemon practically breathing down his neck. He glances from Caelus to Leah, his eyes almost popping out of his sockets eyebrows raised high and then looks back to Clarke. “Are you collecting these things now?” he quips.

Leah’s ears flick, unimpressed and she towers over him with a little snarl. “Funny, you look collectible-sized for me”

Clarke side eyes Leah and she huffs leaning back when Murphy’s grin falters for a split second before he shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. You’re all real charming,” he mutters before turning his attention fully to Clarke. “Nice to see you alive Griffin…I guess” He says and then truly takes a look at her appearance all bloody and disheveled “Not sure I dig the new style but good to see you.”

Clarke crosses her arms subconsciously and tries to brush her blood-stained hair out of the way, still trying to process the fact that he just crawled out of a vent. “Murphy,” she starts, slowly, “why the hell are you here?”

Murphy brushes past Caelus with a pat on his shoulder, ignoring the way the daemon’s ears twitch in barely restrained irritation. Then he picks up the rusty ladder that was lying downstairs earlier “Same reason you are, I assume,” he says, cracking his neck with a sigh and placing the ladder on the wall and lines it up to the vent. “Trying not to die.”

Clarke narrows her eyes.

Murphy rolls his eyes and jerks a thumb back toward the vent. “Look, I’ve been moving through these vents since shit hit the fan, I barely made it out of their sight before passing out. I rather like having a means to escape before shit hits the fan again”

Clarke looks up, eyes meeting Leah’s for a brief moment before flicking to Caelus, who is still tense, but no longer bristling with hostility. Finally, she glances back at Murphy, weighing their options.

“You said you’ve been moving through them for a while,” she says carefully “Do you know another way out?”

Murphy smirks, rocking back on his heels. “Oh, Princess,” he says, far too smug, “I know plenty of ways out.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“I heard the food around here is to die for. Might as well stick around and taste it for myself.” Murphy shrugs with a smile, leaning against the cold metal wall with an infuriatingly casual stance.

Clarke glares at him, unimpressed. “Murphy”

“Learn to take a joke Griffin,“ Murphy pushes off the wall slightly and rolls his eyes. “You don’t think I would have bailed already If I could? Most of those ways out lead to maze -like tunnels with corpse-eating lunatics, and the others lead to painful death by falling through a dam.”

Caelus’s ears twitch and he tilts his head with curiosity at his words. “Tunnels?”

“Then what-“

Before she can finish, a small, darting movement catches her eye. A streak of gray and black fur slips from the same vent Murphy came through, landing with barely a sound. Tiny paws patter across the floor as a masked face jumps up into her arms, intelligent eyes gleaming in the light.

“Rico!” Clarke breathes and she hugs him tightly before she catches on. “Wait…Rico?! What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Finn?”

The raccoon daemon chitters in greeting before Leah huffs a puff of air behind Clarke and Rico squeals scrambling down Clarke’s shoulder to hide behind her legs, tail flicking behind him in fear.

“Yeah, about that,” Murphy says, scratching at the back of his neck. “I stumbled upon Finn and the merry grounders not long ago, he said the door closed on its own. Locked half of the other group outside.” He nods toward Rico, who sniffs at Leah warily before chittering again. “Finn sent his little bandit here to find you once you made it out. I am just the guide.“ Murphy gestures vaguely behind him.

Clarke’s stomach twists, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her torn sleeve. “Finn was supposed to be outside. They all were. That was the plan.” She exhales sharply, resisting the urge to drag a hand down her face.

Murphy, watching her reaction with a smirk that borders on amused and exasperated, crosses his arms. “Yeah, well, plans change. Maybe next time, don’t make plans with a guy whose entire personality is ‘Clarke will fix it.’”

“Must he always be an ass?”

“He was always like this up in the Ark. Why are you surprised?

“All things considered one would think he would take things more seriously.”

“Not with Murphy”

Clarke and Leah glare at him. “Murphy.”

Murphy raises his hands, palms up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, Griffin. Your boyfriend’s faith in you is greater than anyone I have ever seen practice religion in the Ark. And I have seen my fair share of lunatics. But hey, you are here like he said you would, right after the lights went out for a moment, I guess he’s not that farfetched in his belief,” He shrugs with one shoulder then looks warily at Leah sitting behind her and Caelus right by her side both of them leaning protectively over her as Clarke raises an eyebrow with arms crossed. The perfect picture of ‘mess around and find out’. He gulps and raises both eyebrows then looks back down at Clarke, “ I could be swayed to convert right now.” He whispers to himself.

Clarke exchanges a glance with Leah, then Caelus. Leah remains still as ever, unreadable, though the faintest flick of her tail tells Clarke she’s mildly annoyed. Caelus, on the other hand, shifts his weight, exuding restless energy, his ears flicking back. Holding himself together, they don’t have much time before he can’t.

“Alright,” Clarke says, her voice sharp with resolve. “Where are they? Can you get us there?”

“Yeah,”Murphy shrugs, pushing off the wall lazily, “Figured they’d best hide under their noses while we tried to figure out what happened to you and the Blakes.”

Clarke tilts her head, the unease creeping up her spine at his words. “I’m not sure I like where this is going.”

“Relax, Griffin. They are fine. They are just blending.”

Clarke's stomach turns. "Please don’t tell me they are in the cages” She mutters

Murphy sucks through his teeth and clicks his tongue as he leans on the balls of his feet. “So what do you want me to tell you? A joke? Something tells me you won’t get it”

Clarke exhales through her nose, sharply, like she’s just barely keeping herself from strangling Murphy.

“Please let me just slap his face.”
“No, Leah”
“Why not? It's just a slap, it might knock some sense onto him”
“I find that assessment accurate” Caelus chimes in with interest. “I will gladly step in if one is not enough”
“No one is slapping anyone!” Clarke hisses between her teeth so only they can hear it.
Both Leah and Caelus huff and look to opposite sides in disappointment.

Clarke shakes her head in disbelief and steps further into Murphy's space menacingly. "You let them put themselves into the same cages where they bleed them and what else not?" Her voice is calm, and composed, but there’s a weight behind it that makes Murphy falter.

"Hey, don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t my idea." Murphy raises his hands again, stepping back half a step when Caelus follows. "I wanted to stay in the vents, remember? Finn’s the one who got creative after we noticed our grounder friends smelled like shit. The smell would have alerted someone that something died in the vents otherwise. The bad guys are running around levels three and four like something caught on fire it's too risky. I am surprised they haven't filled this staircase to be honest. Besides the cages are open, our friends can come out anytime"

Clarke clenches her jaw, mind racing. Finn must have decided that slipping in unnoticed was safer than running through the mountain’s halls blind. And it was a smart move given their situation. “Anyways let’s go”

"Yeah, there’s a small-big problem."

Clarke looks at Murphy with a raised eyebrow. He looks lazily at her and points with one finger behind her. “Your oversized cats. How do you plan on sneaking in with those two behind you? We might as well trip the alarm ourselves to save us time”

“Right, yeah that’s…”Clarke huffs then tilts her head slightly and looks down at Rico who mirrors her with confusion as an idea forms in her head, “That’s not a bad idea…” She whispers to herself.

Murphy shares a look this time with Caelus “You got that look, Griffin. I don't like it.”

Clarke ignores him, instead crouching slightly to be at eye level with Rico. The raccoon daemon still perches on Murphy’s shoulder, little paws twitching as he tracks Clarke’s every movement.

“Rico,” Clarke murmurs, tilting her head with a smile. “How fast can you move through the vents and to the surveillance room if I need you to create some chaos?”

Rico chitters, an eager gleam in his eyes that Clarke mirrors with excitement. Murphy groans. “Oh, great. Now you are smiling like a crazy woman. That’s never good for anybody.”

Clarke straightens and looks at Leah. “If we can’t sneak in unnoticed, we need a distraction big enough that no one will be paying attention to the cages at all.”

Leah hums, shifting her weight as she considers. "An alarm wouldn’t be enough,” she muses. “Not on its own. It would get them on edge, but not moving from the important levels... You need them moving. Disoriented.”

Clarke and Leah turn to Murphy and tilt their head. He blinks, and then his expression shifts to something reluctant. “I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

Clarke arches a brow. “You are not afraid of hitting and running to make a scene, are you? I know from a fact that was your favorite thing to do up in the Ark…”

Murphy sighs and rubs his temples before glancing at Rico, who’s already bristling with anticipation. “Fine, but if Finn gets pissy at me for this, I’m telling him it was your idea.”

Clarke smirks. “Wouldn’t expect anything less. Where is your daemon?”

Murphy turns his head slightly behind him then he meets her eyes, “He’s coming.”

Leah flicks her tail and glances at Caelus, who remains silent. His hackles are still raised slightly, his posture still coiled with an unreadable tension.

Clarke places a firm hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Caelus,” she says quietly. His gaze snaps to hers. “I need you with me on this. We might need you to sneak on tight spaces, can you shift or are you tired? Its alright if you are, it’s just a precaution”

He exhales, slow and controlled, before nodding once. ”I’ll do it.”

"Thank you." Clarke steps back, turning to Murphy and giving him a confident smile. “Let’s go cause some chaos.”

Chapter Text

Clarke crouched in the dim glow of the emergency stairwell, tracing a rough map onto the dusty floor with her finger. The air was thick with the scent of rust and whatever filth had clung to her clothes from crawling through Mount Weather’s underbelly. The lines she drew were shaky, smudged by sweat and grime, but the plan was simple.

Leah shifted beside her, her massive body pressing into the cracked tiles, muscles tense beneath her tawny coat. The emergency stairwell doors remained locked, sealed shut under Mount Weather’s security protocols. That left only one option—use the keycard to access Level Two. Floors Three to One either had an independent power system or were cut off entirely from the lower levels. But the sensor was one-sided.

For now, Leah’s movement was limited. She could only stay within the stairwell and Level Six until the other doors were opened. It wasn’t ideal. Clarke could feel Leah’s frustration in the way she exhaled sharply, ears flicking back, but they needed her as a sentry. If any patrol stumbled onto their plan too soon, Leah would make sure they didn’t get the chance to raise the alarm.

Rico, perched on Clarke’s knee, twitched his whiskers, eyes gleaming. His mission was clear: slip through the vents, infiltrate the surveillance room, chew through wires, knock over whatever he could—anything to plunge the security feeds into chaos. The moment he was done, he’d send the signal through their bond, giving the prisoners in the cage room the go-ahead to move.

Clarke then turns to Murphy. “You and Rocko will draw attention to Levels Four and Five. Cause enough chaos to keep them distracted while we move everyone back here. If you can, try to get a radio. We will use channel 23. If shit hits the fan, keep an ear on it ok?”

Murphy scoffs, kicking at a loose piece of debris. “Alright, say we pull that off. We get back here, what then? I don’t think the power of friendship is going to magically open that door.” He says pointing to the enormous door behind them

“I know how,” Caelus, curled up inside Clarke’s jacket, stirs and untangles himself from the the commander’s sash Clarke is now donning like a scarf, once he sets himself free, his fur His big blue eyes look up at her from the face of a tiny panther kitten “My people-“

“Oh my god, he’s so cute,” Clarke mutters to Leah through their bond.

Leah’s rumble of laughter echoes behind her as her huff brushes on the back of her neck. “Look at those tiny ears! I want a bite.”

“Are you listening to what I am saying?” Caleus’s voice comes through insistently.

“Sorry, I was…thinking,” Clarke replies apologetically.

The tiny panther inside her jacket frowns and Clarke bites her lips to stifle a coo, then he shakes his head and continues, “As I was saying. My people have been scouting the Ripa tunnels for cycles—watching where the Ripas appear and disappear. If the Mountain Men are behind their corruption, then wherever they are, there must be a path leading out of one of them.”

Clarke exhales and turns to Murphy, brows knitted. “You said there was a place where crazy Grounders were running around, right? Caelus says they use tunnels to move around, one of them should lead outside.”

Murphy’s eyes widen and his gaze jumps to all of them, then looks down into Rocko, his jackal daemon’s, eyes in disbelief. His daemon just shrugs and then Murphy turns back to Clarke.

“That’s your big escape plan? Clarke, I’m not exaggerating when I say they’re insane. I know you feel all badass with your oversized cats on steroids, but some of those guys have bears. And other things.”
Clarke crossed her arms. “I’m open to ideas. You got anything better?”

Murphy dragged a hand down his face. “I dunno, maybe we go down to Level Five, knock on the door, and ask nicely while your daemon buddies breathe down their neck. Pretty confident they’d open it themselves.”

He let his gaze drift toward Leah's eyes, wandering briefly over her body. She sat stone-still, her golden eyes fixed on the shadows beyond the stairwell, ears twitching at distant noises. He looks back at Clarke and blinks repeatedly before shaking his head and muttering under his breath, “You know what? Fine.” He threw up his hands. “We’ll do it your way. And if we get out, you’re going to see just how stupid of an idea this was when we could have considered other options.”

Murphy then moves and takes Clarke’s radio from her hands.

A burst of static crackled through the radio. “What are you-” Clarke starts, but Murphy inhales sharply and then presses the button.

“Ahhh! We-“ static ”need reinforcements! Please, I—” His voice trembled, choked by labored breath.

“Who is this? Report your location.” The reply was sharp, clipped, urgent.

Murphy starts to make garbled noises before he screams into the receiver.

“Officer, report your location! Copy!”

“They’re all-“static ”Level Six! Level Six! Ahhhh, no—” He then pulls on Leah’s tail.

“What the f-“  Leah growls menacingly in response, and Murphy shoves the receiver in her direction.

“No NO—NO AGHHH!”

Murphy smirks, finger lazily hovering over the radio’s button as the final cry dissolved into static. The silence was deafening, Everyone stares at him with a mix of mild surprise and amusement until-

A shrill, mechanical wail shattered the air downstairs.

The alarm.

“You asked for chaos right?.” A slow grin spreads across Murphy’s face as he tosses the radio into Clarke’s hands. She fumbles with it and catches the radio before it falls to the floor

“That should keep them busy.” He says before he picks up the ladder, nods to his daemon, and rushes downstairs. He looks back at the still stunned trio with a satisfied smile. “What are you doing standing there for?!”

Rico snaps out of it first and climbs up Clarke, then jumps to the vent.

“Who would have thought…” Leah murmurs inside Clarke’s head.

“ Can’t say I agree with his methods, but he’s at least dedicated,” Caelus adds.

Clarke shakes her head and turns to Leah. “Right, let’s get going.”

Leah crouches down to the floor and waits for Clarke to climb up her back to raise her up to the vent.

“Your back feels different than Caelus’s,” Clarke comments as she hangs for dear life when Leah stands up on her hind legs slowly.

“Well, he had a saddle, and I’m bigger than him, are you surprised? Is it uncomfortable?”

 “It’s not uncomfortable, just feels…different. And softer.”

“Well, at least I got that going for me, huh?”

Clarke reaches the vent and hauls herself up careful not to crush Caelus under her, gets a knee up, turns and looks back down to Leah.

Clarke lets out a long breath and pushes forward the radio in her hand for her to take carefully in her mouth. “You are still plan B Leah. If anything happens, I ll find a way to let you know. But If I can’t. Keep an ear out, ok?”

“Be careful,” Leah raises her snout and bumps tenderly Clarke’s leg as she meets her eyes.

She lets her nose trail down Caelus. “Make sure she doesn’t get hurt. I will know.”

“On my life, skaiheda spirit.”

Leah huffs and sits back, looking up sadly at Clarke.

“I will be right back.”

-

The lower level’s alarm's piercing shriek still echoed through the metal vents as Clarke crawled forward, her palms scraping against cold steel with each movement. The ventilation shaft trembled beneath her, distant footsteps and panicked shouts vibrating through the ductwork and grating in her ears. Caelus moved ahead in his smaller form, his dark fur barely visible in the dim glow filtering through the vent grates.

Caelus suddenly hissed, his ears flattening against his skull. Clarke froze, her breath catching in her throat. Below them, a pair of black boots stomped past, the wearer barking orders into a radio. The acrid scent of antiseptic and something more metallic - blood? - crept through the vents, making Clarke's nose twitch. But she knew they should be close to quarantine.

When the footsteps faded, Caelus nudged forward again, his tail flicking in silent signal. Clarke followed, her muscles protesting with each inch gained.

A few more minutes of slithering through the vents have Clarke turning sharply, and agonizing voices and groans filter through. She frowns, and on the next grate she squints her eyes to look down.

"Oh god," the words slipped out before she could stop them.

Through the grate below, the quarantine room sprawled out like some grotesque medical display. Bright overhead lights glared down on rows of beds, each occupied by writhing, burned bodies. The smell hit her full force now - marred flesh, disinfectant, and beneath it all, the coppery tang of blood. Clarke's stomach lurched.

One patient nearest the vent thrashed weakly, their bandages already blooming red where the burns had reopened. A doctor in full hazmat gear leaned over them, adjusting an IV line connected to a bag of cloudy fluid. Beyond them, orderlies wheeled covered gurneys toward a heavy metal door marked with a black biohazard symbol. They scanned their keycards at the same time and, after a few seconds pushed it open and entered. Seconds later, they returned with the gurneys empty.

It clicks for Clarke. That’s the door we couldn’t open before…They dispose of their bodies there.

A sudden commotion at the room's entrance made them both tense. The doors burst open, revealing a harried-looking guard clutching a radio.

"All medical personnel to Level Four immediately!" he shouted. "Containment breach in progress!"

The doctors exchanged alarmed glances before rushing out, leaving only two orderlies to continue wheeling bodies toward the biohazard door. Clarke's pulse quickened - Murphy's distraction was working.

A minute later, she turns to Caelus, her voice barely a whisper. "We need to-"

A metallic CLANG cut her off. The vent beneath them shuddered violently. Clarke barely had time to gasp before the grate gave way with a shriek of bending metal -

And they were falling.

The world spins in a blur of white lights and sterile surfaces before Clarke slams onto an empty hospital bed, the impact driving the air from her lungs. Caelus lands gracefully beside her, with wide eyes.

For one frozen second, the room is silent.

Then all hell breaks loose.

"Containment breach!" one orderly in hazmat screams, fumbling for his radio. The other reached for a sidearm -

Only to be knocked off his feet as Caelus pounces, shifting mid-air into his panther size sending them both crashing into a tray of surgical instruments. Metal clattered across the floor.

Clarke rolled off the bed just as the first orderly's radio crackled to life: "All u-“

She didn't let him finish. A well-aimed kick sent the radio skittering across the floor, followed by another that connected with his knee. He crumpled with a grunt.

Ahead, agonizing muffles, shouts, and gurgles startle her. Clarke turns to see Caelus rip the man’s forearm off. The one under Clark uses that distraction in his favor and makes a jump for the radio once again. The movement snaps Clarke out of it, and her heart beats frantically as she jumps on him just in time. ”Intruders i-“

They grapple on the ground, the radio skittering further away. Clarke gets a hit to the chin and a knee to her solar plexus, leaving her winded and disoriented enough for the other man to pin her down and land a few more hits on her face that will certainly leave dark bruises. Her head pounds and barely registers. Caelus growls as he pounds on him, and his screams get muffled in an instant with an unnerving crunch.

She blinks hazily and flinches at the flickering lights above her then she feels something wet against her face.

Caelus’s nose.

“Klark, are you alright? Don’t-” Caelus’s voice comes through, then his voice fades in a whisper

Then suddenly Clarke feels a heavy weight falling on her side.

“I will feel that later, that’s for sure.”

When Caelus doesn’t answer back, she frowns and slides under the warm weight on her legs, leaning on her elbows, she looks down and finds Caelus collapsed, eyes closed and labored breathing.

Clarke’s blood runs cold, and she scrambles to her knees, holding Caleus’s limp head.

“Caelus?! Hey, hey Caelus!” She calls out to him frantically, rubbing his head and slapping lightly his snout with her hands, but he remains unconscious.

Was he shot?

“No,nono” She mutters under her breath.

She moves him so he falls to his side. She lifts his paws and moves him around every which way, but no essence or wounds are visible through his fur.

Then it hits. He shifted earlier.

Soul-sickness.

Shit, we don’t have much time.

Clarke stands up, dragging her hands up her matted hair. Heart pounding in her ears, she then takes a deep breath to ground herself and think. Her eyes land on the bloody bodies around her and she looks down the rest of the quarantine floor.

Fuck it.

With one final glance at Caelus’s limp body, she moves, takes the orderlies’ side-arm, and rushes to the back where the door to the cages lies. Pushes past the chambers and scans the keycard on the door, as soon as it hisses open Clarke barges in and shouts.

“Finn!”

She turns toward the cages just in time to see the three more people in hazmats.

Shit.

They all freeze for a second before one of them moves. Clarke pulls up the gun and shoots once in warning. “Stop! Or the next one goes straight to your head!” she shouts and they all raise their hands as she closes in to the side of the room where there are more grounders hanging and tubed in. But then one of them jumps to the back while the other places himself in front of him.

Clarke shoots, several times, all three bodies falling to the ground, but its too late. The lights go red once again, all around the floor, the door shuts down behind them once again.

She curses under her breath.

Why does nothing go our way for ONCE?

The cages erupt in noise as their occupants realize what is happening. Finn's voice rose above the chaos: "Clarke?! Holy shit, CLARKE!"

Several cages at the end of the hall burst open, and her friends spill out of them. Clarke sighs and lets the hand with the gun limp to her side, relieved at seeing friendly faces despite the whole situation.

Fin rushes to her in a crushing hug. “I knew you had something up your sleeve. Did you find Murphy? Where’s Rico? And Caelus?”

Clarke steps back then she slaps Finn hard on the shoulder. “Of course, I found Murphy. I told you to leave. I told you to keep the others safe! What the float were you thinking?”

Finn raises his hands “The door sealed shut! We were helping you with the grounders and I had to make sure you didn’t end up alone in here!”

“And now they are alone out there! With no other known face to meet the grounders.”

“You said it yourself, it doesn’t matter if we don’t get out without you and that other daemon…where is the guy by the way?”

Clarke huffs and shakes her head. she knew already Finn was right, but so much was happening already.  “Murphy is messing around in the lower levels. Security should be dispersed through all floors but that doesn’t stop them from coming here. Rico and Leah are back at the stairs…we think if we reach the first level, there should be a way out. Caelus…is not doing so well, I need help.”

Clarke looks around the friendly faces of Monroe and Sterling, then moves to the not-so-friendly but expectant faces of a couple of grounders, a man with faded streaks of black paint in his eyes and a woman with old scars on both sides of her face and their daemons. A dirty fox, whose pelt seemed white underneath, and a small brown wolf that they had freed. The grounder’s eyes stray to the sash around her neck, and they drop to their knees. “Heda,” they mutter.

Her friends and Finn side eye the odd display, and Clarke rolls her eyes. She had to give it to them. They were loyal to a fault. Maybe the sash was a symbol of Lexa’s rank, known by everyone.

“Uh…Reshop.” She says, one of the few words she knows what means then exhales tiredly. ”I’m not a commander. She is still alive, but not for long if we don’t get out of here soon.” Then she turns to Finn, “Please tell me you remember your way through the vents,” she asks with a tired sigh, feeling the weight pressing over her.

Finn places his hand on top of Clarke’s shoulder and gives her a tight-lipped smile.”We’ll make it out of here.”

“I’m haunting your ass if we don’t”

-


The disgruntled group follows Finn’s lead through the vents close to the point they cut off from where Clarke fell down, their combined weight makes the metal bend and they end up sliding to the ground in a mess of limbs.

They all groan collectively, and Clarke lets out a loud exhale before incorporating, muttering apologies as her elbow sticks into someone’s ribs and her feet step on something soft

Luckily, no guards were rushing over just yet, Rico’s and Murphy’s distraction paying off..

Once she is on her feet, she looks around to find Caelus through the low red light but he’s nowhere in sight.

“Caelus?!”  She calls out with her heart in her throat.

The bodies he maimed earlier are still there. Both Monroe and Sterling are looking down at them, a mix of shock and fear painted in their faces. Clarke pushes past them and starts looking under the beds. “Finn, help me find Caelus. Look inside the rooms, he shouldn’t be far.”

Clarke panics and keeps looking around when a small mewl reaches her ears, and she snaps her head to the sound. She squints her eyes to a corner of the room. She reaches the source of the sound and gets on her knees to look under one of the empty beds and then does a double take when small beady blue eyes stare drowsily at her. From a pitifully small and trembling ball of dark fluff-

“Oh, Caelus…” Clarke whispers sadly as she stretches out and drags the little dark blob of fur with one hand.

“Did you find hi-oh.” Finn comes up to her and his eyes look back at Clarke worriedly.

Clarke holds a trembling black panther cub that fits perfectly on both her hands, then his voice still emerges, still Caelus's deep, gravelly tones. "This form... consumes the least energy." Each word seemed to cost him dearly. "I shall burden you... Clarke, kom Skaikru... once again. When my fight ends—"

Clarke shakes her head, and tears threaten to spill from her eyes. “No, we are not doing that. We are almost there. Just hang on, ok?” Her voice breaks, and she struggles to swallow the knot against her throat, and she clutches the tiny bundle of fur against her chest. Her thumb strokes the patchy fur between his ears. “I got this far because of you, I won’t let you do that. Lexa's waiting for you. Your bond isn't done yet. Just hang on.”

From the hallway came the distant but unmistakable sound of bootsteps - dozens of them, moving in coordinated sweeps.

Clarke’s eyes meet her friend’s in a panic. The place is in lockdown again. And the vents above them are out of reach.

“What do we do now?” Monroe quips, shaking herself out of the shock and crouching down to pick up the gun that had been

Clarke's head snaps up, meeting Finn's wide eyes. "Plan B," she breathes

She works quickly, wrapping the kitten securely in Lexa's red sash before tucking him into her jacket. His tiny claws caught in the fabric, anchoring himself weakly. The radio lay a few feet away—she lunges for it, pressing the transmit button in a rush.

"Leah, Rico. Plan B. Run!"

Static crackled before a confused voice responded: "Who's thi—"

“Clarke?!” Finn and Sterling call out to her. Clarke tunes them out, already moving. “Hey, talk to us!”

Her eyes land on the array of isolation chambers lining the far wall, each containing a blistered, suffering patient. Without hesitation, she rips the plastic seal from the nearest pod.

"Clarke?!" Finn's voice rises in alarm as she yanks the respirator from the convulsing woman inside. Blisters erupt across her skin like some grotesque flowering. "What the hell are you doing?”

“They will flood this place with sleeping gas like last time.” She then rips the plastic bubble surrounding one of the patients and closes her eyes when she pulls the respirator from the woman under it, then turns to the shocked faces of her friends as the woman convulses and blisters begin showing up on her skin. “Monroe, Sterling…gonas?” She frowns as she speaks to the pair of grounders watching her cautiously. They straighten in place and nod. “Take the respirators and keep the tanks with you. Turn over the gurneys and stack them to make a barricade” Monroe and Sterling exchanged horrified glances, but do as Clarke instructs with trembling hands. “Finn, follow me.”

She returns to the pair of maimed orderlies from before. “They must have a keycard on them.” She rifles through their pockets, hindered by the puddle of blood. ”They need a way to get rid of their bodies, no one wants that type of shit rotting inside. Up in the Ark they floated them into space,” Clarke then eyes black door on the back when she finally finds the keycard. ”They throw theirs over there. It has to be ventilated, and they must be able to move them or they’d pile up”

Finn’s face twists in revulson but joins the search on the other body “You think it leads outside?”

"River or dam. Only options that make sense."

Finn's fingers close around the keycard just as the first canister clatters against the far door.
Sleeping gas hisses into the room in thick swirling clouds.

Clarke breathes deep before it reaches her nose and rushes back, dragging Finn by the jacket towards Monroe and Sterling, who look up at her with panicked eyes, masks attached to their faces as they both pass over a respirator to each of them.

“Lie down and don’t make a sound,” She instructs as she moves across the room to the other set of gurneys stacked together.

“Clarke…” Caelus' voice comes through.

Clarke presses a hand to her jacket, feeling the weak movement within. "Hold on," she whispers. her breath fogging the mask. "You’ll sleep for a moment, ok? Everything is fine."

Clarke closes her eyes and breathes steadily, trying to feel Leah through their bond, the thick constricting walls and doors making her struggle but she feels it. She releases a sigh.

The low hiss of the door opening the door and slow steps coming through make her heart stutter in her chest.

But then immediately the snap of the bond fills Clarke’s chest. “Clarke! Where are you?” Leah’s frantic voice resonates clearly in her head.

She’s not that far. Good.

“Quarantine was on lockdown. They are getting in.”
“I’m on my way, just hold on!”

She grips the gun on her belt and removes the safety lock. She pulls on the bedding of the gurney to peek through.

Black boots appear first, then rifle barrels sweeping through the dissipating gas. Clarke counts six shadows before the haze obscures anything behind them.

“Hurry!” She calls out to Leah insistently through the feeling in her chest.

Monroe meets her eyes across the barricade. Clarke holds up three fingers. Two. One.

They rise together.

Then she shoots.

Clarke's first shot takes the lead guard right in the middle of the hazmat mask. Monroe's round punched through a second figure’s throat in a spray of crimson. And a second one took a bullet to the arm, falling back with a groan.

Then the room erupts in gunfire.

Bullets chew through their makeshift barricade, sending shards of metal and plastic flying.

With the help of the grounders, Finn pushes their barricade of gurneys forward, far enough to get close to one of the fallen guards and take his gun to join the fight.

Clarke ducks as a round winds past her head, close enough to feel its heat. Sterling screams in pain as ricocheting shrapnel tears through the side of his thigh.

A second round of bullets has the same effect, and Clarke feels pain bloom in her right hand, the gun drops to the floor, and she holds her bloody hand to her chest.

Finn keeps firing to cover them. A body collapses nearby while another stumbles back, helmet cracked from a ricochet.

"Leah!" Clarke calls out desperately, picking up the gun with her other hand, back firmly against the gurney and returning fire blindly through the smoke until she feels and hears the click of the empty chamber on her gun, Monroe’s gun long empty-

The same sound comes out of Finn’s rifle, and he meets Clarke’s eyes with fear.-

Gunfire stops momentarily.

Then a loud growl echoes and rumbles like an earthquake through the halls.

The remaining guards barely have time to turn in surprise before the doorframe explodes behind them, toppling over one of the guards closest to it. Leah barrels through at full speed, her massive shoulders barely clearing the opening.  One man goes down beneath her paws, his scream cut short with a sickening crunch. Gunfire erupts again but stops immediately when another man flies into the wall before more strangled screams and growls fill the room.

In the sudden silence, Clarke's ears ring and she slowly stands up.

"Took you long enough," Clarke says through the bond, relieved. Her voice raw from gas and gunpowder to speak.

Leah's tail lashes once. And then she struts toward her with a slight limp. "Sorry. Someone felt like shopping” She nods toward the corridor where Rico can be seen darting between bodies, collecting ammunition. The raccoon had fashioned a makeshift backpack from a hazmat suit, stuffed full of radios, weapons, and ammunition that clinked with every movement.

Leah shrugs, and her emerald eyes gaze down to her bloody hand clutched to her chest. She lets out an angry growl that echoes in the room. “I should have been faster. Where’s Caelus? He’s supposed to protect you.”

"He did, he is alive. Barely." Clarke defends him, clutching the small bundle beneath her jacket closer to her chest, feeling his warmth and the rapid beat of his heart, and turns to the others, already moving to deal with her bloody, trembling hand.  " Finn, help me find—"

Clarke stops midsentence after noticing the group had gone rigid, staring at Leah with a mix of awe and terror. Sterling, despite his bleeding leg, had scrambled backward so fast he nearly toppled over. Finn's mouth hung open, his hands frozen mid-air where he'd been helping Sterling. The grounders are already hidden behind one of the gurneys, warily looking up at Leah, who is still. Rico, oblivious to their turmoil, chitters from atop a fallen guard's chest, holding up a keycard between his tiny hands like a trophy before stuffing it into his overstuffed pack.

Leah looks to the side, following Clarke’s gaze, and she steps forward, draping over Clarke protectively, purring and bumping her head tenderly.

Clarke opens her mouth to ask what is wrong when Monroe's voice cuts through, high-pitched with panic:

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

Clarke looks back at Leah and shrugs, "Everyone, this is Leah. Leah, well- you already know everyone…uh” She begins looking around for gauze to wrap around her hand”…She’s my daemon" She finishes as she finally finds something to wrap her hand with.

A beat of stunned silence meets her, and Clarke has to turn around once again with a frown. They are all staring between her and Leah with wide eyes, even the grounders.

“What happened?” Clarke asks and cranes her neck to look up at Leah. “Do you have someone’s fingers peeking between your teeth or something?”

Leah wipes her teeth with her tongue, “No, I don’t think so. Maybe it’s all the blood in my fur-“

Monroe makes a strangled sound. "That's your daemon?!" She points an accusing finger between Clarke and the massive predator currently licking blood off her claws. "You've been carrying that around this whole time?! No wonder you give zero fucks before jumping into danger…you are the danger…fuck!” 

“Holy shit!” Finn looks at Clarke in disbelief, an incredulous smile painted on his face as he comes up to her. “This is your plan B? Jesus…Happy birthday, by the way. Nice to meet you, Leah,” He greets her, and Leah just huffs in response, still licking off the blood in her fur.

Sterling finally finds his voice. "I... I think I need to sit down." He says even though he is already sitting down, holding his leg.

Clarke shakes her head with an amused chuckle as she begins wrapping up her hand. Once she is done, she tries to wipe the dark, inky blood from her fingers, and Leah bumps her insistently once again with her nose. She chuckles and lifts her hand to scratch her cheek.

The grounders come out from behind the barricade in awe. The thin, pale woman with scars on her face gulps and whispers something to the others, the familiar ‘heda’ word mixed somewhere in there.

Leah's head suddenly whips around, her ears flickering behind them. “More of them are coming. I don’t think Murphy is taking all the attention anymore.”

Surely enough, they can hear far in the distance, echoes of footsteps coming down the large corridors.

“Yeah…Did you see Murphy?” Clarke asks her, worried.

“No, last I heard through the radio before you called for me was that they were looking into some incident in Medical.”

“Clarke,” Finn tugs at her jacket. “We gotta move!” He hisses.

As if to emphasize the point, Rico scampers up Leah's leg and perches on her shoulder like some bizarre pirate parrot, his tiny paws gripping her fur for balance. He chitters urgently, pointing toward the black disposal door.

Clarke bites her lip, looking back guiltily and follows Finn. One of the grounders, a young, harried woman with scars along her face, moves to help Sterling stand up.

“Murphy is going to be looking for us…” Clarke grabs the radio and tunes it to the channel they had agreed upon, hoping Murphy had made that a priority as both Monroe and Finn open the door to the disposal shuttle. Before they seal the door behind them Rico chitters like a maniac and throws a cannister of sleeping gas behind him from on top of Leah.

Clarke looks back down with a raised eyebrow at Finn, and he shrugs. “He’s usually the one on the sidelines. He’s feeling badass, let him have his fun.”

-

They all gather around the tight space past a couple of contamination baths raining down their faces before they push through a very thick metal door.

“Ok…so how are we going to do this?” Monroe asks while Rico begins handing radios to everyone, though the grounders look at him and the radios in poorly concealed disgust.

Luckily, right off the side, there were very clear images and instructions on what NOT to do and what to do in case it does happen. The images depict some type of door on the floor that opens once the metal door seals shut.

Clarke blows through her lips. “We just have to do the opposite.”

She then looks back at Leah, who is essentially crawling behind them, making herself as small as possible. She exhales. “You are the tallest and sturdiest. If anything is down there…”

Leah lets out a loud huff and flicks her tail. “As if I would let you go down there before making sure it’s clear. Move, Clarke”

Clarke pushes the button for the door to open up and they all cough and hold their noses from the odor.

“Yep, pretty sure is down there,” Finn says, breathing through his mouth with tears in his eyes.

Leah steps into the small room and sits as tightly as she can over the large square in the middle, tail tucked between her large paws and nods to Clarke for her to press the button. She does and the door slowly seals shut.

Within a second, small bursts of pain shoot to her feet, hands, and sides chin, letting Clarke know the ride down will be a bumpy one. After a few seconds and a painful stab on her elbows and back, the pain stops.

Finn looks at her expectantly. “So? Is it safe?”

Clarke, still not letting go of the grudge of Finn doing the opposite of what she asked earlier, smiles. “Seems like a fun slide.”

A small smile of satisfaction spreads across her face when both he and Rico volunteer to go next.

-

Clarke is the next one to drop after the grounders. Just as expected, the ride is fast and bumpy. The landing even more so, though its slightly softened. Doing her best to encroach and protect tiny Caelus with her arms. She keeps her eyes closed once she lands.

“Turn around, I will help you up,” Leah’s voice whispers in her head. And she does, feeling her jacket tense as Leah picks her up like a kitten and she is able to drag her leg up the dirty cart.

“You are an asshole” Is the first thing she hears from Finn, who is leaning against the rocky wall with arms crossed. Sporting an impressive bump on the forehead. Rico mirrors his stance, looking up angrily at his feet.

Clarke huffs a chuckle as Leah helps her climb down from the cart littered with the bodies that softened her fall.

“I’m the one constantly coming up with ideas to get us out of here. Let me have my fun for once.”

Finn shakes his head though his boyish smile returns as he raises his hand and radios in for the next person to drop. “Brace yourselves, it’s tough and fast, make sure your daemons are behind you,” He emphasizes with a raised eyebrow. He lifts his thumb from the button. “Was it so hard to say that? I could have died falling on Rico.”

“Don’t be a baby, Rico is badass. He’s not complaining.” Clarke shoves him lightly.

“Oh, he is complaining. Conveniently, you can’t hear him.”

Rico raises his paws, gesturing and chittering about. Making both Leah and Clarke huff in a chuckle.

Someone’s screams echo as they fall.  

Clarke wipes her sleeve across her nose, eyes watering. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of rot, chemicals and decay. “Maybe not talk anymore, I would rather not breathe right now if possible.” Her eyes roam around the encroaching space. Leah has to keep herself slightly crouched, but it's tall and wide enough for her to walk easily.

The disposal system must have dropped them somewhere deep beneath the main levels, where whatever-or—or whoever—the mountain discarded ended up. The walls are not metal anymore, just a long rocky tunnel. There is a double door not far behind them and the carts are lined up on rails, leading somewhere. The fall was not that long so she guesses they might be somewhere at the base of the mountain. Between levels three and four?

“Leah, go ahead and scout for an exit, don’t stray too far though” Clarke instructs, hand brushing against Leah’s neck. Feeling relief from the comfort such a small gesture provides.

“Sure. Keep your eyes on that door?” Leah replies, purring against Clarke’s hand before pushing forward.

She nods, “I will let you know if anything passes by.”

And with one last pat on her neck, Leah sprints following the rails down the long tunnel ahead. Clarke comes up to Rico and pats the fur between his ears with a smile before rummaging through his large bag pack and pulling out a rifle. Without a word, she gives it to Finn and nods towards the doors behind them. And he nods, standing watch.

The bundle against her chest stirs, and Caelus’s voice filters in her head. “Lexa?”

“I’m sorry. It’s Clarke.” She unzips her jacket, and his tiny, rounded ears pop out first as he untangles from the red sash. His small blue eyes locking with hers. She thumbs tenderly the space between his ears, and his purring makes her heart melt. She gives him a sad smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Useless”

Clarke’s heart clenches at the dejected tone in his usually proud voice. “You are not, you saved me. Now I will be the one doing the saving, ok? I will get you back to Lexa. I promise, just hold on.”

Caelus’s eyes and ears drop, saddened as he nods, and he curls once again, burying his face in Lexa’s sash, releasing a long sigh once he is settled. Clarke holds him close in comfort and zips the jacket back up.

The grounders fall next, followed by Monroe and Sterling, who fall together to keep his injured thigh in the clear.

They take a moment to let the grounders get dressed in some dirty grounder clothes that were littered in a corner against the wall. It’s not the best and certainly does nothing to improve the smell but its an upgrade from the minimal rags they had covering just their intimates.

Leah’s voice comes through, her tone of voice annoyed. “This place is like a maze. I don’t want to stray too far, we can’t talk to each other. Move along, I will wait here.”

-

The tunnel stretches ahead, long and unyielding, swallowing the group in dim shadows as they move forward. The only sounds are their footsteps, the quiet rustle of fabric, and the occasional clink of Rico’s overstuffed pack shifting against his small frame. At times Finn helps him with the load, but the thin handles he's made to carry only fit his arms to be able to carry it comfortably without it spilling out its contents.