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chapter seven!
WISH ON A STAR
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ARES REMEMBERS AN OLD Earthen belief that was passed down through generations: the first star you see in the night sky can be wished upon, and if you say a little rhyme as you look at it, that wish might come true. He doesn't consider himself a superstitious person. It's his belief that wishes are for the blindly hopeful and that everything in life is already predetermined, so praying that something will be different is a fool's bargain.

But tonight, his thoughts have changed. He's witnessed the cold, hard truth of what lawlessness can turn these teenage criminals into: murderers. Not only because they almost hanged Murphy, but because the kid and a few others decided to track Charlotte down in a literal manhunt so they could kill her.

Ares hadn't wanted any part of it; he'd stayed behind while Collins, Clarke, and Blake had aided in her escape. However, it had ultimately ended in the little girl's demise. She'd jumped off the face of a cliff rather than have Murphy kill Clarke. Subsequently, Clarke and Blake had realized that anarchy is going to get them all killed and put themselves in charge. Their first decision was to banish Murphy from the camp. Ares had snickered when they'd announced it a few hours ago— how fitting that, just this morning, he'd thought himself on top of the world, only to be cast out like a heap of garbage.

Presently, he's sprawled out on top of the dirt and moss, top half propped against a tree trunk as he stares up at the sky. It truly is breathtaking from here. Even though he used to live in space and could easily see the stars from the many windows scattered throughout the Ark, to him, they've never lost their novelty. The pitch-black sky is the perfect backdrop for them. They twinkle at him like grains of sugar spilled into ink, brighter here due to the lack of electricity nearby.

A boom punctures the sound barrier. He starts at the abruptness of it, pushing himself to a standing position and brushing the loose dirt off of his jeans. His eyebrows furrow at the sight of a shooting star racing across the sky, hurtling faster than he's ever seen anything move. But then, as others begin to gather around him to gaze up in wonder at the thing, it becomes obvious what it is. An escape pod. From the Ark.

Ares twists his mouth to the side. Them? Already? He wonders if it's Marcus Kane, the man who had looked at him without a shred of pity in his eyes when he announced his sentence. Or maybe it's Clarke's mother, Abby Griffin. Jaha himself? Who would come down in a one-person pod this early into the game? None of them seem like likely candidates.

"They're coming to help us!" Jones exclaims from wherever he stands out of Ares' view. "Now we can kick some Grounder ass."

"Please tell me they brought down some shampoo," one girl says wistfully. Ares rolls his eyes. Not a blanket. Not more food. But shampoo?

As he turns his head, he catches a glimpse of Blake's face, glowing a soft orange from the firelight. He doesn't look gleeful or even smug. Instead, his expression is contorted into one that Ares had only seen once when the panther had tried to kill him: fear. Blake is genuinely afraid, his eyebrows drawn up and brown eyes wide as he swallows thickly. But why? What could the Bellamy Blake possibly be afraid of?

Ares turns his gaze back to the pod as a parachute launches from the back of it. In spite of himself and the fact that he knows that it's not a shooting star — another thing that people used to wish on — he finds himself thinking, Please be something good.

When the pod lands somewhere in the distance, everyone begins chattering, guessing who could possibly be inside the thing. Some people say the guard. Others insist that it's a medical team. Ares doesn't agree with either side; it's clearly too small to be anything than a one or two-person pod. That brings his old question back to mind again: Who could it be?

"Everyone's arming themselves," a familiar voice says from behind him. "I'm assuming you have your knives on you, so are you ready to go?"

Ares stares at the place where the pod disappeared from view for a second longer before turning around. Kiernan Adams stands with a knife in one hand.

"I've been practicing," he says, lifting the knife. "You were right— putting my thumb on top of my fingers helped a lot. As did the foot placement."

Ares is still thrown off by this boy's lack of fear and outright decision to speak to him in public. He blinks before replying with, "Of course I was right."

Kiernan rolls his eyes, turned nearly black by the darkness around them. "Not one to be humble, huh?"

"'Humble' isn't what people tend to describe me as."

The blond boy slips his knife into the pocket of his brown jacket and glances behind Ares, almost like he's tracing the pod's line of flight with his gaze alone. The firelight makes the freckles on his nose seem nearly bronze. His hair is tousled, revealing more brown-ish hair at the roots.

"So, are you ready or not?"

Ares blinks again. "For what?"

"Seeing who was in that pod," Kiernan responds in a 'duh' tone. "That's what everyone is preparing for— in case we find some Grounders on the way."

"Oh." Ares mulls over this in his brain. A group of excited teenagers trampling through the woods in the darkness, armed and looking for a fight? His blood sings at the idea. "I mean, sure. I guess I'm ready."

But then again, a tiny corner of his brain springs some doubt upon him. Is he ready to possibly face Marcus Kane again? Or anyone else from the Council, for that matter?

Before he can even continue thinking, though, Jones exits Blake's tent with a disappointed frown. "Sorry, guys. Bellamy says to wait until dawn."

A collective whine of "Awww," rises from the crowd gathered outside of the tent. Ares merely twists his mouth to the side. He wonders if any of Blake's hesitation stems from his fear. Curiosity tugs at his mind once more. What is he so afraid of?

Ares knows his own reasons for not wanting the citizens of the Ark to come down. He'd expressed his grievances to both Blake and Wells. Blake had seemed to appeal to those, but there must be something besides not wanting to be outcast again. Because Ares isn't afraid of the Ark— but their new co-leader surely is.

He wonders what Clarke would say about this. But she's been nowhere to be seen since she and Blake had announced Murphy's banishment and instituted themselves as the camp's leaders. He doesn't even know if she'd seen the pod. Then again, it was loud enough to wake the entire camp, so she must have caught a glimpse, wherever she happens to be.

Kiernan glances back at Ares. He takes a step closer, a sparkle of mischief in his eye that's pleasantly surprising. "If you happen to mysteriously disappear in the middle of the night, I can tell them I have no idea where you went."

Ares catches onto his drift immediately. He's talking about Ares sneaking out of camp to find the pod.

Kiernan gives him one last knowing look before walking away. Ares considers his words for a moment. They have rules now, ones that involve a) listening to Blake and b) not going beyond the wall. However, it should also be noted that a) Clarke and Collins themselves seem to have broken that rule themselves, and b) Ares doesn't give a shit.

He has all seven of his knives — he'd crafted two more while Murphy's manhunt was taking place — and Blake is still sulking in his tent. The entire camp is buzzing about the pod; nobody is paying attention to him. He could slip out the front gate right now and nobody would notice. Maybe that's a perk of being completely uninvolved in the camp's politics. Nobody cares enough about him to keep track of his whereabouts. And, anyway, a murderer escaping camp is probably something for them to celebrate.

But Ares finds himself not wanting to do this alone. He heads toward the tents and locates his own, then Nate's a few yards away. He approaches silently before banging his fist on the canvas to rattle it. "Knock knock, bitch."

Nate gives a grunt from inside. Ares takes this as an invitation to enter. He unzips the flap, peering inside to see Nate sitting on his cot with a crestfallen expression pulling down his face, staring down at the broken wristband in his hands. He notices the tiny puncture wounds in the boy's dark flesh on the inside of his wrist. This is recent— possibly having happened only an hour ago.

Ares' features become murderous. "Who did it? Was it Mbege? Because I swear to God, I'll make him wish he was never born."

"No." Nate doesn't even lift a corner of his lips in a grin at his threat, instead sniffling like he's trying his best not to cry. "It just... broke. It unclasped from my wrist and when I took the needles out, they were dead. Like the whole thing was fried."

Ares finds himself staring down at the metal wristband. Even though he'd been the very first to get his removed, he'd known how much Nate's meant to him. It was a signal to his father that he was alive. Now that it's fried... he's presumed dead by the Ark.

He probably should be saying something like I'm sorry, but Ares was never one for apologies. Instead, he says, "Well, don't look so glum. A pod just landed. If they have a radio, you can tell Command that you're alive, and then they can let your dad and Bryan know. Sound good?"

Nate looks up at him, eyes red-rimmed and hat discarded like he'd thrown it out of anger. "Yeah." A pause. "Yeah, that sounds good. What kind of pod was it?"

"Looked small, so probably a one or two-person emergency escape one. Not sure why they'd only send that many, but maybe it's because they wanted to possibly waste one life instead of thirty. They do think we're all dead." Ares lets silence follow his statement before he asks Nate the proposition that he'd come here for. "Hey, d'you wanna contact Command in the morning or in a few hours?"

"What are you talking about?" Nate questions skeptically, drawing his eyebrows in. Ares holds his stare until realization dawns on his face. "Christ. You want to sneak out."

"Yeah, announce it to the whole damn camp, why don't you?" Ares quips, ducking inside of the tent and zipping the flap closed. "Look, Kiernan Adams said he'd cover for us."

"Who?"

"Blond kid I met on the hunting trip gone wrong."

"And you trust him?"

"I don't trust anybody. But I do believe he's telling the truth. There's something about that damn kid— he's tolerable. Loyal, I think."

"If you say he's tolerable, I'm sold," Nate says, sniffling once more and then wiping at his nose with his sleeve. He stretches his arms over his head. "When we leavin'?"

"Now," Ares replies. "While everyone is distracted."

"Let me just grab my stuff." Nate tosses his useless wristband aside and reaches across his small tent to grab his beanie. He tugs it on his head, hiding his close-cropped black hair. "Okay. I'm ready."

"You're such a dumbass," Ares says with a roll of his eyes.

"Yeah, but you asked this dumbass to come along."

Ares and Nate both act totally normal when they emerge from his tent. Nate is a thief—  he doesn't have to be reminded not to draw attention to himself. To the others in the camp, they're merely another pair of excited teenagers arguing over where the pod could have landed.

They slip through the front gate completely unnoticed. Thankful for the cover of darkness, Ares leads Nate in the direction he knows the pod is, his footsteps completely quiet on the forest floor. Nate moves even more silently. There's a gleam of joy in his brown eyes that he catches despite the shadows provided by the trees. It's like they're reckless teenagers again, spurred on by a thirst for adventure and the family that's calling Nate's name.

Ares keeps himself armed at all times. He never knows when they'll cross an animal that will make enough noise to alert the Grounders of their presence, or if Blake himself will try to reach the pod first. It's the best bet to always be prepared. Better to be cautious and armed than unarmed and dead.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Nate questions breathlessly after half an hour of nothing but pitch-black woods. "Everything looks the same."

"I may not have Collins' tracking skills, but I do have an affinity for knowing where the hell I'm going," Ares replies. "I got this, Nate."

Another half an hour and their stomachs are rumbling. Ares ignores this fact for as long as he can until an overly-loud grumble emits from his gut, stopping both of them in their tracks at the noise.

Ares sighs in disappointment. They'd left so quickly that they hadn't even brought supplies aside from the clothes on their backs and the weapons in their pockets. This means they don't have food or water for the remainder of their trip, and they haven't even been lucky enough to stumble across a rabbit or a stream. He wonders if he could direct them toward the small waterfall they'd crossed on their way to find Jasper. But it's out of their way, and the first traces of dawn are already starting to line the sky with traces of pink and gold.

"Hungry?" Nate digs around in the pocket of his jacket and produces a handful of tiny ration bags. Ares' stomach growls louder at the mere sight of them, causing Nate to smirk. "Guess so. Lucky you brought me along, huh?"

"You little thieving bastard," Ares says with a grin as he plucks one of the small canvas bags out of Nate's palm. It's filled with what appears to be granola. A team of people had been preparing these for later, rationing them away, and Nate must have swiped a few on their way out.

Ares is not complaining about this act of theft. It directly benefits him, so instead of filling the silence with conversation, they snack on the food and crunch as they go. The curly-haired boy shoves the rations into his mouth like it's his last meal on death row. Fairly soon, he reaches for another bag, only to have Nate smack his hand away. Ares draws back with a gape, offended.

"You wanna starve on the way back?" Nate questions. Ares blinks at him before giving in with a shake of his head. "Didn't think so. Save these last few for the trip home."

Ares is jarred by the usage of home. If there's any word he would have used to describe the camp they'd left, it wouldn't be that. He isn't even sure what his home is anymore. He knows that the Ark will come down soon, meaning their little dropship camp is only temporary.

They continue their trek through the uneven ground more slowly than they had when they'd started their journey. Ares' thighs are beginning to ache from walking up and down so many slopes. The soil has an annoying habit of building up high and then suddenly dropping into a three-foot ditch that they can't walk around. He's sweating, aching, and still parched when his heart freezes in his chest.

Ares reaches out an arm in front of Nate, causing him to slam into it. Nate lets out an "Oof," at the impact and shoots him a questioning glance. Ares merely points ahead at the edges of a rusty hunk of metal just barely visible over a group of bushes in the distance.

The escape pod.

"Shit, man," Nate breathes.

They both creep toward the spacecraft like they're concerned that they'll be attacked at any moment. Ares tightens his grip on the knife in his left hand, eyes darkening with determination as he tip-toes closer. As they break through the cover of the surrounding forest and find themselves in a small clearing smothered with dead leaves, Ares recoils at the sensation of water splattering on his nose. It takes him a moment to realize it's drizzling. Ever so softly, droplets of water cascade from the sky and lightly land on his few inches of exposed skin.

Nobody is around. That much is evident by the absolute silence created by the clearing, broken only by their breathing and the sound of their boots rustling the golden leaves at their feet. The sky has already brightened. It's overcast now due to the cover of rain clouds, but Ares can still see traces of sunlight straining to peek through them.

The pod is magnificent. It's old, no doubt created when the Ark first launched and seeming as if it hadn't been touched since then, either. The back thrusters are covered in grease and rust, still smelling of smoke and gasoline from the recent landing. It looks like someone had haphazardly tried to clean it off. However, they must not have had much time, because as he circles around the pod, he notices that the front glass panels are too dusty to see through and that the exterior is in desperate need of a new paint job.

"Earth to nerd boy," Nate says pointedly, jabbing his finger into Ares' right biceps. "You gonna admire the machinery all day or are we gonna see who's inside?"

"Right." Ares doesn't know how to admit he's been avoiding this part. What if he does open it and finds Kane? "Help me wrench it open."

Together, the two boys place a hand on the handle and heave the half-rusted door open. They have to take a step back so the door can swing upward. Ares steps closer, blinking against the splatter of rain on his eyelashes when a singular person in a space suit is revealed.

Ares is faintly aware of the crackle of the radio, spewing the muffled voice of Abby Griffin over and over, leading him to realize it's a recorded message being replayed so the person can hear it whenever they become conscious again. "Pod One, Pod One, this is Ark Station Medical. If you are receiving this, please respond."

His gaze trails back to the individual in the suit. They're completely unconscious, head flopped forward so the front of their dust-coated mask rests against their chest. Ares can see a splatter of blood on the not-so-clear plastic. They're injured.

"Res, the radio," Nate reminds him, pointing to the small device hanging on by a few wires, dangling from the ancient-looking control panel. "We should respond."

"Yeah." Ares can't seem to tear his eyes away from the newcomer. It's not Kane— his frame would be much taller. So who...

His train of thought is cut off by the sound of footsteps from the woods behind him. Ares whirls toward Nate, voice firm yet quiet over the cover of the radio as he orders, "Go. Hide."

"I'm not leaving you here," Nate argues with his lips pulled into a determined frown.

"Blake doesn't have to know you were a part of this. If he still trusts you, we can use that to our advantage later. Plus, you'll be a witness to whatever he does while he's here."

His friend's eyelids shudder. "Ares, you don't think..."

"He's not going to let me see whatever he does, but he is going to know that someone was here before him."

When Nate hesitates again, Blake's footsteps growing louder, Ares shoves his guilt aside and brandishes his knife so it's aimed at Nate's throat. What Nate doesn't know is that a slash from this angle won't do much damage, and Ares is counting on that. He doesn't want to have to use the weapon, but if he has to, he won't make it serious.

His eyes narrow to vicious slits. "Go. Don't make me do something we both won't like."

Nate swallows with a nod. He takes one last, wistful look at the radio before bounding into the surrounding brush so quickly and quietly that not even Ares is sure where he went. Good. At least now he won't be able to accidentally give Nate's location away.

Ares straightens as Blake comes into view. The older man seems surprised to see him there, eyebrows raising and mouth falling open before it quickly disappears under an expression of wrath.

"We should all wait 'til sunrise, huh?" Ares muses. "And yet, here you are, alone. Why's that?" He pretends to be genuinely curious, even tilting his head to the side for good measure.

Unfortunately, Blake isn't having any of his shit.

"Get out of the way, Ortega," he commands, his low voice rumbling. "Or you're gonna regret it."

Ares smirks. "Don't you know by now that I don't take orders very well?"

Blake's scowl deepens and he slips the hatchet from his belt loops. There's not going to be any playing around, then. Ares can only hope he'd bought Nate a little more time to get somewhere hidden.

Instead of going for the bladed edge to chop him to pieces, Bellamy twirls the weapon in his hand and aims the blunt end of the handle at him. This means that his goal is to injure instead of kill. Ares makes a dutiful note of this as he waits for the first strike-- he can attest that Blake had been the first to attack and he'd only been acting in self-defense.

Sure enough, Blake makes the first swing that has Ares reacting instantly. He ducks out of the way of his grip and sends the handle smacking into the door of the pod with a metallic clang! Ares swipes out with his knife and lands a solid cut on Blake's thigh that has him grunting in pain. But now he's too close, and Blake is too strong, so he can do nothing to stop the punch that comes his way until it already lands. His slightly-still-injured nose aches as the blow strikes his jaw and snaps his head back.

Seeing stars for a moment, he blocks another blow with the hatchet's handle and uses his right hand to slip a new knife from his back pocket. While Blake is distracted trying to wrestle with his dominant hand, Ares lashes out in an arc that has blood streaming down Blake's cheek. He stumbles backward to wipe the red stream away. But then, just when Ares is about to strike again, the toe of his boot gets caught in a rock and he finds himself pitching to the side, smacking into the wall of the pod.

Blake lunges forward and grabs him by the shoulders. Ares snarls as the older man's brute strength sends him stumbling away from the pod, going wherever Blake wants him to. With his arms pinned like this, he can't easily make a decent cut with his two knives. But he does still have fully functional legs.

As if Blake can see this thought crossing his mind, he smirks darkly. "Not so fast."

He releases Ares without warning. Ares stumbles at the loss of leverage, struggling to regain his footing. Looking up, his eyes widen in fear as he watches Blake rear his arm back.

Oh, shit.

Pain explodes in the side of his head as Blake whacks him with the handle of his hatchet, and Ares is unconscious before he even hits the ground.

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"Oretga, wake up."

Ares groans, agony crashing into his skull as he rises to the surface of consciousness. He lingers there for a moment longer than he should. It's nice here, despite the blinding pain in his head— the darkness is somehow comforting.

But all that comfort goes to hell when the same voice snaps, "Dammit, Ares, wake up!"

He breaks through the barrier of consciousness and opens his eyes with a rattling intake of breath. For a moment, he panics, eyes darting around his unfamiliar and blurry surroundings as they swirl together.

Noticing his distress, a yellow blob above him places both hands on his chest to keep him from sitting up like he so desperately wants to. "Hey, hey, it's okay."

Ares blinks a few times, his vision clearing each time he closes and reopens his eyes. He sees the same overcast sky that he remembers, feels the same rain on his skin. He squeezes his eyes shut as a drop falls directly in his eye. Opening one of them, he notices Clarke kneeling above him with an expression of confusion and concern on her pale face.

"What happened?" she asks, voice gentler than it had been when she'd yelled at him to wake up.

Ares winces as pain shoots to his temple when he shifts on the ground. "Blake is a dick, that's what happened."

Clarke pulls her lips into a line, not denying the insult that comes flying out of Ares' lips. She glances at something in front of her with desperation radiating from her face and posture. Her blue eyes are alight with curiosity as she puts puzzle pieces together.

"Bellamy was here?" she asks.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

She twists her mouth to the side and looks back down at him. After examining him for a moment, she sighs. "Well, your pupils seem to be reacting to light fine, and you aren't complaining about sensitivity, so I think the likelihood of a concussion is slim to none."

"That's grand," Ares replies dryly as he props himself up onto his elbows. The pain doubles now that he isn't lying down, but he covers it by clenching his jaw and flaring his nostrils. "Thanks, Doc."

Clarke actually offers him a hand. He doesn't take it, preferring to get back up on his own like he has done countless times during fights in the Underground. She drops her arm to the side as he slowly gets to his feet and stands to his full height a few inches taller than her.

"Sit over there," she orders, pointing to a fallen log near the path leading to the forest. Ares raises an eyebrow at her. When she sees his defiance, she gives him a pointed glare. "I'm not up for these games again. This is about your head, Ortega. Not your nose. Your head. You could have more damage than I know, so sit, dammit."

Ares raises his hands in mock surrender and slowly walks toward the moss-coated log. His head pounds with every step. Christ, Blake must have gotten him good to knock him out for that long. How could he have let him have the advantage? Why couldn't he have noticed that rock sooner?

He plops onto the bark and puts his head in his hands for a moment before the sound of metal creaking makes it snap back up with a pulse of agony. Clarke pulls the door of the pod open with more ease now that it's already been done. She smiles and huffs a laugh at whoever he sees. Ares frowns. He doesn't think there's anything funny about an unconscious person in a pod, but—

But it's not an unconscious person in a pod anymore. Clarke holds a hand out and a gloved hand wraps around her arm. With some effort, the blonde aids a girl in a space suit out of the craft.

Ares straightens. The girl is young. So young he might even be a year or so older than himself, her tanned face youthful in her obvious joy and wonder of her surroundings. Even though half-dried blood has streaked down her face from the head wound that knocked her unconscious, she still smiles enough to spread joy to the very tips of her toes.

Clarke helps her out of her space suit. The girl is dressed in a red jacket — shockingly bright compared to the usually muted colors of the ark — and a gray shirt that's tattered with holes due to generations of use. She doesn't pay him any attention. Not as she spreads her arms wide, spinning slowly as she stares up at the sky and continues to let that radiant grin stretch her lips wide.

And all Ares can do is stare like a dumbass.

Seeing her reminds him of the only other time in his life when he'd been speechless— when he'd stood in the forest by himself and admired the sheer beauty of Earth. She seems to be doing the same thing. Her brunette hair spills down her back from where it's tied up in a ponytail, giving him a clear view of her awestruck expression. This girl had struck the Earth by herself. She'd come down in a hundred-year-old escape pod on her own. Ares can't help but be impressed.

Clarke smiles at the girl, giving her space as she watches her first encounter with Earth. It's the first time he's seen the blonde genuinely happy. He can't blame her— there's something about this moment that makes a smirk want to creep up onto his own lips.

"I dreamed it would smell like this," the girl sighs contently, turning toward Clarke and stopping her spinning just long enough to point to the sky and ask, "Is this rain?"

Clarke nods. She's still grinning as if the brunette girl's joy is contagious. "Welcome home."

She huffs a laugh and tilts her head back up just as Ares catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns to see Collins jogging toward them, hair already soaked and eyes wide with shock. "Raven!"

The girl — Raven — turns around at the sound of her name. Her smile amplifies as she takes in the sight of him, voice full of relief and happiness as she calls back, "Finn!"

Confusion tugs Ares' features into a frown as Raven sprints into his arms, his hands automatically going to her waist as if it's a reflex, hers cupping his face and running through his wet hair.

"I knew you couldn't be dead," she says, eyes grazing him up and down as if she's seeing a ghost.

Collins briefly glances at Clarke before turning back to her and saying, "You're bleeding."

Raven grins again. "I don't care."

And then she tugs Collins down to her level, crashing their lips together so forcefully that he has to take a few steps back to steady them. Ares shakes his head to clear it. Maybe this is just a hallucination brought on by his injury, but when he looks at Clarke and makes a note of her distraught expression, he realizes that this is very, very real.

Ares' eyes glaze over as he's hurtled into the past. For a moment, Clarke is his eight-year-old self, the Raven girl is his mother, and Collins is the man who is not his father. He's short of breath. So short, in fact, that Clarke rushes over to him and places a gentle doctor's hand on his cheek. "Ortega? Hey, what's wrong?"

He pinches himself out of the flashback to find all eyes on him. Clarke is close — too close — and he flinches away from her touch to find himself breathing hard as he catches himself on the log. Collins and Raven are both staring at him as well, Collins with confusion and Raven with a spark of recognition.

"Ares Ortega?" she asks incredulously. "The Council members were having a bet on how long you'd last down here— they'll have a hoot finding out you're still alive."

Before Ares can calm himself down to muster a witty reply, Raven exhales a shuddering breath and teeters on her feet. Collins steadies her before guiding her to the log that Ares is still perched on. She lands beside him, slightly dazed from that wound on her head. The rain has washed some of the blood away, but her bronze skin is still stained a light pink where it had coated her temple.

Collins gives her his jacket to put on over her own. Ares is secretly glad for it— that bright of a red is not something he needs to see right now. She groans in discomfort as her supposed boyfriend goes to speak to Clarke. Not wanting to witness that awkward conversation, he turns toward Raven.

"So, I'm famous on the Ark, huh? How many people were betting on me?"

Despite her pain, she manages to raise a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him, her braided ponytail turning darker as more rain splatters onto them. "Let's just say there was a lot of money gained when you were the third to go."

The third— after the two boys who had died in the dropship, but the first to take off his wristband. He isn't surprised. Most of the Council members probably didn't think he'd survive down here. Had they brought out a rare bottle of champagne to celebrate the big event? Clinked their glasses filled with the bubbling liquid, ecstatic that they'd wiped a murderer from their precious society?

Ares raises his wrist and lifts his sleeve, revealing the puncture wounds from the god-forsaken metal monstrosity that had taken his vitals. She raises her other eyebrow at his revelation. "I shouldn't be surprised. Taking off your wristbands so we wouldn't follow? Sounds like somethings bunch of criminals would do."

Their conversation is cut short when Clarke and Collins return with a cloth from Clarke's backpack. Collins hands it to Raven so she can put pressure on her head wound. "This is Clarke. She was on the dropship, too."

Clarke gives her a closed-lipped grin, most of her enthusiasm gone now that Collins has been revealed to be a complete dickwad.

But Raven doesn't seem to notice. Her brown eyes flicker with realization as she stands, cloth pressed to her head. "Clarke? This was all because of your mom."

"My mom?" the blonde repeats in confusion.

"This was all her plan. We were trying to come down here together. If we waited— oh, my God." Her posture tightens, and even though Ares can't see her face anymore, he can tell by her hardened voice that her expression is thunderous, too. "We couldn't wait because the Council was voting whether to kill three hundred people to save air. Because some people decided that taking off their wristbands would be fun."

Ares shoots to his feet upon hearing the jab that was definitely directed his way. His mouth opens in shock. Killing three hundred people for oxygen? And they wouldn't waste precious Privileged lives doing it. They'd be taking the working class.

They'd be taking his people.

Clarke is more ready to take action than he is. She makes a surprised squeak in her throat before swallowing and asking, "When?"

"Today," Raven replies. "We have to tell them you're alive!"

She turns toward the escape pod, jogging closer with Clarke and Collins on her heels. Ares stays rooted to his spot as she peers inside. Even from his vantage point, he can see the tangle of cut wires where the radio had been.

"The radio's gone," she announces, crawling out from the cover of the pod door and back into the rain. "It must have gotten loose during reentry. I knew I should have strapped it to the A-strut." She bangs her hand on the side of the pod. "Stupid!"

"No, this is my fault," Clarke sighs. "Someone got here before us." She meets Ares' gaze from where he still stands in front of the log, fog in his eyes. "Did you see where he went?"

"No, Griffin, I was a little busy being knocked unconscious," Ares answers gruffly.

Clarke seems as if she was expecting an answer like this. She waves them along, disappearing into the forest in a few short steps. As Ares reluctantly brings up the rear of their quartet, a thought strikes him hard.

He doesn't know what happened to Nate.

_______

a/n:

actual footage of kiernan covering for ares and nate while they're looking for raven's escape pod in the dead of night:

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

!!!!! THEY HAVE MET !!!!

i find it amusing that, this whole time, i've been planning to have ares stay the night at camp and his first meeting with raven would be there, but as i was writing this, i was like "okay, but what if nate and ares went on a night trapeze through the woods to find the pod and then ares gets in a big battle with bellamy and is knocked out?" so that's what ended up happening. and tbh, i'm not mad about it.

(don't worry, ares and bellamy won't be enemies forever! soon, the bellares moments will start to become less volatile.)

additionally, i made some crackship gifs for both orteyes (thoughts on the name?) AND nares in my meet my oc's book. please take a moment to check them out because i spent a lot of time on them and think they're cute!!

—kristyn

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