"Let me not then die ingloriously and without, but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter." Homer, Iliad

season 1, episode 1

Pilot

Sept. 13th, 2201

In all honesty, Emilia had no fucking idea what it meant to be a leader. She had concepts, theories, and ideas. She studied endlessly the leaders that carved the way for humanity to end up decimating the Earth. Each carried their own faults and strengths—greed and selfishness tended to link them all.

In his brief time with her, her father taught her about the Ark's leaders. Mostly in rants about Chancellor Sydney—at the time—undermining his opinions at the Council table. Their terms ended before Emilia could understand, but it didn't cease the complaints. Not until he followed his madness to a silent, forgettable disappearance.

She knew how their leaders on the Ark had failed them. Diana Sydney focused too much on the Ark's history; Thelonious Jaha focused too much on the future. They neglected the present, the people that were born with the callous hands of their ancestors expected to be incubators and guidance for the next generation.

In her journals, she sought solutions. All hypothetical that would never be used in practice. Scenarios she played to fill her mind in the endless hours of work. She could have done this differently. She would have done that. She should have saved them. Now they were Jaha's for the taking. He would most likely damage them until no repair to keep her ideology from spreading. Perhaps he would have a laugh at her unrealistic optimism.

She had no fucking clue what it took to be a leader, the actions done and the actions withheld. The sacrifices made—the lives lost for the many.

Jaha chose to commence Project 100 as a final act of hope—Earth. He was willing to send a hundred children to their deaths before he could wave the white flag and admit he could not save the Ark from its depleting resources. His hand-picked Council table collectively decided on the lives of children to save them.

How desperate the Privileged become when their livelihood is on the precipice of an end.

For the greater good. It rang in their ears in harmony with the brutal screams of the bodies that trail them, silenced and forgotten by the history books.

Emilia did not know if she could handle a decision like that.

For the greater good always ended in the death of humanity—the death of the working man. Pieces of morality and integrity were chiseled off the slab of life to make room for those who survived. They were never the men who fought fair, never the men who bore the ghosts of their enemies—the enemies who fought for the same reasons as them: family, love, and all those left behind for a future they would never see.

Never in her studies had the working people been spared. They were merely a body count to prove that one war had to be worse than the other for the lives lost. They were forgotten carrion to fuel their Earth again. They were rotten in the souls of those who dared to remember.

Emilia found two boys discarded in the second level of the Dropship.

Spines slammed and necks snapped during landing, she assumed. Their limbs were contorted like puppets—bent in uncanny places. They were left the way they died like a child who got bored of their dolls. Discarded, forgotten, left to spoil in their bodily fluids. Blood seeping from their orifices, pooling together, uniting them even in their shared death.

Just boys.

Expendable boys.

The first adolescent casualties in the Monarch's care.

Emilia's hands trembled as she guided their eyes to shut. She readjusted their bodies to lie on their shattered spines and have their extremities cradle themselves to whatever afterlife they believed in.

They deserved to be mourned properly. Their parents, their families, and their friends deserved to know they died.

The Council would never allow that.

The woman didn't know their names, what they did to be put in the Skybox, who they were, if they believed in her, if they hated her. She didn't need to.

"In peace, may you leave this shore. In love, may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground. May you keep the flame warm as you wait for our reunion in the light. May we meet again."

In her studies, very few revolutionists became leaders in the end—even less managed to live to see any change be implemented. They were nothing but a symbol to remind humanity of their goals—how far they strayed from their dreams every time.

If she could carve a new path into the Earth for them, she would. She would spill her blood, sweat, and tears to find a way.

The boys would be remembered as the first citizens of the Ark to be returned to the tender embrace of Earth. They would have a grave; she would find someone—anyone—who knew their names to give them a proper headstone. Their bodies would rest and return to the Earth and never need to fear being left to freeze in the endless void.

Emilia rolled out the foil blankets—the few emergency items that came with the ship—to cover their bodies. She promised the dead that she would lay them to rest before the sun rose. She would have them face it—they deserved to have lived to see it.

In the emergency crate, hidden beneath more foil blankets, there was a metal axe. Small and mighty.

It would be enough to work toward something worth living for. The beginning of a revolution was as important as the end.

Her beginning was slaving away at her self-assigned task to get firewood.

In the hour alone, Emilia crafted a rhythmic pattern of grabbing, chopping, and placing the fallen timber. One, two. Pull. One, two. Cut. One, two, three. Place. Repeat.

Earth contained an orchestra within its everlasting core. Listening to the noises of life—teenagers, birds, wind, trees—she understood the need to make it her own. She understood how musicians felt the urge to make sense of the noise, crafting melodies from tones.

Noise traversed within her veins like code. At first, it was a nonsensical madness that blurred into each other. Then a form grew from the nothingness. Much like the Big Bang, everything grew from a collision of two stars. Each celestial body was its own instrument, all orbiting the tempo. Each at their own pace, coinciding together into harmony through their unique qualities.

Everything in life repeated itself. Patterns repeated. Humans were only smaller musical pieces that ricocheted in dissonance.

They evolved from nothing to having forged technology and life, only to return to nothing all over again.

One, two. Place. One, two. Cut—fuck.

And here she was ruining the music she crafted. The Sun, no longer a tender warmth, boiled Emilia within her dark brown leather. Sweat accumulated with the leather bounds—she refused to remove the clothing. Wallowing in the heat trap was a small suffering she could handle.

It was the pain that began to get to her.

Focusing on the beat of nothingness made her forget the pain that seethed within her right shoulder. The muscles grew tired of being ignored. They screamed into the void and tugged at the tendons until Emilia was forced to acknowledge the sprain. The muscles tightened all the way down to her fingers. The axe slipped from her hand. Any millimeter of movement sent an agonizing pain of a thousand needles.

Still, she reached for another large branch.

Ripped from a tree by the Dropship's landing, it appeared half Emilia's height but as wide as her. Small branches splintered from it. She wrapped both hands around the branch.

The pain reminded her she was alive and, therefore, had to do it.

"If you don't, who will?" Her mother's voice rang in her head.

She had always known how to sink into Emilia's mind. Everything had been a lesson to prepare her for this. Even her death was a lesson.

"If you want to save them, your pain is your drive. You know their pain will be worse than anything you've ever experienced."

If her mother taught her how to handle her fate mentally, her father forged her to be able to endure the physical demands.

Then the fates decided to test what she learned.

"Don't destroy your shoulder!"

Wells rushed out the words, placing a hand on Emilia's good shoulder. He tugged her back slightly, just enough to disrupt her actions.

He held a large part of the torn parachute that dragged on the trees. Seatbelts interlaced with the rope to lengthen it. He fashioned a pulley mechanism for her.

"I told you to stick with the seatbelts."

"Your shoulder is messed up; my leg is messed up. Move the numbers around and we make a whole."

"Terrible math."

He chuckled, kneeling on his good leg. He rolled out the tarp to the side of the branch. "You just hate that I'm right."

A single nod urged Emilia to go to the other side of the branch. She pushed while he pulled, working in unison to roll the branch onto the tarp. His craft worked. The seatbelts fastened to interlock over the logs.

Wells handed her one loop of rope to pull with her good arm. He held the other loop.

"Hey! Catch it!"

Their work halted before it could begin. They focused on the yelling voice above. Minerva stood at the edge of the Dropship roof like a captain on its ship, with a rope tied around her waist. In her hand was another rope, separate from the one around her waist but used in a similar fashion—to make the fall less impactful. The rope in her hands connected to a panel torn in half, shattered with wires hanging from its tear.

"It's absolutely totaled so don't freak."

She let the rope run free. The panel soared into the Earth, diving into the crust with a grand shatter. Emilia would rummage through the scraps later.

"Why would you say catch it!?" Wells asked, letting go of his pulley system to untie the panel. His anxiety reached limits he did not believe was possible.

"Did you want me to say duck? It got your attention, that's all that matters!"

Minerva disappeared onto the roof once more, pulling the dangling rope with her. Wells looked at Emilia for support, but she had none to offer. She basked in the destructive good only because she knew what the destructive bad looked like.

Stories were different from the unbridled rage as it relinquished onto anyone in sight. Alpha Station spared Wells of that. Never a day went by without the horrid screams of victims and the violence echoing within Mecha Station. Never too long to keep the Guards from suspecting.

The girl above had a mix of both swelling within her. She reminded Emilia of Raven and her younger self, both she never got to see blossom. Minerva got the job done and she did it well. Finding the fun in the moment helped morale.

"Emilia!" Minerva called, still hidden somewhere on the roof.

"Yes?"

"You were an engineer, right?"

Emilia inhaled sharply. "Sort of."

"Would you say, if I found a salvageable panel, you could do something with it?"

The paralyzing pain polluted her muscular system. If she was Raven fucking Reyes. She may have taught the girl all she knew but Emilia walked from engineering in grief. Spent too much time away from it that she knew more code than wiring and rebuilding. Raven built the systems and Emilia created the software. The little bird unknowingly helped Emilia hack into the Ark's mainframe to cause a blackout before Emilia pushed her away.

"Could you?" Wells asked with hope swirling in his dark features.

"I haven't rebuilt anything since I was eighteen and that was just turning a toy car into a robot."

She bit her lip, glancing towards Bellamy. He began gathering supporters, most likely delving into their deepest desires like any snake would. She shifted her gaze to her wrist. The liquid ebbed and flowed, itching to be released.

She would need time that she didn't know if she had.

"Leave it up there. We don't wanna risk destroying it."

"Kay! Then I'm coming down."

"Why's yours different?" Wells inquired, peering down at the capsule inside. They returned to the pulley mechanism, both readying to balance the weight.

Emilia turned her right arm inward. She didn't need him worrying about it. He worried too much as it was. "Medicine."

"You're sick?"

They moved the branch to the pile. Her muscles didn't scream at her, only tiny cries of fatigue. "No."

"Find any water?"

Murphy neared as they finished lugging the timber. He observed them with Mbege like predators scouring their prey. They didn't have their crew to back them up—they didn't want an audience. Wrath sharpened their boyish features.

"No, not yet," Wells told shortly.

"We're going back out if you want to come," Emilia offered.

Murphy found the kindness amusing. His eyes flickered to his artwork on the side of the Dropship. Bile singed at the back of her throat due to the carving, 'First Son, First to Dye.'

Emilia would have laughed at the misspelling if it hadn't been tied to a threat. If it hadn't been Murphy.

Murphy kept his eyes on Wells. He didn't care for Emilia. His qualms were with the Chancellor's son. Shadows darkened his gaze. "You know, my father, he begged for mercy in the airlock chamber when your father floated him."

Emilia opened her mouth to defend him, only for Wells to step forward, tossing a smaller log into the pile, and said, "You spelled "die" wrong, geniuses." He bumped into Murphy's shoulder on purpose.

At that, Emilia laughed.

"Got something to say, Monarch?"

"No, but I do," Minerva said from behind. All the innocence vanished. The kisses of Earth's marks on her face managed to contort in her anger. She matched Murphy's unnerving need for destruction. The destructive bad. It came from elsewhere, only an ounce of it came from the written threat.

Both Johns looked back, but she had narrowed her eyes to focus on one.

Murphy's posterior relaxed before tightening all over again. His fingers fidgeted with his recently crafted blade. "Minnie, I—"

He was interrupted by a switchblade pressed against his jawline. She moved like the wind, sudden and all at once. Minerva's soft features hardened like lava shifting into stone, except she remained molten. She seethed as she grinded her teeth. The close proximity fed her fire.

She was the girl Murphy told Emilia about. He spoke of her like a language he couldn't understand but wished to.

Here she was, speaking to him in the only language he knew.

Emilia moved beside her, placing her hand on her shoulder. "Don't."

Unexpectedly, Minerva listened. She snapped back to the girl Emilia first met. She retracted the blade. "You still fight like a bitch, John."

They fueled each other's destructive side. All the anger returned to Murphy. "Go on! Follow the black-blooded bitch that got your parents killed."

Minerva spun on her heels, taking the lead. Her hands clenched around her blade. She quivered beneath her rage.

Emilia remembered her now. Her face. Minerva Braun. Her hair grew longer and her face sharpened.

Only fourteen when left alone on the Ark permanently. In a single night, she was stripped of her family, her home, and anything she could discern as hers. Minerva had been put in Orchid Station's Foster Care for a short time before being put with a woman in Factory Station.

Emilia remembered seeing her during the memorial. Not once did she see Minerva cry. She wanted to comfort her, wanting to say she was sorry to her, but never got the chance to. The Dark Day had never been the Monarch's plan. A simple, calculated blackout to disturb the peace, to show Alpha Station what the other stations experienced. Her followers decided change had to occur that day—they sacrificed themselves to prove that change was necessary.

On the outside, all that changed was the Ark had seventeen fewer mouths to feed.

"I'm—"

"Don't. He's just being a bitch because I broke up with him—why would I stay with a loser with anger issues," she grumbled, growing more wrathful by the second. She clutched her knife like a lifeline.

That day Emilia swore no one else would become a martyr under her name. Death wasn't necessary to elicit change.

But she couldn't deny that the seventeen deaths that day didn't make citizens think differently about the Council.

Emilia noticed Bellamy fill the space they abandoned. He spoke louder than he believed, "If you're gonna kill someone, it's probably best not to announce it. And if I were you, I'd keep her name out of your goddamn mouth."

A scoff escaped her lips. She needed to focus on the goal. Bellamy had always been Bellamy, a thorn in her side. Doing things that never made sense to her. She had things to do and people to keep alive. No more unnecessary deaths. No more children left behind.

However, she needed people. Bellamy was only useful to remind her of that. She needed to appeal to their emotions, only less of their desires and more of their fears. Death was a common fear. No teenager wanted to die before they got to live. Jaha knew that he used that to force them to try to live—they could find other ways to fight their oppressor. Out of the hundred, there had to be more than Clarke's group and the two who stood with Emilia who wanted to do what was right.

There had to be, right?

"You both good?" Wells asked, scanning the two for injuries.

"Yeah." Emilia huffed to release the burning air in her chest.

Minerva remained quiet. She kept her eyes down; her fingers bouncing on the blade that wasn't made from scraps. She had it from before, on the Ark. The daughter of rebels.

Dead rebels.

Still, she stood by Emilia, stuck by her like she still believed. She had every reason to not—to be like Murphy. She had every reason to want Emilia dead—she didn't.

Emilia would prove to Minerva she could still believe in the Monarch.

"You wanna talk about it or forget about it?"

Minerva flickered her eyes upward at Emilia. Her face softened as she exhaled. "The second."

"Okay," Emilia began, crossing her arms. "You were in the Skybox longer than us—who knows the most about plants, mostly identifying anything edible."

A mission rewired Minerva's brain, reminding her of what she could do rather than ruminating about her unresolved issues with Murphy. She gazed at the cloudy sky, racking her mind. "Monty and Jasper but they went to Mount Weather—uh, fuck." Her eyes scanned the crowd. "Trina!"

An Asian girl popped her head from behind a tree, followed by a Hispanic boy doing the same. Their faces flushed as if they got caught doing something they weren't supposed to.

"I got a job for you," Minerva sang, marching to the couple with a shit-face grin.

Emilia and Wells shared a look. Her shift in emotions was concerning. But what else could they do? Emilia was in no position to question the girl. For all she knew, Minerva was just really fucking good at masking. They followed behind the girl, gaining a better view of the couple.

Trina groaned, leaning her head against the tree. Her freckled cheeks bunched. Sweat and dirt smudged above her eyebrows—a deliberate spread of mud to her eyebrow bone. Her already frizzy black hair stuck to the bark. "I don't wanna work, Minerva, we're on Earth! We're free!"

"Well, when you stop eating Pascal's face and realize your stomach is rumbling, you'll wanna do a little work," Minerva said with a smug smile. "Besides, you owe me, remember?"

Trina rolled her eyes, forcing herself off the tree. She stepped out from the underbrush, leading—whom Emilia assumed was—Pascal with her. A taller, slightly more sun-kissed boy. Still pale like most Ark citizens. His build was similar to Wells—muscular, accentuated by the puffiness of his jacket. He smiled down at his girlfriend, putting his arm around her shoulders. He planted a kiss on her forehead.

Her irritation seemed to dwindle at the kiss and the sight of Emilia and Wells. She scanned Emilia, noting her abnormalities. Any ill words were held back—sort of. "You work with the Monarch and Jaha Junior now?"

"What's it to you if they help us find food for the night?"

"She ain't wrong," Pascal let out in a huff, scratching the inner corner of his eye.

"Don't fuel her ego, it's bigger than Saturn." Wells grumbled into his hands.

Pascal barked a laugh. It startled Wells. "Who knew Jaha Junior was funny."

Emilia ignored the name-calling. She knew if Wells had a problem with it, he would snuff it out himself. She neared the two, bringing her arms to her side to show she wasn't a threat or a problem. "You can decipher which plants are edible?"

"Pike drilled it into our brains last week, so yeah."

Pike? It made sense for the Council to attempt to equip the prisoners with some information that some were deprived of like Octavia or simply didn't retain. Smart. Emilia wished she had received the same teachings. She needed the rundown of everything. The pieces weren't fully there. She couldn't afford the mistake, not on these kids.

"Could you help us find some? After that, you can go back to doing your own thing."

"Just, more private, please? I don't like hearing that stuff," Minerva told, putting her palm to her collar as she gagged. "Like we may have implants, but it comes to a point where—"

"Shut up." Trina narrowed her black eyes, flaring flat nose. It dissolved in an instant. She turned to her boyfriend, arching her eyebrow.

"We don't have anything better to do," Pascal told with a shrug. He didn't have a care in the world. Only that he was on Earth with his girl.

Trina returned her sights on Emilia. She pointed her thumb back at Pascal, "He's good with getting seeds for replanting. Could that be useful?"

"Yeah, we can start a garden."

Pascal lit up. "You're speaking my language, Monarch. Let's go!"

Purple began to smear over the skies. As the sun dipped below the trees, splintering lights guided the group back to the makeshift camp. It was only when they came back to the clearing the Dropship made that they noticed the change in the sky color.

An alluring concoction of purple dissolving into a fiery orange. Not yet a sunset but captured the essence of it at the budding descent. Everything the movies and pictures had couldn't compare to viewing it in person.

How lucky they were to be banished to see this.

With the dimming celestial body, the group built three fires. Two small ones across the clearing and one large one in the center. They remained beside the small one next to the Dropship.

A few teenagers migrated to them, curiosity brimming from their fatigued minds and hunger guiding them. Sterling and Luis led two girls to the group, Zoe Monroe and Fox Golding. Quiet at first before their personalities burst at Minerva, Pascal, and Sterling's banter.

The three teenagers found an urge to turn the simple task of making bowls into a competition. It blossomed from a sarcastic comment from Sterling. It sparked something in Pascal, forcing him out of his laid-back behaviors to call for a competition.

Here they were, an hour or so later with only thirty misshapen bowls made.

Fox, Trina, and Monroe rationed the bucket of berries and nuts they scavenged into the cooled-off bowls. If Emilia hadn't pushed them to share, the teenagers would have bared their teeth and scared off anyone who attempted to relieve their hunger.

"No one takes more than they need—it's the only way to make sure no one steals," Emilia explained to Trina. The girl had a hard time with the idea—as were the others, but she remained the most vocal. "If we're all equal, there's no need to fight for more."

"These people are selfish. They only care about themselves," Trina continued, huffing with each toss of the rations. Her jaw clenched; veins perturbing from the base of her neck to behind her ear. "We shouldn't help them."

Emilia understood where her anger stemmed from. Alpha Station often thrived from the inter-fighting that occurred in the working stations. Citizens feared for their lives, which meant they were willing to throw their neighbors under the bus if it meant only one of them would be punished.

The girl knew her fellow criminals better than Emilia. Only stories gave Emilia an idea of what it was like for Trina before and during the Skybox. Emilia knew exactly what it felt like to be a young girl stuck in a violent environment.

"Then what's different about us?" Emilia questioned, focusing her eyes on the braid she began for Monroe. The pale girl squirmed in her skin at the sensation of her hair sticking to the nape of her neck. "Why help us?"

Trina paused her actions, freezing with her hand in the bucket. "Minerva basically blackmailed me."

"I did not!"

"But why help?" Emilia inquired, shifting her gaze between Monroe's hair and Trina's bunched features. She sought something deeper in the girl that she had yet to find. There were unconscious actions drilled into individuals through their formative years. Prejudice rhetoric grew from it, spreading like a plague. But once spotted, there stood a chance at change.

"You said it yourself earlier, we're on Earth. We're free. You didn't need to help but you did—why?"

She brought her hands to her lap. Her fingertips were stained red. Fingernails clogged with Earth's creations. Dark eyes gazed up at Emilia—ignorant youthfulness bore into her as Trina was forced to seek out an answer that made sense to her. "I didn't want to starve."

Emilia nodded. "Every one of us is doing something to benefit ourselves. The difference is you can't always do it alone. You never know when you'll need someone to watch your back. Sure, it's easier to make enemies but it's better to have allies."

"Not to be rude, but I thought you'd be...more of a bitch." Pascal blurted, maintaining his focus on his fifteenth bowl.

"That is incredibly rude, what?" Monroe exclaimed. She waved her arms, nearly smacking Fox in the face. Emilia squeezed her shoulder, reminding her to be still as the woman braided her hair. She eased back against Emilia's knees.

"Well, she turned out not a bitch, so, it's a compliment."

Emilia chuckled, popping a berry into her mouth. She wanted to savor every bit of her rations even if her stomach begged her to scarf it down like an animal. Dragging her fingers across her jeans, she rid herself of the vibrant juice. She returned to sifting the strands into a neat Dutch braid. "Emilia or the Monarch?"

"Both," Pascal admitted, raising a makeshift mold Minerva made from carving wood to shape the metal. "You always had that resting bitch face when serving rations. You look like—well, you know. And we always hear the stories about how the Monarch only ever incited violence. Every protest ended in death—"

"Stop." Trina gripped her boyfriend's shoulder, glaring down at him. Her eyes shifted upward; meeting Emilia's with an apology forming on her tongue.

She rejected authority but swiftly bent a knee to the first voice that spoke to her instead of at her. Begging for forgiveness at any sign of an unconceivable shift in the air, children of the Ark were often taught to accept being the scum on the bottom of shoes. They sensed disappointment before the action that would typically elicit the disappointment could be made.

How many children were haunted by the idea that they needed to fear their guardians? How many of the prisoners decided being locked up until their eighteenth birthday for judgment, would be better than spending another day in their family's quarters?

The belief that an individual could only ever trust themselves was planted by their parents' inability to prove themselves trustworthy and stable. Infants learn to self-soothe when their instinctual cries go unheard.

If you don't, who will?

No one. Not until you showed them how.

"No, it's important to hear this. I can try to do things for people, but it doesn't mean it comes off as well-liked." She glanced back at Wells, who sat some ways away from the group. His back pressed against the Dropship, unable to make himself join the group in fear of who he was. "You can only learn to do better if someone shows you how to correct your wrong."

Pascal perked his head, looking at Emilia. "Does everything you say come out like a wise wizard trying to convince me to save the world?"

Emilia laughed. It trickled into the teenagers as they attempted to stifle it but couldn't. Fox grew red; she covered her face with her berry-stained hands. Monroe snorted, causing Sterling to bark a laugh. An intoxicating cloud of laughter—most likely born out of fatigue and hunger—filled the camp. Bystanders didn't need context to have their brains persuaded to join, itching at the corners of their lips to perk because of an infectious laugh.

It wasn't the first time someone pointed out the way she spoke. Her conversations were limited to very few people throughout her life—rarely did people enjoy talking to their servers when they were starving in a rush. Books and old videos of speeches taught her.

There were only three people she ever felt like she could speak freely with. Finn was the only one left.

"Philosophy books will do that. It's like the opposite of whatever brain rot you have going on."

"Whoa. Alright, I'll give that one to you." He smiled, raising his hands as a surrender. A chuckle left him, confusing and enlightening himself all at once. He handed Trina his seventeenth bowl.

The laughter eased to a comforting silence. Emilia managed to finish one Dutch braid and begin another as the air shifted.

Metal clattered against the crackling logs. A grunt escaped Minerva. Her body tensed, hands quivering from the physical fire and the metaphorical one inside of her.

Everyone followed her gaze. They stared at Murphy and his group, dirtier than before and bare wrists. They collected and lost a few people from when they first landed. But the unnerving feeling they managed to produce in Emilia remained.

Minerva rose, calling a draw on the competition. Much to Sterling's dismay, the competition ceased. She maneuvered to Wells as Murphy's eyes trained on her.

Murphy's jaw hardened at the sight of Minerva sitting next to Wells—sharing rations with him. "I heard you found food. We want some."

Emilia gave a small smile, grabbing a filled bowl. She handed it to Miller and noted the redness around his wrist. Small scabs of where the needles injected grew over. Redness from the removal stood vibrant on his brown skin.

Being able to strip a connection to the Ark was an act of defiance, the only way to get back at them. The group before her believed they were merely going against the Council. Maybe with the illusion that the hundred had died, the Ark would never descend. They would never have to act out to be seen. But they were children who didn't see the bigger picture.

Things would inevitably become complicated with the Ark on Earth. She couldn't stop that. There were plenty of people she'd rather not see. Many of those people didn't deserve to see Earth, to stand on it, to breathe in pure air.

But no living creature could make that choice for anyone. That was the job of God, who had abandoned them a long time ago. Humans weren't meant to conquer other humans. Only live in their own dissonance and attempt to find harmony in the person next to them.

Emilia gave Murphy a bowl.

"What is this? This isn't enough?"

"Do you see how much we have? You think you deserve more than your share," Trina spat, damn near tempted to yank the rations from him and let him starve.

She stopped herself but didn't relinquish her murderous glare.

Murphy took a step forward, narrowing his eyes down at Trina. He shoved his rations into the hands of a boy closest to him.

In the blink of an eye, Pascal stood in front of Murphy. Not a lick of fear cast his face as he shortened the gap between them. He didn't attempt to put his hands on Murphy. Towering over him was enough. Pascal was larger than Murphy, taller too. His humorous demeanor had a quick off-switch when it came to his girlfriend. He, unlike all the other guys, wasn't afraid of Murphy or Bellamy.

From a few feet over, Minerva shouted, "Is there a problem, John?"

His face contorted, conflicted by his present and their past. Emilia gathered parts of it. She collected stories of people's arrests, and stories from their lives before to understand them. The unspoken parts weaved together in Emilia's mind. Minerva's parents were followers. Murphy's dad was one, too; they met because of their parents and bonded over their martyrdom.

Sterling, Monroe, and Fox helped with that. They spilled easily, pliable, compliant. They gave enough without ticking Minerva off. They went with whoever made them safer, whoever would offer more; whatever the majority wished they wished, too.

"No." Murphy took back his rations and led his group away.

Miller lingered behind before turning around, "Thank you, Danaus."

An unknown number of days lowered by one. Emilia often preached that change could not happen in a day—plant the seeds but do not expect the plant to mature tomorrow without the strenuous effort of nurturing. Her time may have been limited but it didn't change what she knew.

Shoving her authority down the throats of fear-driven teenagers would make her just like all the failed and fallen leaders before her. They built trust out of fear of a concept rather than the person. A dog learned that if they didn't destroy objects, their owners would have no reason to punish them. What the dog would fail to understand was that their good actions were not good in the eyes of their owner. A dead bird was an offering but not to people—the dog would learn they could be punished for anything and had to accept it or learn to fend for themselves because the hand that harmed was the hand that fed.

"Go take a break," insisted Emilia as she finished the second braid. She squeezed Monroe's shoulders, urging the girl to rise. The others paused their work to look at Emilia with knitted eyebrows and wrinkled foreheads. "You've been working for hours. Eat, talk to more people, have fun."

Trina and Pascal were the first to walk away hand in hand. Trina whispered harshly, nothing distinguishable besides Emilia's name. Monroe stuck with Sterling, running off to some people they knew. Leaving Fox to stand awkwardly. She played with her fingers; her eyes bouncing around the camp.

"Go have fun, Fox. I'll be right here."

She hesitated. Emilia gave her an encouraging look. Fox dragged her feet against the grass, disappearing into the growing crowd around the large fire.

Shadows began to veil the area. The Sun dipped behind the trees, spreading a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors. A true sunset. The Sun had melted the sky each night and morning—coloring dripped into the other, fading seamlessly.

She imagined it was similar to painting with watercolors. How each stroke would form a different result than the last. Colors blended, blobbing as one imperfect masterpiece. Maybe one day she could try that. Berries and flowers could be turned into paint—no.

It was stupid to think that. A waste of resources. It wouldn't benefit anyone.

She would settle for the Earth's natural painting. It would be enough. If not, she would learn to make it enough.

A glorious exit had to match its unforgettable entrance. The luminosity of the Sun reminded Emilia why their ancestors fought hard to reach the stars. To grasp it in their hands, the celestial bodies were not theirs to have, and it made them even more irresistible. They knew it could destroy them and for some reason, it made them want it even more.

Emilia had seen the Sun's stages from the Ark. Blinding and brutal. If she was never cast out of the firmament, she would have never seen what human greed took from them all. There was good in her punishment.

Earth was not theirs to demolish, yet they had. Earth gave them life—the perfect circumstances led by fate to gift them life. Evolved from nothing into creatures battling desires and needs.

The moment drifted into darkness as not only the light had left her, but greed grew within the shadows. Illuminated by the golden flames, Emilia caught it in his eyes as the crowd shifted around him. Bellamy tasted power and found himself needing more.

She knew why. She understood it. As all people with power did, they desired more to secure their place. Fear drove him to this.

It masked itself in his greed. She could find specks of it glimmering in his eyes whenever the juveniles before him grimaced or groaned at the sensations of needles being torn out of their skin. His actions physically induced pain and would knock the dominoes for future repercussions.

A smile brightened over his maw. His eyes disappeared with joy. Blind by glory.

Cheers began to erupt from one of the fires they had set up. It quickly turned into a pyre. The lives of the old, shedding, being murdered for the new. Release the self from the past to find anew.

Minerva rushed over. At some point in Emilia's admiration for the sky, she and Wells entered the circle. Only she returned, "They're taking off wristbands."

Emilia rose to inspect. She already knew what they were doing. It was a matter of how to stop it. The teenagers turned into creatures of disorder in a close collective.

Minerva forced a split in the crowd, glancing back every so often to check on Emilia. She grimaced. The fire stole the oxygen. Clustered bodies, clinging with sweat and dirt, surrounded her. A festivity was held.

Bellamy stood behind Fox. The girl's wrist was clutched by Murphy as he maneuvered a stick and a sheet of metal beneath her wristband. Fox scrunched her face, biting her lower lip to conceal her pain. A whimper came out. The band separated. Cheers erupted.

Fox's fears shed in the excitement. A smile formed on her face. As quickly as it appeared, it faded when she stumbled upon Emilia and Minerva.

Guilt riddled her face when she noticed Emilia's disappointment. "I just—"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Fox. It's your life and you aren't hurting anyone." Fox didn't believe her words. Shame consumed her.

Emilia couldn't find it in her to condemn Fox for simply following the crowd, that wasn't the way to teach her—to teach anyone—to follow her own mind. The discomfort proved that Fox understood somewhere that her actions weren't ideal. They weren't wrong, but that didn't mean it was right.

None of the teenagers understood that. None of them would until they made their own choices for once. But complete freedom after imprisonment was overwhelming. They followed the closest voice of reason to guide them. And Bellamy was taking advantage of it.

"Who's next?" Bellamy bellowed, drunk on liberation. Golden hues illuminated his skin to match the blaze. It followed the contours of his sculpted face. He stood before her, the image of Achilles reborn.

Wells limped into the gaping center, forcing himself into the spectacle's spotlight. His disbelief seared with each step. "What the hell are you doing?"

Mbege moved onto his feet, readying his mouth and fist to silence Wells. A single hand on his chest sent him to a halt. Bellamy commanded silently, stepping forward to take the stage in front of Wells. "We're liberating ourselves. What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're trying to get us all killed," Wells shouted, commanding silence. Fire crackled as his eyes circled the crowd. "The communication system is dead. These wristbands are all we've got. Take them off, and the Ark will think we're dying. That it's not safe for them to follow."

"What?" Fox let out in a weak timbre. Her breath trembled with her bottom lip. Smearing the dots of blood that escaped her with a tight grasp on her wrist.

Replacing her harsh grip, Emilia took both of Fox's hands into hers. "I'll keep mine on for us. They won't think we're dead if at least one of us has them."

"That's the point, Chancellor." Boredom bathed Bellamy's features. He turned to the teenagers, "We can take care of ourselves. Can't we?"

Silence was killed with their acclaims. He fueled their confidence in ways that no one dared to do before. Blind arrogance made it hard for the teenagers to see Bellamy was just as naïve as them. None of them knew what truly lies beyond. How Earth reformed itself in order to survive. All that they knew was from the Old World.

"You think this is a game? Those aren't just our friends and our parents up there. They're our farmers, our doctors, our engineers. I don't care what he tells you. We won't survive here on our own. And besides, if it really is safe how could you not want the rest of our people to come down?"

Emilia watched Bellamy more than anyone else in the crowd to understand him. She inspected every inch of him to find an answer she knew would never be tangible. Why him? Why did he want this? Fear flickered in his eyes like a flame being blown in the wind, but still, he remained. He grew off the oxygen—he knew how to spin Wells' words because it was Wells. Anyone else, he would have been unable to compete with.

Amused by Wells, Bellamy shook his head. "My people already are down. Those people," he proclaimed with a point to the sky to draw attention to their collective banishment," locked my people up. Those people killed my mother for the crime of having a second child." Here it was. The pleasure of putting Wells in his place was melted by his vengeance. "Your father did that."

Emilia once believed a Sun rested inside of Bellamy. It would shine through his smile, scintillating in his eyes. He somehow managed to devour a Celestial body, claiming it as his own. He exuded its warmth with each step, every word his lips cradled. She gravitated toward him for that very reason once before—the perplexing anomaly that lived within him. He managed to have light despite the space station they lived in often doing everything in its power to snuff it out.

She had believed wrong.

Bellamy had never had the Sun in his grasp—no, he simply sought it out. His arms stretched for it, desiring it more than his life. The Sun was not his to claim. He had flown too close to the brilliant blaze; he had forgotten he was merely a man. In a single instance, the Sun devoured him. It devoid him of purpose, eradicating everything that molded him to remind him of his place.

Scum on the bottom of boots.

In many instances, Emilia found pieces of herself within him. Being stripped of everything she knew left her floating in a void, screaming silently. It called to her; an insidious craving to return to the heavens she had been cast from to take back her stolen life. It burrowed deep within her, sparking into an inferno to damn her enemies.

Being denied the Sun had not removed Emilia's purpose but reminded her to reach higher—the world can become a Sun if it burns bright enough. To bring people out of the darkness, burning what used to be was the way she knew.

That, Bellamy learned for himself. Drenched in gold as if he were God. He would burn the world for his own sake. He'd let the people who cheered for him be scorched—everyone but his own.

Amidst the nauseating debate, Emilia inched forward, quivering beneath her internal battle. She couldn't fight Wells' battles; he didn't want that. He wanted the people to know he stood up for them—he wanted what was best for them, not for himself. But what sane person let a kid be publicly berated?

Noticing her, Wells shook his head. He stood by his stance. "My father didn't write the laws."

"No. He enforced them. But not anymore. Not here." Setting his declaration as self-appointed King, Bellamy conducted his voice—the very thing the Council, Well's father, sought to silence—to give sound back to the criminals. "Here, there are no laws."

They took back their voices. Everything stolen from the day they were born was revived by Bellamy. Freedom, liberation, emancipation. All of it wrapped and presented as a rescue by their fellow criminal. "Here we do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want."

"We're fucked." Minerva.

Charged with rebellion, the crowd rallied behind Bellamy. Desires laced their mind. Anything and everything was there for the taking. No one to deny. No one to approve.

Bellamy marched on, falling further from the light. He towered over Wells like a plaguing shadow. His naïve faith sent him into malevolent darkness that depended on the ashes of who he was. "Now, you don't have to like it, Wells. You can even try to stop it, change it, kill me. You know why?" He held onto his words, holding them above Wells to snuff him of his light. "Whatever the hell we want."

"WHATEVER THE HELL WE WANT!"

A pair of adolescent eyes looked at her amid the crackles of insurrection. They hung on every breath she should have let out. Something, anything, the two girls wordlessly begged for a remedy.

One she couldn't provide them. Bellamy's words were right; they came from the weight of exhaustion Emilia carried. A haunting that loomed over—they were just tools, pieces of something beyond them. Their lives were not their own. It was what Emilia built everything on. Her entire life was forged for this.

Six years of coded messages, calculated disruptions, and eliciting tenacity didn't inspire a spark like this.

Change could not be done in a day.

But this? This was no insurrection. A revolution would not come from this sinister act. This wasn't an operation to abandon everyone on the Ark, it was the catalyst for the end of humanity.

Bellamy dared to meet Emilia's eyes. Smug as if he had won, as if he had proved her wrong.

The skies began to crackle in response. For or against whose cause was unknown. Lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the camp as a signal from beyond. The clouds overhead couldn't handle its density. Rain fell upon them, a blessing and a curse. The teenagers cried in celebration, unable to fathom nature's purest form of water.

Emilia kept her gaze on the two men as they grew closer. The crowd pulled apart, taking their celebrations elsewhere. The inharmonious recreation drowned the voices of Bellamy and Wells. A smile crept onto her face.

"Emilia?" Minerva reached for the woman; a conflict of emotions contained in her pleading eyes.

Achilles may have been Greece's greatest warrior, but he didn't end the war—Achilles was not remembered as brilliant. He became a cautionary tale.

Facing the shaken, wet girls, Emilia maintained her smile for them. "Grab the other buckets Pascal found and leave them out. We'll need the water. Pull them in the dropship when they get full."

The rain couldn't extinguish Minerva's force. "But what about—"

"Don't worry about it. Then we'll set up tents—"

"What?" Minerva's mouth gaped, wrapping herself in her arms. "We're just gonna let him—"

Their eyes collided and Minerva was reminded of who she was talking to. "Please."

A single word managed to persuade Minerva to comply. She led Fox to the Dropship, following after Wells. Faith intertwined with trust. Hand in hand, they influenced each other.

A single nod directed Monroe and Sterling to follow.

A hand gently squeezed Emilia's good shoulder. Trina and Pascal glanced back at her before disappearing into the Dropship.

The rain grew dreary. It felt like bullets against her skin. Her clothes grew tighter and heavier. Suffocated by fabric and children who wanted to live. Still, Emilia smiled.

Leadership took wisdom and the gall to wield both the blade and the voice. Knowing when to strike and when to lay out an empty palm.

But a true leader carried a third weapon—unwavering faith from and in her people.

As the rain beat down and the chants echoed, Emilia watched Bellamy. Every piece of him was fractured by his own actions. He had been the maker of his problems.

Bellamy noticed her never-ending stare.

"Got something to say, Monarch?"

"Do you know the difference, now?"

"The people." The corner of his lip curled. "I have mine. They can be yours, too, if you stop playing mediator."

Mediator? It nearly made her laugh. He and everyone else viewed her six years as nothing but a silent rebellion. Death came for those who grew tired of her lack of action.

Six years weren't wasted by inaction. Six years built faith within people to look at their hands and see more than the endless turmoil but hands that could spill blood and help mend the wounds.

Eighteen lives weren't taken for nothing. Those lives were people willing to sacrifice themselves to prove how far they were willing to go for humanity.

Something selfless Bellamy knew nothing of.

Bridging the gap between them, Emilia tilted her head up to Bellamy. "The difference is why people choose to follow." His selfishness seeped out with the rain. He would drown in it, and she would watch. "Everything I stand for will continue to live past me because they believe in more than themselves. When a leader dies, they become nothing more than that. Dead. Anyone can succeed them and change everything they worked towards because the people believed in the title, not the person."

He veiled any fears from her. Hardening his skin to take the role he made for himself.

"When the rain stops and it gets cold, there are insulator sheets and foil blankets that you can use to warm up." His furrowed brows softened beneath the assault of raindrops.

Excitement surged through Emilia, twitching at the corners of her lips. He stood before her as if he could handle the inferno of Hell, but she could see him sweat.

"But whatever the hell you want, right?"

Any words that he dared to let out went unheard. Emilia pivoted to the Dropship. She found the five teenagers working together to shift through the supplies. Some other people that ran into the ship to escape the rain, began to join them. Ideas were thrown around; the once-criminals helped each other despite Bellamy's proclamation to send them into chaos.

"Emilia," Pascal called out from above. He stood at the mouth of the hatch with a plastic crate. "This one's got your name on it."

"Lemme help."

A boy with sopping wet blond hair rushed to aid Emilia in bringing the box down. He took the weight of it as she hissed in pain. Under the light in the back of the ship, she recognized him from before. Dax. "Thanks."

He nodded, returning to help in any way he could.

Emilia kneeled before the small crate. The hinged creaked as she opened it. A journal. Pencils. A ruler. All the things Kane told her would be there. Except bundled leather filled the bottom. She shifted the items to the side and lifted the item. Meticulously folded, the dried leather crumbled in her hand.

She unfolded it slowly, not wanting to destroy it further. Lettered patches adorned the backside in a messy stitch. Lennox. Her father's letterman jacket. Passed down for generations by his Founding Grounder, who apparently was some famous football player. Emilia believed it was taken by the Guard for recollection after his unnoticed death.

It itched against her skin. Her grip loosened. Metal clattered against metal.

Her eyebrows kissed. A wooden item slipped from the jacket—no. It was part wood and metal. The handle was dull brown. The barrel was a foggy metallic gray. A revolver.

Shumway. The only reasonable answer but it still felt off. All guns were the same semiautomatic style. Black, slick, and authorized only for the Guard. Not this one. It came from someone's family line. She noticed the carving on the side, old from before the Ark.

D. Flores.

The Grounder plaque had been ingrained into her brain. It sat in front of the Eden Tree where she spent her youth watering. Surnames from across the world were embedded on the metal sheet as a memorial. Not a single Flores existed on the Ark.

Emilia hesitantly grabbed it, hunching over to conceal it. She plucked the handle with her two fingers. From the barrel, a piece of paper nudged out by gravity. She was nearly tempted to ignore it. Whatever job David fucking Shumway wanted her to do wouldn't be as important as the one assigned by the Council.

He had no way of confirming if the task was completed. He had no way of controlling her anymore. She wasn't his puppet anymore. Not again. Not again. Not again—

Emilia pulled out the note and unraveled it,

Kill Bellamy Blake. – D.S.

But Emilia knew Shumway's writing. And it was not this.

So...a lot happened. Let's unpack it slowly.

First off, I love bringing life to background characters. Some of them have "personality" like Fox and Miller but the rest are free reign to basically make my own. In the show, Trina and Pascal were just horny teenagers but in my little world, they can be so much more. They're mine and Emilia's babies (God, I really hope nothing bad happens to them). 

The urge to actually try and read the Iliad and the Odessey for this fic is at an all-time high. I have read so many summaries and analyses to write the symbolism and all that. It gets so much worse later on. 

Like season 1 Bellamy is Achilles with how selfish and brutish he becomes. Then I fear it slightly comes back in season 3...we don't talk about that yet. He took the Iliad being his favorite book a wee bit too far.

Emilia, on the other hand, is an Odessey girlie. More on that later. 

So...that ending? 

Originally, it was supposed to be in the next chapter but I last minute changed my mind. It worked better here, plus I felt like I was dragging episode 1. Don't worry guys, every episode gets roughly three chapters each according to my outline. 

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please share your thoughts, ideas, theories, or any other comments. 

Thank you for reading <3

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