'No man or woman born, coward or brave, can shun his destiny.' Homer, Iliad.

Season 1, Episode 2
Earth Skills

Sept 14th, 2201

Barely before reaching the stream, Clarke ordered them to stop. She had Murphy switch with Emilia, ignoring his complaints to check on Emilia's shoulder. She prodded without Emilia's acceptance and confirmed the sprain. She mimicked her mother, putting on her doctor mask, and instructed Emilia to not do any extraneous labor. She even made a makeshift sling out of the tent they used to hold the panther.

For a brief moment during her examination, Emilia caught Finn's sharp stare. She couldn't tell if it was the fading light or him, but a darkness shaded his brown irises. He studied her as if she were Bellamy—a problem. He examined the violent tendency in her blood, finding it as grotesque as the people of the Ark had. An abnormality living among the normal. She may have appeared human, but an odd taste coated their mouths, she couldn't be like them.

Finn never feared Emilia for her blood. Her family wasn't abnormal, they were special. He found it fascinating, a mystery that he would one day solve. Growing greater with his faith in the Monarch, a symbol of freedom and unity.

In a day, his fantasy was unveiled, and Finn couldn't fathom to face it. The idea that maybe, just maybe, Emilia—the Monarch—wasn't who he believed to be.

The idea of change tasted appealing. It was growth, an evolution, therefore greatness. But change wasn't always palatable. It could bloom or mold, it could be a revival or a fatality.

Change festered on Emilia's tongue. She had not changed. Not her. Not the Monarch. She was the same as she was six years ago, twelve years ago, twenty-two years ago.

For the rest of the way, Emilia led the charge back with Clarke by her side. They took small breaks to let the boys rest and to check on Jasper. Clarke claimed he was stable for now.

His cries eventually lessened. Whenever the boys took an unstable step, Jasper would groan. Despite Clarke's assessment, Emilia couldn't shake the feeling that Jasper was getting worse. Sweat pooled along his forehead. His skin painted with watered-down mahogany and violet blooms. Death had kissed him, draining him of life in its embrace.

The sun left them long before they stumbled upon the camp. Logs were haphazardly left, forming a perimeter that Minerva sketched out. Some were propped up, angled to stabilize each other, the beginnings of a wall. Protection. Security. Indistinguishable figures walked around in front of the orange blaze in the center of camp. They were safe. They were alive.

From the small wall, Minerva poked her head around. Her hair tied in a sloppy bun. Her red-strained eyes widened as she slipped onto her feet. "They're back!"

Monty materialized at Minerva's side, rushing to Jasper. His hand trembled, hovering over Jasper's shoulder. He was in a similar state of disorder as Minerva. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the covered wound in his best friend's chest. "Is he...?"

"He's alive," Clarke confirmed, forcing a smile with the little energy still flickering insider. "I need boiled water and strips of cloth for bandage."

"Get Clarke whatever she needs!" Emilia shouted, cueing the teenagers to move. The sea of youth parted for Wells and Finn to rush Jasper into the Dropship. Monty and Clarke followed suit. Fox gathered the supplies, disappearing behind the Dropship's tarp to help.

The camp settled around the remaining three from the rescue party. Fatigue dressed on their youthful faces. Curiosity bubbled in their eyes at the sight of Murphy and Bellamy dropping down a lumpy tarp.

"Who's hungry!" erupted from Bellamy, startling Emilia. He revealed the panther with Murphy.

Shouts of praise roared around the golden pyre. The camp looked up to him as a savior. And for the most part, Emilia believed they were right. He saved her and she pointed a gun at him.

Not once did Bellamy look at Emilia during their journey back to camp. Not any glances that she was able to catch, or feel burn her backside. She held a gun to his chest, pressing it against his skin to seek out the beating organ inside. It rumbled against the barrel. Boom...Boom...Boom. She could have ceased that involuntary action. She could have ended his life with a single movement.

But that would have contradicted everything that led her here.

He saved her, throwing himself in the face of death for her. Does a man of greed do that?

"You got it?" Emilia asked Bellamy, scanning his eyes for an answer.

He stood before her as a perplexing anomaly. An embodiment of contradictions. She spent too long dissecting every atom that built him, every choice in word or action, everything he did. His body sung with tenacity that vibrated at the same frequency as hers.

They locked eyes, not daring the other to act on anything. A simple action lifted some weight from Emilia's shoulders. "Yeah."

Content with his answer, Emilia turned on her heels, feeling the intensity of his gaze amplify.

"Hey, Monarch."

His stare warmed her skin. Daring to comply, she shifted her head to look. He waited for her to turn before speaking. Emilia found Bellamy glancing down to the knife that played in between his fingers, fidgeting with his nerves. He met her eyes, and by some wicked plan, he smiled at her. "You did good today."

Words formed into bullets, embedding into Emilia's skin. An attempt at bridging the gap time and ill-mannered actions didn't sit right inside. The guilt made the concoction unsettling to bear with.

She couldn't find his words truthful. Not when he pretended to care to save his own skin. Not when he acted against his words to protect her. Not when she pointed a gun at him. Greed held him in its clutches, demanding he act upon his deepest desires at any means necessary. Whatever reason he protected her, he did it for himself. He only operated to improve his situation.

Bellamy watched her until the shadows consumed her. Even then, he staggered, waiting just in case she turned back around. The vehement reasons he followed faithfully urged him to. Gnawing at him like a parasite he invited in.

Those reasons directed Emilia to keep walking.

Isolated and deprived of light, Emilia found herself where she began. The overturned piles of dirt needed little light for her to glue her eyes onto. The day could have ended how it began, with another hole to dig, another body to bury. Her muscles stiffened, tightening the tendons in her shoulders. Forcing her breaths to escape in even intervals failed to relent the knot taunting inside.

She pulled the gun from her boot and kneeled at the end of the graves.

Fighting against the emotions bubbling inside, Emilia popped the cylinder out. Pressure bundled in her throat. She pulled the bullet from the chamber, smudging the silver with her sweat. A disfigured version of her reflected from the metal. Shadows sheltered her features. Every inch of her was dirty. She was dirty.

She pressed the bullet into the pile of dirt, covering it to be forgotten with the other five bullets. A sob broke within her. Waves ripped from her aching heart, sending tremors through her body. She refused to let a sound escape her lips.

She didn't want this. She wanted to help people live, now she's playing with people's lives? Who was she? When she held the gun, she held Murphy's life, Bellamy's life. She held whoever stood at the other end of the barrel, dictating whether or not they deserved to live.

Her skin crawled with the idea of her becoming like Jaha, like the Council. Her hand hovered above the button as theirs did. She held the lives of others upon her shoulders.

Had she changed? If Bellamy devolved into the man he was now, did she shed into something disfigured, too? Were Finn's soundless thoughts right?

Tears curved down her cheeks. Was what a leader must do? Devoid themselves of empathy for one to have enough consideration for the majority? Be ready to slaughter the unchanging man?

The Ark called for the death of any criminal over 18. No explanation. No trial. Their lives were nothing once they had committed a crime against the Ark. But what was a crime in a state of anarchy? What was self-defense? What was a choice for the greater good? What was the greater good?

A dream. A warm delusion that enveloped around the body until it had no choice but to believe. Believe because what else was there to do when the blood of another soaked into flesh, not enough to absorb the other but enough to stain and never be forgotten?

She pulled out her knife and stared at her wristband. She never wanted this. She never asked to be the Monarch. I'm alive and alone for you. I'm alive and alone for you.

But neither did her mother. Or her mother's mother. A line of women forced to become something fiction for the sake of a fever dream their Founding Grounder had.

Because if she didn't, who would? Who would do what was necessary for humanity? Who would think beyond the action of a criminal to find the rotten core that was formed by the actions of other rotten souls?

Her mother taught her about the Monarch. Every chance Raya got became a lesson on the Monarch. She followed a journal that had been passed down for generations of the Monarch's ideology and what must come after. Returning to Earth had always been the goal, reuniting with the flame that couldn't be lit in space, to lead humanity.

A simple task in theory. But years of strategic placement forged the possibility. A single tree stood at the epicenter. Just as her grandmother—just as her mother—Emilia poured water on the Eden Tree. The clear liquid cascaded down the branches, darkening the bark until it flowed and was absorbed into the soil.

Emilia burned her eyes into the soil, imagining the roots soaking in the water as the videos in Earth Skills said. There were an endless number of things she would never be able to see with her eyes but was told to be fact. It made no sense—perhaps that was why it was declared as a fact.

Only special people would get to witness things beyond the human eye. Only special people would get to declare what was fact and fiction, deciding who was wrong and who was right. Everyone must believe their word.

She never liked that.

"I used to do this, too," Kane said as Emilia joined him at the table after prayer.

Emilia giggled, using the table to stabilize her as she hopped onto the seat. "It's for kids."

"I used to be a kid." He held his hand an inch above the table, a similar height to Emilia.

"I don't think so," Emilia said singsongly, a smile stretching across her lips and bulking her chubby cheek. Kane had always been old to her; taller with sparingly gray strands that littered his hairline, a commanding stare like his mother and Raya. A man who made himself to be seen could never be as small and unnoticing as a child.

He chuckled. His hands clasped as he grinned with closed lips. "I would never lie to you, Emilia."

The child propped her right pinky toward the man. "Promise?"

His longer pinky wrapped around her and could have looped around her twice. "I promise."

Emilia scanned the room. People trickled out after prayer, returning to their work or families. Her mother in the shadows, discussing things with Vera as she always had. She leaned toward Kane. "Can I tell you a secret then?"

He nodded, leaning closer with his ear facing her. Emilia cupped her hands around his ears, peeing around before confirming it was safe. "One day, I will bring us to Earth. We can plant it together and find the flame."

Kane pulled back. His eyebrows knitted, forming one long, skunky eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Papá said it's my purpose," Emilia explained with a toothy grin.

Then Kane gave her that look, the look that told Emilia she had said the wrong thing. He gave her a half-smile, his eyes darting across the room for Raya. He patted Emilia's hand before departing to Raya. They spoke in whispers, but Emilia could tell that if they could, they would be arguing. Loudly.

A weight grew inside of Emilia. Eventually, it would add up, she imagined herself falling through the Ark's floor, sinking into space. The lack of gravity couldn't compete with the burden that contorted its tendrils around Emilia.

At some point, Raya pulled Emilia from the gathering room, tugging her along the path to Mecha. Emilia couldn't look her in the face. Not when she felt her mother's disappointment rippling from her, forging in the tight grip she had on Emilia's hand. They were going to their quarters, to her father.

Raya stopped them in the corridor between Go-Sci and Mecha.

"You can't tell people you're the Monarch, my love," Raya spoke softly, crouching in front of Emilia. She tilted Emilia's head up to make the girl look at her. She scoured Emilia's eyes for something that Emilia overlooked at that moment.

"But why?"

Raya let out a breath. She took both of Emilia's hands into both of her palms. "Non-believers will only try to stop you. They are terrified of what might come if it's true. Remember the story about the Earth Monarch?"

Emilia nodded. Then she paused. She scrunched her nose, attempting to piece it together in her mind. "What so scary 'bout it? Papá says I'm leading them to the light."

"You are." Raya moved a strand of Emilia's hair behind her ear. She forced a smile. "You will because..."

"If I don't, who will?"

"You shouldn't be out here alone."

Emilia jumped, clutching at the fabric above her heart. Wells stood a few feet away. He studied her and frowned. "You weren't ever planning on using the gun, were you?"

Words piled in her throat, but her tongue refused to let them pass. She shook her head. The breeze brushed across her wet cheeks. She clawed at her jeans, wishing nothing more than to be expelled from her body. None of this would matter.

Her pain did not matter. Not while Jasper cried out, maimed by an unknown enemy. Not while two boys were buried in front of her. Her pain was a fraction of theirs.

Her dad's lessons were done to prove that. She learned their pain to encourage herself to relieve them of it. Their pain was hers. She was made to carry it for them. Their suffering needed to be solved. She had to fix that. That was her goal and it would never change.

The grass crunched beside her. Wells kneeled then shifted into a crisscross, wincing at the ache in his leg. "You know...it's kinda funny. My mom...she was the one who taught me about the Monarch."

Emilia swallowed to clear the blockage in her throat. She inhaled sharply, zoning in on the carvings on the metal tombstone. "I bet your dad was really happy about that."

"He didn't mind," Wells confessed, shrugging his shoulders. He examined the graves in front of him. "It was after she got sick and...passed that he started to think differently."

A year into Jaha's time as Chancellor, he lost his wife. Typical procedure was for the Chancellor pro tempore to take over to allow the Chancellor to grieve. Jaha took a day, the day he released his wife's body into space, then returned to his job.

Emilia remembered the whispers. How people thought Jaha to be heartless for not taking more time to grieve. Rumors of him never truly loving his wife sparked. It wasn't until Raya's death that Emilia understood. Her mother's life ended but hers remained. No matter how much she wallowed or prayed otherwise, none of it would change the cold hard fact that Emilia was alive, and her mother was not.

She, like Jaha—like her mother when Vincent disappeared—continued to live the only way she knew how.

"I thought you said it was supposed to be funny."

"Oh," he let out, meeting her eyes for a split second before turning forward, "well, sort of. When she passed, she told me I'd change the world one day. Everyone always told me I'd be a great Chancellor like my dad but...it didn't seem right." He exhaled and a smile grew from his breath. "But helping you, helping them...despite everything, it's right."

A sob strangled her throat, refusing to release, only to torment her. She grimaced beneath it. She forced her air to come in and out through her nose.

"I wish they saw how kind you are, Wells."

His grin remained; no matter how small, it was worth a thousand stars. "Actions speak louder than words."

Time may allow for a shift in ways. People would eventually see Wells as more than the Chancellor's son. Murphy would learn to be less violent. Perhaps, Bellamy would drop his act. And Emilia would learn to house the weight.

It pressed against her. The weight of the world and the lives that lived on it. And there stood Wells, ready to bear it with her. Not forced by Emilia or any other hostile circumstance. He wanted to. He claimed, "It'll get easier."

Emilia knew it was always easier to imagine something perfect than it would ever be to achieve it. Pretending was simple. It lacked the satisfaction but held the warmth of hope.

Hope was a finicky thing.

"Emilia! Emilia!" Minerva called out, running from the half-built wall. She stumbled to a stop, spreading her arms outward to balance. "We—You okay?"

Emilia wiped her face and rose. "What's wrong?"

Minerva looked between the two. She didn't appreciate her question going unanswered. Still, she stifled the urge to repeat it. Her eyebrows kissed as she focused on Emilia. "Bellamy and Murphy—the whole little dick brigade is telling everyone they can only eat if they trade their wristbands."

"I think you jinxed it," Emilia said, looking down at Wells.

With each step into camp, something inside caught aflame. Collette leaned on Hanna, clutching her stomach as Hanna attempted to soothe her. Teenagers who kept their wristbands forced themselves to sit and ignore the wafts of food that hit them with the blowing wind. A line grew around the bonfire. Murphy called out, encouraging the others to fall into their hunger and take off their band to relieve the pain.

Being angry was an easy thing to become. Being violent was a split-second reaction when blinded with rage. Emilia's arms quivered as she balled her fists at her side, counting her breaths in her head.

Emilia's footsteps stomped against the ground with fervor, leading her to the man responsible. Teenagers parted both in fear and intrigue, allowing death reincarnated to skyrocket to her target.

She didn't need to be a violent person like Bellamy or Murphy to prove her way worked. She utilized what she's always had, information. Everyone had motivation, a reason for their actions. She tried to use it with Bellamy and Murphy. She tried to be nice. She tried to elicit fear. It was like they wanted her to be pushed to her limits. Emilia condemned that idea, marching toward them.

Bellamy's gaze locked onto Emilia, kindling something within his eyes. It blinded him to the tightness of her jaw, or the searing glint in her eyes. "Monarch, you've joined us."

And then Emilia stepped closer, illuminated by the pyre, Bellamy found the blunt force heat of her wrath. His features contorted with each pounding step she took. A storm brewing before his eyes and he chose to walk into the eye of it.

"Hey, hey. What's with the face?" He met her in the middle, reaching out for her but restrained himself from making contact. Ink must have spread across her bloodshot eyes. "What happened, Emi—Emilia?"

She failed to see it. A darkness cast over her eyes. He grew insistent on the need to challenge her. Every step of the way. Killing him would have been easier but it would fix nothing. No one would learn from his death, not even her. "Every one of us deserves to eat, Blake."

His face reverted back to his shadow. There was no point in remaining civil with someone who continuously refused to listen. "It's just a wristband, and it's their choice."

"It's our only form of connection back to the Ark," she spat. Eyes focused upon them. Nothing but the crackling of fire before them and inside of the two opposing leaders. "Don't make these kids choose between their families and their lives."

"I'm not making them do anything," Bellamy claimed, narrowing his eyes at Emilia.

Clarke and Finn push through the crowd to take the food, reclaiming whatever the hell they want. Murphy and Atom awaited Bellamy's command to take back the rations, but none dared to counter the words Bellamy proclaimed the night before.

Set alit by them, Bellamy glared daggers at them. His insides churned at the act of defiance. He lacked any sense of bite. Always speaking, never acting. Like every person he looked up to. He failed to do anything.

To test his words, a boy, Carter, attempted to follow in Clarke and Finn's actions. He reached toward a stick with his right hand, the band gleaming with the lapping flames. Bellamy reeled his arm.

Emilia stepped in front of Carter.

Flesh against flesh. Emilia nearly toppled into the pyre if Carter hadn't stabilized her. His green eyes were wide like his parting lips, unable to speak to the face that took a hit for him. She only knew his name.

Flesh against flesh, the crowd stood without sound. Their breaths were either incredibly silent or Emilia failed to catch anything under the drumming of her heart. She'd taken punches before. In the moment, it felt endless, being confined to a time frame of agonizing pain until it passed and all that remained was the phantom sting, buzzing along the tissue. All that really mattered was the person who threw the punch, who sought to inflict pain.

It always amplified the pain.

Flesh to flesh. There was once a time when Bellamy's touch felt like a gift from a divine being. Her lips against his cheek. Emilia's first and only kiss, not done to be a calculated piece of a greater plan; an innocent deed done because she wanted it, not to benefit anyone but themselves.

Humans were naturally selfish beings. Learning to control it took time, it was conscientious.

Emilia did everything to rid herself of selfish desires for her purpose; Bellamy indulged in his selfish needs because he lacked purpose.

Pulling away from Carter, Emilia clenched her jaw. She challenged Bellamy back. She spat her black blood at his feet. "Not making them do anything?"

Regret flashed in his eyes. It was too late for that. It was too late for him to give her the smallest sign of the life she used to know. If he wished to be reborn, so be it. Emilia accepted the new, malformed, capricious Bellamy. A man like any other she's come across—power-hungry, callous, arrogant.

Emilia snatched a stick, daring Murphy and Bellamy to do something to her with her glare. Using what she knew about them could only do so much. She realized that. If she wanted them to act accordingly, she'd force their hand until resignation. She held it to Carter. He looked at it and then back to her before taking it.

Sweeping her gaze through the crowd, Emilia brought her shoulders back. "Everyone gets a piece! No need to remove your wristband, no need to trade."

"Emi—"

Her tempestuous scowl silenced him.

"If you have a problem with it, stop me, Blake. Punch me, push me, shoot me, kill me." She stomped forward with each word, knowing he wouldn't retreat and face the chance of being seen as weak. She stood inches in front of him, finding everything she once found to be right to be a figment of her imagination.

Clutching on memories, she was wrong the entire time, from the moment she went to his quarters and handed him their book to mere moments before. The Bellamy Blake she knew died with Aurora Blake. What stood before her was simply a carcass of a soldier, seeking out a way to complete his mission of protecting his sister.

"I won't let these kids starve because you're afraid to die."

Fragments of a glare accumulated in his narrow eyes before sputtering out like a dying flame. "It's yours, Monarch."

She turned from him as he escaped the crowd with his three followers. She faced the crowd of ninety-something teenagers. "There's no need to take more than what you need! We share our food, our supplies. Everyone will eat and no one will force you to give up anything for that."

Cheers erupted, sparking from Minerva and Sterling. They cheered for her. She didn't smile. There was no reason to. She only watched Bellamy who disappeared into his tent.

He wasn't retreating to wave a white flag—no, he's retreating to retaliate. I'm alive and alone for you.

It was bound to happen. His death or hers would come from it. The least she could do was make sure everyone was fed before death came for her.

Minerva shouted at the teenagers to line up in three lines. She, Fox, and Sterling stood by the makeshift rack to hand out rations.

"Get Trina and Pascal to help," Emilia instructed, observing the teenagers work together to eat.

Fox's face flushed as she gazed up at Emilia "They're out doing...things."

Emilia nodded, handing out a stick, she'll make do.

"His pulse is 380," Clarke said aloud to the half-awake group.

Hours passed since dinner. Bellamy stayed in the thin sheets of his tent, while Emilia strung the remains of the panther on the side of the Dropship. Wrapped in the tarp, no animal would reach it and ravage in their food.

After braiding Charlotte's hair and losing her, Emilia retreated into the Dropship. She joined Monty in his attempts to reconstruct the wristband to communicate with the Ark. They pried open the communication panel. Emilia faced wires and it felt like reconnecting with a forgotten language.

When she set her fingers around the cords, the knowledge came first to her hands before her mind. She couldn't articulate what she was doing to Monty until she finished. Even then, it lacked logic. Still, she managed to disconnect the mainframe from the radio, prepping a new set-up for a working wristband to connect to.

"That...doesn't sound good," Minerva muttered into her torn fingers.

Jasper's cracked lips parted, releasing a groan, and as expected, someone from below shouted, complaining about the noise.

Encouraging teenagers to sleep came easier this night. If only they could remain asleep.

Emilia returned to comforting Jasper, running her hands through his hair and humming to him. Her trembling fingers worked better to soothe an injured boy than attempting to tinker with the wristband. It's all she can do.

Hum. Whisper words of encouragement, not knowing if they were heard. Hold a flashlight when needed. Her mind failed her. Her hands were weak. Useless. She was useless. She can't fix Jasper's problems, she can't give the other kids a place to rest away from the noise, and she can't fix a goddamn wristband.

Then came the thoughts of tomorrow. By night, the panther would be bones and tattered fur. Their stomachs would have varying reactions to consuming real meat according to Clarke. Hunger would infest all over again, and Jasper's cries would only shorten the faint strands of restraint.

Hum. Whisper. Hold a light.

Morning neared and nothing about their situation had changed.

"You should take a break, too," Monty said softly, somehow appearing in front of Emilia.

Emilia swept her eyes over the desolate second floor. Clarke was gone. Octavia curled into a ball with Minerva's jacket over her. Wells nodding off, fighting the sleep and losing to it. Minerva leaned on his shoulder. Whenever his head hung forward, Minerva would tilt it to lean onto hers.

Emilia returned to Monty's exhausted face. Sweat and dirt caked along his hairline. "Says the guy who's been up for twelve hours."

He tilted his head to the side. "You're going on twenty."

"I like winning," she said, failing to muster a smile. It made her words far more depressing than she wanted.

He rolled his eyes. "Go take a breather. We'll still be here."

"And try not to get punched, pretty please!" Minerva added, peeking at them with one eye.

Emilia huffed. She racked her fingers through Jasper's curls once more, muttering hopeful words into his ear. His face eased from the scrunching of pain he had been doing. She exited the Dropship as quietly as possible.

The silence of night only made her thoughts worse.

She couldn't do what was right, how can she expect to protect these kids from the Grounders or whatever else is hidden away on Earth? She wasn't capable, that's what. The only thing she's capable of doing is pretending—she could mold herself into what she believed people need. A symbol was nothing more than that, right? The subjective idea a person tied to an item.

She could make people believe in the Monarch, but she couldn't make people believe in her.

At least not at the pace she needed. They needed the Ark to help Jasper, but the wristbands died every time they were removed. They needed to build a wall but lacked the supplies and food to sustain the teenagers. They needed food but no one had the ability to fight against animals and radioactive humans with scary accuracy.

The Grounder lurked in the shadows of her mind. Emilia's shoulders remained tense with the idea that they were somewhere watching. How long before they tried to attack? Was it possible to find a middle ground with them? Emilia and the others invaded their world. History books showcased the horrible conclusions of colonization, never providing a way to do it the right way.

A sound growled in the dead night. It was her. Fuck. She made sure everyone got a ration but forgot herself. She would be fine, she had to be. She needed to distract herself from her organ's cries.

Instead of using it to relay information back to the Council, Emilia used the notebook to write all she knew about the 100 and Bellamy. The first page was devoted to a list of them, a cross drawn by the names of the fallen. From there, each teenager was given their own page. Most of the pages were comprised of sparse details such as their names and what station they came from. She refused to include crimes on their pages. They were meant to have their records clean according to Jaha, so she would ensure that.

No one was who they were on the Ark. Free from their strict government, they were finding themselves all over again. Their actions on Earth were what would define them now. Every action Emilia took would cost something. She wasn't just a voice spreading messages and plans anymore. On Earth, she was both the symbol and the leader.

Assigning jobs would come with time. Emilia teetered with the idea of rotation shifts so everyone was capable of doing every task possible. Some were bound to be better at one than the others. But confining them to one assignment would make it hard for them to learn to do things if they ever got separated—

A weak cry ripped through the forest. It wasn't her body this time. Emilia hadn't realized she had gone past the camp's lines with her nose stuck in the journal. It croaked out again. A depressing sob, cut off by coughs.

Stupidly, she followed the noise, tucking her notebook into her waistband, and replacing it with her knife. She held it close, stalking through the undergrowth. The closer and closer she gets, the more her heart pounded within her chest, pleading with her to run.

Quiet staccato cries sounded above her. She tilted her head upward. Atom, hung by his hands, was left to rot. His face reddened with tear trails cascading down to his jaw, dropping to the dirt. His glassy eyes met Emilia's. Bellamy found inspiration out of the Grounders' cruelty.

"Don't cut me down," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "He'll just string me back up again."

Much like the first man, Atom was punished by his God. He attempted to justify his punishment out of fear. Like the child he was, he fought against his tears and leaned his head back against the bark. He accepted his punishment. Emilia always enjoyed the various origin stories of life and different civilizations. It reflected how the society bloomed from there.

She wouldn't let this be their origin.

Emilia tucked her blade into her bra strap, reaching for the nearest branch. "Whatever you did, you don't deserve this." She pulled herself onto the branch, carefully placing her foot on the shoulder to reach the next branch.

As she grew closer, Atom's cries shifted into sniffles. Emilia sat on the large branch next to him. The moonlight illuminated his pain. "I kissed Octavia..."

Just like the first man. God felt betrayed by Adam's relationship with Eve as they let their love drive them to sin—a sin God declared but simultaneously gave them the urge for. The Serpent gave Adam and Eve the gift of humanity, disobeying God as he always had. He gave them curiosity, empathy, anger, and more. The Serpent gave humanity free will.

Emilia reached toward Atom, taking her sleeve to wipe away his tears and snot. "Like I said, you don't deserve this, Atom. You don't have to listen to him."

"I'm a dead man if I don't."

Emilia didn't know about the extent of his crime but knew it couldn't have been deserving of this. Left as bait when an enemy was watching. Not only was it inhumane, but it showed whoever was watching that the camp was weak with instability. Bellamy was acting on emotions had rather than logic as he always . His attempts to make himself appear impenetrable to teenagers presented him as a weak coward to his enemies. He made himself a target.

He made all of them a target.

She observed the knots on the rope, trying to see if she could salvage it and free Atom. She reached for the end and began to pull. Death was inevitable but how a person died could be prevented. On the Ark, a part of her believed otherwise—perhaps death was necessary. If the cancer can't be altered, tear it out.

However, there was a third option. Live with it. Live because of the cancer or in spite of it.

Emilia was beginning to think there were far more painful options than death. The idea of it haunted people. She spent years trying to understand why. Why fear the inevitable?

Then it hit her. It was less a fear of death and more a paralyzing terror that death proved their life was unlived.

Death wasn't a necessary component in Emilia's plan. Death would come as it pleased. What mattered was if death came for a soul alone or surrounded by people who cared for them.

"I won't let him hurt you."

I won't lie...not my best chapter but it is what it is. I've been so tired lately and writing has helped but it's all scenes in later chapters unfortunately. Also my hard drive that has my graphics is so finicky that I can't access it right now so we have to have an unedited gif. But its okay because Adria is so fine.

Next chapter is the hunting party, which I'm very excited for. Emilia and Bellamy's relationship this scene is a non-stop back and forth between 'I tolerate who you are now' and 'why are you like this; I hate you'. Next chapter incorporates both sides of that spectrum and finally some truth! 

Thank you so much for 2k reads! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter <3

Here's some quotes that I relate to the chapter (slightly copying my beloved mac, so go check her out if you want an AMAZING bellamy blake fic)