That take-off might have been the most victorious sight she'd ever seen- the fiery hope for the last of her people. Bellamy, Raven, Monty, Harper, and even Murphy... she pleaded silently to whatever powers may be that they'd make it. Live another day, even if she could not. Deep blue eyes watched, and savored the moment. Nimble hands once more used to a charcoal stick or a scalpel completed her task. Relief washed throughout her despite the weariness that threatened to have her meet her end falling from the tower. Her skin prickled as she hurried down. The death wave was closing in and it was more terrifying that she could have even imagined.

"May we meet again." she whispered. "But not soon. Stay as long as you can. I'll wait for you."

Hope for herself ran out.

This was fitting and just.

The sacrifice to absolve her of the countless sins she'd stained herself with in just nine bloody months.

Blood must have blood- this was the law of earth and now Clarke understood it fully for the first time in an icy gripping of her soul.

It didn't mean that people must take revenge.

No, no. That was too brutally literal. It was worse. It meant that karma would even the scales.

Eventually.

She understood, and yet the primal instinct to survive clawed at her.

So she ran.

Hurtling across the land as if hell itself was chasing her because the closest manifestation of it was.

Praimfaya fell, the death wave overtaking the land, and the mighty Wanheda skidded desperately into the meager shelter, landing in a heap upon the floor.

Fighting with the suit she could feel melting into her skin, she clawed it off of herself desperately, not even realizing how much skin was tearing off with it. Only her face seemed mostly spared, having not been pressed closely to anything since her helmet had fallen off when she hit the floor. As darkness enveloped her, she could feel the blisters tormenting her shredded skin, and blood continued to heave itself out of her. Somewhere inside she still knew she should drag herself up to her feet. Clean the wretched wounds and start getting fluids back into her system. She could survive this. This she felt sure of- that the nightblood could save her. She must be willing to save herself. Rise. Clean. Fluids. Why? Rise. Clean. Fluids. Save yourself! Her mind insisted. But no. It was too much. She'd seen too much.

Torturous hours passed damningly slow into agonizing days, until, as a dark eyed man knelt high in space looking down upon the fiery earth, her last breathe trembled from her.

"My fight is over." she whispered to no one, and everyone.

The Commander of Death died in a pool of her own black blood, succumbing not to Praimfaya itself but to the injuries and weakness incurred for the final seven people she'd save in her lifetime.

Clarke Griffin died, age eighteen years and eight months, having grown from political princess to prodigy medical apprentice to traitor to hero.

Not that it would matter as she died alone not knowing if she'd saved those she'd finally given her life for.

Not knowing, either, that the death wave brought down the Polis tower where she'd loved and schemed and lost, upon the final sanctuary of humanity.

Clarke Griffin died, when she might have lived, perhaps because she could so vividly imagine Lexa on the other side awaiting her. The girl, not the commander, not the victim with a bullet's wound in her belly, just the pretty girl who had a loving heart hidden somewhere under barbed protections.

Her dad. Floated for honorable treason. How she'd loved him- what would it be to be reunited?

Finn. Her hand delivering his fate. Driven mad by love. How bittersweet was he to her.

Wells. Killed by a child who's parents his father killed. Circle of death. A circle she'd spurned on.

And Charlotte, Lincoln, Roan... Each senselessly dead. Killers, yet her people, still.

All those they'd buried at their pitiful camp they'd called home.

The numerous they'd lost since they'd abandoned their home.

Too many of her people were on the other side too, and it was time to join them.

Clarke had no concept of heaven or spiritual immortality.

Only Lexa's words- death is not the end, and Lexa's face luring her deeper.

The Commander of Death surrendered.

The princess of the sky people greeted death like an old friend.

Willingly she sank into whatever awaited her on the other side.