Guess what everyone? Aerrow is back yet again! I know I said at the end of Into Oblivion that the Closer to the Edge storyline would end there, but as I watched season 3 unfold, combined with several people asking for me to continue, I got an urge to start writing about my OC - Aerrow Eroxin - yet again.
This story though will be much different from the previous two though, perhaps most notably in the relationships between characters. Aerrow/Clarke will no longer be a thing. I realized eventually that with the way the characters have developed, they just aren't suited to each other anymore, so instead there will be new relationships, and new events. I am still not entirely sure how to progress this story as I feel the City of Light storyline of season 3 doesn't quite match what I want to write about, particularly for Aerrow, but I am committed to doing a complete story for this third season.
I hope that story will again be harder, darker and better than both the stories I have written beforehand. If you are new to this series, you don't need to read Closer to the Edge - the story for season 1 - as it is pretty terrible by my own admission, however it would be worth reason the story for season 2: Closer to the Edge: Into Oblivion, as the events that took place in that story are hugely important in understanding this one.
I won't say anything more, just that this story will be going in a very different direction to the two that came before it, but don't worry, there will still be plenty of action, fighting, and romance to go around.
Enjoy.
Closer To The Edge: Identity
"The single greatest flaw of mankind is our overwhelming, desperate desire for above anything else: recognition. Humans commit the most terrible crimes, slaughter each other by the dozen, all in the name of power, and recognition of ones-self and their name. Take away a man's name and what does he have left but instinct?" - Hans Van Dyke.
"There is a madness inside us all. A madness that lurks in our deepest animal minds, yearning, begging to be set free at every moment of our lives. A madness that is sedated into paralytic silence by the tyranny of identity. I am that madness." - Subject X
"Ai laik Okteivia kom Skaikru, en ai gaf gouthru klir" (I am Octavia of the Sky People, and I seek safe passage) - Octavia Blake
TIME TO ESCAPE
THE CLUTCHES OF A NAME
NO, THIS IS NOT A GAME
IT'S JUST A NEW BEGINNING
The rough metal scrapes loudly as the door opens, allowing them to wheel the woman through the narrow door, her desperate screams trailing through the dark corridor behind her.
The woman is screaming for help, but no one else follows her into the cold steel room. No one else knows what is happening, and no one else can be allowed to know. Not yet.
After she is brought inside, one of them quickly jams their first onto the button to secure the door shut. There will be no escape. Not until the procedure is over.
They move quickly, assembling the items they may need to perform it – knives, scalpels and needles among them.
Amongst all the activity, one of them is distracted by a sudden glare outside the small porthole in the room. They stop briefly to take in the sight of the familiar yellow glow of the sun rising over the mottled green and brown surface of the Earth.
Dawn.
Sunrise.
Earth!
That's the dream.
The lone person sighs. Maybe one day. For now, they have a job to do, stuck on this floating prison, hundreds of kilometres above the ground they so desperately seek to tread someday. Reluctantly, they turn their attention back to the distressed woman, and they move to secure her thrashing limbs more tightly.
As they do so, they pass a small sign engraved on the wall. It reads: Ark Station sector 1: Alpha.
The rising sun signals the start of a new day, and the arrival of a new date: the 16th of December, year 2197.
The woman's screams grow louder as her trauma escalates. They know they don't have much time.
The room is suddenly filled with frantic activity, as the group of people rush to prepare the poor woman for what is to come.
The woman is in her mid twenties, and under much more normal circumstances would be considered quite beautiful. She also happens to be quite a remarkable person. Seemingly blessed with exceptional physical ability, as well as a high aptitude for learning new things and unrivalled hand-eye co-ordination, she is at present the youngest ever zero-gravity mechanic since the Ark was formed – having been merely 20 years old when she was accepted onto the elite mechanical crew.
She is a small, and lean figure, but her shoulders hide a wiry, toned definition. Her lightly tanned skin and uniquely South American eyes betray her Venezuelan heritage.
There is something else about her eyes, too: they are an incredibly dark shade of blue, almost verging on purple…
Right now though those eyes are squeezed tightly shut and a thick veil of sweat covers her entire body as her pain escalates. She has known this moment has been coming for a long time, but she is in no way prepared for it. She has been through this before, but this time is different. It's too soon. Much too soon.
The other people in the room swarm around her in anticipation. One of them picks up a small pair of scissors and cuts away part of clothing, revealing the blood that has started to drip. They know what is about to happen
The woman throws her head back in agony as her screams hit fever pitch and then…
…Silence…
And then a new scream floods the air, one much smaller and far shriller.
Panting heavily, the woman finally finds the strength to raise her head to see where the noise is coming from. Her eyes widen when she sees what is being held in front of her, and she can't help but break out in tears when she realises what has just happened.
She has just given birth.
The baby is tiny, far smaller than most newborns. He is one month premature. No baby has ever been born this early and has survived. Her broad, relieved smile fades quickly when she hears the newborn struggle desperately, gasping for even the tiniest breath of air.
And then he is gone.
Quick as a flash, he has been whisked away from her, into another room.
Panicked and fearful for the life of the child, her child, she strains against the thick leather straps holding her down, trying to get a glimpse of what is happening through the small porthole in the door to the adjacent room.
She sees much movement from the surgeons that were so eagerly gathered around her just moments earlier. But she sees no medical equipment. No life support.
Instead she gets mere glimpses, flashes as the baby is strapped down onto a horizontal table, and injected with a simply enormous looking syringe full of dark green liquid, directly into his chest. She is forced to close her eyes and look away as the baby's hideous screams manage to penetrate even the thick steel.
Eventually, the screaming stabilises, and the surgeons come back into the main room, a faint, yet still detectable look of satisfied accomplishment in their eyes.
Holding the tiny baby in her arms is doctor Abigail Griffin, herself heavily pregnant. As gently as possible, she wraps the baby in a towel and hands him to his exhausted mother.
The woman is horrified by what she saw in the other room, but she suddenly recalls the faintest memories of the same procedure being done to her when she was first born – It is her very first memory – so she assumes such a procedure is performed on every child that is born on the Ark, and that maybe the injection is essential in order to survive in space.
For the first time, she holds her child in her arms. He looks so tiny, so fragile, and she is powerless to stop the tragic thoughts from seeping into her mind. She already lost her first child just moments after he was born - over two years previously - she can't lose this one as well. "Is he… Is he going to-" She is unable to finish the sentence. She doesn't want to say it.
"It's still touch and go," Abby tells her, "But I think… I think he might just pull through. You've given birth to a little survivor, Mrs Eroxin."
At Abby's words, the woman – Elena is her name – breaks out into a relieved smile. "You hear that?" she speaks softly to the baby in her arms as the rocks gently back and forth, "You're going to be okay."
"What do you want to call him?" Abby asks, smiling.
Elena Eroxin stares at her baby for a long time. Finally, his eyes crack open, revealing the most dazzlingly beautiful pair of bright purple irises. In that moment, she realizes.
"Aerrow." She says. "His name is Aerrow."
Surreptitiously, Abby looks behind her to her superiors. One of them checks his clipboard briefly, and nods his approval.
"Aerrow." Abby echoes, "What does that mean?" – knowing Elena's affinity for staying true to the native language spoken by her ancestors in a remote Venzuelan tribe.
Elena looks up at Abby and smiles "To him, nothing." She jerks her head softy towards her baby. "It means whatever he decides to make it mean."
"And to us?"
Elena pauses for a moment, and looks back down at the infant. When she speaks, she does so without breaking contact with the baby's purple eyes. "To us, it means Spirit."
...
Sunlight.
Wind blowing.
Birds chirping.
Twigs snapping underfoot.
Octavia Blake noticed none of these things as she trudged angrily through the wilderness.
Beside her, her fists were clenched tightly shut, and her brow was set in a narrow, furious expression. How could he? She thought. How could he do that to her? To them?
She turned briefly, and looked back over her shoulder to where she had come from. she saw the rising metal structure of what had once been Alpha Station, now the centre of Arkadia - home of the Sky People - glittering in the afternoon sunlight. She shook her head and growled in disgust, not wanting to see the ugly structure staining the beauty of the surrounding woods any longer. She didn't know how long she would be gone for, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't know if she wanted to go back.
She didn't belong there. Neither did Lincoln. They both knew that, or at least she thought they did, until he betrayed her and all of his people by accepting Kane's offer to join the guard, and wear their uniform. Ever since the events of Mount Weather and Oblivion three months ago, she'd always believed that as soon as Lincoln's kill order was lifted, they would be free, they could leave, and start a new life on their own, away from everything else. Now she didn't know what to believe.
Maybe happiness was a lie.
She forced the thoughts of Lincoln out of her head. The whole reason she left was to forget about everything after all. Instead she let her mind wander, and as they had increasingly started doing, her thoughts turned to him.
It had been three months since they had left, since he had left.
She wondered about him. Where he was, what he was doing. If he was happy.
If he missed her.
Sure, he wasn't Lincoln. Lincoln was irreplaceable. But he was him. He was strength, he was safety. But most importantly, he was her friend, and his departure had left a gaping hole in her life, one that, as hard as she tried, she simply couldn't fill.
She shook her head again as she remembered Indra's teachings. A warrior doesn't worry about what she can't control. She understood why he had left. After everything Oblivion had done, she had wanted to do the same thing. But that didn't mean she couldn't miss him.
Lost in her thoughts, she kept walking aimlessly, eventually ending up on a riverbank. So distracted was she, that she never realized where she was. And she never noticed who was approaching until it was too late.
She rounded a corner and found herself face to face with the intimidating facemasks of a group of grounders.
She froze immediately.
She recognized the battle armor they wore and the white warpaint adorning their masked faces. These were Azgeda warriors. Ice Nation.
All five immediately went for their weapons. Octavia quickly held her hands above her head. "I observe the Commander's truce" she spoke in Trigedasleng.
"Who are you?" Their leader replied, his voice laced with hostility.
"Okteivia kom Skaikru" She told them, making sure to speak loudly and confidently so as to not show any signs of weakness.
The Ice Nation leader turned and spoke to his comrades. "Looking for Wanheda!" he spat. The group began advancing towards her, pushing her back towards the rocky river bank.
"I don't know who that is." Octavia said quickly, keeping her hands raised, but bringing them closer to the weapons on her back. She had heard about the aggressive nature of the Ice Nation, but the hostility of these scouts was alarming. She wondered who 'Wanheda' was. she had never heard the name before.
"WHERE'S WANHEDA?" the leader shouted at her, drawing his sword.
"I told you I don't know!"
"Liar!"
All five drew their weapons and came at her.
With lightning reflexes, Octavia saw the attack coming and her hands immediately went for the weapons on her back, and she drew them, revealing two identical shiny silver blades. The blades were ultra light, but far stronger than steel, with the deathly sharpness to match. They were unlike any other sword that had ever been wielded. A gift, from someone she used to know.
Octavia was quick to launch into action, and met the charging Azgeda warriors with a clash of twirling blades. Her fighting style was fast, fluid and dynamic, and closely resembled that of the legendary Qinta warriors. Quite how she had acquired such a skilled style, the Azgeda warriors did not know. No one ever found the Qinta. As everyone knew, the Qinta found you first, and by then it was already too late.
With such a highly evolved fighting style, Octavia was able to keep the Azgeda warriors largely at bay for a short time period, but then things changed. They started learning about their opponent. Learning her strengths, her weaknesses, and how to defeat her.
Octavia had fought - and won - several battles before, including fighting him in order to save her people, succeeding where the Qinta failed. This was different though. This time, she was severely outnumbered, and she very rapidly found herself overwhelmed.
She hit one sword away, before spinning to block another strike. Sensing another attack from behind her, she swung herself back around to face the attacker and-
Was struck.
She gasped in pain as she felt the cold steel of the blade penetrate her lower abdomen. She felt her flesh burn in agony as the warrior withdrew his sword from her body, and she sank to her knees as blood started to flow from the wound.
The Azgeda warriors stood mercilessly over her. When he spoke, the leaders voice was cold, and entirely devoid of emotion. "Let this be a message to your people. Wanheda's power belongs to the Ice Queen."
He raised his sword to deliver the final, killing blow. Octavia stared defiantly up at him, waiting for the end.
But it never came.
Instead, Octavia heard a sharp hissing sound from down by her feet, when suddenly a whip-like crack shattered the surrounding air, and her would-be killer dropped instantly, clutching his ankle and screaming in pain.
No sooner had he fallen when a streak of movement came charging out of the forest, meeting the closest warrior with a high and hard kick to the face. The warrior fell, his neck snapped by the force of the kick.
Octavia watched on in shock as her savior pulled from behind him a bo-staff made out of timber and, twirling it expertly in his hands, engaged the remaining warriors.
With a level of speed, skill, and ruthless efficiency that none of them had ever encountered before, the grounder took them down one by one. It was like he was at one with his weapon, born to use it. Eventually only two Ice Nation warriors remained when one of them finally cleaved the man's staff in half with his sword.
This did not seem to worry him though. Instead, he grabbed one of Octavia's fallen swords, sliced one warrior's neck open, before throwing it into the chest of the leader - who still lay near Octavia, groaning in pain – and then, now weaponless - he ploughed into the final warrior, driving him off the edge of the steep drop off to the river, where the two fell down and crashed violently into a large boulder at the bottom. The man had been smart enough to position the Azgeda warrior underneath him, cushioning his fall, and as such he was uninjured by the impact. The Azgeda warrior wasn't so lucky. His back snapped in half the moment he hit the boulder.
Breathing heavily, and wincing through the pain of her wound, Octavia sat up as the savior climbed back up onto level ground. Like her attackers, he too wore the heavy wolf-skin furs of the Azgeda army, however he bore no warpaint.
"Who are you?" she asked him.
He paused for a moment, then he raised his hand to his face and ripped off his facemask, and Octavia's eyes widened.
The man stared at her through intense, electric blue eyes.
"Ai Laik Aerrow kom las Qinta gonkru."
I am Aerrow, last of the Qinta warriors.