Heda's spirit was always found first. An infant was born with the Commander's spirit within a month of the Commander's last death and was recognized in the child's first years (3-5 years old). The child was completely unaware of its previous lives, but to others, the child's spirit always made itself known. It was seen in the child's demeanor. She was an average child, yet there was wisdom in her eyes, she watched the world around her with discernment, and exuded a confidence that was proud but rarely boastful – all qualities that would grow through her life. That was because Heda was born - would always be born - to be the leader of her people. It was a promise she made in her first life, centuries ago. It was an oath she swore to protect her spirit and the wellness of her people, but before all, she had sworn it to her beloved. Heda's spirit was always found before her beloved's because her promise was to build a world worthy of her beloved.
Wanheda was always far more mysterious and the spirit took much longer to recognize. A few times, the spirit was recognized only seconds before death. That was because the spirit was so aptly named. The Commander of Death was typically revealed in a clash of swords or whorl of fire. She was the Protector, pledging in her first life to protect her people and, with great dedication, to protect the life of her beloved. It could be counted on that she was always younger than Heda. It was a sad fact that neither Heda nor Wanheda achieved long lives, neither ever living to see their 36th year. But it was also fact that, if Heda died first, Wanheda followed no more than five years after. Should Wanheda die first, her spirit waited to be born into her next life. Her birth would always follow Heda's – in one life, it followed only a week behind, but never more than 7 years.
In a world of warriors, Wanheda was hard to recognize. She was known to be fair and was quick to demand justice, but before her spirit was recognized, she was usually considered 'soft' because of her propensity for mercy. How could her people identify the Commander of Death when the spirit would initially act in a way that was generally regarded as weak? The spirit was nearly always recognized in battle, because that was the most telling. Wanheda desired peace, just as her beloved did. Peace was found in justice and mercy. But in times when the threat to her people, to her beloved, were so great, all mercy was forgotten and she unleashed death like only she could. With cold fury and skill she wasn't always aware of, the threat was eliminated, often with a body count that astounded all. She would stand alone in the place of her victory with a rigid posture that exuded power and authority and a look in her eyes that blazed with the light of her ancient spirit. There could be no mistake. With reverence, her witnesses would whisper the name of the legend they knew her to be – Wanheda.
And so the two spirits walked their lands again.
Instructed since the age of four and taking her role as Commander at the tender age of twelve, Lexa knew quite well the stories of her spirit's past. At nineteen years old, they still felt only like stories. But nearing twenty, she could no longer deny the secret ache she felt. She never wanted to admit it, but she knew; she was dismally certain that she could never really know herself until she knew the one she was destined for. When she was young, she had dismissed the stories as unimportant. As she grew, she began to resent them. That her people insisted that a piece of her future was inevitable, that her feelings for some stranger would develop without her permission and completely beyond her control, it sometimes infuriated her. But in this moment, staring out over the city, she finally admitted the slight disappointment that she had yet to meet this spirit she was bound to. … Where was she?
Clarke paused in her path as they neared the city gates and marveled at the great tower reaching into the sky and the many buildings below it. Her eyes were alight with excitement and her mouth hung open in awe, the corners pulling into a delighted smile. A rough nudge to her side pulled her out of her daze.
"Move your feet," Indra ordered. She sounded as gruff as she always did, but Clarke sensed the amusement and even thought she caught the hint of a smile. She had become Indra's Second only a few months before (after her previous mentor lost her life to bandits) but she was beginning to get a better measure of the irritable chief.
The amusement wouldn't last long if Clarke didn't keep up. But Indra wasn't aware of Clarke's overwhelming anticipation at entering Polis. Clarke herself didn't understand it. It was exciting, of course, to see the great population bustling through the streets, to taste the foods and browse the wares of street vendors, and seize the opportunity to train with other Seconds. But it was more than that. Those things she was looking forward to excited her, but there was something more bubbling beneath it. There was a swell in her chest that told her, without a doubt, something was going to change during this visit. Whether big or small, good or bad, it would lead to something great.
Clarke smiled up at the tower again and jogged to catch up.
Destiny was calling.
Just a little ficlet. I have no plan to continue it, so if it inspires you, please feel free use whatever elements you'd like.