001: Wanheda

You never think the world is going to end until it does, until fire rises up, takes hold of the trees and swallows them whole.

You never think the world is going to end until you're dangling from a satellite tower and realize your life is over.

Not now, but in five minutes.

Four minutes.

Three.

And you run, praying for any chance of survival, but also knowing you did what you could to save those you loved.

Thanks to you, they will make it to the Ark and if all goes well, they will survive. They're resourceful with Raven's brain and Monty's determination. They're strong with Emori's and Murphy's cunning nature. They have Bellamy's heart, an organ so big and beautiful; it's hard to know how it fits inside his chest. Even Echo has a guiding will despite the problems she caused. But those were for her people.

Every clan tried to save their people and that is something Clarke knows all too well, that Clarke has fought for ever since reaching the ground. Her problems were simpler then, after confirming the radiation wouldn't kill them and they would have enough to eat. She never thought radiation would reappear, rear its ugly head and whisper in her ear "Your fight is over."

She knows her time is coming up as her legs pump as hard as they can go and she's closer to the lab, the lab that could not save her or her friends, but provided an escape for them. If the satellite had worked with Raven's instructions, she would have made it back in ten minutes.

But time, time is rarely on her side. And she knows she has overcome bigger foes. She knows she has survived grounders and mountain men and A.L.I.E. but this is it. The sky is a weapon. Trees continue to be eaten alive, falling and crumbling with their sound snuffed out. Her skin is burning, pain shooting up and down every inch.

Her body is betraying her. It is heavy and breaking. Her hand slams against the metal entrance of the lab and she is ready to stumble, to give up.

Except-she doesn't. She's a fighter. Her friends would want her to keep going for as long as she could.

She does not want to die. No one ever does and no one wants to talk about the slight glimmer of fear and hope in their eyes as they do. It's too much to give death a face, to call it by name.

She enters the lab. Her vision spins and it feels like flames are licking every ounce of exposed flesh. Her chest is tight, a chord wrapped around her lungs. Before she knows it, she's falling, colliding with a table on the way down which does nothing to help the cacophony of pain rising and swelling like the verse of a song.

Clarke reaches a hand out for purchase. She's not sure what she grabs, but it's cold and slick and it holds her up for a second. Her fingers slip and it's then she sees the scarlet trail left behind.

She's bleeding. She's bleeding. She's bleeding.

The fire is closer. This is it. The front of the lab is gone, seared like a piece of paper.

Her thoughts go to her mom, Kane, Octavia, and the people from every clan who are in the bunker. Her thoughts go to her friends in space, hoping her actions gave them life. Her thoughts cycle through the series of her choices. She has never believed in an afterlife, in a place that is not the present, but she hopes her actions do not lead her somewhere bad.

"Who we are and who we need to be to survive are very different things."

Yes, yes they are. And she hopes it's known. She hopes there is something left in her that's good.

Clarke's eyes fall shut and the pain grows into a full-fledged chorus. Agonizing, smothering, and then nothing at all.

…

She wakes, but it's not like waking up from a good night's sleep. It's like waking up from anesthesia, uncertain of where she is with weighted limbs, a dry mouth, and a stomach ready to heave the contents it doesn't have.

Above her is the sky, dark and starless.

Below her is tile, warm from her body lying on it for who knows how long.

Her first conclusion is she had a bad dream and she is in Arcadia, having fallen asleep for way longer than she intended.

Reality knocks sense into her with a churning stomach. Saliva tinged with scarlet splatters across the floor. She makes a measly attempt at brushing her hair from her face, but some of the mixture gets caught in the strands.

Clarke reclines on her elbows when she's done, gasping for air that can't come quick enough. Her breathing starts to calm and one conclusion nearly sends it spiraling out of control once more.

I'm alive.

She forces herself to her feet and takes in the lab which is the bare bones of its original structure. Metal and steel torn apart, whipped away.

Stretched before her are the ruins of the Earth. No green remains. No trees. The dirt is dark and cracked. Smoke rises in clouds from a variety of locations, no longer orange and raging, but calm, filled to its capacity for years.

This is the end of the world and for some reason or another, it hasn't claimed her. Clarke racks her brain for an answer, but it's sluggish. She remembers A.L.I.E's warning and she remembers the deal with Ice Nation, and she remembers Luna, and she remembers—

Nightblood.

She bore the choice so no one else would have to and it worked.

Elation floods through her veins, stronger than any shot of adrenaline ever could. She needs to tell the others. She needs to tell her mom. They could save everyone.

There's no one to save. The finality slams into her like bricks. The world's people are hopefully still alive in the bunker and her friends are farther than she could ever get to. Clarke is alone and she will be for five years until everyone can resurface.

Two options present themselves. She can waste the cure she has been given. Weep until there are no more tears and find a way to die. Or she can do what she's been programmed to do: live.

Clarke steps forward. Her feet are too loud in a world that is too quiet.

But hope breaks through, no matter how out of reach it may seem. Five years and she can see everyone again. Five years and it will be worth it.

A smile curves on her lips, tentative, careful, because the last thing she should be doing is this. It doesn't dim. It guides her forward, a body slow and racketed with pain. She's going to need food and water and it's possible there will be none to find and no one will ever know that Clarke Griffin did not die from radiation.

She will, however, try.