2 • Lincoln Octavia • The war girl

The war was over.

She heard screams and cries and prayers. She didn't care about any of them. All she was trying to find was silence and peace.

The heartache was spreading in her chest. She wanted to shout, wanted to send her voice to the roots of the Earth, where she found her biggest happiness and her greatest sorrow.

Her feet were moving in an unstoppable mode, like they didn't belong to her. All her body was not her's anymore. Her eyes filled with hatred and satisfaction (exactly satisfaction) were not running from face to face, for the first time she didn't need approval.

Her blade with the pointed tip bursted into the human flesh reaching the heart that she wished so much to wrest and passing through the spine. She could literally hear the sound of bones crashing and tossing in the body.

Silence.

No breath.

Her heartbeat.

She didn't look back. Her feet were moving again carrying her away from the room full of people who meant the world for her before. But not today. Not anymore.

She passed the water where they were planning to fry Allie's soldiers, simple people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Suddenly she heard the water splashes. Foot steps.

"Octavia..."

The sounds broke into her ears, the silence was dead. She turned around to look. Blonde dirty hair, black blood pouring from the nose, compassionate eyes. Annoying paradox, Octavia thought. Like always, she is better than me.

"What do you want, Clarke?"

She looked at O. with the sad look and gently touched her shoulder. Octavia moved her glance to Clarke's hand, but then forced herself to look into girl's eyes.

"I figured I've never had a chance to say it," said Clarke. "I'm sorry."

"You should not be," Octavia replied indifferently. "This was not your fault."

"Octavia..." Clarke continued. "We do need you."

"Why?" suddenly she got angry again and released from Clarke's hand. "The war is over."

"We need you not because of the war, O."

Octavia twitched from the sound of her name. Only Bellamy called her "O".

"Well, now I don't need you. Not because of the war. Not because of anything."

Clarke lowered her eyes. Sadness and guilt could be read on her face. Too much guilt. She sighed.

"Actually it's not over," she said finally. "We've got bigger problems than before."

Octavia started worrying. What could it be again? What war could be even more terrifying than the war for free will?

"What is it?" she asked.

"We are all in danger. The whole Earth."

"Are you sure? How do you know that?"

Clarke shook her head.

"It doesn't matter. I just know. And we need you," she silenced for a moment and then added. "All of us."

Octavia gave her a skeptic and angry look. She understood the little hint. She turned away from Clarke and continued walking.

"Octavia!"

O. bowed her head, so she wouldn't see her face.

"Promise, you will come back in the morning," asked Clarke. Octavia could clearly hear plea in her words.

But she didn't reply or bowed her head again. She walked away without saying anything and didn't look back.

And while coming down from the top of the tower by stairs she let herself to shed one tear. Just one more. Cause no one could see her weakness or judge her actions. And a little smile was born on her lips bitten to blood from pain.

She lied to herself. She lied to everyone. She thought that she could handle peace and silence. She was wrong. And everyone else saw it already. She was born to fight and there was nothing else she wanted and desired. Without fighting she would die. The warrior, like Indra said. The war girl, like she said to herself.

And all the hundred didn't matter, and all the world lost his sight to her. She's heard the songs of the horns and felt satisfied. Tomorrow she will come back. Finally she could feel the blood and death on her face and in her soul. Finally she could be what she was born to be.

Lincoln is dead, she said to herself one more time. One last time. Revenge is done, she said. Now she can fight till death, until her last breath and last drop of blood in her stubborn body. Until all her bones will be broken and smashed, until the world will beat the life out of her. She's going to fight.

The war was not over. The warrior rises again.