Prepare yourselves.

Bugi reawakens to an empty cavern. He strains his ears for the clangs and shouts that accompany life in Hali. Everything is silent. The sound of his breathing the only comfort in an alien world. His breath quickens as he panics slightly when he looks for his right hand and finds nothing. As his breaths become calm again he can hear the faint dripping of water falling from a crevice in the ceiling.

He sniffs the air and smells nothing but mold and stale sweat. The sweat permeates the air, sinking into his bones and seemingly marking him however. The mold grows rampantly on the walls and the two small pieces of bread next to him. He decides to leave the bread, it's gross anyways.

His mouth is dry, pasty as if he'd been drowned in the ocean and left out to dry for weeks. He takes a sip of the water tin he'd been left as well, but it doesn't do much of anything for his thirst. He decides to chug it all now and take his chances later. The cold water is heaven as caresses his tortured throat and pools in his mouth. He almost forgets how to swallow in his joy at the wondrous feeling but a sense of urgency suddenly overcomes him.

He touches the rough cloth beneath him. He touches the top of his head, searching for hair that is no longer there. A tattoo marks his skull now. It shows his status as one of the failures and his exile from his people. His armor is gone. Taken to teach some other boy to follow the creeds of the Mother. His right hand is gone. He can feel and see the bandages wrapped around the stump that could once hold a sword. He can try to move it, over and over again trying to twitch fingers that are no longer there. He tries to push himself up and notices that he is no longer strapped down to the bed. There isn't even a bed anymore. He's been laid out on a rough burlap mat in a cave.

He opens his eyes and sees the peasants garments he's been placed in. He knows what to do, what his only option is now. He is no longer a member of the Floudonkru. His markings have been cut off and a harsh scab throbs under the fingers of his remaining hand. He looks to the mouth of the cave, debating if he is ready for the journey that lies ahead. No clan will take him now. No village will shelter him. If he'd retired it would be a different situation. Or if he'd been one of the Trigedakru. They were less... strict in their training methods. They didn't have the universal army of the Floudonkru. He wondered if the other clans knew exactly who they were dealing with when handling Luna and Clarke. They were more than trained assassins and powerful leaders. They stood for an ideology, they stood as figureheads that could be replaced easily. Luna was primarily known as the Mother and it was no secret that she'd killed the previous one to come into her power. Clarke was only known as the Bloody Smile. Replacing her was a simple matter of finding a warrior more determined. He wonders as to the fate of Echo. He hoped she received a thousand cuts for her betrayal.

He couldn't ascend to Valhalla. He has no sword to put in his remaining hand, and he would have no ability to wield it should he find one. Maybe he could stay in the cave, starve himself. He can already feel dizziness claiming his consciousness, the harsh call of cold and death calling to him.

He decides to leave the cave. He doesn't know how he finds the courage, but he does. He emerges to desert, harsh sand in all directions. Most likely the delegates from the Maunkru dropped him off before heading home with news of Polis' destruction. He chooses to walk into the sun, for maybe it will blind him and he will no longer be able to see the effect betrayal has had upon him. He marches onward, sun burning his eyes until he wraps his head in the burlap cloth he woke up on. Sand gets in his shoes and he slides down hills he didn't know were there.

He sets off through the dead zone with the other mutants and amputees. Some nights he thinks that he hears them talking around him, that maybe he has begun traveling with a group. But he shuts himself inside and hides away from the world. All he can hear is the wind around his head. All he can taste is paste and thirst. All he can smell is sweat and salt. All he can feel is the ache, the feeling to scratch with the arm that he can't. All he can touch is sand and burlap.

All he can think of is Clarke, standing over him with a training sword and telling him to get up. All he can believe in is the future ahead. All he has is the thought of getting to the Kapakru.

He needs to keep walking, to keep running when he can't walk. He crawls and cries pretend tears because he can't even bring himself to make real ones. He isn't Bugi for a time. He looses himself in the blackness and the sun and the sand. He looses himself in the steps, in the rhythm of walking. He gets blisters that bleed giant stains unto the back of his boots. He pulls his scabs and blood soaks through the bandage around his wrist. He doesn't know how he does it.

It starts slowly. A thought scratching at the back of his mind. Whispers in his ears and gusts of wind tugging at his hair.

It gets louder and louder with the whispers growing to voices and the scratching to an attack.

It gets softer then, becoming a caress and a hum. It fills his spirit and inspires him. It tells him that the sun sets, the sand ends and that the scab heals.

He knows it by name, it is him. It is Bugi come back again to tell him that he has been lost but now he can be found!

He reaches out into the darkness, and removes the burlap cloth from his eyes.

He sees the lake. He sees the waves and sunlight and he cries. He cries real tears for all that he has lost and all that he must reclaim from the burlap cloth that was his prison. He sees Clarke smiling approvingly as he strikes down warriors in training. He sees trees, and Delos climbing through their branches. He sees Hali, with all her people standing against the darkness and winning!

He sees himself, sword held in his left hand and a shield strapped onto the forearm of his right. He sees himself striking down a mighty foe and dancing upon the corpses. He shakes the visions of glory out of his head. Bugi was the one with dreams. He was the one with realities. He wouldn't forget Bugi though. He wouldn't forget who he had once been. He looks out over the giant lake, and decides that Bugi must not be forgotten, but transformed. He tries to think of a new name, of a new thing to call himself. To label the thing that has become new!

He remembers the stories Clarke spoke of so fondly. Of the death and destruction of the old and the rebirth of the new. New him decides to abandon this. For while he loves Clarke, he doesn't want to destroy the old. He wants to accept it, and transform it into a beautiful New. He wants to be the beautiful butterfly, emerging from its cocoon after living as a caterpillar. He wants to be a sword, forged from the steel of another. He wants to be fire, sparking from the branches of trees and creating new beauty from the old. He wants to be the sun, who leaves and then comes back again just the same, but completely different.

He decides to call himself Dawn, for he shall be the new beginning.

"She has returned," Lupa spoke from his position at Luna's left side. The space to her right was empty due to Clarke being away. The rest of the circle was filled with high ranking warriors from the Floudonkru. All of the captains were scattered throughout the room, their firsts and seconds being on patrol to ensure that nobody could interrupt this meeting.

"The White Woman? I thought Luna killed her?" A miscellaneous captain spoke the obvious question.

"As did we. But apparently we didn't kill her well enough. The real question is what she wants. All we've heard of so far is her being sighted with the Commander. Lexa chased after her when she fled the council,"

Luna spoke.

Lupa took over, "We have reason to believe that the Commander is attempting to ally with her. We cannot allow this to happen."

Luna spoke quietly, "As of now we are separating from the coalition and declaring war against the Ice Nation. We will prove our strength! We will prove our superiority! We will prove that I am the rightful Mother!"

A messenger burst into the room, "News from the White Woman," Luna nodded for them to continue, "She's been spotted with Clarke. They shook hands on something. Clarke has returned with Delos and the replacement."

Luna growled, "That fucking bitch! I raised her! I fucking fed her. I taught her everything she knows! She betrayed me!" She howled, pulling a dagger and stabbing it into the table, " Get me her fucking head," the captains were starting at her in shock so Luna screeched at them. Changing from the sweet Mother to a Harpy in seconds, "I said to go kill Clarke Griffin! Why haven't you started killing Clarke Griffin?! Fleet 2 you leave in 10 minutes. I don't care about your fucking feelings just go!"

Luna quickly turned from her casual self to a rampaging berserker. She knocked maps off her table and screamed at the walls. The captains had fled, certain to fulfill her orders. Lupa had pat her on the back before leaving too.

A knock at the door interrupted her, "Mom?"

Luna screeched at the sound of someone's voice. She turned around, sending a dagger flying into the already partially cracked door. Her eyes are bloodshot and her mouth frothy.

The warrior opens the door slowly, "Mom?"

"You have no right! Absolutely no right to call me that. I saw you with her. With the White Woman." Luna has bowed her head, leaning over the table with her back slouched.

"I'm not Clarke, Mom."

Luna looked up. Her eyes shining as they fell upon the familiar visage of Nero, her first Child.

"I've brought your successor, but then I must leave. The Queen has summoned my presence."

Luna walked around the table. She placed her hands on either side of Nero's head and touched their foreheads together, "I have missed you. I spend every moment wondering how the four treat you."

Nero chuckled, "Here I thought you'd be focused on your new toys. What has made you sad Mom?" Nero gently dabbed away Luna's tears with a handkerchief.

"Clarke," Luna didn't say anymore. Nor did she truly need to. Nero swept her up into her arms and carried her Mom to her bed. It was weird to care for her own Mother like this. But Nero was no stranger to weirdness. With her happy demeanour many often forgot that Nero was actually older than Luna. The many wrinkles she had underneath the hood would probably mark her as twice Luna's age. She'd been surprised to actually be a contender in the small contest she and Clarke had held a while back. Nero gently rubbed the liquid into the skin behind Luna's ear.

Nero brushed Luna's hair out of her face, "Hush. I must depart for my meeting with the queen."

Luna grunted in response.

"Goodbye Mom. Your fight is over."

Nero turned away and left. Her white robes billowing out behind her as she stormed off to confront Queen Nia. As she stormed off, she failed to notice the pair of blue eyes that watched her from under a black hood identical to her own.

She failed to hear Clarke as she warned her of what lies ahead

AN: Boom! Nero did something, Luna's declared war and BUGI IS BACK! AND ALSO NOT FALLING HIMSELF BUGI ANYMORE!

I'm actually starting to like Bugi now. It's mildly terrifying but still amazing.

Luna was always going to be at least a little crazy. Why did she admit to trying to kill her own boss? Why did Lupa seem okay with it?

Oh and don't worry,
Next chapter is full of Delos!

Fleshy bits,
FoM