Well, here's the next chapter. Better prepare yourselves, it gets dark. Like, really dark.

To the guest who reviewed saying the story is too depressing, I am sorry you feel that way, however this is being done on purpose.

I am putting Aerrow through hell, absolute hell, and will continue to do so for a little while longer, because it needs to happen. He is in a place where he doesn't want to fight, doesn't want to act, and everything I do is building towards changing that for the finish. I know dark stories aren't that fun to read, but please, just stick with me, ride it out, and the final character arc will be worth it.

Anyways, on with the story. Warning now for descriptions of rape. Ontari is one evil bitch…


ENEMY OF MINE, I'M JUST A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND

RUNNING OUT OF TIME, BETTER GO

ANGEL OR DEMON, I GAVE UP MY SOUL

I'M GUILTY OF TREASON, I'VE ABANDONED CONTROL

Clarke Griffin ran.

The ghostly trees whipping by her in the night were barely registered as she fled Polis.

After Aerrow's fall to Roan's sword and Aden's brutal execution, she knew she needed to get out of the capital immediately, or else she would be next.

But before she did, she was determined to retrieve the flame – the AI chip she'd tragically discovered was inserted into every Commander's head upon Lexa's death – and thus prevent Ontari's ascension, saving not only her people, but the rest of the twelve clans from the subjugation of the psychopath's rule.

There was only one problem:

She had no idea where it was.

She scoured the city for hours under the cover of darkness, not knowing where it was, or what was happening back in the tower. She dreaded to think that Ontari had already ascended, but she had yet to hear the droning horn that would signal such an occurrence.

Which meant she still had hope. She had to believe there was still a chance at salvation. It was the only thing holding her together.

Fortunately, she had a stroke of luck when out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the distinctive green robes of the Flamekeeper as he moved between the buildings, like a ghost. She could tell from his body language that he did not want to be followed.

So that's exactly what she did.

She traced him to a secluded staircase descending into the very earth itself, whereupon she discovered the location of the Flame: an entire shrine dedicated to the Commanders.

Her plan of stealing the AI was ruined though when Titus discovered her. She had argued with everything she had against Ontari's ascension, and for a time it seemed all hope was lost, until the revelation was made that there was still another nightblood that could ascend.

Her name was Luna, a friend of Lincoln's who resided by the ocean to the east. Shockingly, she also learned that Luna had been in Lexa's class of novitiates, however had ran from the conclave, and had been labelled a traitor to the blood ever since.

Eventually, mercifully, Titus had conceded, and in a rare moment of empathy had passed her not only the Flame, but his duties as Flamekeeper, entrusting her to assure the ascension of a worthy Commander.

Which led her to where she was now: on Horseback, fleeing from the estranged capital.

As she passed the final gate of the outskirts, she chanced a final look back at the city.

In the distance, she saw the tower, its fire still burning brightly at its peak. The sight dredged up so many memories – an awful combination of ecstasy and agony.

Shaking ahead, she cast them aside as she turned away for the final time and oddly, thought of Aerrow.

Part of her still held out the slightest hope that he had somehow managed to best the Ice Nation Nightblood, but such a thought was discounted immediately when she remembered the look in his eyes when Aden's head had been sliced clean from his shoulders. She'd never seen him look so utterly defeated.

There was little chance Ontari would let him live.

She shook her head sadly. As much as she resented him for what he had done to her, and who he had become, she couldn't help but mourn the warrior. She would miss him.

She glanced down at the small metal box tucked securely inside her jacket.

She knew that she, it, and Luna were their final hope.

Darkness.

Silence.

Peace.

Pain!

Aerrow gasped awake as Ontari drove her fist into his stomach.

Coughing and wheezing, he blinked his eyes open to find himself in an unfamiliar room and what was fast becoming a very familiar position.

He was on his feet, standing shackled to a pillar inside what looked to be someone's living quarters. He guessed he was still in the tower by the fact that he couldn't see any other buildings outside the window, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a large bed, it's fur covers marred with a huge, ugly stain of black blood.

It was only when his tormentor moved in front of him that he realised: he was in the Commander's chambers! He was in the place where Lexa died…

That thought however was pushed to the very furthest recesses of his mind when Ontari leaned in close and slapped his cheek lightly.

"Wakey wakey."

Aerrow fixed his eyes on her, narrowing them into a glare of the purest hatred as he took in the blood still splattered across her face. Images flashed through his mind, of the bodies scattered in his room, their blood covering the walls, the fight with Roan. Aden…

His entire body shivered as nausea suddenly filled him, and he took deep, heaving breaths, having to physically force oxygen into his lungs. Whatever was wrong with him, it hadn't abated.

Ontari looked down on him, as if he was just some pathetic insect to be squashed under her foot. And then she spoke.

"We meet at last… Aerrow kom Skaikru… Naja…" she drawled. The fierce, enraged scowl of battle had left her voice, completely replaced by a soft, smooth tone. Somehow he found that even more dangerous.

He closed his eyes and turned his head away when she raised her hand and ran the tip of her fingers slowly across his cheek.

"Nia once feared you, you know." She continued. "We heard the stories… of the Sky Warrior who bested the Commander in combat. We hunted Wanheda for months. Her power is coveted, but it is nothing compared to yours."

She narrowed her eyes into a look of disgust. "But looking at you know… its hard to see why."

Aerrow had no time to react as she drew her fist back and punched him viciously again, this time in his ribcage. His eyes shot open and he gasped for air, winded by her blow.

"Look at you… Sky Person…" She circled him like a shark. "It was said that you defeated the Pauna…"

Another blow, this time to the side of his head.

"Yet here you are."

Punch

"Quaking and shivering."

Punch

"A coward."

Aerrow struggled against his bonds, but the chains weren't budging, and he was offered no relief from Ontari's onslaught as she pummeled him with a brutal series of hits to his upper body.

Finally, mercifully, she paused and stepped back, leaving him with his head drooping pathetically, panting, his whole body limp from pain. He was positively broken.

Ontari placed her hand gently under his chin, tilting his head up and forcing him to look at her.

"You're pathetic." She spat in his face.

Despite the agony he was in, Aerrow forced himself to hold his glare. He knew for sure that she was going to kill him, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of thinking she'd beaten him. He owed it to Aden and the others to stay strong.

"If you're going to kill me… get it over with." He growled, daring her to finish him off.

His heart sank when Ontari smiled – another one of those cruel, sadistic smirks.

"Oh I will kill you, Aerrow." She released his head as she stepped back. "But I'm going to have some fun with you first…"

She drew a dagger from her side and delicately cut his shirt off, exposing his scars and tattoos to the world once more. Aerrow sighed internally. He was really getting sick of the same old torture…

But then Ontari moved the knife to his pants and he felt his blood run cold.

He struggled and shifted, desperately trying to move away, but he was immobilized by the chains around his feet, hands and neck, and he let out an infuriated grunt when she sliced through both his pants and his underwear, leaving him completely naked.

Goosebumps instantly broke out on his skin, but it wasn't from the cold air. He'd never felt so exposed before, and he hated it.

He felt sick as Ontari ran her eyes up and down his body lasciviously, like a farmer would eye stock to be traded for. Or how those Flamekeepers eyed that little girl in the alleyway…

He was completely at her mercy, and she knew it.

"Do you feel it Aerrow?" she asked softly, in a silky, seductive voice. "The fear? The realisation of knowing that I can do whatever I want to you, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Aerrow gave her no answer as she stepped closer and closer to him. He could feel his heart rate accelerating with each word.

"Believe me, you will die." She whispered in his ear. "Slowly… painfully… and when you leave this world, you will do so knowing that you have been broken, and when I take your power, I will take with it the satisfaction of being the one to kill the fabled Naja."

She raised her dagger and drew it across his chest. She froze however, and her eyes widened when she saw not red blood welling from the wound as she had expected, but black.

She stood still for an agonizingly long time, and Aerrow watched in horror as her features slowly morphed from revulsion, to realization… to calculation… and finally… ambition.

She looked at him in a way no one ever had before. There was a hunger in her cold, dark eyes, like a dog starved to insanity, and when she removed the knife from his skin, he felt his whole body tense up, dreading what she would do next.

"Natblida…" she breathed, then was silent for a long time. Aerrow could see her mind working furiously.

Slowly, almost reverently, she moved her hand up to his face and brushed his hair aside, revealing the tattoo around his left eye. She hadn't noticed at first, but now she recognized the signature X's underneath the disguising lines.

"And a Qinta too…" her voice dropped an octave.

"What the hell do you want with me!" he demanded in a desperate growl, yanking his head away from her touch as his terror reached fever pitch.

Ontari laughed at his visible revulsion, enjoying every second of his torment.

She stroked his cheek seductively, circling the flesh with her thumb. "The Qinta helped Azgeda once before…" she told him, and he remembered what Lexa told him about the the legendary warriors abducting her lover for the Ice Nation, and Queen Nia had ruthlessly taken the girl's head.

Then Ontari leaned in close, close enough that her lips were practically brushing against his.

"And now they will again." She whispered lustily.

Aerrow swallowed, desperately trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. The torture of his situation combined with the horrific loss of the nightbloods was overwhelming him.

"Nia taught me many things." Ontari said, drawing away once more. "She taught me how to fight… how to lead, but the most important was foresight, the ability to plan ahead. The future."

Aerrow eyed her warily, he didn't like where she was going with this.

"I cannot be Commander forever, and while you will not live long enough to see it, Azgeda will rule long after I am gone."

She turned her back on him, and was silent for a long time.

"But for that to happen, I need something… I need to ensure that none other than an Azgeda Nightblood will ascend after me, one of my own blood, and will continue to do so until the end of days."

She turned back around to face him, a wicked smirk upon her features, one that sickened him to his core.

"I need an heir. And who better to give me one than the last of the Qinta?"

Aerrow shuddered in revulsion as he felt her cold hands cup his manhood. He groaned in disgust, and with every bit of strength he had, jerked his head forward against his bonds, headbutting her and forcing her away from him.

"You may as well kill me now." He snarled. "Because I will never give you anything!"

Holding her hand to her forehead, Ontari raised her head at him, seething with rage, however her features quickly changed from fury to cold, cruel satisfaction.

"Not willingly." She said coldly.

She moved to the side of the room, reached into a hollow wooden container and pulled from it three small, round nuts.

Aerrow's eyes widened at the sight of them.

No…

"I see you're familiar with Jovi nuts." Ontari smirked, seeing the look on his face. "Good… That will make this soo much more fun."

She placed the nuts into a bowl and ground them up into a fine paste, before adding a cup of water to create a tea.

She stalked back over to Aerrow, hips swaying seductively.

"Drink up." She said.

Aerrow clamped his mouth firmly shut and resumed his thrashing, trying everything he could to escape. No way… no way was he going to ingest the hallucinogens… no way was he going to let Ontari have her way with him. No way was he going to give her a-

Like a Viper, Ontari's free hand shot out and clamped over his nose, suffocating him. His ailing body was no match for the metal around him as he felt himself slump with exhaustion.

His vision began to darken and bright spots danced in his eyes. He forced himself to keep his mouth shut, he would die before letting her rape him.

His world exploded in pain however as Ontari drove her knee into his genitals, and he couldn't help the gasp that escaped his mouth.

It was then that he tasted the liquid on his tongue, felt it pouring down his throat, forced into his mouth by the psychopath in front of him.

He coughed and gagged, forcing himself to try and vomit, but nothing worked.

Almost instantly, he felt his senses dull, and his vision began to swim.

He vaguely registered the bonds around him loosening, felt his feet moving as he was led away, something soft underneath his back and finally, a firm, naked body pressed against his own.

As the last of his strength abandoned him, he realized with horror that his true torment had only just begun.

At the age of six, young Aerrow Eroxin is many things.

He is quiet and unassuming, a feature enhanced by his slender build and short height. He is intelligent – far outshining the other pupils in his preliminary studies, or so his teachers say.

He is respectful and polite, gifted yet modest.

But he is one thing above all others: he is observant.

Despite his youth, his purple eyes shine with razor sharp intelligence. They flick back and forth at lightning speed, taking in everything around him. And he never forgets. Never.

It is a gift, his teachers say. It allows him to memorise lessons instantly, it was how he learnt the emergency protocol phrase that saved his parents two years previously.

And now, it's how he notices the abject sadness radiating out from his mother when she looks at a certain picture on the shelf of their room.

Her warm eyes – identical to his – usually so full of love and caring, darken into a glassy sheen whenever she looks at it, sometimes for hours on end. It's like a hook, a lure that entrances her, drawing her in and filling her with a deep, deep anguish.

Outwardly, his father is less affected by it, but Aerrow can see past the cold mask the Russian always has in place, and he too can see ghosts of the past dancing within the water that builds in the normally stoic man's eyes.

This confuses Aerrow. He is not used to his parents acting like this. He has seen the photo before – the pair of them holding a newborn baby, Elena's face still sweaty and exhausted from childbirth. Even through the faded picture, the smiles adorning their faces light up the room.

So why are they so sad now?

His parents love him, they make that abundantly clear every day. So why does the earliest picture of him make them so sad?

So he does what any curious six year old does, and asks.

It is a late September morning, and Elena is particularly saddened on this day. It happens every year, but this year is the worst.

He would have turned ten today…

She buries her head in her hands and tries to hold back tears.

"Mama?" the small voice comes from her side.

She jumps at the suddenness, then turns to find her son staring at her. The look on his face, as always, is indiscernible, but his concern is clear.

"Why does that photo make you so sad?" he asks quietly. "Who is the baby you're holding? He's not me, the eyes are different."

Elena sighs. "Oh Aerrow… my Aerrow…" She drapes her arm over her shoulders and pulls him close to her. "You're right, it's not you. It's someone you will never know. Someone none of us will ever know."

Aerrow screws up his face in confusion. "I don't understand."

Elena chuckles ruefully at his innocence. "No… you wouldn't." she takes a deep breath as she moves over to the bench. She sits down and cradles Aerrow close. "My son… you're not old enough to know yet, but there exists in this world a beautiful agony. Beautiful to find, and agony to lose. Something called love."

"I know what love is." Aerrow snorts dismissively, "You and dad say it all the time."

Despite her emotions, Elena smiles and ruffles his hair. "No my child, you can't know what love is. No one knows what love is, but all people feel it, as surely as all people breathe and eat. You've already learnt that some people are good, and some people are bad, but all people feel love."

Aerrow is silent for a moment. "Did you love them?" he asks suddenly, looking back at the baby in the photo.

Elena freezes as water builds in her eyes, this time overflowing as silent tears streak her cheeks. "Yes, I did." She admits, bowing her head.

"Then why do they make you sad?"

Elena locks eyes with him for a long, long time. She licks her lips, trying to explain how she feels in a way that he will understand. "Because love is a double sided coin. When you love someone, it's the happiest time of your life, but when you lose them, all that joy, all that light turns around and stares back at you, mocking you. Suddenly everything is dark, and withered, and hopeless.

And when you love someone enough, with all of your heart and you lose them- Well… you can't stop. You can't just… forget. They stay with you, and you still feel everything as deeply but this time there's nothing to receive it. There's just a part of you, in your heart that they used to occupy that is now empty and no matter how hard you try… you just can't fill it again, because to do so would mean to forget everything they used to mean to you…"

She trails off before her emotions overwhelm her, and she clutches her son tightly, as if she never wants to let him go, in fear that if she did, he would join her other son… the one that never saw a single sunrise.

Aerrow is quiet for a long time, digesting everything she just said. Eventually, he looks back up at her. "That sounds painful…"

Elena nods sadly. "It is… it's the most painful thing you will ever experience."

"I don't think I want to be in love…" Aerrow says in a quiet voice.

Elena is quick to place her hands on his cheeks. Turning his head to face hers, she looks him dead in the eye. "Yes you do." She says firmly, with all the love she can muster. "Never, ever deny yourself the ability to love. It might not happen for a long time but one day, you will love people too. And even if you lose them, at least you can say that even for just the briefest, most glorious moment, you experienced the most beautiful thing of all."

Aerrow says nothing after that, he just offers her a weak smile, and they both go back to staring at the picture.

Unknown to either of them, on the other side of the Ark, another young boy is celebrating his tenth birthday with his mother, and the bright emerald eyes of a giggling, bouncing little girl.

Emerald eyes loomed over him, dark with lust yet gleaming with love, fluttering shut every now and then with pure pleasure.

Her cheeks were flushed, her chest was heaving, and she was deliciously tight as she rolled her hips around him.

She was beautiful.

Aerrow didn't even know how he'd gotten into this particular situation, much less what it meant. The world around her was blurry, out of focus. All he knew was the angel on top of him, her face, her eyes, her love and the clenching of her inner muscles as she climaxed.

He closed his eyes in pure ecstasy, infinitely thankful for her, letting her take all of his pain, all of his suffering, and just siphon it into a void where it could no longer haunt his very soul.

"Octavia…" he groaned, "Octavia…"

He felt his entire body tense and he arched his back as his own peak hit him, and he grunted as he sent his essence deep inside her. She sighed wondrously, and continued rocking her hips slowly, drawing out his high.

He raised his arms to draw her in close, cradling her to his chest in a desperate need to be as close as possible to the only person who mattered in his life anymore.

Only to stop in confusion when he realized he couldn't.

He arms were immobile by his sides. He was immobile.

Whipping his head back and forth frantically, he struggled to make sense of what was going on. Then he felt a sharp pain in his groin and he looked back up, only for Octavia's beautiful, loving face to slowly change, morph into one of evil.

Slowly, the world around him faded back into focus and he remembered the true severity of his predicament.

He was tied down to the bed underneath him, unable move as his captor had her way with him.

Ontari was a cruel, and unforgiving mistress.

She'd ridden him mercilessly in the day it had been since the fateful conclave, taking every opportunity she could to ensure the siring of a suitable heir to take her mantle when the time came.

And the worst part was: he hadn't even known she was doing it.

He'd been under the effects of the Jovi nuts the entire time, completely open and vulnerable to her advances.

It was only when he looked up and took in her face – now clean of blood but no less villainous – and recognised the sensation of her body sheathed around his did the true severity of his situation hit – along with the realisation of what he'd just done.

He gagged and rolled onto his side, chest hacking violently as he tried to vomit, but nothing came up. He'd been starved, and the only fluids he'd received had been more of the Jovi tea.

Tears welled in his eyes as a terrible, crushing weight settled squarely on his chest.

He'd endured many hardships over the years, from seeing his entire family killed in front of him, multiple people he'd loved die, torture – so much torture – and worst of all, having his DNA merged with Sienna's to turn him into a totally new person.

They all paled in comparison though.

Because of what had happened to him in the past, he'd come to view any form of intimacy to be something incredibly special – sacred almost. The capacity to love and show love was something he held very dear, and the physical act of making love was the ultimate expression of that.

He'd never joined his body with anyone's for pleasure, only as the most special way to show his care. The only exception had been when he had allowed himself to lay with a ferociously skilled warrior named Alexis in order to escape Mount Weather, but even then he had done so willingly.

This was so much different, and it sickened him to his very core.

Ontari had taken that which was most dear, most precious to him and cut it to shreds. He felt violated, in the very worst of ways.

The Jovi nuts had done their job well.

His vision had been plagued, tortured by images of the dead Nightbloods, dead lovers. Sienna's memories had continued to play out inside his head. Through her eyes, He'd seen himself training her, fighting battles with the grounders, seen her torturing Lincoln to find out where he was after being captured, and in one particular horrifying scene, he'd re-watched when they had first got together, trapped inside his own mind as he essentially had sex with himself.

And now the nuts had worn off, he knew the truth. The absolute worst part of the entire thing was that, after losing two children in the very worst of ways, he was in the process of unwillingly creating a new life with this… this… this monster on top of him.

It was worst, most agonising thing anyone had ever done to him. Never had he wished he was dead more than right now.

He stiffened, and fresh tears began to flow as Ontari, clearly not finished with him, began moving her hips once more.

"No…" he groaned as he felt his body betray him, reacting naturally to her tight, firm body.

Mercifully, he was saved from any further torment by a sudden and urgent knock at the door to the room.

Ontari growled in frustration at her fun being interrupted. "One moment." She called as she climbed off him and covered herself in a robe, before dragging his limp and defeated body back over to the pillar, shackling him to it and covering his body with a simple fur coat.

Upon her concession, the door opened and Roan walked in.

The Ice King paused, looking between Aerrow and Ontari, his eyes narrowing for the briefest of moments as if realising what she had been doing, before turning to her as he spoke.

"Still no sign of the Flame. The ambassadors are getting restless to hear the lineage."

Aerrow watched on as sparks of rage lit her eyes. "Find. It." She ground out.

"Easier said than done." Roan said, unfussed by her tone. "It could be anywhere, and only the Flamekeeper would know where."

"And where is the Flamekeeper?"

"Don't know. He hasn't been seen since the ascension."

Ontari looked about ready to murder him. "The we find him instead."

"Ontari-" Roan started as she moved past him towards the door.

"Now!" she ordered.

Aerrow swore he saw Roan sigh, before the King acquiesced and walked past her, exiting the room.

Ontari made to follow him, but just before she left, she turned back to Aerrow and sent another smug grin his way.

"Don't go anywhere, worm." She called, before closing the door with a resounding thud, leaving Aerrow alone with nothing but his guilt at the memories of what he had done.

He couldn't help it. He dropped his head began to weep.

A short while later, Aerrow's tears had dried, but his anguish was unchanged.

He hung limply from his bonds, powerless to do anything. He hadn't even tried to escape.

Suddenly, the door swung open and he forced himself to weakly raise his head, dreading being raped once more. To his shock, he saw not Ontari standing in front of him, but someone else, someone he had not been expecting at all.

"Titus…" he breathed.

The Flamekeeper stood before him, taking in what had become of the last of his students, and Aerrow felt a faint hope rise within him.

"Get me out of here, please!" he begged.

Titus stared at him, long and hard, and Aerrow's hopes were quashed when he narrowed his eyes. "No." he said simply.

Aerrow felt every last bit of fight he had left in him vanish in an instant, leaving him an empty husk.

"Then finish the job." He rasped distantly, letting his head hang low. "Kill me."

Again, the Flamekeeper said nothing.

Aerrow raised his head, tears brimming his eyes. "KILL ME!" he screamed at the man, desperate to be released from this life.

Titus locked his eyes with the young Nightblood. "I will not do that either."

Aerrow felt his mouth drop open in shock- surprise, he wasn't sure. His jaw was moving but no words were coming out. Absently, he wondered what the hell the Flamekeeper was even doing here, but he didn't care to ask. He had nothing left.

"Why not?" he eventually got out. If the bastard was going to leave him to his fate, he at least wanted to know why.

He was shocked then, when Titus gently placed his fingers under his chin, angling his head up in an act of care infinitely more delicate than he thought the man capable of.

When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Because you are not yet worthy." He said sadly.

Aerrow stared back brokenly "What… what does that even mean?" he whispered.

Titus took a step back. "A Commander does not beg for death, nor do they discard it." He said quietly, yet firmly. It was the voice of a teacher.

"A true Commander fights death, with everything they have until their last breath, not just for them but for the people they lead as well. I will not grant you release, Aerrow, because you are not that person. Maybe a part of you once was, and maybe a part of you still can be, but until you gain the inner strength to find it for yourself… you will forever remain in chains."

Any response Aerrow had was cut off when the door abruptly swang open, and Ontari re-entered, accompanied by Roan. On seeing Titus, her eyes narrowed into a glare of pure hatred.

"You…" she hissed. "Where's the Flame?"

Titus held her glare. "I do not know." He said evenly.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Roan growled, before he realised something. He charged towards Titus, fisting his hands in his robe and yanking him close. "Where's Wanheda?" he demanded. "If she stole the Flame, she couldn't have done it without help, where is she!?"

Titus laughed in his face. A dark, evil chuckle. "She didn't steal the Flame… I gave it to her."

Aerrow's eyes shot open as Ontari drew her dagger and pressed it against the Flamekeeper's throat. "Where is she?" she demanded, in a voice cold as ice. "Your mission is to pass the Flame. You wouldn't have given it to her without a Natblida to pass it to her."

When Titus didn't answer, she pressed the dagger harder against his jugular, and a thin line of blood began to show.

"Ontari!" Roan called suddenly. "You can't kill him, he's the only one who knows how to perform the ascension ritual."

Aerrow watched on as her knuckles turned white. Her whole body was practically shaking with rage.

Titus looked down upon her smugly. "You will never ascend, abomination."

Then, moving faster than Ontari could react, he grasped her arm and violently slashed the knife across his own throat.

Ontari could only watch, stunned, as the Flamekeeper staggered backwards, a grizzly cascade of blood pouring out of his open throat before he collapsed into a tub full of water.

He coughed and gurgled, drowning in his own blood as water flooded his lungs. His legs spasmed and his face shook convulsively before finally beginning to still.

Just before his eyes faded and life left him permanently however, he cast his eyes beyond the two Azgedakru, locking his eyes with Aerrow's and conveying a silent message, an affirmation of the words he had spoken only moments before.

And then he was gone.

For a long time, no one moved.

Aerrow gulped at the sheer brutality of Titus's suicidal act, the will it must have taken, and the look the man had given him in his final moments. It was as if, although he had entrusted the Flame to Clarke, the future of the thirteen clans depended on him.

And he had no idea what to think of that.

All these thoughts left his head however, when Ontari turned around from the dead Flamekeeper and faced Roan. The look in her eyes was enough to frighten even him.

They were dark and murderous, positively evil in their intent.

"Gather our army." She growled at the King.

Roan cocked his head. "And what will that accomplish? You don't have the Flame-"

"DON'T THINK ME A FOOL ROAN!" she shouted in his face, "NO ONE KNOWS THAT!"

She glared at him, chest heaving in uncontained fury. "The other clans are no match for us. If they try to resist, we will squash them without mercy. Either way, Azgeda wins."

Roan simply stared at her for a long, long time before eventually speaking. "And what exactly are their orders?'

Ontari grinned. "To kill two birds with one stone. Send your riders, tell our forces to mobilise outside Arkadia. And you, find Wanheda!"

Aerrow could have sworn he saw a flicker of defiance in the man's eyes, but the moment was brief and fleeting, for he merely nodded his head and left the room, leaving Aerrow alone with Ontari yet again.

"As for you, worm." She said. "You stay with me."

Aerrow closed his eyes in resignation, but Ontari wasn't finished.

"You're going to help me kill every single member of your clan."

She stroked his cheek, and her next words sent a whole new wave of horror through him.

"And I am dearly looking forward to meeting this… Octavia… and when I do, I will slice her head from her body in front of you."