Authors note: There's only 2 or 3 chapters after this.

Lexa doesn't have much more time. With each second the fire grows closer and closer and she knows the heat of the flames will turn into the burning of the fire. She knows this pain, she knows this feeling and she knows it far too unpleasant.

Lexa raises her hand, the tip of her knife glinting in the firelight and she steadies her breath, she stares down at Ontari's chest, where her heart still beats ever so faintly and she hopes beyond hope that Clarke will understand.

And with that Lexa plunges her knife dow—

The air erupts around her, it screams, roars and explodes. Lexa feels herself knocked to the ground, she feels herself pummelled down by the weight of something she can't quite comprehend. Steam billows against her, and it's hot, it's close to boiling, so close to extreme pain that she can't do anything more than to curl into a ball and shield her face from the pain.

At first Lexa doesn't know what this new raging is, perhaps the air itself as caught fire, perhaps she was too late to save Ontari and Entani and her mind is simply trying to make sense of whatever pains the flames are inflicting on her. But as she continues to gasp out in shock she finds something odd, something strange, beginning to take hold.

Almost as quickly as the new flash of heat erupted around her a sudden wash of cold took its place. And it was odd, it was calming, soothing and it seems to fight back the heaviness of the air and the burning heat of the flame.

It took Lexa another long moment to realise that what she felt was water and as she looked up, as she dared to open her eyes she saw water spraying from pipes overhead, whose bodies twisted and turned and wended their way all across the ceiling of the Mountain's hallways.

Lexa doesn't know what to make of it, she doesn't know what to even think. But all she knows, all she realises in that moment is that the fire is being beaten back, it is being forced to retreat from the onslaught of water and mist that rains down all throughout the Mountain.

She recognises the chance she is given, she recognises the opportunity before her. Whatever spirit or person has seen fit to give her a way out will be thanked countless times when she finds her way out of the Mountain. But for now? All she knows is that she won't waste another second.

Lexa grimaces at the pains that litter her body as she stands, as she slips on the water slicked floor. Her hair, ends singed, cling to her forehead and she swipes at the loose strands with a scowl upon her face as she lifts Ontari back onto her shoulders, she winces at the strain in her arm as she reaches for Entani but she ignores any and all discomforts as she begins to carry and drag her the two unconscious women forward.

She hopes them both ok, she hopes she hasn't been too slow. For a moment she even considers bringing up the fact that she held the fate of Ontari's life so precipitously in her hands whenever Ontari does something a little less respectful than required, but perhaps at a time far removed from today. But above all, she hopes beyond hope that when she makes it out of the Mountain she will find Clarke safe and sou—

Lexa knows from experience that all happy thoughts come to an end sooner rather than later. At least when it seems like she's been given a lucky break. For a moment it's as if the entire Mountain stills, it's as if nothing moves, nothing dares breathe.

But then she hears it. She feels it.

There's a rumble, a distant, deep, deadly roar of terror that echoes throughout the walls. And then the explosions start.

Smoke wafts more fiercely through the tunnels the deeper Torvun moves. Part of him is thankful the Commander and her warriors have left him alone. It makes it easier for him to sneak through and ambush any he comes across, he's not even worried about facing multiple opponents. The tunnels are too narrow for more than two to attack in any coordinated manner, moments like this, cut off from any reinforcements, potentially surrounded by unknown numbers of enemies, were exactly what he had trained his whole life for. He didn't achieve the position of Royal Guard by pure luck or chance.

He can feel the heat too, it's a subtle beginning, but as the smoke increases, the heat rises. And it makes him uncomfortable, it makes some primitive part of his brain want to take control of his mind and body and turn and flee. And yet Torvun stamps it down, he kills any fear and he keeps moving forward.

There's an eery silence settling around him, too. Gone are the noises of others, gone are the noises of wounded dying in the distance, of fighting and of foot running across gravel. The only thing Torvun hears is his own breathing.

As Torvun continues to walk forwards, as he continues to stalk through the tunnels, there's an odd sense of familiarity that dawns on him. And he'd laugh at a different time as he realises he recognises this same tunnel, he remembers cutting down reaper after reaper, of storming the Mountain and of ending its reign once and for all.

Perhaps it's ironic coincidence, or perhaps it's a sick twisted sense of fate, but as Torvun continues to stalk down the tunnel he finds himself sure he knows where Clarke will be. And he hopes she's still alive.

Years of training, years of needing to walk with as little a sound as possible so that he can hear any would-be assassins have honed his steps to be almost silent when the need arises. And so, as Torvun comes to a bend in the path he pauses, he stops and he stills.

There's a subtle different in the air, a subtle changing in the pressure that he senses. And he knows. There's always a barely noticeable shift in the air when someone is near. Torun doesn't quite know if he smells it, if he hears it or if he simply feels it. All he knows is that he must trust his instincts.

And so he moves fast.

Torvun spins around the tunnel corner and he comes face to face with a shadow. He takes barely a fraction of a second to register the person isn't Clarke and then he slams his knife forward at an upwards angle.

And he knows.

The defender must either reel back, try to avoid the upwards arc of his blow and lose their footing, or they must push the blade down, try to direct it between them, but if that be the case Torvun knows his blade will sink into their body, will slice a gash down the centre of their torso and wound them so deeply he can kill them without much worry.

The person reels back, he had expected it from how much he towers over them. They lose their footing and trip, and there's a distinct shifting in their balance as if they favour one side over the other. But another shadow catches his eye, and for a moment, for a split second he takes the time to register that they haven't moved, they haven't tried to get away or intercept, but he looks long enough to register it isn't Clarke before he slams his fist out, catches a chin and knocks the second person down to the ground with a thud.

And then Torvun moves.

He knows he can move faster than most would expect and he uses it to his advantage. He ducks into the darkest depths of the tunnel, he sees the first person stagger up to their feet with a knife in hand as they try to follow his movements in the Dark. But Torvun doesn't let the person catch their footing. He kicks up dirt, gravel and stone and the person reacts as predictably as ever.

Their hand comes up to shield their eyes and Torvun kicks hard into their hip, her lets his anger flow through the blow and he feels bone give way, he feels muscle crush and pulverise beneath his strike and he roars. Torvun roars, he grabs them by the neck, slams them into the wall and without any second thought he drives his knife as deep into their stomach as possible.

Satisfaction flows through his body as blood sprays from Ilian's lips, as it paints his face in blood. Pain, fear, shock and anger all seem to coalesce into an unknown emotion upon Ilian's face as he realises a knife has sliced into his stomach. But Torvun knows the wound not fatal. At least not immediately. He made sure of it.

There's lifetimes of pain and suffering Ilian deserves to feel, there's lifetimes of loss the man deserves to go through. But life isn't that fair, and so Torvun will make do with a knife in the gut.

He thinks Ilian tries to say something, but as his lips twist, as his mouth opens, Torvun twists the knife imbedded in his stomach.

A broken, ragged, wet and moist sound spills from Ilian's mouth as his face contorts in pain as Torvun's knife rips his flesh open, as it pulls flesh from flesh, as it twists and tears muscle apart and breaks him open. Blood spills over Torvun's hand and it threatens to make him lose his grip. But Torvun expects it, he expects the blood and so he jams his knife deeper into Ilian's stomach, he angles it up and he pushes hard. There's a cracking sound as a rib give way, there's a distinct tearing sound as an internal organ is ripped open and there's a desperate, agonised cry of primal fear as pain must sear into Ilian's body.

But Torvun doesn't care that what he does is barbaric.

"For Ontari," Torvun says quietly as he begins to slice his knife to the left, as he lets it twist inside Ilian and force apart more and more of his ruined stomach. "For Entani," and he changes angles and begins to draw his knife down as he flays Ilian's stomach open. He feels intestines rip across his hand, he feels the flap of skin he carves into the man's body begin to open up, begin to spill his insides out for the world to see. "For Clarke," and Torvun lets his knife rip and tear and break apart the last of Ilian's stomach until the blade meets his first stab wound. "For Azgeda," Torvun rips his knife free and with it comes flesh, skin and strips of muscle and organs that fall onto the tunnel floor between them.

Torvun lets Ilian go and he watches as the man falls to the ground as his legs collapse under him. Ilian's lap is full of what was once inside him. Blood sprays out from an artery that is severed and his hands try so very desperately to clutch at a long length of intestines as it pulsates, as it seems to tense, squirm and wriggle in his grip. Ilian's face turns up at Torvun and upon his face is plastered horror and fury and pain. His flesh as turns deathly pale, his eyes bloodshot and his lips tremble and twitch as he tries to make words form past the frothing blood that spills from his lips. But the only sound Ilian is able to make is a moist, ragged choking sound.

"You are a pathetic man," Torvun says simply, his voice void of emotion as he stares down at Ilian, the man's eyes already beginning to fade. "You will die alone in these tunnels," and Torvun leans down and begins to wipe the blood from his blade and his hand off on Ilian's clothing.

Ilian's head begins to turn slack, it begins to sag to the side ever so slightly and Torvun reaches up, slaps his cheek hard enough that whatever of Ilian is left looks at him with a desperateness that seems so very weak.

"I have killed more of your friends than I can count," Torvun continues. "They will be left to rot in the tunnels, they will be left to become feed for the beasts that roam the forests," and Torvun stands. "Only the most desperate and pathetic of animals will feast on you this far underground," he says. "Fitting, I think," and Torvun begins to turn away. "The pathetic will feed the pathetic. Enjoy your reward for being a fool, Ilian."

Torvun turns to find Teben kneeling on the ground and clutching the side of her face. Her injured arm held close to her body and her eyes bloodshot and accepting of whatever she thinks is to come next.

As he looks at Teben though, he finds himself pitying her, not out of some sense of sadness, but out of some form of disgust, for he recognises the look of someone who has been taken advantage of, someone who was so stupidly misguided that they put their faith, their belief, their entire being into a cause that was wrong from the very start and was only now just starting to accept it.

"Where is Clarke," he says.

Teben doesn't even hesitate as she gestures further down the tunnel.

"By the entrance," she says. "You must hurry," and Torvun senses begin to tingle. "We have set tech to explode and collapse the tunnels."

Torvun doesn't even bother responding to that. He doesn't care if Teben escapes the tunnels, if she finds refuge somewhere in the forests or if she dies. All he cares about in this very moment so getting to Clarke before the explosions begin.

And so Torvun runs.

He doesn't think he's run this fast ever. He sprints, he rushes down the tunnel and the longer his stride the more he feels the heat rise, the more he feels the smoke hanging heavy in the air. Eventually he sees the glow of a light in the distance and panic begins to rise. And it's a panic for he doesn't know if the end of the tunnel has been consumed by fire, if he will find Clarke trapped in a blade of flame too large for him to get through.

But he doesn't let that stop him, he doesn't let that slow him down.

Torvun runs fast. He runs hard, each passing second an opportunity for the tech to explode and to collapse the Mountain around them. As he approaches, as he gets nearer and nearer to the glowing light he realises it must be fire from behind the entrance into the Mountain they had used so long ago. But what freezes his blood, what makes him want to roar out in fear is the body he sees slumped over.

Torvun comes to a skidding halt, he almost trips and crashes into the tunnel wall in the haste to get to Clarke, but somehow he manages to find his footing as he kneels down beside her, eyes quick to take in the extent of her injuries.

A knife sticks out of Clarke's lower chest, its blade length unknown to him. Another stab wound is lower on her opposite side, the blood around it pooled and already drying. Clarke's skin is pale, too, clumps of hair remain matted together by sweat, blood and mud and dirt.

"Clarke," Torvun whispers, his voice hoarse and rough from the smoke. "Clarke," and he grips her shoulder and squeezes hard.

For a moment, for a horrifying moment he hears no response.

And then; Clarke groans, it's quiet, so very subtle that he almost doesn't hear it.

"Clarke," relief floods Torvun's body as her eyes crack open with barely there strength.

"Torvun?" Clarke's voice is hoarse, broken and so quiet it pains him.

"I am here," he says quietly.

"You—" Clarke's eyes close and her face pulls into a grimace as he begins to lift her, as he begins to pull her onto him. "You have to go," and Torvun would laugh at her feeble attempt to tell him what to do. But he can't laugh, not at a time like this. "The tech," Clarke gasps in pain. "The bo—"

"—I will get you out of here," and whatever other protests she could muster are silenced as Torvun lifts her into his arms and cradles her to his chest.

Torvun doesn't bother to look at the tech he can see piled up around the door, he doesn't bother to wonder how devastating their force will be. The only thing on his mind in the moment is getting Clarke as far away from them as possible.

But that's easier said than done.

Whatever injuries Torvun had experienced since the explosion at the Polis gates seems to come crashing into him in a tsunami of fatigue and pain and exhaustion. He stumbles as he takes a step only for his hip to protest the exertion. His hands can't quite get a firm enough grasp of Clarke's bloodied and broken body without her slipping, without him having to stop mid stride to pull her tighter against his chest.

But that doesn't stop him.

Torvun begins to half run, half limp, half drag his body over the rock and stone and gravel as he forces himself forward and away from the door, from the tech that will explode and seal them underground with no hopes of escape.

And he won't let that happen.

With each passing step the pain in Torvun's hip gets worse, the weight of Clarke in his arms clearing weighing him down. But he pushes the discomfort into the furthest corners of his mind as he continues forward, as he continues back the way he had come.

Torvun forces his head up and away from Clarke's weak face for just a moment and he can see Ilian's dead body slumped on the ground in the distance, he can see Teben still standing there as she looks down at the man.

And Torvun pushes himself faster. He pushes himself as hard as he can but his legs don't seem to listen to him, his body doesn't seem to want to continue. Each step he takes makes his bones rattle, it makes his arms weak, his mind frayed and broken.

And Torvun sags. He sags against the tunnel wall for a second, just for a moment, just long enough that he can force his body under control, just long enough that he can bring Clarke closer to him, make sure she won't slip from his grasp, and if needed, shield her from whatever explosion will be at his back—

"Torvun," he looks up to find Teben standing in front of him, tears in her eyes and fear and understanding colouring her face. "There is an escape," she says as she gestures down a path that he knows not where it leads. "You do not have enough time to return the way you came before these tunnels collapse."

From the tone of Teben's voice Torvun thinks she speaks truthfully. And despite everything that has happened, he thinks he can trust her, at least with this. If anything, he doesn't think Teben wants to die, he didn't see that same fanatical fire in her eyes that he saw in Ilian's.

And so, "show me," he says.

Teben begins moving then, and it's quick, it's fast, her feet skitter over the gravel underfoot and she begins racing down a different path. Torvun tries to keep up, but with each second or third step he takes he finds himself stumbling, trying not to fall, trying not to lose his footing as his body protests.

Clarke must say something but Torvun ignores it for now, he needs to focus on getting them to safety.

"Where are we going," he shouts, but his voice doesn't seem to carry as far as he wants it to as he continues to struggle after Teben in the dark of the tunnels. "Teben," he calls her name, he shouts it, he wills his voice to be heard over the roaring of the—

And his mind begins to turn, his mind begins to register what that roaring must be. He knows the dam is near, they had travelled through tunnels to get from the dam and to the Mountain's underground entrance long ago, and now, as he runs, as he struggles after Teben, he thinks he realises where she leads him.

He'll consider how they'll get down later, he'll consider how to get them to safety once they're free of the tunnels on—

He stumbles, he trips, he falls to the ground and he winces, gasps and curses as he rolls, as he tries not to land on Clarke. But he mustn't do a good job for Clarke cries out in pain, she gasps and he finds her face even more pale than it was moments earlier.

"Torvun," she whispers as he scrambles to her, as he begins to lift her and pull her into his arms. "Torvun," and she winces. "I—"

"No," from Clarke's expression Torvun thinks he knows what she is to say.

"I'm slowing you down," Clarke manages to wince out.

"You are not," and Torvun looks up in the hopes of finding Teben but all he sees is black and all he hears is the roaring of the water.

"I am," Clarke says past grit teeth. "I am—"

Without warning, without worry for their hearing an explosion rips through them. It's loud, it's deafening and it echoes out without a care in the world. The walls of the tunnels shake, the walls of the tunnels protest and the rock begins to chatter, it begins to shake and scream out in protest.

"Go, Torvun," Clarke says, her voice more firm, more desperate now as she looks back the way they came. "Go, you can make it."

"No," Torvun says as he begins pull her up, and he feels her try to fight him, she feels her try to resist.

"Put me down," Clarke almost sounds like she's crying now. "I'm weighing you down, Torvun," and she tries with as much strength as she can muster to push agains this chest. "Don't sacrifice yourself for me," and Torvun can hear fear in her voice as he staggers to his feet, as he ignores her fists striking his chest.

Another explosion echoes out in the distance and Torvun knows there isn't much time. And he knows for there's a cracking, a thunderous breaking that begins to reverberate around them as the walls of the tunnel begin to splinter, as they begin to shard and shake.

"Torvun," Clarke all but cries as he begins to force his legs to move under him, as he begins to push the pain into the deepest parts of his mind. "I am commanding you to leave me," Clarke's voice is iron, Clarke's voice is primal, fearful, desperate and helpless.

"I do not care."

And Torvun runs.

He runs faster than he has ever run in his life.

Another explosions rips through the air and this time it seems closer, this time it is closer. A blast of air that hits him in the back and Torvun pulls Clarke closer to him in the hopes of shielding her from debris. Dust kicks up around him, the walls of the tunnels begin to crack, they begin to scream and cry out in desperation.

And Torvun runs faster.

He remembers being a youthful second caught in the open, a beast to his back, and the Azgeda plains to his front. He remembers running faster than he ever ran before.

But he doesn't remember the dust that billows up around him. He doesn't remember the rock and stone that kicks up all around, that batters his body, that shakes the ground beneath his feet.

Shards of sharp and bitter stone pepper his back as stone larger than he can imagine begins crashing down behind him. Small and jagged rocks spray up, hit him in the back of the head, in the back of his legs and in the back of his body. He knows some cut through his furs, he knows some split his skin open but he doesn't care as he continues to run.

In the distance Torvun can see a single sliver of light. In the distance he can see freedom, perhaps a flaming torch, perhaps a window into the sky. And Torvun runs. His feet take him faster and faster, his arms cradle Clarke to his body and he feels her heart beat faster and faster as it joins with his. Torvun won't give up despite his body slowing down, he won't give up despite his legs turning to sand beneath him.

Torvun stumbles, he gasps and somehow he keeps his footing.

Torvun runs, he runs and he runs and he runs as the walls begin to collapse around him in a deafening cacophony of roaring water and screaming rock. Torvun can't see anything but dust and stone as it falls into his path. He can't see anything but the light that grows bigger and bigger with each painful bounding leap he takes.

The stone begins to swallow him whole, a large boulder falls into his path, it blocks his way forward but somehow he manages to side step it mid stride, somehow he manages not to fall, not to trip and not to lose his footing. Another rock, this one more jagged, this one smaller hits the wall beside him, it bounces off, smashes into his side and he gasps out in pain as something within him breaks. But he pushes that pain back, he kills it from his mind and he forces himself forward as blood begins to drip from his body, as sweat begins to glue the dust to his flesh and as pain begins to seal his and Clarke's fate.

But he will make it. The opening begins to grow wider and wider and wider. And Torvun will make it. Not doing so isn't an option, and he stumbles, he trips, he rights himself and he twists his ankle as a rock hits his calf. But Torvun ignores the pain as he sees the dust swallowing him whole. Rock and Stone and tunnel wall now collapses all around him, but he's almost there, he's almost there. The dust stings into his eyes, it burns his vision, threatens to steal safety from him with more permanence than it deserves.

But Torvun won't die. Not when he's responsible for Clarke's safety.

He's close, he's so close now. His feet, his legs, his body begins to shut down as pain takes hold. But he won't give up. He can get Clarke to safety. He must get Clarke to safety.

He's so close now that he can see the clouds in the sky, he can hear the roar of the water and he can smell the fresh air. But the dust, the stone that swallows him threatens to seal them in forever, threatens to trap them inside the reaper tunnels with no escape.

But Torvun can't let that happen. He won't let that happen. He's so close to the exit that he could jump, he could dive out if he had the strength, if his legs hadn't already begun to shut down.

A rock slams into his lower back and pain explodes throughout his body as he trips as he stumbles and as his knees hit the ground. But Torvun somehow manages to find his feet, somehow manages the get enough purchase beneath him.

And Torvun knows what he must do.

Becoming a Royal Guard was one of the happiest days of his life. He never thought his life would take him on the journey it has. He could have played it safe, he could have been just another Azgeda warrior amongst the ranks. But he never would have had the pleasure and the honour of being assigned to protect Clarke. He never would have had the honour and privilege of knowing Ontari and Entani and of enjoying all their adventures together. Torvun doesn't think he'd trade anything for the life he has lived. Torvun knows he'd never trade anything for the life he has lived.

And he knows what he must do.

Clarke will have a better chance of survival in the water, at least she won't be crushed, at least she won't be trapped with no hopes of escape. Maybe the swimming lessons with the Commander will help her. He knows they will.

And so, with the last of his strength Torvun roars out as he throws Clarke as hard as he can. And he finds himself smiling as he sees her body twist through the air and out the opening of the tunnel and to the water so very far below. He finds himself memorising her face as she twists, as she turns, as she looks back at him with horror and loss and devastation upon her face.

And Torvun is happy because he knows he has saved Clarke's life.

That was his duty, after all.