Of all the ghosts Wanheda knew she had to face, she never thought one would be her own.

But as she walked to her cave, with Roan in tow, she thought about how the younger, more naive version of herself would've reacted. Certainly she would've never brought him with her. She would've found a way to lose him, to run away into the trees.

As she walked with Roan's clumsy footfalls next to her, the ghost of her old self appeared. It walked to her left since Roan took up her right. It came to her as an apparition, much like how she saw Finn after she killed him.

Clarke tried to speak to her, to warn her that showing him her only shelter was a horrible mistake. Clarke tried to tell her that Roan was lying, that he was going to kill her or force her out of her cave. That he would take what little she had for himself.

She tuned Clarke out, which only made her angrier.

Oddly enough, the way the ghost spoke reminded her of her mother. It unnerved her since Wanheda had vowed at age sixteen to never be like Abby. But the proud, stubborn, medical apprentice who trudged next to her, fuming in her forced silence, was every inch her mother's daughter.

She hated it.

So she focused straight ahead.

The silence grated on her rapidly deteriorating nerves. She turned to Roan and a string of unfiltered thoughts bubbled from her mouth. "If you're gonna stick with me you should know I've killed over six-hundred people."

It was a completely random and unwelcome subject, but it seemed she was willing to discuss anything if only to fill the silence. When the world fell quiet, her mind became loud. If she wanted to keep moving and not lose herself to the dead, she had to distract herself.

After nearly three months, it was becoming increasingly difficult and the ghosts were becoming increasingly impatient.

Though the topic caused Wanheda a great deal of strife, it only served to amuse Roan. "That's nothing to fret about, Princess. We all have blood on our hands."

She refused to let her mind trace the connection of the nickname to its origin. Instead, she simply asked, "Whose blood is on yours?"

His face darkened, and she realized she'd broached a subject that one might deftly call 'taboo'. It only served to peak Wanheda's interest, but she knew better than to go with an abrasive approach. So she let the matter drop and they continued in silence.

Eventually, the apparition that would've been an apt cause for concern vanished. With it went any hope she had to prolong the inevitable. The moment had finally come, but she'd waited too long; the ghosts had been denied their peace for months.

They came at her from all sides. The memories, of course. She would've suffocated had they gained a hold in the physical world. Her head was swarmed and barraged with the faces of those she killed. The names she knew of the dead branded themselves in her memory.

Atom. Caliban. Finn. Dante.

The Ring of Fire.

TonDC.

Mount Weather.

Wanheda didn't even know how many people she killed in total.

"Why'd you do it, Clarke?" She spun to the voice, flinching at the sight of Atom, whose skin was covered in burns, whose neck was covered in blood; he was just as he had been when he died. "You could've saved me."

She shook her head, tears beginning to well in her eyes. "I couldn't."

He stepped forward, and her nostrils were overwhelmed with the once forgotten scent of acid fog. "I could've lived."

Her voice broke. "There was– there was no way to treat the burns."

"I didn't get to say goodbye!" His breath was hot on her face. Atom shook her shoulders.

"To who?"

"Clarke."

"To who?" she repeated. Her tears fell freely. "I'm so sorry, Atom."

This time, Atom's voice was urgent. But it sounded warbled. Not his own. "Wanheda!"

She jerked away from his arms with a gasp and threw her head to the sky as she gulped in fresh, unacidic air. Wanheda tripped over an exposed rock and crashed to the ground. Another rock sliced her forearm as she slid over the hill's peak and down the terrain.

As gravity pulled her down, she twisted and turned, trying to grab anything she could to stop her descent. The world was a blur as she tumbled. The tones of the winter forest swirled into a muddled ball of color.

The ground was hard and rough, riddled with rocks that attacked her sensitive skin. Her own blood covered her in seconds.

Finally, she experienced a moment of peace before she realized that she was airborne. Her fingers scoured the rapidly disappearing ground for a hold. Her hand slipped around an exposed tree root whose lateral end was embedded deep in the earth.

Below her she heard the roaring sound of water. She dared a peek. Water lapped at the rocks as it rushed by. She could almost feel its spray on her cheek. It was a gorge.

The only thing separating Wanheda from a five-hundred foot free fall into choppy, shallow waters was a tree root. A root that was damp, covered in dirt, and incredibly hard to hold onto.

Despite her unexpected tumble down the cliffside, the dead continued plaguing her thoughts. Atom disappeared only to have another in his place, and in his another, and another, and so on. It made her realize that there would always be someone to torment her. A constant reminder that she was a killer and always would be.

For a moment, she almost gave into them. She imagined it. Relaxing her grip, falling to the earth much like her first day on the ground, plunging into the unforgiving waters below. Her life on Earth would begin in fire and end in water. Peace. She would finally know if that word was real or simply a fabrication.

But she didn't. Regardless of the title she'd apparently assumed, or what she had on her conscience, Wanheda realized she didn't want to die.

She strained to grab the root with both hands. She was a little ways down the cliff face and the ground was several yards above her. A few feet to her left, though, was a small, downed tree. She guessed it had fallen during the bombs, entombed under the debris of the mountain.

Many stones jutted from the wall, but she could see that most of them were slippery. If she grabbed any of them, she'd sign her own death certificate. She resisted the temptation to bang her head on the rock and dirt wall in exasperation.

She sighed and scanned the stones directly next to her. A small indentation completely sheltered from the elements. She seized her chance. She clung to the wall as she shifted her weight. Wanheda's feet dangled uselessly as she found a foothold.

To her chagrin, no more holds would bring her closer to the tree. It was all but smooth rock. She looked down, her heart leaping into her throat. If it were possible, the gorge seemed to be a longer drop than it had been before.

Swallowing, she took one of her hands and reached out to the tree. Even straining, it was just barely out of reach. She replaced her hand and tried with her foot, finding she could easily tap it with the point of her boot.

Barely giving herself time to contemplate the consequences of her actions, she swung her other leg over, and her fingers slid from their hold. She swung freely upside down on the branch. The blood immediately began rushing to her head and she painfully clenched her eyes.

What she'd just done was stupid. So very stupid. She had no clue what to do next. If her legs slid free, she'd plummet to the waters below. Headfirst.

"Clarke!"

She flinched, which only sent her head flying into the rock, and her eyes shot open. Her vision was blurry, which was likely a result of the concussion she just gave herself. But, she could still see him. He was merely a spot of darkness against the blue sky, yet there he stood, peering over the edge.

Wanheda had to admit, she'd forgotten about him during her fall.

Since she could only see his blob of a form, she closed her eyes again, the strain sending ripples of pain across her skull. It felt as if her heart had moved into her head, pounding against it. Black spots danced across her closed eyelids.

The ever-increasing pressure in her head would send her into unconsciousness soon enough. She grabbed the branch with her hands and used her core strength to pull herself up. Balancing on it was more difficult than trying to breathe in outer space.

Looking up, Wanheda noticed that the rock had chipped away more near the top. Just a few feet above her, she could count a half dozen potential grips. She slipped off her shoes and chucked them up one after the other. One made a sound of impact.

An exclamation from Roan quickly followed.

"Skrish!"

She rolled her eyes and shouted, "Can it!"

With adrenaline coursing through her body, Wanheda began to tremble. She inched closer to the rock wall as she struggled to her feet. Her toes curled around the branch, which allowed her to balance much easier than if she still wore her boots.

"Dison hai," she muttered to herself as she stood on the tips of her toes, arduously reaching for the nearest rock. The second she grazed it, the stone edged out of its place, hurtling down the cliff, seeming to take every opportunity to crash against the wall before it landed in the water with an audible splash.

She tried again, where the rock only followed its predecessor. They were so old and brittle that she was sure they broke apart the moment they hit the water.

On the third try, the rock did not immediately fall from her fingertips. She tried tugging it from the cliffside and smiled when it didn't budge. There was no place to put her feet, so she again transferred her weight to the rock. She held onto it with one hand as she tried another. This one didn't budge either.

Her muscles ached, unused to holding anything heavier than fifty pounds for such a long period of time. She pulled herself up, her right arm falling uselessly to her side as it abandoned her previous hold.

The only reason why Wanheda was not dead was by sheer force of will.

She was a few yards from the ground now. Or, she guessed, the top. She repeated her process, her heart growing less panicked with each foot she scaled.

Then a rock she had declared a safehold shimmied out of its place.

Just as she began to fall with it, a hand shot over the edge and grabbed onto her still-outstretched arm. The skin was calloused, and she could almost feel the indentation of a sword's handle from years of use.

She flashed back to the trap Bellamy had saved her from. His hesitation had made her think he would let go. She shook him from her mind. Roan didn't have any such hesitation. He groaned with the strain as he lifted her up and back onto safe ground.

Wanheda's legs crumbled beneath her and she fell on her back. The grass tickled her cheeks and she heaved as she tried to catch her breath. The cuts burned and the bruises ached. She raised her head and scowled. The grass seemed to stretch for miles. It was so tall that the chasm wouldn't be seen until someone fell into it.

Or, in her case, rolled. Wanheda could see the hill that had caused her fall. It was a steady, steep incline. She'd tumbled all the way down it and had flown right over the edge of a cliff. Her luck was just excellent.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she stood, not too enthusiastic about owing her life to a stranger. The soil was soft underneath her bare feet, reminding her of her boots. She looked at Roan expectantly.

A boot sailed through the air and hit her in the chest. An involuntary huff escaped her and she watched the corner of Roan's mouth lift as he bent to pick up the other one.

She ducked the second one. It went over her head and hit the tree behind her.

"Don't mention it," he said gruffly. She sat to put on the boots and Roan crossed his arms. "'There was no way to treat the burns'," he quoted and she froze.

"How did you hear that?" She thought it had all been in her head.

His eyes softened slightly. "It was the last thing you said before you became hysterical."

Wanheda narrowed her eyes. Her shoulders tingled under the echo of his touch. Atom had been an illusion, but the hands had been very real.

"Who's Atom?" Roan's expression once again hardened.

She gulped and forced back the tears. "He was my first kill."

"He lingers in your conscience," he stated. His face was scrunched in confusion, as if he was trying to decipher the feeling of guilt. "Why?"

Her heart stuttered at the prospect of him not feeling remorse for his kills. Was murder such a natural part of Grounder culture that they'd become desensitized to it? Were their morals so warped?

"The acid fog got him. He couldn't have lived." She was aware her words were excuses, but Roan probably didn't notice, likely didn't care. "Still, though. He had a life, and I made the choice to take it."

He frowned. "You're the Commander of Death. You are supposed to choose who dies."

Roan's words made her realize, for the first time, what the title of Wanheda actually meant. She shook her head. "Being Wanheda means to guide and take care of the dead. It means to protect the living."

His eyes lit up, and she could almost see a fire lighting from within him. Roan eyed her with a newfound sense of respect.

"You are her," he stated with an incredible amount of reverence. "The last time someone claimed the title of Wanheda, they wrought havoc and chaos. They stood for fear and subservience." Awe shone through every fiber of his being. "You are none of those things. You are true."

She felt uncomfortable with the near-godlike veneration with which he viewed her. Especially since she didn't deserve it. Her back was nowhere big enough to bear the weight of her kills.

Sensing her disagreement, Roan said, "The last–true–confirmed resurgence of Wanheda was long before my time. She is said to have aided the First Commander in her rise after the Great Flames. She rid the Commander of a great number of adversaries."

A queasy feeling settled in her gut. The direction the story led didn't seem to be in her favor. It sounded as if the title was only given to a very specific type of individual. Just like the Commander. She received the impression that she'd stepped into the grounders' religious beliefs.

She needed to nip it in the bud. "Roan," she began delicately. "I'm not some divine being. I'm human. I'm a girl from space who is just trying to survive."

Before she finished, he was already shaking his head. He continued the story with the confidence that she would believe him once he was done. "Wanheda possessed the grace of a panther. She prowled in the shadows soundlessly, stealthily. She struck down her enemies with the skill of a thousand warriors combined. It is said that she developed a sixth sense to guide her when she needed it."

Her breath hitched. She was unable to lie to herself; she had heard a voice helping her whenever she was attacked. Right before she first met Roan, her own voice (only with the timbre of an aged, more experienced quality) had in seconds deconstructed her enemy's plan. When she got lost or didn't know what to do, the voice that nearly but not quite sounded like her own had told her which traders to go to and which animals offered the most meat.

But she shook off the connection. She'd heard the voice before the Mountain. Only, it hadn't been as often.

While she lost herself to her thoughts, Roan surveyed her carefully. He knew at least one part of the story had resonated with her. He spoke again, bringing her back to the moment. "How much do you know about the ascension of the Commander?"

She snorted. "They kidnap natblida children and force them to fight to the death in the Conclave."

Determined to make her understand, Roan asked, "Who are 'they'?"

"The Flamekeeper. Village scouts. Anyone who is loyal to the Commander."

He nodded. "Why nightbloods?" he prompted.

Wanheda rolled her eyes in defeat and shrugged. "I don't know."

"The First Commander was a natblida. So, her successors must be as well. Only natblidas can possess the spirit of the Commander," Roan explained. "After the First Commander, nightbloods were hunted almost to extinction. That is why they are so rare today."

"If they're so rare, why pit them against each other?"

"Disha plan," he groaned to himself and she was tempted to walk away right then and there. "The ascending Commander must be the strongest and the most knowledgeable of the clans' history." He went back to his previous point before she could question it further. "Commanders must be of black blood."

"What are you getting at?"

"Wanheda isn't a title given to anyone. If it was, several hundred warriors would carry it. No, there is another attribute. She must carry the sky in her veins."

Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. "Excuse me?"

"Just as the Commander's blood must be black, Wanheda's must be blue. Natblida, skaiblida."

"This is ridiculous!" she exclaimed. With every passing second, she believed him to be crazier and crazier. "My blood is as red as yours."

He only smirked at her, dismissing the subject. She only let him because she suspected he would come back to it later.

It didn't matter anyways, because he'd already moved on to his next point. "By definition, Wanheda must make the ultimate sacrifice for the good of humanity."

She stopped him. "I didn't kill an entire civilization for the good of humanity. I did it for my people."

"Will you be quiet and listen?" Roan snapped. Wanheda glared, but otherwise remained silent, and he continued. "The Maunon claimed the ground was their birthright. They would've killed anyone who got in their way. We may spill the blood of our brothers in the name of jus drein jus daun, but they would've killed us all for selfishness and greed."

"I understand that, but I've seen my own blood spilled dozens of times since the Mountain, and there hasn't been a trace of anything other than the color it's supposed to be."

He scowled at her. "By definition, Wanheda must make the ultimate sacrifice for the good of humanity and survive the clutches of certain death."

"Oh."

"Only then will the final trial commence."

"And that is?"

"'She must face her demons and survive the activation of her dormant skaiblida cells.'" The confusion on his face and uncertainty in his voice as he recited the information made her realize he didn't know what it meant.

But she did.

"Well, skrish."

Skrish - Shit

Dison hai - This is stupid

Disha plan - This woman

Skaiblida - Skyblood/Blueblood

16 - Written: 8/27/22 - 9/3/22

Posted - 9/3/22

16 - Edited: 4/7/23

Posted - 4/7/23

:)