THE 100

The sun peeks out form the mountains, the trace of a morning breaking through the dawn.

Damn you, Murphy. 

My blood boils, the fury of everything I've endured rising to a single, defining moment. I ignore Raven's protests, the burn in my muscles screaming at me to stop, to rest, to wait. But I don't have that luxury.

I'll rest when I'm dead.

With a deep breath, I push forward, stumbling slightly, but my legs carry me across the field toward the horse. Her sharp neighs grow louder as I approach, but she doesn't shy away. She knows me—trusts me. As my hand reaches up to steady myself, the horse leans into my touch, the familiar warmth grounding me.

I swing myself onto her back with more effort than usual, but it's enough. The wind against my face is a sharp reminder of the fight ahead. My body aches, but I'm too far past the point of exhaustion to care now.

if i knew clarke, which im guessing wasnt anything new, she would have probably talked with the trikru leader already.

I urge the horse forward, pushing her into a gallop, the world blurring around me. Each stride takes me closer to the bridge, closer to intercepting the meeting between Clarke and the commander of Trikru. The tension in the air is thick enough to choke on, but there's no turning back now.

As I near the depelated bridge, the scene ahead sharpens into focus. Clarke stands at the edge, her profile illuminated by the low sun, every muscle in her body taut with focus. Her posture is rigid, like she's holding herself together by sheer will alone. The words she speaks with the commander of Trikru hang heavy in the air, each one deliberate, like it could tip the balance of something larger. Octavia stands just behind her, her expression grim, her eyes scanning the surroundings with a predator's alertness, while Lincoln hovers slightly to her right,

Behind them, just out of sight, Bellamy and Jasper crouch in the trees. The faintest glimpse of their figures is enough to see the tension in their muscles, guns raised and locked onto their targets. They are waiting, coiled, ready for whatever might break the fragile calm that hangs over the group like a storm cloud.

The atmosphere crackles with tension—there's no turning back now.

I force the horse to a sudden stop, her hooves kicking up dust, the sound of them striking the dry earth like thunder in the still air. The suddenness of the motion sends a jolt through my body. My grip tightens on the reins, the leather digging into my palms, but it steadies me. I dismount quickly, my legs trembling from the strain, but I steady myself, fighting against the dizziness that clouds my vision. I can't afford to falter now.

I take a step forward, my boots crunching against the dry earth. The noise is sharp, a disruption to the heavy silence. Clarke's head snaps toward me as if my presence shatters the fragile peace she's been trying to build. Her face shifts from shock to confusion, her brows furrowing in disbelief. The line of her jaw tightens. "Maddox?" she calls, her voice barely above a whisper, uncertain, like she can't quite reconcile what she's seeing. She steps toward me, but hesitates, unsure whether she should be relieved or angry. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Her voice tightens with frustration, her eyes flickering between me and the Trikru commander, before she steps closer. "What happened back at the camp? You—" Her words cut off, her eyes scanning the tension in the air, the weapons, the faces surrounding us, as if she's suddenly aware of how much is at stake. "You shouldn't be here."

"Raven filled me in," I glance at Finn's figure, clutching Clarke's hand, "another way, huh?" I mock, remembering his words earlier that day.

Clarke's eyes flicker between me and Finn, her hands trembling slightly, her voice cracking with the weight of confusion and fear.

"What the hell is going on?" she demands.

Before I can answer, a low voice cuts through the tense silence, dripping with venom.

"It seems you've received my present." Anya smiles, her lips curling into a cold, mocking grin. "Such a pity you couldn't all enjoy it."

I spit, the salty taste of blood and dirt lingering on my tongue.

Her eyes scan me—blood streaking my face, a few strands of hair matted to my forehead from sweat. She eyes the knife at my side, the sheath glinting under the harsh sunlight, then looks back at my face, her expression unreadable but calculating.

"I see Skaikru has no honor," she spits, her lips curling in disdain. "We said no weapons."

I hold her gaze, steady and unwavering, my stance firm despite the tremors running through me. "Honor?" I let out a dry laugh, the sound sharp in the air. "You speak of honor when your men hide in the trees like rats. Don't preach to me about honor."

My leg drags behind me as I step forward, pushing the pain aside. "You demand no weapons, but here I stand, unarmed. Where's your honor in that?"

She clicks her tongue, her eyes narrowing. "What do you want, Sky boy?" she sneers, glancing at Clarke. "The terms have been set. War is upon you."

I glance back at Clarke, she shakes her head slightly, pleading with me that this is over.

I clench my fist.

A bitter smile spreads across my face, colder than the steel in my hands. "No. There will be no war."

"Maddox—" Clarke starts, her voice trembling, but I silence her with a look. This isn't her fight.

"You could've marched your men here days ago," I say, my voice low and deliberate. "When we were sick. When we were hungry. When we were vulnerable." I pace around the clearing, eyes never leaving her. "And yet, you didn't."

"Im no fool" I add. "You let us live because you were smart enough to wait."

Her eyebrow quirks up, and she leans in, her lips curling with mocking amusement. "Are you going to speak in riddles, Sky boy?"

"You didn't have a choice." The words are like daggers. "You were ordered to capture the invaders and make them pay for their crimes."

"Blood must have blood," I murmur, my eyes fixed on her. Her guards tense, hands twitching toward their weapons.

"If you know the price, then we don't need talks of peace," Anya growls. "Surrender or die."

"No," I say flatly, watching her lips curl into a grimace.

"Wait, you can't be seriously—" Clarke cuts in, her hand gripping my shoulder. I shake her off. She had time to speak. Now it's my turn.

"We're invaders, yes," I bite out. "But we've earned the right to stand here. To live on your land."

Her eyes narrow, her lips twitching with disgust. "What makes you think you deserve to live here, Sky boy?" She sneers. "You're no better than the animals we hunt. Listen to your friend, boy."

I pull my dagger from my side, letting it fall to the ground with a sharp clang, the sound echoing like a challenge. Her eyes flick to the distinctive markings, then to my horse, recognition dawning.

Her lips curl into a snarl as her eyes narrow, clearly assessing the situation.

I step forward, closer now, the tension thick in the air. "Tell your commander this: Skaikru will pay their debt in battle."

"But not with armies." I hold her eyes in a steady, unnerving gaze. "There shall be no bloodshed today."

" Send your champion."

The silence that follows is deafening, heavy with the weight of what's about to happen.

"You claim a right to challenge," she spits, her voice venomous. "A champion's duel? You think your lives are worth that much?"

I hold her gaze, steady and unflinching. "Let it be one life for many. Your champion against ours. No armies, no slaughter."

Her guards shift uncomfortably, their hands tightening around their weapons. Clarke watches, wide-eyed, her breath shallow. I can feel her silently willing me to stop, but it's too late now.

"You speak as if you know our ways," she says, her voice now dangerously low. "But you forget: we do not play games."

"This isn't a game," I snap. "It's survival—for both of us. If we fight this war, we'll all bleed. But a duel? One life. A debt paid. The rest walk away."

She studies me, her eyes narrowing. "And who will stand for Skaikru? You?" She gestures to the dagger, then glances at Clarke. "Or do you expect the girl to fight your battles?"

I don't flinch. "I'll stand."

"Maddox—" Clarke's voice cracks, but I cut her off with a glance. This isn't her fight to stop.

She stands steady, her gaze unwavering, sharp as a blade. "You would fight for your people, when their fate rests in your hands?" Her voice is cold, calculating.

I smirk, the fire burning behind my eyes. "I fight for freedom."

She lets out a low, humorless laugh, a sound that drips with disdain. "Bold. Foolish, but bold." Her eyes flick to her guards, then back to me, as if measuring my worth with every glance. "Give me one reason why I should even consider your offer. One reason why I shouldn't kill you where you stand, here and now."

Something inside me snaps, a simmering fury that has been building, growing, until it's all I can feel. I move toward her, each step deliberate, until we are separated by barely a foot of space.

Her guards tense, instinctively reaching for their weapons, but she waves them off with a flick of her hand, her curiosity evident.

I lock eyes with her, my voice low but burning with intent. "You forget your place" I hiss, stepping even closer, "this isn't an offer for you. This is an offer for your commander."

"You are simply my messenger."

Her eyes flicker briefly to the others—Clarke, Lincoln, Octavia—before returning to me, her expression a mask of contempt and calculation. "You're a fool if you think that's how this ends. Skaikru doesn't get to decide the terms."

I hold her gaze, unblinking. "Then let your commander decide. Not you."

Her breath hisses through her teeth. "Do you what you're asking for? This is not some game. I don't take kindly to threats."

I lean in closer, lowering my voice so only she can hear. "I'm not threatening you. I'm offering a choice. A chance for peace."

Anya lets out a breath, her shoulders rolling ever so slightly. "You've got a lot of nerve, Sky boy," she says, her voice now quieter, more measured. "I'll pass your message on. But make no mistake. This is mercy, not an alliance."

Anya turns, her long, matted hair swaying with the motion, signaling her guards to follow. As she walks away, her voice drips with venom, but it's laced with a trace of respect—whether she's willing to admit it or not. "We'll see if your threats are all bark no bite, boy. But know this: there will be no second chances."

Her words hang in the air, the last echo of her departure. The tension doesn't lift; it only shifts, settling in like a storm cloud ready to break.

I stand there, silent, fists clenched at my sides. The adrenaline from the confrontation is still buzzing in my veins, and though my body aches, the urgency of the moment keeps me focused.

Clarke doesn't wait long. The moment Anya is out of earshot, she rushes to my side, her voice frantic, relentless. "Maddox, what the hell are you thinking? You can't just challenge her like that! You're barely standing. What if she's right? What if—"

"Clarke, stop." I cut her off, my voice more strained than I want to admit. The last thing I need right now is her panic. I step back, trying to regain some distance, but the world tilts with the movement, and the ground beneath me seems to shift.

She doesn't stop, though. Her voice rises, faster now, demanding answers. "What happened to you? What's going on with you? You're covered in blood, your hands—God, Maddox, are you even listening to yourself?"

Her questions pierce through the haze in my mind, but they only make the dizziness worse. I try to focus, but the world is starting to blur. My legs feel like they're sinking into the earth, and no matter how hard I try to keep my balance, I can't seem to make it stop.

The sound of Clarke's voice warps in my ears, her words muffled, as if she's speaking from the other side of a wall. I feel my head grow heavy, my vision doubling as I try to stay upright.

She's still talking, still asking questions, but her face shifts, her expression distorting like the air in the heat. I reach for her, trying to steady myself, but my fingers can't find purchase.

Everything feels too far away.

I blink, once, twice, but the black spots in my vision keep spreading, until the world is consumed by darkness. Clarke's voice fades, her figure blurring and dissolving, until there's nothing but the oppressive weight of silence.

Then, nothing at all.

-

A/N: Sorry for the slow updates, yall. Im swamped with exams so they might be inconsistent lately. But beside that what do we think?