Experiment of Fate ~ A Bellamy Blake story

Chapter 4 - Return

The forest was quiet except for the soft crunching of footsteps. Bellamy and Octavia walked on either side of Isla, their hands steadying her as she stumbled. Every movement was slow and tentative, as though she was testing her own strength after years of being imprisoned and tortured at Mount Weather. Her legs shook beneath her, but her face remained determined, jaw clenched in silent defiance of the weakness her body exhibited.

"She's doing good," Bellamy whispered to Octavia, trying to offer some encouragement. Octavia, still grappling with her own inner storm of anger and sorrow, simply nodded, her eyes flickering between Isla and the path ahead.

Isla looked like a shadow of Clarke. Fragile, pale, her eyes sunken from years of malnutrition and pain. Bellamy's heart ached seeing her like this, but he admired her spirit—despite the horrors she'd been through, Isla hadn't given up. She leaned on them but kept trying to take each step, as though walking meant reclaiming a piece of herself.

They were nearing the edge of the forest when they spotted a figure waiting in the distance. Lincoln stood tall, his eyes scanning the group as they approached. The moment his gaze fell upon the fragile figure between Bellamy and Octavia, his breath hitched. Recognition flooded his face, and he broke into a sprint toward them.

"Isla!" Lincoln's voice cracked with emotion, louder than it had been in months.

Isla's head barely lifted at the sound, exhaustion clouding her senses, but she stirred. Her legs faltered, and Bellamy and Octavia steadied her as Lincoln fell to his knees in front of her.

"Isla... it's me," he whispered, his voice shaking as he looked up at her with tears threatening to spill. "You remember me, right? It's Lincoln."

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Isla blinked slowly, focusing on him through the fog of exhaustion. Her lips quivered before a faint smile appeared. She nodded weakly, and in that single gesture, Lincoln broke.

Octavia and Bellamy stepped back, letting Isla fall into her brother's arms. She collapsed against him, her frail body trembling as the dam of her emotions burst. Tears streamed down her face, and she buried her head in his shoulder. Lincoln held her as tightly as he dared, afraid of hurting her, but needing to feel her close.

He whispered soothing words in their native language, gently rubbing her head. Then, as if by instinct, he began to hum softly—a familiar lullaby from their childhood, one he'd sung to her when they were younger, when life was simpler. Isla's breathing began to slow as she drifted off, exhaustion finally overtaking her. Lincoln scooped her up into his arms, carrying her as though she weighed nothing, his heart breaking for the years she'd lost.

As they continued the long journey back to Camp Jaha, Clarke walked just behind them, her eyes locked on Isla. She couldn't tear her gaze away from her sister, the sister she had lost when they were just children. Isla had been stolen from her, and now, even though she was back, the guilt and fear lingered. What if she lost her again? What if she couldn't protect her?

Octavia, sensing Clarke's inner turmoil, fell back in step with her, still holding her own grief and rage at Clarke for TonDC, but knowing that right now wasn't the time for that fight. She placed a hand on Clarke's arm, breaking the silence between them.

"She's alive, Clarke. She's here." Octavia's voice was steady, but Clarke could hear the unspoken message: Don't lose yourself in this guilt.

Clarke let out a sob she had been holding in since they left Mount Weather. The weight of the past weeks—the betrayal by Lexa, the massacre in Mount Weather, the destruction of innocent lives—crashed down on her, and for the first time in a long while, she let herself feel it all. Octavia, despite her anger, pulled her into a tight hug, allowing Clarke to release her tears.

"I can't do this," Clarke whispered through her sobs, leaning into the embrace. "I've lost too much."

Octavia pulled back slightly, her expression softening, if only for a moment. "We've all lost too much. But you're not alone, Clarke. Not anymore."

Clarke wiped her tears and gave a weak nod. As Octavia walked ahead to catch up with Lincoln and Isla, Clarke stood frozen, staring into the distance. Bellamy walked over, his eyes full of concern as he watched her.

"I'm not going in," Clarke muttered. "Not after what I did. I can't. I bear it so they don't have to."

Bellamy's jaw clenched. "What we did, you don't have to go through this alone. Come inside. Have a drink. Rest."

Clarke shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "Have one for me." She turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Take care of them for me. Take care of her."

Bellamy's brows furrowed in worry. "Clarke, she needs you. You can't just—"

"She needs someone who'll stay, Bellamy." Clarke's voice cracked. "I don't know where I'm going, but it can't be here. Not after everything."

Bellamy stared at her, searching for words that could change her mind, but he knew Clarke too well. When she made a decision, there was no changing it. He stepped closer, wrapping her in a tight hug. She held on to him for a moment, as though grounding herself before she kissed his cheek and whispered, "May we meet again."

Before he could say anything more, she turned and began walking away, her form disappearing into the trees.

Bellamy stood there, his chest heavy with the weight of her departure. "May we meet again," he whispered to himself, knowing that she was already gone.

He turned back to camp, his eyes following the path Octavia, Lincoln, and Isla had taken. He could already imagine Isla's confusion, her fear of abandonment, and he swore to himself that he wouldn't let her feel that pain again.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Bellamy headed into camp, feeling the burden of Clarke's absence pressing down on him like a shadow.