𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, bellamy blake ¹

32; ran away

"Stories are wild creatures, the monster said. When you let them loose, who knows what havoc they might wreak?"

― Patrick Ness, A Monster Calls

➳ ➳ ➳

"THE GRAUNSHILA WAS A HIGHLY REGARDED WARRIOR PEACEMAKER, THOUGH THOSE TWO WORDS CONTRADICT EACH OTHER.There was one for each generation—only one. Many happened to be nightbloods, though Akhal of Fire was not. And she was the greatest of all. They served the Gods and their people, respected by all. It is said that when the Graunshila dies they set their house on fire and let it burn, to cleanse the forest of the spirits they killed. It is true, I've seen it before.

"I was young, of course, but I remember the singing of the muses as her hut burned. The sparks lit up the sky. That was 20 years ago."

The wind blew through Naomi's hair. She huddled against the ground, a sleeping Amira sprawled over her lap. The child clung to Noe's arm, pressing her cheek against her leg. Kasey dozed against her other side, lying in the dirt. Naomi pressed her fingers in the children's hair.

She leant back and drew the children with her. "There hasn't been another one since?"

Serena smiled, laying her swords on the ground. She pulled a hand through her long dark hair and shook her head. "No. The Graunshila died before claiming another, and only a nightblood can proclaim one. It's said that their soul returns to live with their named Graunshila. Nightbloods die too early to proclaim them when they die—and it's the only way our people believe someone can become the Protector. Their soul needs to be transferred from their dead body, or it doesn't happen."

"It's a strange idea," Naomi said. She kissed Kasey on the head and helped to lift her up. The girl mumbled against her shoulder. "That their keyron rests in their proclaimed."

"It guides the Protector—Graunshila means the Land Protector, after all."

Naomi adjusted herself. "Will there ever be another one?"

"Perhaps. The Commander may grant one when she dies. The previous Commander did not," Serena said.

"The Commanders are all Nightbloods?" Naomi asked Serena.

The dark-skinned woman nodded, tracing a pattern in the dirt besides her foot. The village was quiet, at this time of day. Bellamy had allowed her to go if it brought information. Wind rustled in the trees above, sending leaves falling around the two girls and the children. "They are," she said. She looked towards the path, where a man was waiting for her. "I'll try to find you information on Anya. I have to go now." She touched Naomi's hands.

"Of course, Serena." Naomi said goodbye as the Village Chief walked away, leaving Naomi with her two children. From her jacket pocket, Naomi produced a small, leather-bound blank book. Clarke had found it in a bunker, and insisted on Naomi keeping it.

And there, with charcoal, she drew.

Every now and then Amira would rustle against her legs, reaching for warmth in Naomi's jacket. Naomi pulled her closer and wrapped her coat around the child. Amira rested against Naomi's chest and slept peacefully.

Naomi loved to draw on the Ark—though she didn't have the all-rounded talent Clarke had. She couldn't draw landscapes, nor figures or animals or hands (which Clarke managed exceptionally well). Naomi drew faces. And she'd gotten extremely good at it over the years; managing to capture all the detail in a person's expression.