An alternative telling of The 100 story. Clarke Kom Skaikru is born of the Earth, a warrior who's ancestors once dwelt amongst the stars.
Skaikru have lived on the ground for the past fifty years, seeking a balance with those who survived a nuclea...
The journey to Arkadia took longer that expected. Pushing forward as fast as my horse would allow, I saw the gates to my home in the distance. I galloped up to them, calling out at the top of my lungs, "Open the gates!" They remained closed as the guards trained their arrows on me. My appearance must have seemed alarming, the blood, the warpaint, the clothing of Ingranronakru, but I had no time for explanations. "Ai laik Clarke Kom Skaikru!" My call was heard by a welcoming, if not confused, friend. "Clarke?" Bellamy shouted. "Bellamy, open the gates. I need to get this man to medical!" The gates swung open and I rode though to see my home for the first time in six months, but there was no time to dwell in the comfort it brought me. The guards helped the Grounder off my horse before I dismounted. His condition didn't look good. Bellamy rushed to find my mother and her medical team as the rest of us carried the man inside. The medical staff had already begun to prep for the situation as my mother approched. She saw the blood on my head and looked me over with concern, "Clarke your head... what happened out there?" I diverted her attention to the Grounder, "I'm fine, it's just a graze. We need to stop the bleeding in his leg and shoulder." She looked stunned at the man and his injuries, "Bullet wounds! And his blood... he's a Natblida! Who is this man?" I kept my theory to myself for the time being, "I don't know, but he escaped the mountain. The men who were chasing him didn't shoot to kill, they wanted him alive." My mother shifted her focus to her patient, I could tell by her face his chances for survival didn't look promising. He'd lost a lot of blood and what seemed like days of being hunted had taken their toll. That coupled with the added physical trauma from what ever horrors he had endured inside the mountain, I began to see his life fading before my eyes. If my theory about him was correct, then we were about to witness the death of the the most important figure in Grounder society.
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As Jackson cleared the warpaint from my face and treated the bullet graze on my head, I watched with a heavy heart as my mother and her team frantically worked to save the Grounder's life. "He's loosing too much blood," she said in frustration. The Trikru man tried to speak, his words were broken as he moved his hand to gesture to the back of his neck, "Quia nunc vale!" I stopped Jackon from stitching my head and approched the Grounder. He grabbed my hand, still repeating the words, struggling to utter each syllable. Then came the warning, "Beware the Shadow Bloods." His hand slipped from mine as death took him from this world. The room fell silent. Curiosity lingered in my mind. I looked to the back of his neck to see what he was drawing our attention to. There, I discovered an infinity symbol tattooed upon his skin. I turned to my mother, "Help me turn him over." A request she seemed a little confused by. Down the centre of the tattoo ran a scar that was much older that the once he had from his time in the mountain. I picked up a scalpel and cut down the centre of it, much to the shock of those around me. "Clarke, what are you doing?" Spoke my mother. "Finding out if he is who I think he is." I replied. I'd heard stories that The Spirit Of The Commander resided in the body of every Heda, but very few had ever seen it first hand. As expected a small object emerged from the flesh of incision I'd made, some kind of A.I unit that had connected itself directly to the mind of it's host. It moved uncontrollably between my fingers as I pulled it from his body. I could see panic in my mother's eyes, "Shut it down. We don't know what it'll do to someone without nightblood!" There was no off switch, no way I could see of how to shut it down. I remembered the words of the Trikru man and repeated them, "Quia nunc vale!" It powered down and lay dormant in the palm of my hand. My mother looked over at me with concern in her eyes, "What does this mean?" I replied, "It means that the past no longer wishes to remain hidden."
