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VOL 2 START:-
(The Dropship Camp - One Week Earlier)
The reunion of the 100 was not a celebration. What they all had witnessed changed them forever.
When Mike's warriors escorted the survivors back to the dropship, the silence was deafening. There were no cheers, no running hugs. The teenagers who stumbled out of the forest were pale, shaking, the memory still fresh in their minds.
Bellamy, Clarke, Raven, and Finn were waiting for them at the gate.
Octavia was the first to reach them. She didn't say a word. She simply collapsed into Bellamy's arms, burying her face in his chest, shaking violently. Bellamy held her, his eyes scanning the faces of the others.
They looked like ghosts. They had seen the inside of the slaughterhouse, and they knew exactly how close they had come to being drained dry.
Later, around the fire, Raven broke the silence. She stood before the assembled 100, her voice steady but lacking its usual spark.
"We have a deal," Raven said, looking at the exhausted faces. "The Grounders... the Trikru... they saved us. Mike saved us. But it comes with a price."
She explained the terms. The loss of sovereignty. The submission to the Coalition. The fact that they were no longer the "Sky People," an independent nation, but a vassal clan under the protection of the Blade.
A week ago, this would have caused a riot. Bellamy would have shouted about freedom. Murphy would have sneered.
But today?
Monty looked up from the fire, his eyes dark. "He killed every single one of them, because they took his people. I think it's a good idea to follow him."
Clarke nodded softly. "He wiped out the Mountain Men to get you out."
Jasper nodded slowly. "Then we follow him."
There was no debate. The trauma of the ward room, the memory of Eric's screams, is still replaying in their mind. They had seen true power, and they had seen true evil. The Grounders might be harsh, but they didn't harvest children for bone marrow.
For the next seven days, the dynamic of the camp changed completely.
The next day, Trikru warriors arrived — not to attack, but to build. Under Mike's orders, they brought timber, tools, and expertise. They worked alongside the delinquents, teaching them how to cure meat, how to reinforce the walls with proper engineering rather than scrap metal, and how to survive the winter that was coming.
The fear slowly evaporated, replaced by a strange sense of camaraderie. The 100 were learning to be Grounders, and the way of the new Earth.
***
While the camp was being rebuilt, a different kind of work was happening in the mountain.
Mike had ordered a specialized unit to the mountain. He wanted to clear the mountain of all the bodies, and make it habitable again.
"Gather the bodies and burn them," Mike had ordered. "And make sure not to break or harm any equipment, they are really important for the future."
Mike wanted no chance of infection and no chance of disease.
For the next few days, bodies were being dragged out of the mountain and thrown into a huge pit.
Once all bodies were cleared, all of the bodies were burned. Smoke rose from the base of the mountain, indicating the end of an era and the beginning of a new one.
And soon enough, the mountain was ready to be inhabited by humans again.
(Polis - The Capital - Present Day)
Polis was a city of stone and banners, rising from the earth like a jagged tooth. It was the heart of the Coalition, the seat of the Commander, and today, it was overflowing.
The streets were packed. Warriors from all twelve clans had gathered. The air vibrated with the low hum of thousands of voices, the clatter of armor, and the nervous energy of an army waiting for a declaration.
Rumors had been flying for days. They had seen the smoke in the west. They had heard whispers of the Blade's massacre. They knew something monumental had shifted in the balance of the world.
In the center of the city, beneath the towering spire of the Commander's tower, a massive stage had been pitched.
Lexa walked out.
She wore her full ceremonial armor, the black war paint masked across her eyes, her red sash flowing in the wind. She stood at the edge of the balcony, looking down at the sea of her people.
She raised her hand.
Silence rippled through the crowd, spreading from the front rows to the back until the entire square was quiet enough to hear the wind snapping the banners.
"People of the Coalition!" Lexa's voice rang out, amplified by the acoustics of the square. "For fifty years, we have lived in the shadow of the Mountain!"
A low murmur of agreement rose from the crowd. Every clan had lost people to the Reapers, to the acid fog, to the bleeders.
"We have feared the mist," Lexa continued. "We have feared the demons who we found stole our blood. We have fought them, and we have died. But today..."
She paused, letting the tension build.
"Today, I tell you that the shadow is gone!"
She slammed her fist onto the railing.
"The Mountain has fallen! The Mountain Men are dead!"
For a second, there was absolute silence. The crowd couldn't process it.
The Mountain Men were a force of nature, an eternal plague.
Then — the roar began.
It started as a gasp, then a shout, and finally, a deafening, earth-shaking cheer. People were crying. Warriors were hugging each other. The relief was a physical wave that crashed against the tower. Years of terror had finally ended.
Lexa waited, letting them celebrate. Then she raised her hand again.
"But this victory was not won by an army!" she shouted over the dying cheers. "It was not won by a siege! It was won by one man!"
The crowd leaned in.
"The Blad-de-Trikru!" Lexa pointed to the entrance of the balcony. "He walked into the mountain alone. He faced their weapons alone. And he wiped their entire leadership and population from the face of the world!"
Mike stepped out.
He wasn't wearing the tactical suit from the mountain. He was dressed in high-ranking Grounder armor — black leather reinforced with metal plates, his dual swords strapped to his back. He held his orange-and-black mask in his hand.
The reaction was insanity.
"BLAD-DE-TRIKRU! BLAD-DE-TRIKRU!"
The chant was rhythmic, full of primal energy. They weren't just cheering a hero; they were cheering a god of war. He had done the impossible. He had slain the dragon that had haunted their nightmares for generations.
Mike stood stoic, his face impassive, watching the thousands of people chanting his name. He felt the weight of it — the adoration, the love of these people.
Lexa turned to him, her eyes shining with pride. She motioned for silence.
"You see his strength!" she announced. "You see his loyalty! And because of this, the Coalition must change. We can no longer be separate armies fighting separate wars."
She took a deep breath. This was the gamble.
"I am creating a new position," Lexa declared. "A position that stands above the clan chiefs and even higher than me, the Heda. From this day forward, Mike — the Blad-de-Trikru — will be the Strat-Heda. The Supreme Military Commander of the Twelve Clans!"
A shockwave went through the ambassadors standing on the lower platforms. This was unheard of. A single general commanding the combined might of every clan? A position higher than that of the Heda? It stripped power from the chiefs. It centralized power in the hands of one man.
Murmurs of dissent began to rise from the Azgeda delegation. They were the proudest, the most independent. They would never submit to a Trikru general.
"And to those who doubt his authority," Lexa said, her voice cutting through the rising tension, "witness this."
From the shadows behind Mike, two figures emerged.
The crowd gasped.
It was Nia, the Queen of the Ice Nation. And beside her, her son, Roan.
Nia looked pale, her usual arrogance stripped away by the reality of her situation. She walked to the center of the stage. She looked at the crowd, then at Mike.
Everyone expected her to challenge him. To spit on the title. To declare war.
Instead, the Ice Queen slowly bent her knees and knelt down.
Beside her, Prince Roan did the same, bowing his head in submission.
"The Ice Nation," Nia announced, her voice projected clearly, "pledges its sword to the Strat-Heda. We owe him our lives. We owe him our vengeance. Where he leads, Azgeda will follow."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush bone. The Azgeda — who were the fiercest enemies of the Trikru — had just bent the knee.
If the Ice Nation submitted, no other clan dared to object.
The shock broke into acceptance. The ambassadors nodded. The warriors banged their spears against their shields. The logic was simple: Mike had destroyed the Mountain. The Ice Queen followed his lead. He was the strongest. And in their world, strength was law.
Mike stepped forward to the railing. He looked down at the sea of faces.
He didn't smile. He didn't wave.
"LISTEN TO ME!" Mike yelled.
"You cheer for the fall of the Mountain," Mike shouted. "But ask yourselves, why did they last so long? Why did they bleed us for fifty years?"
The crowd went quiet, confused by his anger.
"They did not win because we were weak!" Mike roared. "They won because while they were united in their bunker, we were out here killing each other over trees and rivers! They picked us off one by one because we were divided!"
He paced the length of the balcony, pointing an accusing finger at the different clan banners.
"Trikru fights Azgeda. Floukru hides from Boudalan. We wasted our blood on petty feuds while the real enemy drank it!"
He stopped, gripping the railing.
"The Mountain is gone. But do you think they are the only threat?"
"There are other powers. There will always be enemies waiting in the dark. And if they come, will we act the same way? Will we bicker and fight while they take our land? Will we let them win because we are too proud to stand together?"
"NO!" a warrior in the front row screamed.
"NO!" the crowd echoed, the realization of his words sinking in.
"Then stop being twelve clans!" Mike commanded. "Stop being Trikru. Stop being Azgeda. That time is over."
He drew one of his swords, raising the black blade high into the air.
"Follow me," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, promising growl. "Not as twelve armies. But as a single force. A single tribe. A single family."
He looked at Lexa, then back at the crowd.
"One Clan. Wonkru."
The word hung there. New. Strange. Powerful.
"FOR WONKRU!" Mike bellowed, thrusting the sword upward.
It started with Roan. "Wonkru!" he shouted, standing up and raising his fist.
Then the Trikru warriors. "WONKRU!"
Then the ambassadors.
And finally, the entire city of Polis erupted. The cry was a unified roar of thousands of warriors pledging themselves to a new era.
"WONKRU! WONKRU! WONKRU!"
Mike stood at the edge of the world, the chant washing over him. He looked at Lexa, who was watching him with a look of awe. He looked at Anya, who had a smile full of love.
He had united the ground. He had cleared the board.
And as the chant rose to the heavens, Mike knew that whatever came next, he would be ready.
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