The mountain men are evil, and the mountain is the worst thing Asha has ever endured. She spends months locked in that cage, a nightmare she knows she will never forget. But then she is freed—because of a deal the Commander makes—and a blonde girl who falls from the sky ends up killing them all. They call her Wanheda, the Commander of Death. And just like that, Asha is able to go home, returning to her peaceful life as the healer of her village.

Life stays calm—until people start hunting Wanheda. Asha doesn't care much. Yes, she owes the girl her life, but Wanheda can handle herself; she's strong enough to survive even after leaving her people behind. What Asha does care about is the steady stream of warriors returning to the village, battered and broken after failing to capture her. Her village is small, but it's full of warriors, and warriors crave the glory of defeating Wanheda and stealing her power.

Each time one of them stumbles into her healing hut, Asha presses the hot knife to their wounds to cauterize them, scolding them through gritted teeth. Every time, she makes them promise to be more careful.

Three months after the mountain falls, Wanheda is captured by the prince of Azgeda and brought to Heda in Polis. The sky people are now part of the coalition. Asha hears about it through hushed whispers from warriors lucky enough to travel to Polis freely. Roan—Azgeda's prince—is someone Asha met once, years ago. She had been 12, and he only 16.

Life, all in all, is good—great, even. There's no sign of war on the horizon, trade routes are expanding, and tensions are easing. But then Heda orders Trikru to move closer to Skaikru territory, tasked with protecting the sky people from a possible Azgeda attack after they destroyed the mountain while sky people were inside.

"I don't understand why you're going. You're not a warrior," Lyra says, perched cross-legged on top of Asha's bag. "We have no business with those people."

"We do have business with the sky people. They're part of the coalition, my dear sister." Asha replies, calmly sorting through her equipment on the wooden table. "Indra said a healer needs to come, and Nyko isn't here to assist."

Lyra groans dramatically, kicking at the floor in frustration. The two sisters were alike in many ways but Lyra was always the hotheaded one, quick to speak her mind without fear of the consequences. Asha used to be like that, too, but over the years, she has grown calmer, more measured. She can only hope her 12-year-old sister will find the same balance as she gets older.

Asha softens at the annoyed look on Lyra's face. "It's only until Heda deals with Azgeda, I promise. I'll bring you a gift from Niylah's on the way back."

"You better," Lyra grumbles, standing up and handing over the bag so Asha can pack her supplies. "If you buy me some leather, I'll love you forever."

"I will," Asha replies with a grin, holding out her arm. Lyra clasps it firmly, their forearms locking in a silent promise. Asha slings the now full bag over her shoulder. "Indra is waiting for me. Stay safe. I love you."

Lyra watches as Asha turns to leave, her expression shifting from sour to concern. "Be careful out there, I just got you back from the mountain. You know how unpredictable things can get..." she calls after her.

"I will, I promise!" Asha says, glancing back with a smile that's meant to reassure. The weight of her bag presses against her shoulder—a familiar heaviness, a reminder of all the times she's set out on journeys like this. The village is quiet, the air rich with the scents of earth and the faint smoke from cooking fires curling into the sky.

When she reaches Indra, the scene is alive with motion. Warriors bustle about, securing weapons and armor. Indra stands in the middle of it all, sharp-eyed and commanding, her voice cutting through the noise as she barks orders.

Asha steps forward, her calm demeanor unshaken. "Ready to go."

Indra glances at her, her face unreadable but serious. "Good. We leave soon. Stay close."

"Do you trust them?" Asha asks Indra as they settle near their post close to Arkadia. A small fire crackles between them, its light dancing on the surrounding trees.

Indra stares into the flames, her expression unreadable. "Trust is earned, not given freely," she says, her voice calm but firm. "There are good people among them."

Asha nods slowly, turning Indra's words over in her mind. She knows her role as a healer is to focus on tending wounds, not questioning alliances, but curiosity still burns in her chest. "What do you think about them joining the coalition?"

Indra sighs, her gaze lifting to the sky. The stars shine brightly, untouched by the politics and conflicts below. "The coalition is fragile, and the commander knows it. Every clan has its own motives, and the Sky People are no different. If the commander allowed them to join, she has her reasons. We have to trust her."

Asha presses her lips together, caught between excitement and uncertainty. "I want to understand them. I've heard stories from warriors and travelers, but I want to hear from someone who has spoken to them, who knows what they're really like."

Indra turns to her, and for a moment, her stern features soften with the faintest hint of a smile. "You're not the only one with questions, Asha. You'll have your chance to learn more—once Azgeda is dealt with."

The fire crackles, sending a soft warmth through the cool night air. Asha feels her resolve strengthen, the desire to protect her people—and her sister—anchoring her. If the Sky People are part of the coalition now, they are part of the future she wants to safeguard.

"I will," she says, her voice steady. "I won't let you down."

Asha wakes to the sound of screams and gunfire. Her heart pounds as she scrambles up from the floor of her tent, fumbling in the dark for something—anything—she can use as a weapon. Her fingers brush against a small knife, but as she stares at it, her resolve falters. She's no warrior. What can she do with a knife against attackers with guns?

Leaving the blade behind, she steps outside. The moon hangs high above, casting an eerie glow over the carnage. Bodies litter the grass, blood pooling beneath them. There were only about 300 of them to begin with, and now it looks as if half their numbers are already gone, the survivors' screams piercing through the night.

"Healer!" a voice calls weakly, pulling Asha into action. She rushes toward the sound, dropping to her knees beside a bleeding warrior."Help me, please," he gasps.

"I will," Asha promises, her hands trembling as she presses against his wounds. Her mind races, struggling to process what's happening. Gunfire echoes in the distance, and each shot sends a shudder through her. "What is this? What's happening?"

"Sky People," another man groans from her left, his bloodied shirt clinging to his chest. "They killed our archers first. Now they're picking off the rest of us. Save yourself, girl."

"I'm not running," Asha says firmly, though tears blur her vision. "Hold on just a little longer."

The sound of heavy footsteps makes her heart leap. "Behind you!" someone shouts.

Asha spins around to see five figures charging toward her, guns raised. Her stomach churns at the sight of them—these weapons, these monsters, causing such devastation.

"Please, spare us," she begs, her voice cracking. Her hands shake as they hover over the wounded man beneath her.

"English!" one of them barks, the bald leader stepping closer and aiming his gun.

Asha's breath catches in her throat. Her mind flits to Lyra waiting for her at home, the hope in her sister's eyes when she promised to return. The thought steadies her, but only slightly.

One of the attackers fires. The bullet misses her by inches, instead finding its mark in the chest of the man she was trying to save. His body goes limp beneath her hands.

"Please," Asha whispers, folding her hands in a gesture of surrender. "We're wounded. We're not your enemies."

"Wounded or not, you'll come back for revenge," one of them sneers, leveling his weapon again.

Panic grips her, and Asha does the only thing she can think of—she runs. "She's running!" someone yells, but it doesn't matter.

A searing pain erupts in her shoulder. She stumbles, the world spinning around her, but sheer willpower pushes her forward. She has to find Indra. Dead or alive, she needs to know.

"Indra!" Asha shouts, her voice drowned out by the chaos. She weaves through the bodies and the wounded, her shoulder throbbing with each step. The acrid smell of smoke fills her lungs as she calls out again. "Indra!"

Finally, she sees her—a familiar figure slumped against a tree stump. Relief washes over her as she stumbles toward Indra, falling to her knees.

"Indra!"

Indra's sharp eyes flicker open, her face tight with pain. "Asha," she whispers, her voice strained. She notices Asha's wound but says nothing. "You're alive."

"For now," Asha replies, her hands moving to put pressure on Indra's bleeding side. Her own pain fades into the background, pushed aside by adrenaline. "Looks like we're matching."

"Lucky us," Indra says dryly. Her eyes harden. "Heda was wrong to trust them."

"She was," Asha agrees softly, glancing over her shoulder at the chaos behind them. "Do you know them? These Sky People?"

Before Indra can respond, Asha is yanked backward, her spine colliding hard against a log beside Indra. She gasps sharply, the impact leaving her momentarily dazed. When she opens her eyes, three Sky People stand over her. For a heartbeat, all she does is stare, an eerie calm settling over her. She's not afraid of her end anymore—she only hopes it will be quick.

The bald man with dark skin terrifies her the most, his hard, unyielding expression as sharp as the blade she left behind. The older woman with dark hair and cold eyes—the one who fired at her hands—watches her like she's deciding whether Asha's worth finishing off. Then there's the youngest of the three, a man around her age. His uncertainty stands out, his gaze not as sharp, his posture stiff, as though he's out of place in this massacre. The wolf that weeps after it kills is no better than the one that doesn't, she reminds herself bitterly. But something in his hesitation tugs at her, and she wonders if he's here against his will.

"Pike," Indra growls, her glare fixed on the bald man. His stance and the way the others defer to him make it clear he's the leader. "What are you doing?"

"Ending the coalition," Pike replies, his tone colder than the night air. "You can't be trusted."

Asha's gaze darts to the chaos surrounding them. Survivors, few and far between, cry out in agony, their blood soaking the ground. If only she could stand, if only she could reach them—

"Trusted?" Indra's voice drips with quiet fury, cutting through Asha's thoughts. "You attack an ally in the dead of night and call us untrustworthy?"

Asha feels a surge of strength at Indra's defiance. "You don't have to do this," she says calmly, though her hands shake.

"You're making a mistake, Pike." Indra's jaw tightens, her tone steely. "This attack will cost you more than you realize."

"Enough!" Pike snaps, silencing them with a glare. "You're a threat to my people, and I eliminate threats. Now, you'll pay." He gestures to the woman beside him. "Hannah. Ensure they're all dead."

Hannah nods without hesitation and starts to walk off, but the younger man steps forward. "Wait," he says firmly, "Sir, we've delivered our message. The wounded won't fight back. We can spare them."

Asha holds her breath as Pike narrows his eyes at him. "Please," she whispers, forcing herself to meet Pike's gaze. "Let us help the wounded."

Hannah rolls her eyes, her annoyance palpable. "This is a waste of time, Pike. Bellamy knows as well as I do—they'll turn on us the first chance they get."

"Sir," Bellamy presses, stepping closer. "Killing them all doesn't strengthen our position."

Pike raises a hand, silencing him. His glare flickers between Asha, Indra, and the others scattered across the camp. "Kill the wounded," he orders into his radio. A series of gunshots follows, punctuating his command.

He turns back to Asha and Indra, his eyes hard as steel. "And you're mine."

"Our fight is over," Indra mutters under her breath, her voice low enough for only Asha to hear.

Asha's lips tremble as she whispers, "Our fight is over," Her gaze drifts upward, toward the endless night sky.

"We should leave them alive to send a message to Lexa," Bellamy tries again despite Pike's growing irritation.

For a moment, Pike seems to consider his words, his fingers tapping against his radio. Finally, he speaks. "It's done. Prepare to head back to Arkadia."

"This is a mistake," Hannah mutters, shooting a glare at Asha. Her irritation is sharp, but Asha barely notices, her mind consumed by silent prayers. Hannah continues, her voice icy. "And we don't need two of them to send a message."

Pike's eyes narrow as he studies Asha, a calculating expression settling over his face. "This one's their healer," he says, nodding toward her. "If we kill her, and Indra dies from her injuries, it gains us nothing. They're both useful."

He crouches to their level, his voice dropping into a menacing whisper. "Tell your commander we reject her coalition. This is our land now. You can leave—or you can die."

Asha swallows hard, her pulse roaring in her ears. She feels Indra's shallow breaths beside her, each one a painful reminder of how close death looms. Despite her fear, Asha forces herself to meet Pike's gaze. She won't let him see her break.

"We'll tell her," she says hoarsely, her voice heavy with emotion. "But you'll regret this."

When Asha wakes, it's to the sound of someone yelling right beside her. Disoriented and groggy, she blinks, her vision blurred as she struggles to make sense of her surroundings. Slowly, the world sharpens, and she realizes two imposing figures are standing over her and Indra—Heda and Wanheda.

Asha freezes, her breath catching in her throat. Hastily, she pushes herself upright, biting back a cry as her injured shoulder protests the movement. She must have passed out from blood loss sometime during the night, and now the sun casts its pale morning light over the devastation around them. She bows her head slightly, offering a shaky nod of respect, though her pulse races with a mix of fear and awe.

She's heard the stories—everyone has—of Wanheda, the Commander of Death, but seeing her in person is something else entirely. She stands tall, her expression fierce and unyielding, yet there's something in her eyes that softens the edges of her presence. It's compassion, Asha realizes, faint but undeniable.

"Commander," Asha greets softly, her voice hoarse but steady as she nods toward Lexa. She hesitates when her gaze shifts to the blonde, unsure of the proper way to address her. "Wanheda," she adds quickly, careful to keep any trace of awe out of her tone.

She doesn't even glance her way. Her focus is locked on Indra's shoulder, peeling back the armor to examine the wound. Asha watches with a flicker of irritation—hurt, even—at being so completely ignored. She's injured too, and while she knows Indra's rank demands attention, the disregard feels personal.

"I need bandages!" Wanheda suddenly commands, her tone sharp and decisive, though Asha can't tell who she's addressing. It's certainly not her.

"Stay away," Indra rasps, her voice stronger now than the last time Asha heard it. Her sharp glare cuts through the air, directed squarely at the blonde. "You're one of them."

Clarke freezes, her hands hovering just above Indra's wound. The weight of Indra's words lingers, heavy and unspoken.

"Indra," Lexa interjects, her tone softer than Asha has ever heard, almost pleading. "Let Clarke help."

For a brief moment, Indra's gaze flickers to Lexa, torn between her loyalty and her anger. But the Commander's authority wins out, and Indra relaxes, albeit reluctantly. Clarke takes the bandages handed to her and begins treating Indra, her movements quick and efficient. It's only after Lexa seems satisfied with Clarke's work that she turns her attention to Asha.

"You're the healer from Trikru," Lexa states, her voice firm but not unkind when she turns to Asha. "What happened here?"

"They attacked while we slept," Indra says, her voice rough, filling the silence when Asha doesn't speak. Asha simply stares at the bodies strewn across the land, trying to remind herself that she was lucky to survive. Her hands tremble slightly as the reality of the massacre sets in. "Our watch was north, toward Azgeda," Indra continues, her tone growing harsher. "They killed our archers first; then our infantry couldn't get close. We didn't stand a chance."

"Then they executed the wounded," Asha adds quietly, her voice tinged with bitterness as she presses harder on her injured shoulder, trying to manage the pain herself. No one seems to notice her discomfort, and she feels an unwelcome surge of resentment. Of course, no one cares. With Indra here, Asha's presence is insignificant. Who cares for a healer when there's no one left to heal?

Clarke looks up briefly at Asha's words, but her focus quickly returns to Indra's shoulder. Asha shifts, feeling the ache in her shoulder grow worse, but she says nothing. There's no room for weakness here—not when everyone else is dead. "The summit was two days ago; how could Kane do this?"

"It wasn't Kane." Indra shakes her head. "It was Pike."

Realization seems to dawn on Clarke and Lexa, but Asha is as confused as before. She knows nothing of politics, nothing about who leads Skaikru. She saw Pike, Hannah, and Bellamy, and now knows of Kane.

"How did you escape?" Lexa asks, directing her question at both women.

"Bellamy," Indra explains, and Clarke frowns, questioning his presence with Pike and his army. "He wanted to spare the wounded, but Pike wouldn't listen."

"He convinced Pike to let us live so we could deliver a message to you, Commander." Asha watches Lexa exchange a look with Clarke, both dreading what she's about to say. "Skaikru rejects the coalition. This is their land now. We can leave, or we can die."

Enraged, Lexa stands and turns to her guard. "Send riders. I call upon the armies of the twelve clans. In a day's time, we lay waste to Arkadia and everyone within its walls."

Asha watches as Clarke argues with Lexa, mildly unintrested. The tension between them is palpable, but it feels distant, like something she's only half-invested in. This isn't her fight to argue against—it's her fight to support. These were her people. Some she had grown up with, shared meals with, laughed with. Now, they were gone, slaughtered in the night by those they had come to protect.

While she knows she won't be standing on the front lines, won't be given the honor of fighting alongside the warriors, Asha feels no hesitation in where her loyalty lies. She would gladly support the war, if only to see justice for her fallen people.

Indra, despite her weakened state, watches Asha out of the corner of her eye. "You did what you could," she says, quieter than before. "You tried to save lives today; you didn't run away to save yourself."

Asha glances at her, unsure if Indra's words are meant as comfort or just a statement of fact. Either way, they do little to ease the frustration swirling in her chest. "Not enough," she mutters, her gaze sweeping over the bodies scattered across the camp. "I couldn't save them."

"You did what a healer does," Indra argues, pressing on Asha's wound. It's the small gestures that matter. "You fought to keep them alive. The fault here lies with Pike."

Asha departs alone back to her village, Lexa returning to Polis with Indra and Clarke trying to address the problems in Arkadia. Asha isn't needed for the battles ahead, not now. She is ordered to go home, back to her village, back to the quiet life of healing and tending to her people. It should have been a relief.

But with each step away from the massacre, she feels the weight of everything that's happened pressing down on her. She's made trips far longer, far more challenging before, and yet, this one drains her. The physical pain in her shoulder is a dull throb, but it's nothing compared to the ache in her heart, the anger that gnaws at her.

She tries to focus on the path ahead, on the familiar forests and winding trails that will eventually lead her home, but her mind keeps circling back to what she's seen. The bodies of her people, the betrayal by the sky people, the cold, calculating way Pike had spoken. It all replays in her head, over and over again, until it's impossible to think of anything else.

Asha wants to be the one to kill him.

It's foolish, a thought she hasn't entertained in a long time. Every child grows up learning the ways of the sword, the bow, and the spear. In Trikru, becoming a warrior isn't just expected; it's a tradition woven deeply into their lives. To fight for your people proves your strength and worth. But not everyone follows that path. Some, like Asha, stray from it.

Asha had been good—exceptional, even. Praised for her agility, strength, and sharp instincts. She was destined to become something spectacular, so much so that even Indra and Anya took notice. It's rare to catch the attention of leaders like them, but Asha did. She received one of Indra's swords, a mark of her potential. It's the kind of honor any young warrior dreams of.

She watched as her friends, her family—recently, even her younger sister—took to the warrior's path with ease. They love the thrill of combat and the pride of defending their people, and she admires them for it. But for her, it feels wrong. The thought of wielding a weapon, of causing harm, twists her stomach. It's not that she is afraid, but there's something about taking life she cannot reconcile. The thought of it left her cold and disconnected from everything she had been taught to believe in.

So she laid down the sword and hasn't touched it since.

Asha chose healing instead. She found solace in her work, a different kind of strength in her hands. While her peers train for battle, she mends wounds, tends to the sick, and brings people back from the brink of death. It gives her meaning, and for a long time, she believed it is enough.

But now, as she walks alone through the woods, her shoulder still aching from the bullet wound, doubt creeps back in. Perhaps it is naive to think she can avoid the warrior's path forever. The healer's hands can only do so much in a world so full of war.

rewritten! haven't changed a lot so if u read if before feel free to skip!