Eclipse (/əˈklips/):
[ 𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯]: 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩

── ⋆⋅☾☼⋅⋆ ──

Judith's POV

The phrase 'just like your father' has always rotted my mouth, blackening my tongue and decaying my teeth.

The idea, and the undeniable betrayal that comes with it, looms over me like a shadow, haunting every decision I make. The stories of betrayal within my family have woven a web of fear so thick that it overshadows even the most violent thunderstorms. Thunderstorms that usually leave me paralyzed in fear.

The betrayal of my biological father, Shane, cuts deepest, a wound that refuses to heal, festering deep within me. His urge to betray my family twisted and mangled deep in him until he began to lose his mind, nearly killing my dad and ruining my mother in the process.

Betrayal is a looming and inevitable obstacle I have always feared, a drooling beast lurking in the depths of my mind, hissing that I'm just like my biological father, and it's just a matter of time.

That no matter what, in this world, betrayal will happen. Whether it's by me or to me.

And it was right.

But now, as I stand face to face with my betrayer, my widened eyes stinging with tears and lungs searing with each shuddering breath, I never could've imagined this is how it would happen.

Never.

- Six months earlier -

Seething anger thrashes in my chest, the mangled darkness I've begun accustomed to thrumming beneath my clenched fists as I storm through the halls with determination. The paper clutched in my death-grip crinkles with protest as my boots slam on the linoleum floors, echoing with the rapid pounding of my heart.

Rounding the corner, my jaw clenched and chest heaving, I find my target and the two guards standing outside it. Guards I know the man beyond the door detests with his very being. Despite the distaste, they shadow him nonetheless, following the orders of the few people who rank above him.

The younger guard looks up in alarm, immediately reaching his gun as he sees a seething soldier stalk toward the office of the man he needs to protect. But the older guard, one I've gotten to know over the years, reaches out to stop him, nudging his head at me to go ahead.

I nod at him briefly before wrenching open my uncle's office door, not bothering to knock, my blistering anger making the false pleasantry impossible.

With a start, the second man who raised me looks up with wide eyes, his expression flickering when his gaze drops to the paper in my hand.

"Ass-kicker-"

"Are you fucking kidding?" I demand wildly, my voice raised as I slam the paper on his dark wooden desk, the anger and adrenaline surging dangerously through my veins as I stand before him.

The dust-ridden air of Daryl's office suffocates me as I fight back tears, my chest rising and falling rapidly with each scalding breath. I stare at the man I thought I could trust, my trembling mouth downturned with disgust.

Daryl sighs heavily, looking down at the assignment sheet for a moment, his fist which was resting on the table surface now clenching. "I'm not exactly happy either-"

"D'you realize what he'll do to me?" I question breathlessly, my eyes widened with less anger now, getting eclipsed by frigid panic as I blink back hot tears.

I close my stinging eyes for a moment, my eyebrows crinkling together tightly. I can't. I can't be his goddamn soldier.

Of all the commanders fate could have tied me to, it just had to be Derek fucking Smith.

I flinch involuntarily at the sudden hug my uncle envelops me in, his warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread gripping my heart. With every fiber of my being, I fight the urge to dissolve into tears, clinging desperately to the tattered shreds of my composure.

"He'd have to be the dumbest damn kid in Alexandria to hurt you. It'd be suicide for 'im," Daryl assures me gruffly, but the storm raging within me refuses to be calmed by his comfort, its relentless intensity threatening to consume me whole.

Kid.

That 'kid' is a 24-year-old psychopath.

A cold-blooded war machine who enlisted in the Force at sixteen, earning himself the nickname 'The Soldier' with his unmatched combat ability, deadly shooting, and ever-growing kill count. And for the past three years, since he became a commander, no one has beaten him on the sparring mat.

To some, he's an inspiration of raw power, to others, he's a desirable yet somehow always unavailable man, and to me, he's terrifying.

A man with skills honed to lethal perfection and a kill count rumored to be in the triple digits. A man who also happens to want me and every other Grimes walking around the community dead.

And now he's my direct superior.

Feeling overwhelmed, I push off the comforting warmth of my beloved uncle, shaking my head as I retreat, my arms wrapped around my torso.

"He'll torture me," I rasp out the words, my voice strained as I fixate on the worn wooden floorboards, tracing the multitude of scratches etched into its surface, wondering why the Force's Captain doesn't have a better office. But knowing Daryl, he doesn't like flashy things and refuses to upgrade.

"All commanders torture their cadets. You got assigned to 'im because of your skills, you know that's how it works. He got the best team so it should be a compliment," Daryl explains simply, his deep timbre making me slowly look up, dragging my eyes from the floor to meet the sincere expression of the older man.

A wave of nausea washes over me, bile and something worse rising in my throat, something far more acidic. "Being forced to serve under the son of the man who tortured you, Mom, and your wife, who is hell-bent on killing me is far from being a fucking compliment. Don't hide behind that lie like you hid in Negan's cell- like a goddamn coward," I snarl, that familiar darkness in my chest growing, being fed by the rage coursing through me, silently encouraging me to say the worst possible thing - urging me to unleash it all on Daryl, to make him feel worse than I do.

Daryl's eyes flicker with a fleeting hurt as he averts his gaze, and the weight of my words crashes on me, slamming me with guilt. With a sharp inhale, I shrink back, the shame of my outburst heavy in my chest.

"I'm sorry," the words escape my lips in a whisper, laden with remorse.

Daryl sighs heavily. "Go to your assignment Cadet. I'm sure you're goin' to scare the kid more than he could you with that foul mouth of yours," Daryl breathes, the slight joking in his tone sending relief surging through me.

No matter what poison I spit at him, Daryl's never genuinely affected by it. I never have to worry about that with him.

Struggling to suppress the lingering guilt gnawing at my spine, I nod in acknowledgment, mustering the resolve to salute before making my exit. Daryl's smile, though strained, conveys a silent understanding before he waves me off.

With each stride away from my uncle's office, the gnawing fear rears its ugly head once more, a visceral reminder that I'm marching toward my inevitable death.

── ⋆⋅☾☼⋅⋆ ──

My fist connects with the rough leather, sending a jolt of pain rippling through my knuckles and up my arm. Clenching my jaw, I refuse to yield, using the pain to fuel my gnawing hatred, striking the punching bag harder.

Air sears my lungs like hot iron, burning with each breath as I relentlessly pummel the punching bag, the repeated thud of my knuckles against leather echoing through the training hall. Beads of sweat dot my heaving chest as I lose myself in the rhythmic assault, the dull ache of overworked muscles nagging at my consciousness.

Each strike against the bag becomes a cathartic release, an outlet for the bitterness of betrayal and the sting of injustice that festers within me. The thumps of my fists and leather colliding drown out all other thoughts but one- my new commander.

Thump.

Derek's face flashes behind my eyes, igniting a flame from anger that coils within me, pushing my next punch with more power.

Thump.

His face, twisted with an arrogant smirk haunts my mind, fueling the deformed anger constricting my ribcage.

Thump.

As beads of sweat trickle down my brow, the suffocating reality that I'm trapped sinks in. That he has the full right and endless opportunity to fucking torture me.

The mere reminder rips the darkness from the depths of my mind and unleashes it through my veins. I feel it coursing through me, strengthening my blows and setting my skin on fire.

I hear the beast hissing at me, urging me to lose it, to let the anger thrash out.

To give in.

Thump thump.

I grit my teeth as images of his brutality flood my mind, darkening the madness thrumming beneath my skin. Every time I see him, he has new bruises, cuts, or split knuckles from his fights. Every time, without fail.

Thump.

The edges of my vision darken at the thought of the repulsive brute who gets off on others' suffering.

Just like his fucking father.

Thump.

I stagger back, the force of my last punch reverberating through my chest. Cradling my throbbing hand, I wince at the impact of my strength, blinking slightly in surprise.

Swallowing hard and regretting not wrapping my hands, I cast a wary glance at my reddened knuckles, my heart pounding against my ribcage. Each heaving breath cuts through me like a shard of glass, my shirt clinging to my damp skin

A flicker of fear slithers down my spine, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurks within me, ready to consume me if I let it.

I need to do better. Be better.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I catch my breath, my breathing beginning to slow as I calm myself down. I've been able to suppress this for years. It's okay.

I can control it.

Nodding to my words, I exhale slowly, my fingers inching toward the near-permanent necklace that lies under my tight black shirt, knowing it will calm me down better than anything else. The tangible piece of light that pulls me away from the darkness, from the madness.

I'll be better.

𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙢𝙚... the voice taunts me from within my mind, his horrific familiarity making me physically recoil, a whimper escaping my lips.

Stumbling back a step from the punching bag, I shake my head vehemently, my chest heaving as I swallow gulps of air desperately, eyes wide.

No, no, no- not again.

I forcefully shove the voice back into the depths of my mind, refusing to let him take over.

Push it back down. Push him down.

"J!" a very different and very real voice calls out from behind me, jolting me back to reality with the sharp crash of the door being thrown open.

Whirling around, my eyes wide and cheeks burning, a smile of relief tugs at my mouth at the familiar two figures in the doorway of the training hall.

"Jesus, Jude, where've you been?" Maliah questions with frustration as she and Finn jog over to meet me.

Before I can muster a response, Finn doesn't miss a beat, closing the distance between us in determined strides and enveloping me in a tight hug, lifting me ever so slightly off the ground. A surprised gasp escapes my lips as I hug him back gingerly, the fluttering sensation in my stomach impossible to ignore as my cheeks flush even hotter.

Finn.

"Smith isn't going to lay a hand on you. I will not let that happen," Finn assures me determinedly, his voice rumbling beside my ear, sending a wave of comfort through me.

"I'm not sure you get a choice-" I begin to reply against his perfect shoulder, my hands only just resting on the muscles of his back.

Finn quickly releases me, his hands lingering on my shoulders, his gaze locked with mine, brimming with unwavering resolve. I find myself unable to say a word, my heart now pounding for an entirely different reason as I blink at him in surprise.

Something about his tanned skin peppered with moles, his nearly-black long curls, and his deep brown eyes I could stare into for hours just... gets me. The softness in the way he looks back into my boring eyes, the way he's always protected me, cared about me.

"Walkers are gonna rip me apart before I let him hurt you. You know that." Finn snaps fiercely, the warmth of his hands burning on my already searing hot skin.

"You're too bright- too good to let that fucker bring you down," he reaffirms, his words piercing the haze of uncertainty clouding my mind, prompting a hesitant nod from me, my throat tight with emotion.

"Right," I breathe dumbly, struggling to think coherently with the man I've been pining after for seven years staring into my soul. Quickly averting my eyes with a pang of guilt, I remind myself I'm nowhere near as good as he sees me.

Finn gently releases me, bringing a strange relief with his hands off me, no longer overwhelming me with his touch.

"He's right Jude, but hey- we're all in the same team. We can help you," Maliah says encouragingly, making me look over to my good friend with a grateful smile. She smiles warmly back at me, her jet-black hair braided over her shoulder, her emotion-filled eyebrows knitting together with empathy.

She's right.

Thankfully, the three of us and a couple of other soldiers I don't know well got assigned to Derek's team. Dubbed the "First Squad," it earned its somewhat uninspired name simply for being the best. And it is the best.

The best for everyone who isn't a Grimes.

This is because the leader of the illustrious team isn't just a psychopathic war machine but also the son of one of the worst adversaries my family fought against. The adversary who escaped our captivity fifteen years ago, his son by his side.

Negan Smith.

Negan's been on the run after disappearing, unable to be found no matter how desperately my aunt and uncle searched. Then, eight years ago, Derek turned up, claiming he 'escaped' from the remaining Saviors and his father.

After giving us a location for Negan that turned up to be deserted, the former wives who raised Derek back at the Sanctuary convinced us to let him stay. Despite him never giving us any valuable information to go off on and barely speaking about what he went through at the Sanctuary to make him want to "escape."

But because he's a good fighter and a disturbingly talented sharpshooter, Derek's been able to raise the ranks of the Force. A snake, slithering through the grass that keeps our community safe. A snake I can do absolutely nothing about.

There's always been a bitter taste of distrust surrounding Derek Smith throughout the community. It's common knowledge that Derek Smith always has, and always will, hate Alexandrians.

Especially the Grimes.

While he hasn't technically done anything suggesting loyalty to his father, the potential of betrayal remains—a constant reminder of what Spencer did to my mom. Spencer, who pretended to be someone my mom could trust while actually working with her abuser.

The fear of a similar betrayal festers within me, a gnawing sensation that threatens to become reality the moment I set foot in the confining confines of our new assignment.

"Thank god for you two," I mumble gratefully, glancing between my supportive friends, their expressions torn with a sympathy that turns my stomach.

They also know just how much danger I'm in.

I've heard the other cadets who worked under Derek whisper about how one word about me, or anyone else in the Grimes family, is immediately shut down and replaced with extra exercise as a punishment.

When I first found out the news of my assignment a couple of hours ago, standing in the hallway outside the cafeteria and staring blankly at the news bulletin, one of the former First Squad members patted my back and apologized. Apologized.

"Come on, we should pack," Maliah says softly, her hand on my upper back to guide me away from the punching bag.

With a heavy sigh, I comply, my muscles sore and my feet slightly dragging as I run my hands over my face in an attempt to steady my nerves.

Pull yourself together, Grimes.

"What happened?" Finn asks with concern as we leave the training area, his eyes fixed on my swollen knuckles, eyebrows knitted together and mouth pulled down.

Feeling a pang of embarrassment, I exhale sharply, flexing my hand and putting on a dismissive smile. "Just got a bit carried away training I guess," I admit sheepishly, avoiding his gaze and focusing instead on the walls of the training center as we make our way back to our quarters.

"Be more careful, okay? I hate seeing you hurt," Finn murmurs, his words stirring a flicker of hope within me that just maybe his concern extends beyond our near decade-long friendship.

Forcing a smile back, I nod. "Yes sir," I reply teasingly, turning my head with a grin to see Finn roll his eyes, running his tongue on the inside of his cheek. The corner of his mouth turns up with a begrudging smile that has my stomach clenching and my heart racing once again.

"I doubt Derek's gonna kill you because you're a Grimes, it's that damn attitude of yours that'll get you throttled," Maliah comments, her words laced with a smirk that has me scoffing with outrage before shoving her lightly, laughter bubbling up between us.

"Oh shut up," I grit out, shaking my head with a grin.

Maliah chuckles as she moves towards the door of our female-only quarters. Finn and I slow, knowing this is where he separates to go to grab his ransack from his bunk.

"Meet you on the walk over?" Finn asks us, his eyes darting between me and Maliah. I swear those deep brown eyes linger on me a second longer, making my heart twist. With a grin, I nod in confirmation.

"Obviously," Maliah mutters, opening the door and leading the way into our bunks, her sarcasm earning an exasperated scoff from Finn.

Glancing back over my shoulder, I shoot Finn one final look before disappearing into the room.

── ⋆⋅☾☼⋅⋆ ──

The sun is sinking past the rusted walls of the massive community as us cadets walk the trek from the barracks on the far east side of New Alexandria to the heart of the original community, where the townhomes reside.

With every agonizing step in the sluggish August heat, I curse whatever idiot decided that we need to live in the townhomes of Old Alexandria.

The walk from the Force's grounds to the townhomes spans nearly five miles. Five miles that we'll soon come to know intimately through daily treks for training.

It feels like a deliberate choice, another hurdle to overcome in our journey towards becoming part of the elite. Just another weeding-out method.

This is the first one. Those who don't qualify for the twenty Cadet positions become grunt soldiers. Like the ones standing guard for Daryl, patrolling the wall, or walker duty.

The rest of us are trained for either leadership positions within Alexandria or, if you're ambitious, the CRM. Since its reformation after the original CRM's near-genocide, it's become the place to go if you're serious about being a soldier.

It's no doubt where Derek wants to go. And he's on track, going on his third year now of leading the best squad in Alexandria. And those at the CRM won't know that he's the spawn of Satan.

As we trudge through the streets of Alexandria, getting closer to the townhomes, the excited talk of the other cadets grates my nerves. Their enthusiastic voices, filled with anticipation, only serve to deepen the pit of envy gnawing at my core.

I wish I had their enthusiasm, to feel that same spark of hope igniting within me, but I can't, overshadowed by the knowledge of what waits for me in the final townhome on the block.

The weight of that impending dread threatens to swallow me whole, casting a wave of darkness over my mind. But, just before it threatens to consume me, a gentle touch interrupts the downward spiral.

A familiar hand intertwines with mine, its warmth a balm against the turbulent storm raging within me. A fleeting smile tugs at my lips as I turn my head and meet Finn's reassuring gaze, his silent encouragement a lifeline that I desperately cling to.

He's always been my rock. His unwavering support and friendship have been constants in my life, helping keep that darkness at bay. I'm eternally grateful he's here with me, knowing that with him, I am not alone.

Yet, even as I draw strength from Finn's hand in mine, a bitter realization settles deep in my gut. Despite his unwavering loyalty and protectiveness, there's only so much he can do.

Especially Finn. He's the perfect soldier, always playing by the rules. A natural leader, someone who values the society my family has built and kept running - a good man.

Derek, on the other hand, bends the rules to his will and snakes around the grey areas of our society, doing everything the way he pleases.

A surge of resentment courses through me, hot and visceral, threatening to overwhelm the fragile peace within me that Finn put in place. I clench my jaw in a futile attempt to contain the simmering rage, surprised Finn hasn't yanked his hand back, his goodness being scaled by my dark rage.

Yet, Finn's hand remains in mine.

Ahead, two unfamiliar soldiers and Maliah lead the way to our designated townhome, the other cadets disappearing into the confines of their respective new homes. My chest tightens with apprehension as we draw nearer, prompting me to steal a glance over my shoulder. In the distance, just past the trees, the comforting glow of my childhood home lit up in the dwindling evening light beckons me, stirring a longing within me to return to the warm embrace of my family.

Just knowing my mom, dad, and younger brother are in there now soothes me more than anything else could.

They're so close.

Memories flood my mind of all the laughter, pancake Saturdays, and love shared inside those familiar walls. It's been too long since I've seen them, my former role of a grunt recruit keeping me apart from them. But now, as a cadet, I get to freely leave and visit family as much as I want, the idea immediately comforting me.

I'll surprise them tomorrow.

But before I can think more about the warmth of my family, Finn's firm grip on my hand violently yanks me back to the present, gently pulling me up the front stairs of the townhome. The brief relief is immediately compressed into a tight ball of anxiety that lodges in my throat as Finn leads me up the steps.

Inhaling a preparing breath, I slowly force my feet up the stairs, glancing up at the brick facade of the building, wondering why people used to put so much effort into the aesthetics of buildings Before. It seems like such a waste.

To my disappointment, Finn lets go of my hand as we walk in, holding the front door open for me as I slip past him. Stepping into a small entryway, my eyes flit around the clean white walls and the steep staircase that will take us up to the many levels above.

A sense of apprehension grips me as I take in my new home for the next year of my life.

If I make it that far.

Finn's hand gently rests on the small of my back, a subtle reassurance as he steers me towards the adjacent living room where the others wait. Just having Finn's hand on my lower back ignites a flurry of conflicting emotions within me that I struggle to suppress.

But those fluttery feelings quickly go away.

Because as I cross the threshold of the living room, my eyes instinctively flit up, immediately locking with the cold hazel irises of his.

A paralyzing dread coils in the pit of my stomach as I take in the sight of Negan Smith's towering son, standing at an intimidating six-foot-three. Just an inch taller than his father, the man is Negan reincarnate. An arrogant, destructive, and relentless adversary that has plagued my family for far too long.

And now I'm in the same room as him. With nowhere to go. For twelve fucking months.

Derek's indifferent gaze flicks down to Finn's guiding hand on my lower back, and I catch a flicker of dry amusement in his gaze before he dismissively rolls his eyes. It sends a frustrating and uncontrollable whip of embarrassment through me, leaving me gritting my teeth.

Derek stands with his back to the empty fireplace, arms crossed and legs casually parted, authority emanating from him. His Force-regulated black t-shirt accentuates the ridges of the well-earned muscles of his biceps, eliciting a gulp from me. And not from the way some women look at him, but a gulp of sheer fear, knowing full well he would gladly use those muscles to wring my neck.

"Come in Cadets, sit down. I don't bite," Derek drawls tiredly in his deep, grating voice that sends a chill down my spine. Gulping, I begin to move, heading to the couch that Maliah is already sitting on.

"Yet," Derek adds, making me look up to see a smirk curling the corner of his mouth, his hazel eyes trained on me.

Shit.

── ⋆⋅☾☼⋅⋆ ──

A/N: How do we feel so far? I cannot wait for what I have planned hehe