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The stories begin to spread from village to village - rumours of two women who travel together and bring destruction wherever they go. Word spreads and the death toll supports the tales whispered to children at night. Two women have decimated whole villages and brought armies to their knees. Two women who know no other language other than grief, rage and vengeance. They are merciless and nothing will appease them. Mothers tell their children to avoid running off at night - that it is their domain and if a goufa ventures out, they will never return.
The rivers of blood stretch from Polis and slowly, slowly trickle down to Arkadia.
The villagers speak of Wanheda in hushed tones. They say she commands an army of ghosts, that Heda Lexa walks amongst them. They say that Wanheda’s heart turned to stone when her love was slain. They say she will rest when the Twelve clans have been razed to the ground - when Arkadia has been bled dry.
The villagers whisper of her general - just as ruthless, just as stone-hearted as her Commander. She takes particular pleasure in prolonging the pain Skaikru feel before she executes them with a shot to the head.
They relish the kills.
Wanheda with Heda’s old sword and her General with the weapon that killed her beloved.
Kane knows they’ll come for Arkadia. He knows they won’t be appeased until they’ve immolated everything - razed it all to the ground. Arkadia has created its own destruction and he can’t help but feel relief. They’ve created a force that should have never been.
Clarke and Octavia have lost everything and now vengeance is all they know.