Silent Moments: Book One (The 100)

Chapter 22

 The camp was a hive of activity, buzzing with the words of Chancellor Jaha emanating from the large monitor, expertly rigged by Raven. "My friends, today marks a historic Unity Day! We commemorate our ancestors' unification of the 12 stations into the Ark. But this year is special; it's our last celebration aboard. Next year, we'll be reunited on Earth," Jaha's voice echoed, booming with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation.

Miller, visibly irritated, muttered under his breath, "Great, after we've done all the dirty work. Someone, please turn him off."

I couldn't help but chuckle at his cynicism. "Why don't you just tune out, Miller? It's not like anyone's forcing you to listen," I quipped, trying to inject some light-heartedness into the tense atmosphere.

Jaha continued, his voice taking on a reverential tone. "For 97 long years, we've clung to life, harboring the hope that one day our descendants would walk the Earth again."

In stark contrast to Jaha's solemnity, Jasper burst onto the scene, brimming with excitement and carrying a jug of homemade moonshine. "Whoo! Yeah, Monty's magic strikes again! Let's call this batch 'unity juice'!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious. The crowd quickly swarmed around him, their eyes lighting up at the prospect of some illicit libation. While everyone was distracted, I noticed Octavia sneaking out toward the gate, her movements swift and surreptitious. A pang of curiosity struck me – what could she be up to? Perhaps chasing some fanciful dream or forbidden rendezvous?

Meanwhile, Jaha's voice continued to fill the air. "To our brave children on Earth, your resilience inspires us. The first Exodus ship launches in under 60 hours with reinforcements. Hold on; help is on its way."

However, the connection to the Ark was abruptly severed during the Unity Day pageant, causing a ripple of panic to spread through the camp. But the anxiety was quickly drowned by the allure of Monty's 'unity juice.' For a brief moment, the constant threat of the Grounders seemed a world away. We were here, on Earth, living in the now – a fleeting, albeit reckless, escape from reality. Clarke approached, her brow furrowed with concern. "The comms are still down. They cut out during the pageant," she informed Raven, her voice laced with unease.

I was standing near Bellamy, not by choice but by circumstance. Our views on handling conflict were poles apart. Bellamy seemed to believe that escalating violence was the solution, whereas I feared it would only lead us down a path of endless strife. Sure, I'd defend our camp if needed, but I wasn't eager to provoke a fight.

"Best Unity Day ever," Bellamy said, a smug grin plastered on his face, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents of tension around him.

"Really, Bellamy? Party time when there's a potential threat lurking out there?" Clarke questioned, skepticism apparent in her tone.

"Grounders," Bellamy corrected her, his voice laced with a hint of nonchalance. "By now, our escapee friend is probably rallying a mob. But relax, security's under control. Go grab a drink, Clarke. You look like you need one."

"I could use a few," Clarke replied, her laughter mingling with a rare hint of vulnerability.

I shook my head in silent disapproval and walked away. Despite my love for Clarke, her recent choices were troubling. The introduction of guns felt like a step backward, a dangerous echo of our ancestors' mistakes. Why couldn't she see that? Feeling overwhelmed, I decided to follow Octavia's trail, suspecting she might be seeking out the Grounder. My tracking skills, honed with Finn's guidance, led me straight to the Grounder's cave. Clutching the knife he had once used against me, I made my way through the dense forest. As I neared the cave, a surprising scene unfolded before me – Octavia and the Grounder, locked in an intimate embrace. My presence was betrayed by the accidental snap of a twig underfoot.

"Kegan!" Octavia's voice rang out, startled. The Grounder, instinctively protective, brandished his knives, positioning himself between Octavia and me.

Raising my hands in a peaceful gesture, I hoped to defuse the tension. "Lincoln, wait! He's my friend!" Octavia hastily intervened, her words bridging the gap of mistrust.

I slowly presented him with the knife, noting the slight widening of his eyes – a subtle sign of recognition. "I believe this belongs to you," I said, watching as he cautiously lowered his weapons.

He led us down into his cavernous hideout, the air thick with unspoken questions. Octavia's gaze was sharp, her voice tinged with hostility. "What brings you here?"

"I might ask the same of you. And when did you find out he speaks English?" I prodded, picking up the acid foghorn.

"You used this to warn us?" I asked Lincoln. He nodded silently, his gesture a quiet acknowledgment of his life-saving act.

"I stabbed you," Lincoln spoke, his voice rough yet tinged with remorse.

"And we tortured you," I countered solemnly. "Yet here we are, talking. Maybe there's a chance for peace after all. We have to learn from the past, not repeat it."

Octavia's skepticism was palpable. "And how do we make that happen?"

"First, we stop the killing," I declared firmly.

Lincoln shook his head. "I'm not in a position to call a truce."

"Then let's find someone who can," I suggested, determined. "Listen, the Ark is sending down soldiers soon. If they feel threatened, they'll wage war. We need to show them that peace is possible before it's too late."

After a moment of contemplative silence, Lincoln nodded in agreement. "Bring your leader; I'll bring mine."

"Bellamy?" Octavia sneered, her disbelief evident.

"No, not him," Lincoln stated, turning his gaze to me.

"Clarke," I affirmed, and he nodded in understanding. A fragile hope for peace had been kindled, and it was up to us to nurture it into reality.