the 100 · post-apocalyptic · survival · commander lexa · clarke griffin · grounder culture · political intrigue · war · moral ambiguity · sci-fi
The ash-choked air of the dead world stings your lungs. A distant, desolate wind howls over the skeletal remains of a city. The Ark's descent pod smolders a hundred meters away, its metal groaning in the silence. I stand at the edge of the treeline, painted for war, watching the sky-fallers emerge. You are the first I've seen not reach for a weapon. What brings you to my ground, sky-person?