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Meditation was Niylah’s only escape. It was an escape lost somewhere in the back of her mind—somewhere that remembered the smell of the trees in the wind. The place she brought herself to was the shack. It was her old home, wiped away into nothingness by the death wave. Everything she had there, even the memories were simply washed away by a vengeful earth. It’s a beautiful place of greens and browns. Once upon a time, Niylah was bored of those colors.. but after so much darkness and so much grey, those trees were all that Niylah wanted to see again.

She didn’t want a war, but times were different. Wonkru’s only hope was to take that valley. Niylah’s only chance to see the birds in the trees was in that valley. Octavia... she got them through so much. Over the years Niylah’s passive ways began melting away while the world grew colder. It made things easier to serve and follow blindly. It was something that she would have never considered before but now? She couldn’t help frowning at the thought. There was so much blood on their hands.

She liked to escape to that beautiful place with the fire and the furs. She missed the smell of tea on the fire and the feeling of Bell holding her through cold weather. It was a beautiful place to be but it was in the past. He was back here on earth and Niylah wanted to be happy. She wanted to be overjoyed, but how could he look at her the same after it all? It had been years. She didn’t think that he’d wait that long. She supposed she had, unconsciously. There was no room for love in this world. Not now.

The sound of boots on the med bay floor pulled Niylah from her trance, but when she looked up her day dream simply kept on going. “Bellamy,” she muttered under her breath as she let her legs fall off the side of the cot. She couldn’t look at him—not for more than a moment. Was it guilt? She wasn’t sure. “What do you need? Are you hurt?” Octavia probably wouldn’t mind her helping her brother out—even if he wasn’t Wonkru.

Her hesitant glance over was to check him for injuries but she’d missed him. She didn’t realize it, but she had forgotten what he looked like. Her memory held onto ghosts, but it wasn’t the same as seeing him in the flesh. Her heart seemed to seize with the lump in her stomach when he looked over those sweet brown eyes. He’d been the love of her life. But she was just... not that girl anymore.

They slept with a dozen other people in the bunker on thin cots with blankets made from recycled materials. After six years with no open windows or fresh air it was a stale smelling place mixed in with showerless days. On the wall beside Niylah’s bed, a splash of color broke the theme of grey. It was a mural of pictures, crudely drawn of oversized trees and rainbows. It was the world outside through the eyes of a child who had never actually seen it for himself. Apollo was quite the artist. Niylah’s sea blue eyes trailed over the pictures as she held her sleeping son against her chest. He was a thin boy who’d never known a good meal. He took up very little space on Niylah’s cot. Especially when she held him like this.

He was always so small. She worried about him, but the children were looked after. She hated seeing him train with the other kids. The tanned little thing could hold his own, but the days he couldn’t broke her heart. He was gentle and kind—hated hurting others. There was nothing intimidating about his big brown eyes or mess of deep brown curls. His freckles were always hidden under a layer of dust or chalk. He wanted to see the world; not fight in it.

The barracks were quiet and nearly empty now that the world had opened up. Niylah had left only momentarily, but she didn’t trust the situation. It was complicated. War. Nothing she wanted Apollo mixed in with. They had both watched Bellamy descend from the sky. The light had been so blinding that Apollo couldn’t watch it all. When she saw him, Niylah’s stomach had lurched with the need to see him; to show him their son. They’d had such a brief time together before the death wave—but it was too brief. Possibly too insignificant. If he rejected Apollo, surely it would upset him. The world was cruel. This one especially changed people.

She locked eyes with him so briefly when he finally hit the floor—but in the chaos of it all she made a quick getaway with Apollo glued to her hip under a cloak of black. It seemed silly... She had told Apollo about him. About how he was in space—about how she decided on his name. He knew him, and the stories that Bellamy would tell his little sister. Niylah didn’t hide Bellamy’s existence. In fact she was almost positive Apollo suspected it. She kept him underground—too afraid to leave. The world outside was not what they wanted it to be, after six years in the bunker.

Bellamy was in the center of it all. Niylah didn’t expect him to come looking for her. There was a time she’d have tracked him down herself but with their fate in the balance she was playing it safe. She still found it ironic—the god of sun trapped in the bunker. Now she was the one keeping him there.

The music seemed to roar; these alien electronics were able to create sound so loud it thundered in her heart. The laughs and babbling in the room was nearly as overpowering—but she could hear Bellamy as if they were the only ones there. As his words brushed her ear and his hands smoothed across her waist, she pressed closer against him. “Letting go suits you Bellamy,” she murmured while her fingers twirled through his locks and her hips continued to sway.

“You’re like Clarke; always so serious...” Niylah’s brows furrowed together for a moment. “But I don’t know who takes care of you... or if anyone does at all,” Her words trailed off with her thought, but the music blared on.

”Jok—“ Niylah stammered a little and straightened up, resting her hands on the back of his neck. ”What I mean is—I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re not alone trying to solve the inevitable—even though I know you want to.” Her words were gentle, she was afraid they’d be carried away by the music. ”I want to help. I want to take care of you. Even if that means getting you high, drunk—even if that means finding a woman—man,” she smirked a little bit to herself, knowing by the way her heart was flipping in her chest she’d be willing to spend the night with him. ”Live like me,” she teased gently as she backed up and twirled under his arm like she’d seen a few others do. ”For the moment; not the outcome.”