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The great hall of the Polis was full of bowed heads.
In the torch-lit expanse, the bright banners of the twelve clans hung limp, their silence a stark contrast to the blood-soaked roar of the conclave.
At the front, on the high dais, Lexa stood, clad in black-and-red armor of the Heda.
Titus raised his staff. "Behold!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone.
"The Konklave is ended! The spirit of the Commander has chosen! Behold, Lexa kom Trikru, Heda of the Twelve Clans!"
One by one, the clan ambassadors and their entourages, as was custom, knelt.
The Trishanakru knelt.
The Floukru knelt.
The Azgeda delegation, their faces white with fury. A tall, scarred man stared at Lexa, his eyes burning with hatred. He had seen his clan's champion, Rai, brought back from the pit in pieces.
He held the look for a beat too long.
Mike, standing to the right of the throne, let his hand rest on the hilt of his sidearm.
The prince saw the movement. He saw the Blad-de-Trikru, the man who had leapt into the pit, the ghost who had faced down the Flamekeeper.
His lip curled. But he, too, knelt.
Anya, standing to the left of the throne, met Mike's gaze. A single, shared look passed between them. This is not the end. It is a beginning.
And so began a new chapter in the world of the Grounders.
Lexa ruled with an iron fist. But it was an iron fist, for the first time, guided by a heart that had something to lose.
The first month was a storm.
"The blood-feuds will end," she declared, her voice ringing from the throne, at her first official council. "The cycle of vengeance, Jus drein jus daun, has bled us for generations. It will no longer be the only law. From this day, any clan that raises arms against another, without a valid reason and sanction from the Heda, will be declared an enemy of all."
The ambassadors, the chiefs... they were stunned. This was not how things were done.
The new Azgeda ambassador, the same spiteful prince, was the first to speak. He laughed. "The Ice Nation does not take orders on vengeance, Heda. Our blood-feud with the Trishanakru is ours to settle. We will not be stopped by a... Trikru girl... and her new ideas."
The hall went deathly silent. This was a direct, public challenge.
Lexa did not move. She did not raise her voice. She simply looked to her right, to the silent, blue-and-orange figure standing in the shadows.
"Blade," she said, her voice soft. "Your thoughts?"
Mike, his mask on, stepped forward.
His voice, electronic and cold, filled the room. "My thought, Heda," he crackled, "is that rebellion is a weed. You do not just cut the leaves. You must burn the root."
Lexa nodded, her face impassive. "Then go," she said, her voice like ice. "Take Indra. Take fifty Trikru. Go to the Azgeda border. Burn the root."
The Azgeda prince's face went white. He had not expected this. He had not expected his words to be met with an immediate declaration of war. He started to stammer, to backtrack.
But Mike was already walking out.
One week later, the Azgeda prince was dragged back into the throne room, his fine furs torn, his face a mass of blood and bruises. He was thrown to the stone floor at Lexa's feet.
Mike stood over him.
"The Azgeda border villages have been... soothed, Heda," he reported, his voice casual. "Their raiding parties have been dismantled. Their 'blood-feud' is... resolved. They understand the new law."
Lexa looked down at the prince. "Do you?"
The prince, trembling, pressed his forehead to the stone. "Sha, Heda." (Yes, Commander.)
This was how the world came to know Heda Lexa. Brutal. Decisive. Strong. And, inseparably, at her side: the Blad-de-Trikru. Her sword, her shield, and her lover.
But only a few in Polis, and the entire village of Trikru, knew the true Lexa.
Titus had almost lost his mind.
It was a week after the "hammering" of Azgeda. He had been summoned to the Heda's private chambers, a place of maps and strategy.
"Heda, you cannot just... leave!" he sputtered, his face crimson.
Lexa, who was calmly packing a simple leather satchel, didn't look up. "I am. I will be conducting a 'patrol' of the southern territories."
Titus threw his hands up. "A patrol! For two days? Every single week? A Heda does not go on patrol! You are needed here! To... to command!"
"I am commanding," Lexa said, finally turning to him. Her eyes were cold. "I am commanding you to run Polis while I am gone."
"This is unseemly!" Titus pressed, desperation in his voice. "And... and him!" He gestured to the doorway, where Mike was leaning, arms crossed, watching the show with a small, amused smirk.
"He divides his time! Half here, half in Trikru! A Heda's consort... her Blade... he should be here, at your side!"
Lexa's face turned to ice. She rounded on the Flamekeeper, her voice a low, lethal whisper. "He is not my consort, Titus. He is the Blad-de-Trikru, a sovereign leader of his clan, by title, with a rank equal to my own. I am his wife. And as a husband, he has to be with both his wives."
Titus looked at Lexa. He looked at the grinning, scarred giant in the doorway. He looked at the ceiling, as if praying to the First Commanders for strength. He let out a long, suffering sigh. "The traditions... Heda, your heart..."
"My heart is why I am Heda," she'd snapped. "Get used to the new traditions, old man."
And so, the new normal was set.
For Mike, it was a strange, beautiful, and perfectly balanced life.
For three days, he was in Trikru. He was Blad-de-Trikru, and he was Anya's husband. He would wake with her, their bed too large, too empty on Lexa's side. He and Anya would rule together, their quiet, domestic partnership a source of strength for the whole village. But there was always an ache, a missing piece.
Then, on the fourth day, he would ride to Polis. The reunion, every single time, was a quiet explosion. He would enter the Heda's chambers, past the guards who now bowed to him, to find Lexa, the Iron Commander, waiting. The second the door was sealed, the Heda was gone, and Lexi was in his arms, her kiss desperate, her body melting against his.
On the fifth day, they would leave. They would ride out of Polis, the Heda and her Blade, on "patrol." And Mike would watch, every week, as her mask of command melted away with every mile, the closer they got to the Trikru woods.
The weekends... the weekends were theirs.
Friday night, they would arrive in Tonas. Anya would be waiting. The reunion of the three of them was a thing of pure, joyous, chaotic energy. They would spend their time together. All their time. They ate together, a tangle of limbs at the fire. They laughed with Indra, Nyko, and Lincoln, who were now their inner, trusted circle.
And at night... at night, the tent was a sanctuary, a place where the Heda, the Chief, and the Blade vanished, and it was just Lexi, Anya, and Mikky.
They rediscovered each other every weekend. They were, as Lexa had joked, "fucking like rabbits," as if to make up for the five days they were forced to be apart.
On the seventh day, Sunday, the mood would grow somber. They would ride with Lexa to the border, and the parting was always a small, sharp pain. She would become the Heda again, her face settling into its mask, and ride back to her capital.
And so another month passed.
It was now the afternoon of the fourth day. A Thursday. Mike had just arrived in Polis an hour ago.
Lexa sat on the high, carved-wood throne, her face a mask of bored indifference, as the ambassadors from Sankru and Delfikru argued, again, about fishing rights on the Blue River.
Mike stood in his usual spot, his arms crossed. He was just... waiting.
"Enough," Lexa's voice cut through the bickering. "Your claims are identical. Share the river. You are dismissed."
The two ambassadors, unable to do anything, bowed and left.
The second the massive stone doors thudded shut, Lexa's shoulders slumped. She let her head fall back against the throne with a groan.
"Gods," she sighed. "I hate them. I hate fishing. I hate the Sankru. I hate everyone."
Mike laughed, the sound echoing in the empty hall.
"That's not very Heda-like, Lexi."
She opened one eye, watching him. "Shut up, Mikky."
He sat down, not on a chair, but on the stone steps of the dais, right at her feet. She immediately slid off the uncomfortable throne and sat on the step below him, her back resting against his armored chest, fitting perfectly between his legs.
This was their ritual.
"Tough day?" he asked, his voice a low rumble she could feel through her back.
"Boring day," she murmured, her entire body going lax. "I just... I can't wait for tomorrow. To go home."
He smiled, his hands coming up, as they always did, to her hair. He began to carefully, patiently, undo her, what he called 'Heda-braids'.
"I know," he said.
"I miss Anya," she said, her voice small, a sound no one else in the world would ever hear. "It feels... off. Incomplete. Without her."
Mike nodded as he started to re-braid her hair into a simple, Trikru plait. "I know, love."
He smiled, his fingers working. "You know, if that Sankru ambassador walked in right now... saw the 'Iron Heda' acting like a sleepy cat, her hair being braided by her husband... he'd probably have a heart attack and die."
She giggled. "Whatever. Let him. It would solve the fishing dispute."
They sat in comfortable, perfect silence for a long moment, the afternoon sun slanting through the high windows. Mike's mind, ever-working, was already looking ahead. One more night. Then the ride. Then Trikru. Then Anya. Then... peace.
His thoughts began to drift, and a question appeared in his head. 'I wonder when those fuckers will ari--'
BOOM.
They were on their feet in a nanosecond.
"What was that?!" Lexa demanded, her twin blades already in her hands.
"Not Azgeda," Mike growled, his hand on his sidearm. He was already moving, pulling her by the arm, his body shielding hers, as they ran for the great, stone balcony overlooking the city. "That wasn't a bomb. That was... different."
They burst out onto the balcony. The city below was in chaos, people pointing at the sky, screaming.
They looked up.
And then they saw it.
Lexa's eyes widened. "A... a shooting star?"
Mike, however, knew exactly what that was.
That was metal. That was a heat shield. That was re-entry.
He watched, frozen, as his mind, a horrified supercomputer, calculated the arc, the speed, the trajectory. It was high. It was fast. And it was coming down...
The fiery object was heading straight for the green, pristine, sacred forests of Trika.
"Mike?" Lexa's voice was rising in panic now, shaking him, seeing the look on his face. "Mike, what is it?! What's wrong?!"
"That's a drop ship..."
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