BOLD FOR GROUNDER LANGUAGE
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The silence in the Great Hall following Mike's declaration was not the silence of fear; it was the silence of confusion. The words "we are going to war" had been spoken, but the target remained a mystery. The clan leaders looked at one another, their hands still hovering near their weapons, suspicion clouding their eyes.
Otan of Azgeda stepped forward. "War? With who, Strat Heda? The Mountain is dead. The Reapers are scattered. Unless you plan to march on the Ice Nation again, there is no one left to fight."
"Yeah," a Podakru chief grunted. "Is this a trick? A way to keep our armies gathered here while you tighten your grip on the Coalition?"
Mike didn't flinch. He remained standing on the dais, looking down at them with the patience of a teacher addressing unruly children.
"I have no interest in your lands, Otan. And I do not need tricks," Mike said calmly. "The enemy is not here. The enemy is coming from the South."
He tapped his gauntlet again. The hologram on his arm flared, expanding outward to fill the center of the room. The gasps were audible this time. The gathered chiefs recoiled, some making signs to ward off evil spirits, others staring in open-mouthed wonder.
"Look," Mike commanded.
The map displayed the Southern borders. But on the map, a red tide was moving.
"This is the Mexica," Mike explained, using the ancient name. "The Aztecs. They are an empire that has risen from the ashes of the South. They do not want treaties. They do not want trade. They want land, they want slaves, and they want blood."
He deliberately left out the existence of the European and Asian empires. These people were warriors, but their world was small. Telling them they were surrounded by superpowers on all sides would break their spirit.
Telling them one enemy was marching toward them? That would give them a target.
The questions exploded all at once.
"How many?" Indra asked, her voice sharp. She stepped closer to the hologram, studying the red mass. "Is it a raiding party?"
"No," Mike answered grimly. "It is an invasion force. The Vanguard alone numbers ten thousand soldiers."
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the hall. Ten thousand. That was more than the entire population of some clans.
"Ten thousand?" The Floukru ambassador went pale. "And their main force?"
"Unknown," Mike lied smoothly, "but likely double that. They are bringing a city to our doorstep."
"And their steel?" Otan asked, analyzing the tactical situation. "Do they fight with wood and stone?"
"They fight with steel," Mike said. "Plate armor. Forged swords. But that is not what you should fear."
He waved his hand, and the hologram shifted to show a rotating model of a musket and a cannon.
"They have muskets," Mike said, using a term they might understand. "Weapons that breathe fire and spit lead. They can kill a man in full armor from three hundred paces. They have iron beasts that can knock down the walls of Polis from a mile away."
The room went deadly quiet. The Grounders were brave — they fought with a legendary ferocity — but they fought up close. They respected the blade. The idea of an enemy that could kill them before they even saw the whites of their eyes was terrifying.
"Then we are dead," a chief from the glowing forest muttered. "We cannot fight lightning."
"We are not dead!" Mike's voice cracked like a whip, silencing the defeatism before it could take root. "We are the Coalition! We survived the bombs! We survived the Acid Fog! We survived the Mountain Men! Do you think we will fold because some southerners have loud sticks?"
He stepped down from the dais, walking among them. He looked every leader in the eye.
"They have numbers. They have fire. But they do not know this land. They do not know the forests. They do not know the traps we can set, the shadows we can move in. And they do not have this."
He pointed to his head.
"We know they are coming. They think we are savages living in the dirt. They expect to march in here and find scattered tribes. Instead, they will find a unified wall of steel."
"What is the plan?" Indra asked, her hand resting on her sword hilt. "We cannot meet them in the open field. Not against those weapons."
"No," Mike agreed. "We will not fight them on their terms. We will bleed them. We will use the terrain. We will strike their supply lines. But first, I need an army."
He stopped in the center of the hall, his presence dominating the space.
"I want every warrior mobilized. I want the blacksmiths forging arrowheads day and night. I want the scouts watching the Southern Pass. Go back to your clans. Gather your spears. Tell your people that the wolf is at the door, and we are the only thing standing between them and the slaughter."
"When?" Otan asked. "When do they arrive?"
"The Vanguard moves fast," Mike said. "They will reach the southern border in a month. Maybe less. We do not have time to argue."
He looked around the room one last time.
"Are we united? Or do you want to die alone?"
There was a pause. Then, Indra slammed her fist against her chest.
"Trikru stands with the Commander!"
Otan gritted his teeth, looking at the hologram, then at Mike. He nodded slowly. "Azgeda will not be conquered by southerners. We fight."
One by one, the chiefs pledged their support. The fear was still there, but it had been replaced by a grim determination. They had a mission.
"Good," Mike said. "Go. Ride fast."
The hall emptied quickly. The chiefs and ambassadors hurried out, shouting orders to their guards, eager to return to their lands and prepare for the storm.
Soon, the Great Hall was empty, save for the four of them.
Mike let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. The performance was exhausting.
"You handled them well," Lexa said, stepping down from the dais. "You gave them fear, but you also gave them purpose. Otan would have challenged you if you showed weakness."
"He can challenge me all he wants once the Aztecs are dead," Mike muttered. "Right now, I need his body on the line."
"So," Anya said, leaning against a pillar. "We have a month. That is not a lot of time to train an army to fight against fire-weapons."
"It's enough," Mike said. "If we get help."
He turned to Raven, who had been watching the political theater with wide eyes, though she did not understand a single thing they said.
"Now for the second problem," Mike said.
He tapped his gauntlet again. A countdown clock was ticking away in red numbers.
[ARK DESCENT IMMINENT: T-MINUS 72 HOURS]
"The Ark is falling," Mike said. "The main station. The adults, the Council, the guards. They're coming down in three days."
Raven nodded, "That should be right."
He looked at Raven. "Get your gear. We're going to the dropship camp. I need to brief the 100 before their parents crash the party."
"I'm coming with you," Lexa stated immediately.
"No," Mike shook his head. "You need to stay here. The Coalition is fragile. If the chiefs see the Commander leaving right after declaring war, they'll panic. Anya, you need to coordinate the defenses."
Anya frowned. "Does the Strat Heda need to go personally? They are already under our protection. My scouts say they are behaving."
"Behaving isn't enough," Mike said. "They need to be ready for war. And when the main Ark lands, things are going to get complicated. I need to make sure Clarke and Bellamy are on our side before the Council starts giving orders."
He gestured to Raven. "And I'm taking her. Seeing a familiar face will bridge the gap faster than any speech I can make."
Anya looked at Raven, then back at Mike. She sighed. "Fine. But be quick. We have an army to build."
***
The ride to the dropship camp was fast. The horses thundered through the Trikru forest, kicking up dirt and moss.
Raven rode beside Mike, looking more comfortable in the saddle than before, though her mind was clearly racing.
"You're crazy, you know that?" she yelled over the wind.
"I get that a lot," Mike replied. "Which part?"
"The promotion!" she laughed, shaking her head. " 'Leader of Cyber Command'? You just made that up on the spot! I thought Anya was going to gut me right there."
"It sounded official, didn't it?" Mike smirked.
"Official? It sounded insane! I was standing there, frozen, while the scariest people on Earth debated war. I thought they'd hate me."
"They don't hate you," Mike said, slowing his horse as the terrain got rougher. "Did you see Anya's face when I told her you fixed the AI? She was impressed."
"She was?"
"Raven, as Lexa said earlier, we respect strength, yes. But we respect wisdom even more. You fixed a killer AI. To them, you're not just a mechanic. You're a wizard. A Flamekeeper of technology."
Raven blinked, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "A wizard, huh? I can live with that."
"Get used to it," Mike said. "You're part of the inner circle now. Anya likes you, and Lexa too. And if they like you, nobody touches you."
They crested a ridge, and the familiar sight of the dropship camp came into view.
"They've been busy," Raven said, staring down at the metal ship she had helped maintain back in space. "It looks... peaceful."
"For now," Mike said.
He kicked his horse into a trot, descending the slope. Raven followed.
As they approached the gate, the Trikru guards stationed there spotted him. They instantly snapped to attention, thumping their fists against their chests.
"Strat Heda!" the guard captain shouted, bowing low.
The shout alerted the camp. Inside the walls, the 100, more like the 97, stopped what they were doing. They knew that title. They knew the man who had granted them protection, the man who had stopped the warriors from slaughtering them on day one.
The makeshift gate swung open.
Mike rode in, his presence commanding the space. He sat tall, the black and orange armor gleaming in the fading sun. He looked every bit the warlord king.
Raven pulled up beside him and lowered her hood.
Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake pushed through the crowd of teenagers to meet them. They looked tired, dirty, but harder than they had been a week ago.
"Strat Heda," Clarke said, offering a respectful nod. She had learned quickly that respect kept her people alive. "We didn't expect you back so soon."
"Plans change, Clarke," Mike said, his voice calm.
Bellamy looked at the second rider. Clarke looked at Raven and relaxed.
"Raven?" Clarke whispered, her voice cracking.
"Hey, Griffin," Raven grinned, leaning on her saddle horn. "Miss me?"
"Phew." Clarke relaxed, looking from Raven to Mike. "I thought you were going to leave us forever."
"Hahaha, you wish," Raven said. "Then I got kidnapped. Then I got promoted. It's been a weird week."
"Promoted?" Bellamy asked, bewildered.
Mike swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. The movement was smooth, predatory. The 97 flinched instinctively, but they didn't run. They knew he was the only reason they weren't dead.
"We have a lot to talk about," Mike said, crossing his arms. "And not a lot of time."
"Is it the Grounders?" Bellamy asked, his hand drifting to the pistol at his hip. "Did the deal break?"
"The truce holds," Mike assured him. "My people will not harm you. But we have a bigger problem."
He looked at Clarke, his expression hardening.
Mike pointed to the south.
"There is an army marching this way. Ten thousand soldiers who want to burn you, me, and this entire forest to the ground. They have guns. They have cannons. And they don't care about truces."
The relief vanished from Clarke's face, replaced by cold dread.
"An army?" she asked. "Who?"
"The Aztecs," Mike said. "And if we don't work together — if your people and my people don't become one army — we are all dead before the first snow."
Clarke stared at him, then at Raven, who nodded grimly in confirmation.
"We are going to war, Clarke," Mike announced.
Clarke looked at the warlord, trying to process the sheer scale of the threat.
"What?"