BOLD FOR GROUNDER LANGUAGE
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The decree had been given. The rider had been sent. And across the vast, untamed expanse of the continent, the sleeping giant that was the Coalition began to stir.
It did not wake with a shout, but with the rhythmic beat of preparation.
To the far North, where the snow never fully melted and the wind cut like a glass knife, the Ice Nation (Azgeda) received the word. Queen Nia sat upon her throne of bleached bone and frozen iron, listening to the messenger sent by Otan from the capital. She did not panic. She did not rage. A cruel smile simply touched her lips. The Azgeda had been waiting for a war worthy of their strength.
Under her command, the frozen silence of the tundra was broken by the cracking of whips and the groans of massive sleds. Thousands of warriors, clad in white furs and scarred pale skin, sharpened their serrated blades on whetstones that sang a high, dissonant song. They were packing dried meat, checking the bindings on their heavy boots, and looking south with eyes that held no fear, only a cold, predatory hunger. The Queen had given the order: the South would bleed, and Azgeda would hold the knife.
In the dense, green heart of the continent, the Woods Clan (Trikru) was active. The forest floor, usually silent save for the snap of a twig, vibrated with the thud of heavy footsteps. Blacksmiths worked their forges until the metal glowed white-hot, hammering out thousands of armor-piercing arrowheads. The air smelled of woodsmoke, sweat, and hot iron. Indra's scouts were already melting into the treeline, disappearing like ghosts, heading toward the southern passes to become the eyes of the army. There was no panic here, only the grim efficiency of a people who had known war since the first bombs fell.
To the East, along the jagged coastlines, the Boat People (Floukru) were abandoning their isolation. Though their leader, Luna, had long preached peace, the threat of total annihilation had forced their hand. Their oil rigs and floating villages were bustling. They were adapting their sea-legs for land, trading harpoons for heavy spears, and loading crates of supplies onto shallow-bottomed skiffs to travel up the river systems toward Polis. They were the unknown variable, the calm water that could become a crashing wave.
In the scorched sands of the Desert Clan (Sangedakru), warriors were wrapping their faces in shemaghs, preparing for a march that would kill lesser men. They tested the edges of their curved khopesh swords and watered their horses, knowing that the "Aztecs" were people of the heat, just like them. This would be a battle for the very soul of the wasteland.
From the glowing forests of the Podakru to the high cliffs of the Delphi, the twelve clans were answering the call. The political squabbles that usually plagued the Coalition had been put on hold.
The Strat Heda had pointed a finger at the enemy. And now, the Coalition was making a fist.
***
The Drop Site
While the world outside prepared for violence, inside the walls of the dropship camp, a different kind of preparation was underway.
The midday sun beat down on the metal hull of the Exodus ship, casting a long shadow over the makeshift workbench that had been set up near the thrusters. The air was filled with the smell of grease and the faint scent of pine.
"No, no, look here. The intake valve has to be flush with the manifold," Raven said, pointing a grease-stained finger at the diagram she had scratched into a piece of scrap metal. "If the compression ratio is off by even a fraction, the whole thing doesn't just fail, it explodes. Boom. No more hand."
Mike sat across from her, his massive frame hunched over a delicate piece of machinery he had scavenged from the ship's internal locking mechanism. He wasn't wearing his helmet, and his golden eyes were narrowed in intense concentration.
"So," Mike murmured, his hands moving with surprising delicacy for someone who could punch through a brick wall. "The hydraulic pressure acts as a force multiplier here... and the circuit completes the loop only when the seal is hermetic."
He twisted a wire, soldered a connection with a heated rod he'd rigged up, and snapped the piece into place. It clicked perfectly.
"Like that?" Mike asked, holding up the reassembled actuator.
Raven stared at it. She snatched it from his hand, inspecting it from every angle. She pulled at the wires, checked the tension, and even shook it. It was flawless.
"That..." Raven looked up at him, her mouth slightly agape. "That took me two weeks to master in my engineering class. The manual alone is three hundred pages. You just did it in... a day?"
Mike shrugged, wiping his hands on a rag. "I see the logic in it. It's like a body. The wires are nerves, the hydraulics are muscles, the fuel is blood. Once you understand the anatomy, the function follows. Plus, M.A.I. helps organize the data."
"It's not that simple!" Raven exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "You can't just 'anatomy' your way through quantum fluid dynamics! You're cheating. Do you have a super-brain?"
"You can say that," Mike grinned, picking up the next component. "Teach me about the signal encryption next."
For the past four hours, Raven had been trying to teach him the basics of Ark technology — how to repair the sensors, how to rig a comms relay, and the fundamentals of the combustion engines the 100 were trying to build for defense.
It was supposed to be a week-long crash course. Mike had absorbed the curriculum before lunch.
Raven sighed, leaning back against the cool metal of the dropship. She was exhausted just watching him learn. But beneath the shock, there was a spark of excitement. She had never had a student who could keep up with her, let alone outpace her. Back on the Ark, she was the freak, the grease monkey who knew too much. Here, teaching this terrifying warlord, she felt... valuable. It was strangely fun.
"Fine," Raven said, grabbing a stylus. "But if you memorize the encryption key on the first try, I'm quitting."
"No promises," Mike laughed.
From across the camp, the original members of the 100 watched the interaction with a mix of awe, confusion, and suspicion.
Clarke Griffin stood near the food tent, her arms crossed, watching the Warlord of the Woods laugh at a joke about thermal exhaust ports.
"It's weird, right?" Clarke murmured. "Seeing him like that? Weeks ago, he was talking about wiping out an empire. Now he looks like... a student."
Wells Jaha, standing beside her, took a bite of a mesmerizingly strange earth-nut. He looked calm, the pragmatist of the group. "People have layers, Clarke. Even warlords. Maybe especially warlords. He needs to know how our tech works if he's going to lead us. It's smart. He's bridging the gap between his world and ours."
"I know it's smart," Clarke admitted. "It's just... disarming. I keep forgetting he could kill everyone in this camp in under a minute."
"Don't forget," Wells advised quietly. "Just appreciate that he chooses not to."
A few yards away, Bellamy Blake was leaning against a support beam, cleaning his rifle. He watched Mike reassemble a piece of tech with blinding speed.
"Guy's a machine," Bellamy muttered, shaking his head, a begrudging respect in his tone. "Fights like a demon, thinks like a computer. If we didn't have him on our side, we'd be screwed."
"He's kinda cool," Jasper said, popping up beside Bellamy with a goofy grin, his goggles resting on his forehead. "Did you see that armor? And now he's geeking out with Raven? That is serious game. The guy has it all."
Monty, sitting on a log nearby, rolled his eyes. "Jasper, look at the guy. He's six-foot-something, built like a tank, rules a continent, and has golden eyes. Dude, if you're built like that, you don't need game. The game comes to you."
"Fair point," Jasper conceded, watching Mike effortlessly twist a metal rod. "Still. I wonder if he needs a chemistry expert? I could make things go boom for the Coalition."
"Let's try not to blow ourselves up first," Monty retorted.
But not everyone was impressed.
Finn Collins sat by the fire, brooding. He was whittling a stick, shaving off slivers of wood with aggressive, jerky movements. His eyes were fixed on Raven and Mike. He saw Raven laughing, touching Mike's arm to correct his grip on a tool, her face lit up with an excitement Finn hadn't seen in a long time.
He didn't see a lesson. He saw a threat.
"He's trying to take her," Finn muttered under his breath, his jaw tight.
"What?" Clarke asked, overhearing him as she walked past.
"Look at him," Finn spat, gesturing with the knife. "He comes in here, takes over, scares us half to death, and now he's cozying up to our best engineer. He's manipulating her. He's trying to pull Raven away from us. From me."
Clarke frowned. "Finn, he's learning how to fix the radios. Raven is the best at that. It's not a conspiracy."
"It's always a conspiracy with guys like that," Finn grunted, stabbing the knife into the log. "He's the puppet master. And Raven is falling for it."
Clarke shook her head and walked away, leaving Finn to his jealousy. She had bigger things to worry about than teenage drama.
Near the newly reinforced gate, another silent drama was unfolding.
Octavia Blake was supposed to be helping with the water ration distribution. Instead, she was staring at the perimeter. Specifically, she was staring at one of the Grounder guards who had accompanied Mike to the camp.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and completely bald. Intricate tribal tattoos spiraled up his neck and disappeared under his armor. His face was stoic, carved from granite, but his eyes were observant and deep.
Lincoln.
They hadn't just met today. Over the past week, as Mike ordered Trikru artisans to help fortify the camp, Lincoln had been one of the regulars. They had met while working on the tents. Octavia, never one to fear the unknown, had been fascinated. She had pestered him while he worked, asking about the woods, the glowing butterflies, the language.
At first, he had found her annoying — a noisy Sky Girl who didn't know how to tie a knot. But as time went by, her relentless curiosity and lack of fear had chipped away at his defenses. He started answering her. Then teaching her words in Trigedasleng. Then showing her how to hold a knife properly. Since then, a strange, silent friendship had bloomed.
Now, he stood guard, his eyes scanning the forest. But he felt eyes on her. He turned his head slightly and locked eyes with Octavia across the camp.
She smiled and gave him a small wave.
Lincoln's serious mask cracked. The corner of his lip twitched upward, a ghost of a smile that softened his harsh features. He checked to make sure no other warriors were watching, then raised a hand and waved back.
From the workbench, Mike missed nothing.
He had been listening to Raven explain frequency modulation, but his peripheral vision was active. He saw the look between the Blake girl and the Trikru warrior.
He paused his work, a smirk touching his lips. Lincoln and Octavia, he thought. Some things are destined, I suppose. They had bad stuff in the cannon. Here? Maybe I can write a better ending.
Mike caught Lincoln's eye. The warrior stiffened.
But Mike didn't scowl. He didn't reprimand. He simply looked at Lincoln, looked at Octavia, and gave a slow, deliberate nod of approval. It was a silent permission: Go ahead.
Lincoln's eyes widened in surprise. He bowed his head slightly, mouthing a silent thank you. Then, handing his spear to a fellow sentry, he walked into the camp toward Octavia.
"What are you smiling at?" Raven asked, noticing Mike's distraction. "You thinking about hydraulic pumps?"
Mike turned back to her, the amusement still dancing in his eyes. "Just ensuring the future of diplomatic relations," he said cryptically, shrugging his massive shoulders. "A leader's gotta look after his people."
"Right," Raven rolled her eyes, though she was smiling too. "Matchmaker Heda. Add it to the resume."
She picked up a wrench, turning it over in her hands. The mood shifted, growing heavier.
"They're landing tomorrow," Raven said softly.
"Yup," Mike replied, his voice losing its playful edge.
Raven bit her lip, looking down at the tools. "I know it's asking a lot... considering everything... but be lenient with them, Mike. Please."
Mike watched her, his face unreadable.
"They're scared," Raven continued, her voice pleading. "They're losing their home. They're going to come down here thinking they own the place because that's what the Chancellor taught them. They'll be headstrong. They'll be arrogant. But they're good people. Most of them. They just need time to learn."
Mike smiled with a gentle expression. "I can be patient, Raven. I know the value of what's in their heads. Doctors and engineers. We need that. They will be given every chance to integrate."
Raven sighed in relief, her shoulders dropping. "Okay. Good. That's... good."
"But," Mike continued, and the temperature in the immediate vicinity seemed to drop ten degrees.
The gentle smile vanished. In its place was a dangerous grin. The chill Mike was gone; now sitting with her was the Strat Heda.
"That patience has a limit," Mike said softly, his voice dangerously calm. "I will tolerate their confusion. I will tolerate their arrogance. But if they attempt to hurt my people... if they try to conquer instead of cooperate... my leniency ends."
He leaned forward, his golden eyes boring into hers.
"Trust me, Raven, and let them know properly. If they shoot a single bullet at a village, or try to enforce their 'laws' on my land, I won't be afraid to wipe them from the face of this world. History will forget they ever fell from the sky."
Raven's eyes widened, a cold sweat breaking out on her neck.
"They are important because of their knowledge," Mike finished. "But no knowledge is bigger than my people's lives. It's pretty fair, right?"
"Y-Yeah," Raven stammered, nodding quickly. "Fair. Totally fair. I'll... I'll let the Ark know ASAP."
And just as fast as Mike turned serious, he was back to his normal self, "Then we won't have an issue."
***
Polis – The Commander's Tower
While Mike played the student in the woods, the political heart of the Coalition was beating anxiously in the capital.
Lexa sat on her throne, the candle-lit room filled with scrolls and maps. Standing before her was Titus, the Flamekeeper. The bald, robed man was reading from a long list of reports.
"The harvest from the Shallow Valley is being redirected to the central granaries," Titus intoned. "Indra reports that Trikru has mobilized three thousand warriors, though she requests more steel for arrowheads. The scouts report movement from the Glowing Forest."
"Good," Lexa said, rubbing her temples. "Ensure the blacksmiths in Polis are working double shifts. We need every scrap of metal turned into a weapon."
Just then, a heavy knock echoed through the room.
Lexa straightened up, her mask of authority slipping back into place instantly. "Enter."
The heavy oak doors creaked open. A warrior, dressed in the elite guard armor, stepped inside and dropped to one knee.
"Heda," the warrior said, keeping her head lowered. "A rider has arrived at the gates. They bear the sigil of the Floukru."
Lexa's eyes sharpened. Floukru. The Boat People. They were isolated, pacifists by nature.
"A message?" Lexa asked.
"No, Heda," the warrior said. "The leader herself. Luna kom Floukru is here. She requests an audience with the Commander and the Strat Heda."
Hearing this, Lexa's eyes lit up with a rare flash of surprise.
Luna.
She thought of the girl she had trained with sometimes, the only warrior Lexa had ever feared might be stronger than her. Luna had fled the Conclave, choosing peace over power. For her to come to Polis now... it meant she understood the gravity of the threat.
"Luna is here," Lexa whispered to herself.
She looked at the empty spot beside her where Mike usually stood. He was still at the Dropship camp and wouldn't return until the Ark situation was settled.
"Tell her she is welcome in Polis," Lexa commanded. "But tell her the Strat Heda is currently in the field. She can meet us the day after tomorrow, when he returns."
Lexa stood up, smoothing her red sash.
"Offer her the Guest Tower. Give her and her guard food and wine. But tell her to wait. We will convene the War Council when the circle is complete."
The warrior bowed deeply. "Understood, Heda."
She turned and left the room, the heavy doors booming shut behind her. Lexa walked to the window, looking out over the city of Polis. The fires of industry were burning bright.
The pieces were moving. The Wolf, the Commander, and now the Sea.