Polis

The rhythmic clopping of hooves echoed against the grassy landscape, a counterpoint to the chirping of unseen birds heralding the approaching dawn.

Sen rode at the head of the small troop, his grip tight on the reins of the unfamiliar horse. Earlier, he had dreamt of a reckless riding speed, the wind whipping clashing against his skin, but Salack's reminder – about the Grounders journeying on foot – had squashed that fantasy.

Despite his earlier success at killing the Ice Nation soldiers, his legs ached from the exercise he had started subjecting himself to in order to catch up to Salack. A dull throb in his legs beneath the cold leather pants Salack had gifted him.

He stole a glance at the captured recruits, a gaggle of ragged teenagers herded close by Grok and his men. Their faces, pale under the weak moonlight, were etched with a mixture of terror and defiance.

One young girl, barely older than twelve, caught his eye.

Her gaze held a desperate pleading that stirred something deep within him, a flicker of a forgotten humanity buried beneath layers of training and brutality.

He quickly looked away, the memory of Nala, her gentle smiles and whispered stories, a painful reminder of his lost love.

Suddenly, Grok bellowed a question, shattering the tense silence.

"You ever been to Polis, Sky Person?"

Sen shrugged, his voice gruff. "No."

"Commander Lexa's court," Grok elaborated. "Full of fancy folks with their fancy clothes and fancy talk. Nothing like us foot soldiers destined to die, that's for sure."

A sardonic smile played on Sen's lips. "Fancy clothes and fancy talk won't stop my blade from hitting it's mark."

Grok grunted in agreement. "That's the spirit, Sky Person. No weaknesses in Polis. Just strength, cunningness, and the will to survive."

Sen's gaze returned to the girl. Weakness. A liability, a burden. That's all he saw in the terrified child soldiers. Yet, her pleading continued to gnaw at him, a discordant note in the harsh symphony of his new life.

As they rode on, whispers rustled through the ranks of the captured. Sen, his senses honed after weeks of grueling training, picked up snippets of conversation.

"...Skaikru... Grounders were waiting… ambush…"

"...heard rumors… Commander Lexa… peace talks…"

The whispers painted a disturbing picture.

Peace talks?

With the Grounders?

It was a concept so outlandish it bordered on insanity. And ambush?

These children were mere pawns in a larger, more sinister game. They foolishly thought they had been ambushed, while in reality, they were just so weak that their camp was easily overtaken.

It made Sen wonder why the Commander of Ice Nation would send mere children over to gain intel.

Perhaps the Ice Nation thought children would be able to infiltrate Polis easily, or perhaps the Commander of the Ice Nation was simply stupid.

As dawn approached, casting a faint orange glow across the horizon, the desolate landscape gave way to a sprawling network of fortifications. Towers of bone and jagged metal reached towards the sky, an imposing symbol of Grounder might.

"Polis," Grok announced with a note of reverence in his voice.

The rhythmic clopping transitioned into a crunching of gravel as they entered the outskirts of Polis. Here, the harsh beauty of the Grounder towers gave way to a more utilitarian sprawl.

Fortified huts huddled together, their walls adorned with crude symbols depicting battles and Grounder victories.

Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, a sign of life amidst the imposing architecture.

Sen scanned the faces that emerged from doorways and windows. Unlike the hardened warriors he was accustomed to, these Grounders seemed… ordinary.

Women with calloused hands tended small vegetable gardens, while children, some no older than the captured Ice Nation recruits, chased each other through the dusty streets.

The dissonance between the brutality Sen had witnessed and this glimpse of everyday life unsettled him. Were these truly the same people who raided villages and slaughtered the innocent?

Suddenly, Grok bellowed at a group of loitering teenagers. "Move aside, runts! Can't you see we're on official business?"

The teenagers scattered, their faces a mixture of fear and resentment.

Sen caught the eye of one girl, her brown hair braided tightly, her gaze defiant. She reminded him of Octavia.

A fleeting wave of nostalgia washed over him, a bittersweet reminder of a life he felt slipping further and further away.

As they continued their journey, the architecture grew more impressive. Fortified walls, seemingly miles long, encircled the heart of Polis. An enormous gate, adorned with the bleached skull of a massive creature, stood before them.

As they approached closer to the inner circle of Polis, Grok dismounted and approached two Grounder guards outside of a gate, their faces obscured by metal helmets. A tense exchange followed, punctuated by gruff words and hand gestures.

Finally, the gate creaked open, revealing a bustling marketplace overflowing with activity.

Sen's senses were bombarded with sights and sounds. Merchants hawked their wares, their voices rising above the cacophony of bartering and haggling.

Grok then got back onto his horse, with everyone following him.

Exotic creatures, unlike any he had seen on the Ark, were on display in cages. The air thrummed with a chaotic energy that both fascinated and repelled him.

The air smelled of cooking meat, drawing his attention over to the makeshift food stalls for a brief moment.

Leading the captured recruits through the crowded marketplace was a challenge. The Ice Nation children, wide-eyed and terrified, flinched at every raised voice and jostle.

Sen, however, felt a flicker of something else – a spark of curiosity. This wasn't the Grounder way of life he'd been trained for, all violence and bloodshed.

Here, a sliver of normalcy seemed to exist, a semblance of a functioning society.

He caught a glimpse of a stall selling skewered meat, the aroma making his stomach rumble. Hunger gnawed at him, a stark reminder of his human needs. He hadn't been fed since the night before, a meager ration of dried meat and stale bread.

"Grok," Sen rasped, drawing the older Grounder's attention. "Give me enough money to get something over there," he gestured towards the meat stall.

Grok studied him for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then, with a grunt of grudging approval, he tossed Sen a coin. "Just make it quick. We don't have all day."

Sen snatched the coin, dismounted his horse, and weaved his way through the crowd towards the stall. The greasy, sizzling meat smelled heavenly, a stark contrast to the bland rations he was used to.

As he waited for his order, a voice, soft but laced with a hint of authority, startled him.

"You're from Skaikru, aren't you?"

Sen whirled around, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger strapped to his hip. His gaze landed on an older black woman, her face framed by dark braids and adorned with intricate war paint. Her hardened eyes, a piercing blue-green, held a mix of curiosity and defiance.

Unlike the Grounders he'd encountered so far, she wore no armor, only simple leather clothing that bore the mark of a skilled hunter.

"Do not pull that blade out, child."

"Who are you?" Sen spat out, his voice poisoned with suspicion as he looked towards Salack, who was a few feet away from him, looking for any sign to show if he should kill her or not.

"I am Indra. Subordinate to the Commander."

The mention of Indra being subordinate to the Commander caused a flicker of surprise in Sen's eyes. Salack had never mentioned such a high-ranking Grounder being readily available outside the inner circle. His hand, still hovering near his dagger, relaxed slightly.

"Subordinate…" Sen echoed, his voice wary.

Indra's gaze flickered briefly towards the captured Ice Nation recruits, then back to Sen. Her expression remained stoic, a fierce loyalty burning in her blue-green eyes.

"Those children," she said curtly, "they're a mistake. A foolish move by the Ice Nation."

Sen narrowed his eyes. "A mistake? I'd say a losing gamble. They thought we'd take mercy on the children."

Indra's lips pursed into a thin line. "Perhaps, but it doesn't matter. Lexa isn't pleased with the Ice Nation sending spies over."

"Either way, it was fun talking to you; I'm sure we'll meet again," Sen said, noticing that his order was ready as he grabbed the meat skewer, walking back to Salack, Grok, the other grounders, and the prisoners, who had been waiting for him.

"Alright, let's go," Sen said as he held the skewer in his mouth, mounting his horse.

As they navigated the throngs of people, Sen kept one eye on the marketplace and the other on the girl from the captured group. Her begging eyes, pleading for Sen, the youngest of the group to save her continued to intrigue him. Maybe she could be a useful pawn. Someone he could train to fight for him if he somehow gets her out of execution. But for now, he focused on finishing his greasy, delicious skewer.

"What was that about?" Grok rumbled, eyeing Sen with suspicion.

Sen swallowed the last bite of meat, wiping his greasy fingers on his pants. "Just a little Grounder chit-chat."

Grok grunted noncommittally. "Move along, Sky Person. We have a delivery to make."

Sen nodded, urging his horse forward. The marketplace gave way to a more imposing section of Polis.

Towers of polished black obsidian rose into the sky, their smooth surfaces reflecting the rising sun. Armed Grounder guards patrolled the perimeter, their expressions grim and unyielding.

Sen craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the top of the tallest tower, the supposed seat of Lexa's power. Here, the Grounder guards were more numerous and their expressions even more severe. Every muscle in Sen tensed as they approached a pair of these guards, their armor gleaming menacingly in the rising sun.

A tense exchange followed, punctuated by curt nods and hand gestures. Finally, the guards swung open the massive obsidian gate, revealing a vast courtyard teeming with activity.

Unlike the marketplace, this courtyard was a place of order and control. Grounders in pristine armor drilled in precise formations, their movements sharp and coordinated. In the center stood a colossal structure, its black obsidian exterior reflecting the sky like a dark mirror. This, Sen knew, was Lexa's tower.

Grok dismounted and steered the captured recruits towards a group of Grounders clad in black robes, their faces obscured by ceremonial hoods.

These were Lexa's elite guard, and the harbingers of potential doom for the captured children.