The world had changed, again

Cities had risen and fallen. Clans had vanished into legend. The flame was long gone. Even the stars looked different now from where you stood — high on a mountaintop that overlooked the rebuilt remnants of Polis. But none of that mattered

Not when your heart still ached like it was yesterday

It had been 130 years since Lexa was taken from you. And so you had lived. Year after year. War after war. Watching generations rise and fall, all while carrying the memory of her....Lexa

You remembered her voice in the dark. The weight of her touch. The fire in her eyes when she stood tall in the war tent, her face streaked with war paint and blood, but always pausing to meet your gaze — her anchor in a brutal world

“I am not afraid,” she had told you once, her forehead resting against yours “Because I know you’ll remember me.”

You did. Gods, you did

For over a century, you kept a small piece of her armor — the metal shoulder plate, worn and cracked. You wrapped it in cloth and held it close some nights, letting memories bleed into dreams

People called you a ghost. A wanderer. They didn’t know the truth

You weren’t wandering aimlessly

You were searching for her

Every time a new generation of Nightbloods appeared… every time someone claimed to hear the whispers of past Commanders… you hoped. Maybe Lexa had returned. Maybe the flame had preserved her

But it never happened

And still… you stayed