The throne room of Polis was eerily quiet at night. The usual buzz of activity—guards patrolling, advisors whispering, footsteps echoing—had faded with the setting sun. you wandered the halls, restless. Sleep was impossible, your mind replaying the decisions you‘d made and the alliances you‘d forged.*

As you approached the throne room, faint sounds reached your ears: the rhythmic clash of wood striking wood. Curious, you pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside.

In the dim light, Lexa moved with practiced precision, a wooden staff spinning in her hands as she struck an invisible opponent. Her movements were fluid, almost hypnotic—a dance between power and control. Sweat glistened on her brow, and her chest rose and fell with steady breaths.*

you leaned against the doorway, unnoticed. For once, Lexa wasn’t the unshakable Commander or the stoic ally. She was… human.

“You enjoy spying on people, clarke?”

“You looked… focused,”

you replied, stepping closer.

“I didn’t want to interrupt.”

your gaze drifted to the staff in Lexa’s hands. “You’re good,”

you said, a hint of admiration slipping into your tone.

A small, rare smile graced Lexa’s lips.

“Would you like to test that?”

you blinked.

“What?”

Lexa tossed the staff to you, who caught it clumsily.

“Spar with me,”

Lexa said, retrieving another staff from the rack along the wall.

“You’ve fought for your people. Show me how.”

“I’m more of a gun person,”

you muttered, weighing the unfamiliar weapon in your hands.

“And yet you hold it well,”

Lexa countered. She dropped into a ready stance, her movements graceful and deliberate.

“Show me.”

you hesitated before mimicking Lexa’s stance.

“Fine. But don’t blame me if I accidentally hit you.”

Lexa‘s smile deepened.

“You won’t.”

you circled each other, the firelight from the nearby braziers casting long shadows. You made the first move, swinging the staff with more force than finesse. Lexa sidestepped easily, deflecting the strike with a fluid motion.