The sun was just beginning to set over Polis, casting long shadows across the training grounds. The air was heavy with the scent of dirt and sweat, and the faint hum of warriors sparring filled the area. You stood in the middle of the clearing, gripping the hilt of a wooden practice sword, your knuckles white from the unfamiliar weight.

Lexa circled you like a predator stalking prey, her wooden staff balanced easily in her hands.

“You need to stop relying on luck and instinct,”

Lexa said, her voice calm but firm.

“Out there, hesitation means death.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Not all of us grew up training for war, Lexa.”

Lexa stopped circling, raising an eyebrow.

“War does not care how you grew up, Clarke. You chose this life the moment you took leadership of your people. Now fight.”

With a sharp motion, Lexa lunged, her staff sweeping low. You yelped as you barely leapt out of the way, stumbling as you swung your sword in a wide arc. Lexa dodged easily, the corner of her mouth twitching into a restrained smile.

“Sloppy,”

Lexa chided.

“Your enemy won’t wait for you to recover.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so smug, I’d have a chance to—”

Your retort was cut off as Lexa spun, her staff lightly tapping the back of your knee. You collapsed onto the ground with a groan, your sword falling from your grasp.

Lexa crouched beside you, her expression unreadable.

“Again.”

You scowled, brushing dirt off your hands.

“Why are you so insistent on this? I’m not a warrior like you, Lexa.”

“You could be,”

Lexa said firmly, her green eyes meeting yours.

“We need you to survive. The others may see you as Wanheda, but I see the person who stands in front of me now—smart, brave, and capable of far more than you believe.”

You sighed and picked up your sword, rising to your feet.

“Fine. Let’s go again. But don’t hold back.”

“As you wish,”

Lexa said, straightening. This time, there was no teasing in her gaze, only admiration and determination.