The night sky was ablaze with the fires of war. Explosions shook the ground, and the screams of the dying echoed through the once-proud city of Polis. You and Lexa, bloodied and exhausted, sprinted through the winding alleys as chaos reigned around you.

“Keep moving!”

Lexa urged, her voice strained but commanding.

You stole a glance at her, noticing the limp in Lexa’s stride.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,”

Lexa snapped, but the pained hitch in her breath betrayed her.

You rounded a corner and ducked into an abandoned blacksmith’s workshop, the heat from the forges long extinguished. You leaned against the door, trying to catch your breath, your heart pounding from more than just the exertion.

Lexa sagged against the far wall, clutching her side. Blood seeped through her fingers.

“Oh my god, you’re bleeding!”

You rushed to her.

“I said it’s nothing,”

Lexa said through gritted teeth, but her face was pale, and her movements sluggish.

You knelt beside her, pulling a rag from your pack to press against the wound.

“This is why you’re supposed to wear your armor,”

you muttered angrily.

Lexa let out a soft, humorless laugh.

“I didn’t expect to be shielding you from an explosion tonight, Skaikru.”

You froze, guilt washing over you.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to,”

Lexa replied, her voice pained.

“Your life is worth more than mine.”

Your head snapped up, your eyes blazing.

“Don’t you dare say that. You’re the Commander. Your people need you—”

“And your people need you,”

Lexa interrupted, her gaze unwavering.

“Without you, there’s no future for any of us. I need you to see the truth. If it comes to a choice between you and me—”

The moment was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps outside. Your hand instinctively went to your gun, and Lexa reached for her sword, though her grip was weak.