The day after the duel dawned with a quiet reverence across Polis. The streets were subdued, not from mourning, but from awe. A Coalition champion had bested an Azgeda warrior without drawing final blood. To many, that was strength wrapped in restraint. To others, a challenge to the traditions soaked in death.
Kira felt it in every glance as she walked through the city with her hood low. Respect, curiosity, suspicion.
She had refused to kill—and in doing so, she had rewritten the expectations of what it meant to win in this world.
But her body paid for it. Her ribs throbbed with each breath, her shoulder ached where the axe had grazed bone. Lexa had insisted she rest, but Kira had never been good at lying still.
Especially not now.
She made her way toward the healing quarters, though not for treatment. She wanted to speak with Nyko.
The man looked up from tending a patient when she entered. His sharp eyes flicked over her bandaged arm.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I'll heal," Kira said. "You've seen worse."
"I've fixed worse," Nyko replied. "Doesn't mean I enjoy doing it."
He gestured for her to sit. "The people are talking."
"I noticed."
"You scared the Azgeda ambassador into withdrawing half their scouts from Trikru borderlands. That's something."
Kira raised an eyebrow. "And what do the others think?"
"Floukru believes you're a messenger from the sea," Nyko said, deadpan. "Sankru believes you're testing Lexa's will. Trikru thinks you're dangerous."
Kira gave a lopsided smile. "And you?"
"I think you care more than you want to admit. And that's dangerous too."
She didn't answer. He let her sit in silence a moment, then changed the subject.
"I heard Lexa hasn't left your side."
"She has her own burdens," Kira replied.
Nyko gave her a knowing look. "You can't outrun gravity forever, you know. Sooner or later, something pulls you in."
Kira stood. "I'm not running. Just walking carefully."
"Same thing."
That night, Lexa returned to her private quarters later than usual. Council meetings had dragged on. Azgeda had accepted the duel's outcome, but Nia was stalling, her words wrapped in cold smiles and poisoned courtesies. Lexa could feel the threat of rebellion curling at the edges again.
She found Kira seated near the hearth, arms folded loosely over her stomach, face half-lit by the flickering fire.
"I told you to rest," Lexa murmured as she closed the door.
"I did. Then I got bored."
Lexa stepped forward and poured herself a cup of the spiced tea Kira had made earlier. "I'd almost prefer you ignore me. This in-between part is worse."
Kira's head tilted. "In-between?"
Lexa sat beside her. The fire popped softly.
"You don't look at me like you used to," Lexa said quietly.
"I didn't look at you before," Kira replied. "Not really. I didn't let myself."
"Why not?"
"Because then I'd care. And if I cared, I'd be vulnerable."
Lexa was silent for a beat. "And now?"
Kira turned to face her. "Now I care."
Something in Lexa's expression cracked. It wasn't weakness. It was release. Her hand reached up slowly, fingers brushing the edge of Kira's jaw.
"I told myself I couldn't afford attachment. That duty comes first."
"And I told myself not to fall for a warlord in war paint," Kira whispered.
Lexa smirked. "Too late for both of us, then."
They sat close, warmth between them thicker than the fire's heat. But they didn't kiss. Not yet. The silence between them wasn't absence—it was breath. Anticipation.
A future unfolding.
The next morning, Indra intercepted Kira in the corridor outside the Commander's tower.
"I need a word."
Kira followed her without comment until they reached the eastern courtyard, where warriors were training in groups. Indra turned, arms crossed, eyes stern.
"You are becoming a symbol."
"I didn't ask to be."
"It doesn't matter. The clans have seen you. You've fought for Lexa. Some whisper you could be her heir if she falls."
Kira's expression hardened. "That's not going to happen."
"Be that as it may, you must think carefully. Every action, every word—they will watch. If you falter, you don't just risk yourself."
Kira stepped closer. "I'm not here to steal power. I don't want it."
Indra didn't blink. "Good. Then fight for her, not for yourself. Keep your blade sharp. And your heart sharper."
The rest of the day passed with a tense stillness. Lexa convened only a few advisors. Kane and Abby sent word from Arkadia—a new transmission intercepted by Raven hinted that Mount Weather might still hold operatives. Not Mountain Men, but remnants of the old tech. It changed everything.
"We need to investigate," Lexa said.
Kira, standing near the map of the region, tapped a spot northeast of Arkadia. "They wouldn't stay in the ruins. Not after what we did. They'd move underground. Possibly east, toward the abandoned hydro stations."
"They could be watching us," Lexa said. "Preparing."
Kira's eyes darkened. "Then we prepare first."
That evening, the snow stopped falling.
Kira stood once more on the balcony of Lexa's tower, her bruises healing, but the tension in her chest heavier than before. Lexa joined her in silence.
They watched the stars.
"There will always be another war," Kira said eventually.
"Yes," Lexa agreed. "But you don't always have to fight it alone."
Kira turned to her. "I think… I'm ready to stop pushing you away."
Lexa smiled softly, stepping closer. "Then stop."
Kira reached out and took her hand.
The connection wasn't fragile—it was forged in fire, in politics, in blades and boundaries. But it was real.
And as they stood together above the city they'd fought to protect, something shifted between them.
Not a declaration.
Not yet.
But a beginning.
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