Polis never slept, but tonight it shivered.
The rain came in thin needles, tapping over the rooftops, sliding down the stone towers like tears. In the war room, Kira stood over the map of the Twelve Clans, fingers stained with ink and old blood. Beside him, Lexa paced with the precision of a blade.
"We tighten security," she said. "No ambassador leaves the Tower without escort. Any transmission device found is grounds for execution."
Kira didn't argue. He just stared at the glowing markers placed over the capital cities. Each one was a potential strike. Each dot meant a grave if they were wrong.
"We don't have enough time," Raven muttered from the corner. "This isn't sabotage anymore. It's a network. Something coordinated."
Clarke walked in, dripping with rain, holding a sealed case of old Ark tech. "Then let's dismantle it."
Lexa arched a brow. "You have a plan?"
"Something Kira told me months ago. When in doubt—bait the trap."
Kira met her eyes. "You want to stage a leak."
"I want to give them something too valuable to ignore," Clarke said. "And watch who reaches for it."
—
That night, the plan was set in motion.
A rumor was planted: that the Flame's encryption could be broken, that hidden within its core was the key to every military code left behind by the Sky People.
Only a select few were told. A whisper in the ear of an ambassador. A staged conversation overheard by a trusted guard. A slip of paper, carelessly discarded.
Then they waited.
Three hours later, Linh's system picked up a spike.
"Unauthorized data ping," she said, eyes wide. "Somebody just accessed the chamber's inner comm panel."
Raven slammed a key. "Can you trace it?"
Linh hesitated.
And then her screen flashed red.
"I can trace it," she whispered, "because it's not going out. It's rerouting."
Kira froze.
"They're not sending info to the outside," Linh said. "They're activating something inside."
—
By the time they reached the Council wing, it was chaos.
Smoke billowed from the stone corridors. Guards were down—choked, not shot. The attacker had used gas, masked their scent, and knew the routes too well.
Lexa kicked open the door to the diplomatic quarters, sword drawn.
And came face-to-face with Indra.
But she wasn't the threat.
The Azgeda ambassador lay dead on the ground, a knife in his back.
A message carved into his chest in Trigedasleng:
"Not loyal enough."
Kira's blood ran cold.
"It's not Azgeda," he said quietly. "It never was."
Lexa looked at him. "Then who?"
Kira stepped closer to the body and pulled a small device from the folds of the man's robe.
It was old. Ark tech. Triggered to detonate a failsafe built into the Flame chamber.
"They were trying to destroy the Flame."
"Why?" Clarke asked.
But Kira already knew.
"Because there's something inside it they don't want us to see."
—
That night, he couldn't sleep.
Not in his own quarters, not in the war room. Not even beside Lexa, who had fallen into a rare, restless slumber. The rain still fell, louder now. As if it knew what was coming.
He stood at the balcony of the tallest tower, the Flamekeeper's tower, where Titus once watched over the stars. Where blood had been spilled for power, and peace was only ever a whisper.
He held the Flame in his palm.
It felt warm now. As if it recognized him.
"You were made to guide them," he whispered. "But you've been used for war. For fear. For control."
And then a voice behind him.
"You're not the first to see that."
Kira turned.
Talia.
The last surviving Nightblood who had not taken the Flame. The one raised far from Polis. The one few remembered.
She stepped into the moonlight.
"I tried to warn them years ago. That the Flame held more than memories."
Kira's breath caught. "You know what's inside?"
She looked down at it, her expression unreadable.
"I know what's buried."
And then, from below, came a scream.
One of the guards was down.
Another whisper of gas. Another flicker in the dark.
Kira spun around—
And Lexa was gone from her bed.
—
In the hall, Lexa staggered.
Her sword had been missing.
Her limbs sluggish.
She made it three steps before the figure behind her struck.
A dart to the neck.
A whisper against her ear.
"Don't worry, Heda. We won't kill you."
"We need you."
Lexa's last thought before darkness was Kira's face.
Not as it was now, but years ago. In the other timeline. When he had smiled like he didn't carry the world.
And she wondered, if he found her again, would he still love what she had become?
—
Kira ran through the halls like a storm.
The Council chambers were empty. The guards drugged.
No signs of struggle.
Just one mark etched in the wall:
A symbol. Circular. Radiating lines.
Not Trigedasleng.
Not Ark.
But before both.
Raven reached his side. "What the hell is that?"
Kira whispered, "It's from before the bombs."
And Clarke, behind them, said:
"I've seen it too."
They all turned.
"In Mount Weather," she said. "It was etched into the walls of their old tech labs."
Kira's hands tightened.
"Then we were never fighting the Clans."
"We were fighting the ones who survived before."
—
And now they had Lexa.
Not to kill her.
But to use her.
Because the Flame didn't just hold memory.
It held the key.
And the only one who could access it fully—
Was the one who still carried its voice in her blood.
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