9 Mission

Thirty-six days bled into one another, a monotonous symphony of grunts, sweat splashing on dirt, and the dull ache of constantly healing muscles.

Sen, once a wide-eyed Sky Person who stumbled into the Grounder camp, had transformed. His movements, though lacking the refined grace of a dancer, held a newfound lethality. He was a fledgling predator, honing his instincts under Salack's brutal tutelage.

His eyes no longer held the curious glint of finding a new fighting style. His eyes, previously yearning to explore life, now held no aspirations. During these 36 days, Salack had ruined him.

The memory of their first hand-to-hand session remained a searing brand in his mind.

Salack, a whirlwind of fists and kicks, had left Sen gasping for air. The Grounder veteran's words echoed in his head, a cruel mantra: "Slow, Sky Person! You fight like a frightened rabbit, not a warrior!"

Ruin had fueled Sen's determination. But mimicking Salack's brute force proved futile. Frustration gnawed at him as the older Grounder easily parried his clumsy blows.

Then, a flicker of something resurfaced, a memory from a few weeks ago, causing his body to momentarily twitch.

This memory had become the worst yet most beneficial thing to ever happen to Sen.

He moved with a newfound unpredictability, dodging Salack's attacks with surprising agility. He started utilizing unorthodox strikes – a kick to the kneecaps here, a strike to the throat there – tactics born from necessity and a desperate yearning to bridge the gap between him and his tormentor.

The tide began to turn. Frustration flickered in Salack's eyes as Sen's unorthodox approach disrupted his rhythm. Sen landed a glancing blow on Salack's jaw, the first time he'd managed to connect. A flicker of grudging respect, a rare emotion from the Grounder leader, replaced the initial disdain in Salack's gaze.

"Not bad, Sky Person," Salack rasped, the effort of the fight evident in his ragged breaths. "Almost… Grounder-worthy."

"You're weaker than me now. It only took a month." With these simple yet apathetic words, Sen walked away, heading back into the hut.

—29 Days Ago—

One evening, as the dying embers of the campfire cast flickering shadows on the faces around him, Salack returned to the camp, a young woman with eyes as vibrant as forest leaves trailing behind him.

Nala, her name was.

Salack claimed she was a captured Ice Nation spy, awaiting interrogation and likely execution.

Nala, unlike the hardened Grounders, flinched at Sen's approach. Her fear was palpable, a stark contrast to the gruff indifference of the other warriors. Yet, Salack, with a sly glint in his eyes, started pairing them for training.

Sparring with Nala was a revelation. Her movements, honed by survival in the harsh icey environment, were surprisingly agile. She wasn't a fighter by choice, but she possessed a natural grace that Sen couldn't take his eyes off of. As they sparred, the initial fear in her eyes gradually melted away, replaced by a hesitant trust.

They started talking during breaks, stolen moments amidst the relentless training schedule. Nala spoke of her village nestled amongst towering pines, a place where the air hummed with the melody of unseen birds. Sen, in turn, shared stories of the Ark, tales of a world bathed in artificial light, a world he barely remembered.

A fragile bond began to form between them, a flicker of warmth amidst the harsh realities of their existence. Nala, with her gentle spirit and tales of a peaceful life, was a welcome respite from the constant brutality. For the first time since arriving on Earth, Sen felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, there was more to life than endless training and bloodshed. Perhaps, he wasn't destined to become a grounder after all.

—Present Time—

The days that followed were a blur of training, patrols, and the ever-present awareness of being watched. Salack remained an enigma, his motives shrouded in secrecy. He treated Sen with a grudging respect, but his gaze held a calculating glint.

One evening, as a fire crackled in the dirt outside, casting flickering shadows on the hardened face of Sen, Salack approached him with an unsettling grin.

"We have a new mission, kid," he rasped, his voice a low growl. "An Ice Nation patrol has been spotted venturing into Grounder territory. Time to show them why they shouldn't overstep their boundaries."

"Thought you didn't take orders from the commander?" Sen said degradingly while he squatted in the dirt clearing, drawing the Ark in the dirt with a stick.

"I've never said that. I just don't have undying loyalty to her. An order here and there won't hurt." Salack said, his head hanging low as he looked at what Sen was drawing.

This was the first time Sen would be venturing out alone. A part of him yearned for freedom, for a chance to escape the Grounder camp. But another, colder part of him recognized that this would help him survive.

The journey to the rendezvous point with the other warriors was a lonely one. Sen navigated the treacherous terrain on autopilot, his mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions.

He yearned for answers.

For the first time in weeks, he wondered how the other 99 juveniles were doing.

Were they even alive?

Was Octavia?

What was Salack's ultimate goal?

Was there a way to escape this life of violence?

He knew the answer to the last question was no.

As dusk settled, casting long shadows across the desolate landscape, Sen reached the meeting point. The other Grounders, hardened veterans with battle scars etched on their faces, greeted him with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.

"(Look away, ugly fuckers,)" Sen said in perfect Trigedasleng as he pulled a dagger out of his boot that Salack gave him and held it in a reverse grip.

Their leader, a hulking brute named Grok, studied Sen with narrowed eyes. "(Salack said you were good, Sky Person,)" he rumbled, his voice heavy with doubt. "(Let's hope he's right. The people of Ice Nation are known for their ruthlessness.)"

Unlike Grok, the Grounders around him bristled at Sen's insult, hands instinctively reaching for their weapons, but before they could react, Salack materialized from the shadows behind them, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"(Calm yourselves,)" Salack growled, his voice deceptively smooth. "(The Sky Person is merely… expressing his enthusiasm for the occasion.)"

Sen met Salack's gaze, a silent defiance sparking between them. He knew he was pushing his luck, but something had shifted within him. The brutal training, the constant scrutiny, the flickering hope cruelly crushed by Nala's absence – all of it had hardened him, but it had also sparked a rebellious streak. He wouldn't be Salack's puppet anymore.

"(Besides,)" Salack continued, addressing Grok, "(his little… theatrics might come in handy. Confuse the enemy, disrupt their formations. Who knows, maybe the Sky Person can even teach you Grounders a thing or two about agility.)"

A flicker of something akin to amusement crossed Grok's face. He grunted, a low rumble in his chest. "(Fine. But if he gets himself killed, it's on you, Salack.)"

Sen smirked, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes. "(Don't worry, Grounder,)" he spat in Trigedasleng. "(I'm not dying surrounded by filthy Gro-)"

"(Anyways! Let's get ready,)" Salack said, interrupting Sen's insult as he glared at him.

The raid unfolded under the cloak of a starless night.

Following Grok's lead, Sen moved like a phantom through the treacherous terrain, using his dagger like an extension of his own arm as he used it to move through the terrain faster.

He reveled in the fluidity of his movements, a stark contrast to the brutal brawling Salack had initially focused on.

They infiltrated the Ice Nation's camp with surprising ease.

The guards, accustomed to the Grounders' more brute-force attacks, were caught off guard by Sen's swift, silent strikes. He took down two sentries before they could raise an alarm, stabbing one in the back of the neck, and the other underneath his jaw, piercing his head. A grim satisfaction filling him with each successful move.

But when he reached the heart of the camp, the sound of screams shattered the night.

Not hardened warriors, but young recruits barely out of their teens, were being rounded up by the Grounders.

The sound of terrified screams ripped through the frigid air, shattering the fragile illusion of a typical raid. Sen's gaze flicked towards the scene, not with empathy, but with a flicker of annoyance. It was pathetic, not to mention unnecessary.

"Please don't kill me!" One of the boys screamed out, his voice cracking under fear as tears left his eyes.

Sen walked up to Salack and asked a question that Salack wasn't expecting. "Why haven't you killed them yet?"

Hearing Sen's question made Salack crack the widest grin he'd ever had. He was glad to see his plan to make Sen more cruel had worked.

"We were just assigned to capture them and take them to Lexa. We're not allowed to kill them."

"Lexa?" Sen asked, unfamiliar to the name.

"The commander. Lexa."

Salack had taught Sen in their ways, but had failed to tell him the name of the commander, hence his confusion. "Mm, alright."

"(Grok, let's go already,)" Sen called out, and despite his lack of respect, Grok didn't bring it up, and instead called back out.

"(Tying their arms up, fast boy.)"

'Fast boy…' Sen thought, noticing how distasteful the name was. 'He's bad with nicknames.'

As he was thinking, Grok whistled, and suddenly, 4 horses came flocking towards him. Each horse was wearing a black metal mask with eye slots; all in all, they looked like what you'd imagine spartan war horses looking like.

One particular horse caught Sen's attention as he walked over to it, thinking back to the Ark's books about horse-mounting that he was forced to read.

As he got onto the horse, Salack and Grok got onto the other two, leaving one horse left, which was quickly mounted by one of Grok's subordinates. Sen couldn't be bothered to remember the names of insignificant people.

"Who says you get a horse?" Salack asked with a smile, looking at Sen.

"My future tired legs," Sen simply responded, illiciting a laugh from Salack as they got on their way to Polis, where the Commander resides.