11 The Obsidian Tower

As dusk settled over Polis, casting long shadows across the obsidian courtyard, Sen lingered behind as Grok herded the captured children towards the black-clad figures.

He wasn't there out of any newfound compassion, but instead, pure pragmatism. These children, their fear a tangible presence in the air, were another variable in his ever-shifting world. He needed every edge he could get.

He caught a glimpse of the girl, Amara, her wide, terrified eyes locking with his for a fleeting moment. A flicker of something – defiance, perhaps, or a desperate plea – sparked in their depths.

It was a spark Sen promptly extinguished. He wasn't here to play hero.

He was here for himself, and the children were simply another obstacle, another card to be played if the situation demanded.

"What's your name?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. The question surprised even him, a momentary lapse in his usual stoicism.

Amara hesitated, then whispered, "Amara."

Grok barked a harsh order. "Sky Person, move it! Don't you dare fraternize with the condemned." It was clear enough that he was on edge around Lexa's guards.

Sen clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Don't forget that you don't give me orders, Grok" he muttered, his eyes lingering on Amara for a beat longer than necessary. He wasn't sure why, but the raw fear in her gaze left a faint echo in his gut, an unwelcome prickle of unease. He pushed it down, focusing instead on the task at hand – survival.

The obsidian courtyard buzzed with activity. Grounders in gleaming armor practiced intricate combat formations, their movements a deadly battle of strength under the watchful eyes of their superiors. The rhythmic clash of metal swords echoed off the black walls, creating an unsettling symphony of war.

This wasn't the ragtag group of Grounders he'd encountered in the wild. These were Lexa's elite, honed instruments of her will, their movements precise and their expressions grim.

They arrived at the foot of the colossal obsidian tower, its smooth surface reflecting the warped image of the sky above.

A single figure emerged from a shadowed doorway – Lexa, adorned in regal black clothing adorned with intricate bone designs.

Sen's heart hammered against his ribs. Seeing Lexa, the whispers of a potential alliance back at camp flickered in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, there was an angle here he could exploit.

Lexa's gaze swept over the captured group. Sen didn't care about their fate, but the way her dark eyes lingered for a moment on him sent a jolt through him. This was the woman who held the lives of millions of grounders in her hands. The woman who, at the flick of her wrist, could simply start a war.

"Commander Lexa," Grok rumbled, bowing his head in deference. "These are the captured Ice Nation recruits. As per our agreement—"

Lexa raised a hand, silencing him. Her voice, when she spoke, was surprisingly soft, yet carried a quiet power. "Let them be bathed and fed. We shall address their fate at the Heda council tonight."

Despite Sen's initial surprise at Lexa's soft approach to the spy children, his mind was mainly focused on one thing. The Heda council – a gathering of Grounder clans. An unpredictable factor, but one Sen would make sure to navigate carefully. He wasn't interested in heroics or anything relating to it. He was interested in survival, and tonight, in that cavernous chamber, he would play his cards just right.

***

The flickering oil lamp cast long, distorted shadows that danced on the rough-hewn stone walls of Sen's chambers. The simple fare remained untouched on the table beside his bed, his appetite eclipsed by the churning thoughts in his head.

The Heda council was an unknown factor, a potential opportunity Sen intended to exploit.

He closed his eyes, picturing Lexa's face – beautiful, yes, but her dark eyes held a steely glint, a hint of something wild and untamed. Rumors swirled around her, tales of a ruthless commander who wielded power with a deadly grace.

Sen wasn't interested in power struggles or alliances – at least not yet. He was interested in survival and his own advancement.

Back in the Delinquents' camp, he'd honed his ability to read people, to anticipate their moves. Here, surrounded by a culture he barely grasped, his instincts were his only weapon.

The rhythmic clash of metal hitting metal echoed from the obsidian courtyard below. Sen looked down below through a small slit in the rough stone wall, watching them train.

The Grounder warriors moved with deadly precision, their movements being a chilling serenade for any normal person who set their eyes upon them.

But unlike those with no combat experience, Sen wasn't afraid — not in the slightest. Fear wouldn't serve him here, just as it hadn't back with Salack.

Suddenly, heavy hand slammed on the door, rattling the hinges.

Grok loomed in the doorway, his face a mask of stoicism. "The Heda awaits," he grunted, gesturing for Sen to follow.

Sen adjusted his ragged clothes, a futile gesture meant to project an air of composure. He followed Grok in tense silence, the cavernous halls echoing with the murmur of voices – a cacophony of different Grounder dialects.

The air itself crackled with anticipation, a stage set for power plays. This council could lead to both alliances between clans, or war between clans.

Lexa stood at the head of a long obsidian table, flanked by imposing Grounder warriors in ceremonial armor. Her regal bearing demanded attention, every movement calculated, every glance measured. As Sen entered, the room fell silent, a hundred pairs of eyes scrutinizing the lone boy.

The reason was clear enough to Sen: Grok had informed the Commander that he was from the Sky.

Sen could only insult Salack and stupidity in his head as he kept his outwardly calm, if not slightly arrogant, appearance.

He wasn't afraid. He squared his shoulders, meeting Lexa's gaze head-on. Her lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Sky Person," she greeted, her voice a low contralto that resonated with authority. "You stand before the Heda council. State your name."

"Sen," he replied, his voice firm. Though he knew they could cut his head clean off his shoulders with no repercussions right now, he wouldn't let them intimidate him. He needed to keep an air of cunningness around him if he wanted to survive comfortably.

He wouldn't allow any of the council member's to see him as weak, lest he be known as a pushover.

Lexa inclined her head. "Sen of Skaikru. We have much to discuss."

The council proceedings were a blur of pronouncements and arguments, power plays veiled in barbed comments and subtle gestures. Sen, ever the observer, took note of the political landscape, searching for an angle.

The debate centered on the captured Ice Nation children. Some advocated for their immediate execution, while others saw potential use as bargaining chips. Sen felt a flicker of something akin to disgust – these were children, mere pawns in a larger game. He didn't care about their fate, but the situation presented an opportunity.

Lexa, silent for much of the debate, finally spoke. Her voice, despite its softness, silenced the room. "We shall not spill innocent blood," she declared, her words holding the weight of an unyielding decree. "However, they cannot remain within our borders."

A murmur of dissent rippled through the chamber. One Grounder leader, adorned with a massive bear claw necklace, rose from his seat, his voice dripping with disapproval. "Heda, these children are spies. They pose a threat to our people."

Sen locked eyes with the man. Defiance. He saw it burning bright in the child, Amara, back in the holding area. He wouldn't let these children, any of them, become pawns.

Though he didn't care about whether the children were killed painlessly, killing mere children brutally was something he had never seen, and something he didn't exactly want to see.

Maybe, just maybe, he could use this situation to his advantage.

With a boldness that surprised even himself, Sen spoke up, his voice cutting through the tension-filled silence. "These children could be useful. They could teach us about the Ice Nation; their customs, along with their weaknesses."

The room erupted in surprised gasps. Sen ignored them, his gaze locked firmly on Lexa. He saw a flicker of something in her eyes – amusement? Curiosity? Maybe, just maybe, a sliver of possibility.

"Speak, Sky Person," Lexa commanded, her voice devoid of emotion. "Elaborate on your proposal."

Sen's voice echoed through the vast chamber, weaving a narrative of potential advantage. He spoke of extracting information from the children, details about Ice Nation battle strategies, weaknesses in their defenses, and potential internal conflicts.

Each word was carefully chosen, laced with a calculated blend of confidence and pragmatism. He wasn't offering empty promises, but the glimmer of a tactical advantage, a chance for the Grounders to gain the upper hand.

As he spoke, Sen observed the reactions around the table. Some Grounder leaders remained skeptical, their faces etched with hardened distrust. Others, however, leaned forward, a flicker of interest sparking in their eyes.

Lexa, ever the enigma, remained unreadable. Her dark eyes held his gaze, an unyielding intensity that sent a shiver down Sen's spine. He couldn't decipher her thoughts, but the silence stretched on, heavy with anticipation.

Finally, Lexa spoke. Her voice, quiet yet laced with an undeniable power, cut through the tension. "This is a bold proposal, Sky Person. But can you assure us of its success?"

Sen met her gaze unflinchingly. "There're no guarantees, but the potential benefits are undeniable. Information is power, and this information could tip the scales in your favor."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber. One Grounder leader, a woman adorned with intricate face paint, spoke up. "Heda, perhaps the Sky Person has a point. These children could be a valuable asset."

The tide was turning, Sen realized with a surge of satisfaction. He pressed on, elaborating on his methods, how he would build rapport with the children, gain their trust, and ultimately, their knowledge. He spoke of patience, of understanding their culture, a concept that seemed to surprise some of the Grounders.

One leader, the same man with the bear claw necklace, scoffed. "These are savages, Sky Person. They understand only violence."

'And you aren't?' Sen thought to himself.

Sen countered, his voice firm. "Even savages have tactics. One's we can extract from the children and make use of."