FROM HER ASHES³ ━━ Bellamy Blake

𝐕𝐈: And Thus With a Kiss

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AND THUS
WITH A KISS

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POLIS, AS IT transpires, is nothing more then poisonous black ruins and seething sands. Moving briskly through the shifting dust as the swollen morning sun climbs higher and higher into the tombstone-colored sky, nuclear oranges and hazy red beams of light twisting like briars through coffin-like clouds, Lyra feels blind with defeat and empty-handed as she walks between the huddled group of the injured, the one that Jackson can do little to help by himself. She almost feels like a moon adrift at the edge of the world.

After a while of wandering the makeshift sick bays stained with the foul stench of flesh and blood, indefinite, lonely, Lyra goes on in search of of something else. Wreathed in blacks and reds, the familiar weight of her handgun pressing into her thigh, she wonders if maybe she should find Octavia's council. Nerves chew away at her now, belly twisting, churning, curling, over and over, until the knots make her physically ill. She is starting to think that war is all she will ever know. It is who she has become.

But when Lyra arrives at the heart of the city, where the fountain lays, obliterated, she finds Clarke Griffin, the woman who had survived the Death Wave and survived at the world's end for six years, and occasionally Lyra's friend ━━ depending on the latest crisis and on what side each woman was on ━━ chasing after Nate, rather tan hands wringing together desperately.

     "Miller!" Clarke's voice is stiff with the familiar commands, as if she still expects to be obeyed just like she had been six years ago. "Miller, wait!"

     Ignoring her, Nate quickens his pace, throwing his rough hood over his head. It's been six years. None of them take Clarke's orders anymore.

      Turning smoothly, Lyra starts towards him. "Nate!"

     This time, he does stop.

     Lifting his hood, his uniform the color of saffron as he flashes her a wolffish grin, it's enough to almost remind Lyra of the golden afternoons at the drop ship camp, his presence just as thawing as the glittering sun. For many years, Nate had been her lifeline, just as Octavia was, and the thought of losing yet another friend is unfathomable to the woman who has already lost everything. But standing here, beside his unwavering friendship, it feels like a featherweight has been lifted from her shoulders. Soothing her anxieties just a little.

     "Wanangeda," jokes Nate fondly. "Let me guess, you're here to tell your dearest friend to stay safe?"

     "More like I'm here to warn you I'm too lazy to find another head of the army," Lyra retorts, her lips quirking every-so-slightly. "Listen, Diyoza's dangerous. I don't care about the mission. If anything — anything — jeopardizes your safety, I want you out of there."

     His grin is wolffish. "You know how I do it. In and out like a motherfucking thief."

     "Miller!" Clarke reaches them, frustrated, cropped blonde hair frizzing around her head like a shattered crown. "Lyra! What the hell?"