Ashes of the FutureChapter 4 – The Art of the Mask
The camp was no longer just a clearing in the woods. Under Kira's supervision, it was becoming a fortress.
She'd taken the leadership she was handed by force and shaped it into something functional. Within days of the Grounder ambush, defensive walls of sharpened stakes lined the perimeter. Pit traps and noise alarms hidden beneath leaves surrounded the outer rim. Rotating watches were assigned, and sparring drills were introduced. Clarke handled triage and medical training. Kira? She handled the warriors.
Of course, that came with its own set of problems.
Like Bellamy.
"You're training them like soldiers," he snapped one afternoon as Kira led a group of six through evasion tactics. "They're not warriors. They're kids."
Kira didn't break stride. She ducked a thrown punch from Harper and swept her leg in one fluid motion. "And if they don't learn fast, they'll die like kids."
Bellamy folded his arms, clearly annoyed but with no counterargument.
Murphy, bruised and grinning like the devil, leaned over to Bellamy. "She's got a point, you know. Watching Jasper try to throw a punch is the funniest thing I've seen all week."
Kira looked over. "Then you're next, Murphy."
His grin faltered. "I rescind my commentary."
By week's end, the camp was humming with controlled tension. Everyone felt it—that gut-deep knowledge that more Grounders would come. Kira had seen the series up through season three, and although memory blurred with time, certain beats remained vivid. One of them was Anya. Another was Lexa.
And both would show up sooner than anyone was ready for.
She knelt at the edge of camp, checking one of the snares she'd set for small game. A rabbit, freshly caught, hung limp in the netting. She sighed in relief. It wasn't much, but every meal mattered now.
"Impressive," Clarke's voice came from behind her.
Kira turned, smiling faintly. "Didn't expect you to be the sneaky type."
"I'm learning," Clarke said. "From watching you."
Their eyes held for a moment longer than necessary. Kira looked away first.
"You need help with the skinning?" Clarke asked.
"Not unless you want blood on your boots."
"I'm a doctor, remember? Blood's sort of my thing."
Kira grinned despite herself. "Suit yourself."
They worked in silence, the only sounds the forest and the soft snick of Kira's blade. Clarke handled the rabbit like she'd handled wounds—clinical and precise.
"You always this capable?" Clarke asked.
"Learned some things where I came from."
"Yeah?" She gave her a look. "Where did you come from?"
Kira paused. "A place with a lot more rules and a lot less blood. Let's just say I wasn't made for desk work."
Clarke nodded. "That tracks."
They finished the task and started the walk back.
"I keep wondering," Clarke said, "how long we can hold out. If the Grounders attack in force..."
"They will," Kira said simply. "But not yet. They're watching us. Judging our threat level."
"You sound certain."
"I'm certain of people," Kira replied. "And how they act when territory's involved. We're squatters. That's not going to sit well."
"Then what do we do?"
"We make ourselves too valuable to kill. Or too dangerous."
Clarke fell silent at that, but her eyes shone with thought.
The next morning, the Grounder made contact.
It wasn't dramatic. No explosions, no screaming.
Just a masked figure standing beyond the perimeter as the morning fog peeled away.
Kira noticed first. She was on watch with Octavia, who, despite her rebellious streak, had taken to Kira's training with the intensity of someone desperate to find purpose.
"Kira," Octavia whispered, nudging her shoulder. "Look."
The Grounder stood still, arms open, spear held loosely in one hand, not raised.
A scout, Kira guessed. A test.
She waved over Clarke and Bellamy, then slowly stepped through the barrier with her hands visible.
"Don't do anything stupid," Bellamy hissed.
"I never do," Kira said with a smirk.
She walked forward until only ten feet separated them.
"You've been watching," she said calmly.
The Grounder didn't answer.
"I want to talk. Not fight."
A pause. Then the Grounder lowered his mask. Young. Tattooed. Stern.
"I am Dyoza," he said.
Kira's eyebrow lifted. That wasn't in the script.
"You speak for your people?" she asked.
"I speak for your trial."
That word echoed like a thunderclap.
Clarke, behind her, stepped forward. "Trial?"
Dyoza nodded. "You survive the test. Then the Commander may listen."
Lexa. It was coming.
"What's the test?" Kira asked.
Dyoza pointed into the forest. "You enter the grove. You leave alone."
Kira frowned. "So what, it's a trap?"
"No," he said. "A judgment."
Before Bellamy could explode, Kira nodded. "I'll do it."
"Kira—" Clarke began.
"It's me or war," she said. "And I like my odds."
The grove was twenty minutes' walk from camp. The air was thicker there. The silence, unnatural.
Kira entered at dusk.
Almost immediately, she felt it. A presence. Watching.
She'd faced off against street gangs, thugs, even an underground pit fighter once back in her old world. But this? This was something different. Ancient. Tactical.
Then they came.
Three masked Grounders in silent formation.
Kira exhaled slowly and dropped into stance.
The fight was a dance.
They attacked in waves—fluid, rehearsed. Kira moved like water, dodging, redirecting. She landed sharp, brutal strikes. A knee to the gut, a palm to the throat, a snap kick to the leg joint.
They weren't trying to kill her. Just test her.
One got a lucky cut across her arm. She gritted her teeth, slammed him into a tree, and disarmed the second with a shoulder lock.
Blood pounded in her ears. Her muscles screamed.
And then... it was over.
The Grounders stepped back. Nodded.
Dyoza emerged from the shadows.
"You passed," he said.
Kira breathed hard, sweat matting her hair. "Barely."
"You fought with honor. Pain is proof. The Commander will see you."
Back at camp, they waited, tense, until Kira returned just after midnight, cut but alive.
Clarke was the first to rush to her. "Are you okay?"
"I've been worse."
Clarke's eyes lingered on the blood. "That's not comforting."
Bellamy sighed. "So what now?"
Kira wiped her brow. "Now... we get invited to meet the person who decides whether we live or die."
Two days later, the summons came.
A party of Grounders escorted Kira, Clarke, and Bellamy into the deep woods. Flanked by warriors and covered by archers hidden in the trees, the walk felt more like a death march than diplomacy.
But Kira stayed calm.
Then she saw her.
Lexa.
Dressed in armor of dark leather and furs, eyes like knives and soul like steel.
Kira didn't falter. She stepped forward and knelt. Not out of submission, but respect. Her eyes met Lexa's.
"Commander," she said.
Lexa studied her, intrigued. "You're not from the Ark."
"No," Kira replied. "But I fight for them."
"And why should I spare them?" Lexa asked, voice calm, dangerous.
Kira stood. "Because peace is worth more than war. And I'm willing to fight for that, too."
Lexa tilted her head, as if seeing through her.
"You're a warrior. But not one of ours."
"No," Kira said. "But maybe we're not so different."
The corner of Lexa's mouth twitched.
"We shall see."
End of Chapter 4
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