With the camp defenses secured and the adrenaline beginning to fade, Aleksander turned his attention back to Clarke. She had spent the battle acting as the tactical anchor, but as a leader of the camp, she needed her own equalizer for the ground.
He led her away from the commotion toward a calm, sturdy-looking Gullfaxi mare grazing near the edge of the reinforced wall. Its coat was a deep, earthy brown, and it radiated a steady, unshakeable strength.
"She suits you," Aleksander noted softly, watching the massive beast pull at a patch of grass. "Go to her. No fear, no sudden movements. Just purpose."
Clarke took a slow, deep breath. She was a healer and a leader, but standing face-to-face with a mutated, muscle-bound warhorse was entirely new territory. Still, she trusted Aleksander. She stepped forward, keeping her posture open and her hands visible.
The mare paused its chewing, turning its large, intelligent eyes toward the blonde girl. It snorted, testing the air, but didn't pin its ears back. Clarke reached out slowly, pressing her hand flat against the beast's warm, thick neck. The horse let out a long breath, leaning into her touch.
"You did it," Aleksander said, stepping up beside her with a faint, approving smile. He grabbed the heavy leather saddlehorn. "Now, let's get you up."
He hoisted Clarke into the saddle, stepping up onto the stirrup to vault in behind her, just as he had with Octavia. He reached his arms around her, placing her hands over the thick leather reins and wrapping his own fingers over hers.
"Deep breath," Aleksander instructed, his voice a calm anchor near her ear. "Feel the rhythm of her breathing. You aren't forcing her to move; you are asking her to move with you."
He guided her hands, showing her the exact tension needed to steer without pulling. With a gentle squeeze of Clarke's calves, the massive mare stepped forward. A look of absolute awe washed over Clarke's face as she felt the immense, controlled power of the beast beneath her. The ground felt entirely different from this vantage point—it felt manageable.
They rode a slow circle around the courtyard, the tension bleeding out of Clarke's shoulders before she gently pulled back to halt the horse. But as she slid down from the saddle, the reality of the camp's internal fractures crept back into her mind.
"I'm worried about Raven," Clarke admitted quietly, looking toward the metal ramp of the dropship. "We should check on her."
Aleksander glanced at the heavy metal doors. "I would suggest giving her space. A severed bond requires time to heal, and a crowded room rarely helps."
"Normally, yes," Clarke agreed, her medical and empathetic instincts taking over. "But she just lost the one person she thought she could rely on, right in the middle of a warzone. She doesn't need to be alone right now."
Aleksander considered her words and gave a slight nod. He couldn't argue with Clarke's emotional intuition.
They walked up the ramp and climbed the ladders to the second level of the dropship.
The dim room was lit by the glowing screens of the salvaged Ark console. Raven was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by stripped wires, exposed motherboards, and tools. She was aggressively twisting a copper wire into a transponder relay, her hands moving with frantic, mechanical speed as she worked to establish the live video feed to the Ark.
But her shoulders were shaking.
As Clarke and Aleksander stepped into the room, Raven furiously wiped at her face with the back of her grease-stained sleeve. Her eyes were red and swollen, the tear tracks cutting through the dirt on her cheeks.
"I'm fine," Raven snapped immediately, her voice thick and trembling. She didn't look up from the circuit board. "I'm almost done linking the video feed. I just need to bypass the secondary encryptor."
Aleksander stayed near the hatch, leaning quietly against the metal bulkhead to give them space. Clarke, however, didn't hesitate. She walked directly over to the mechanic and sat down on the floor right beside her.
"Raven," Clarke said softly, gently placing a hand over Raven's trembling fingers, stopping her frantic work. "You don't have to fix everything right this second."
The gentle, grounding touch shattered whatever remaining walls Raven had left.
A sharp, ragged sob tore from Raven's throat. She dropped the pliers and buried her face in her hands, her tough, fearless exterior crumbling completely. Clarke immediately wrapped her arms around the older girl, pulling her into a tight, comforting embrace.
"I don't understand," Raven cried against Clarke's shoulder, years of repressed pain spilling out. "It's always been me and him. Since we were kids. My mom was a drunk who traded our rations for moonshine. Finn was the one who shared his food with me. He was the one who looked out for me when everyone else treated me like zero-G trash."
Clarke rubbed her back soothingly, listening without judgment.
"He was all I had," Raven choked out, her fingers gripping the fabric of Clarke's jacket like a lifeline. "I built a pod out of scrap metal and rode a bomb down to Earth just to find him. And he... he just threw it away. Like it meant nothing. Like I meant nothing."
"You mean everything, Raven," Clarke whispered fiercely, holding her tighter. "You are brilliant, and you are strong, and you do not need him to validate your worth. What he did is on him, not you."
Standing in the shadows, Aleksander watched the exchange, his empathy catching the raw, jagged spikes of Raven's grief slowly being dulled by Clarke's genuine compassion. The camp was surrounded by enemies, but in that moment, the strongest defense they had wasn't a magical barrier or a high-powered rifle. It was each other.
Raven slowly pulled back, wiping her eyes and taking a shaky breath. She looked at the glowing console. "I need to finish this. The Ark needs to know we're alive, and they need to see what we're up against."