Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“One may wonder about the world and the concept of existence. Uncertain of what their purpose is, the reason they were born, the person they are, and the one they could have been. Some have tasted luck, as the right side of the world welcomed them into its embrace — to blend in, walk freely around without the worry of offending, just like the ones adorned with the too well recognisable symbol of the devil tightly tied around their left arm inevitably do. Those are marked at birth, the curse of an impure blood flooding through their veins, branding them as the vile progeniture of the abominations of the past. Pariahs, they are to the rest of the world. The black sheeps. The left ones.”

— Abstract of an objective thesis about the Eldian people in modern society.

The sun was sinking slowly, playing hide and seek behind the tall buildings and dyeing the sky with orange shades one could find on a prestigious painting. At this time of the day, people walked back home, moving in a regular, uniform movement, the shape of them fitting the streets of Liberio. This mass of men, all wearing quite decent suits, seemed to be never-ending, drawing more and more of them yet without ever growing larger. Like water in a riverbed — they just flew and flew around, these waves of greyish uniforms, causing no trouble that would disrupt the rhythm.

Yet.

Quick, light steps echoed against the tiles. The bottom of a long coat, tightly wrapped over one of those military attires, welcomed the cold breeze in its folds, fluttering softly behind. A woman — the gentle features hidden by the pulled-up collar did not allow an ounce of doubt to bloom — seeking calmness on her way back home, away from the tumultuous crowd and its thousands of eyes. Yet it was easier to move unnoticed within the sea.

Still, there was that armband , that little star that would immediately set her apart in a second.

Born on the wrong side of the world.

She neared the corner of the street when a voice behind her echoed. 

Well-known, yet unfamiliar.

Her steps froze for a second before she turned back. 

Reiner Braun.

"Damn it..." The blond muttered under his breath and repeated the names he had been shouting for a while. "Gabi! Falco!"

Then came the moment his gaze met hers. His brows furrowed further before softening faintly as he recognised her in spite of the years that had passed — Vivian Harter , the one he once called his childhood friend.

“Vivian?”  

“Long time no see, Reiner.”

The words left freely, filling the wind that blew between them. And then just quiet looks. Sometimes a few twitches of the fingers curling up in the sleeves.

Both noticed the endless thoughts twirling in one another’s eyes — yet none dared to voice them. Fearing to trouble today’s waters by stirring back the shards of the past.

Still, their hands clung to them.

"Causing trouble again, I see." A polite — yet unforced — smile appeared on her lips amidst the lingering tension.

"Always do. Those two never listen to anyone, I swear. It'll get them killed one day."

“They’re children — rebellious, running around for a while before coming back exhausted, their knees covered in dust. Just like we used to. Don’t fuss too much.”

"Mhmm." He shrugged faintly. "Lately, times have been rather uncertain — I’m sure you’ve noticed. And even I might not be able to do anything if something were to happen."

"Any reason to believe so?”

"Maybe."

Silence crept through the secondary street, lined with sophisticated mansions mirroring another row of their peers. This neighbour was not known for its wealth — yet its proximity to the Internment Zone was the perfect occasion for the Marleyan to show off with the sole intention to rub their status of good men against the Eldian’s faces. A reminder of what they would never achieve, the tall fences accentuating the fracture between their two worlds.

Destined to lie down, to crawl in misery until none of them remained. “Reap what you sow,” were the words the starred ones always received. “And be thankful we have granted you the right to stand still.”

It might very well be a dead sentence, though their chests beat still.

"My mother told me you used to pass by when I was away." Reiner cleared his throat. "Thank you. Nothing was forcing your hand, especially after... You know.”

He then looked away, memories flashing back in his mind — heavy, bitter. Nothing a friend would have said.

"It's okay," she shook her head. "Karina’s always been good to me. And she was there when my own passed away."

"I’ve heard about it — it's been two years, right? I'm sorry for your loss."

"I appreciate it.”

To be a single mother in the Internment Zone was far from being a comfortable situation — and that hardship led the two women to bond. Soldier Franz Harter — Vivian’s father — met his end in the year 835 during one of Marley’s many campaigns, nearly two years after her birth. A required sacrifice according to the Empire, but not much apologies were received for depriving a family from its only man.

Reiner's, on the other hand, was alive — yet never bothered to acknowledge the existence of his son. The young boy that once showed up to his door, a nervous yet hopeful smile etched on his features as he held up that cherished red armband before the man’s eyes, was nothing more but a foolish mistake .

A repellent Eldian .

And no honorary Marleyan title would ever change that.

"You'd tell me if you saw them, right?" He once again looked around, hoping to see the two children pop up at the corner of one of the buildings, exhausted but safe and sound. "She's the noisy, proud kind, always followed by that softer yet clever boy."

Details multiplied, feeding the hope it would suddenly spark a memory in Vivian — something, anything . Alas, the blond had to make up his mind as she shook her head once again.

"Alright. Sorry for pushing it onto you."

"No need to apologise. Need help?"

A quiet hum escaped him as soon as she asked. No mock kindness was to be seen on her features — or perhaps she was better than most at crafting bittersweet lies.

"I’ll be fine, don’t let my problems bother you." Reiner then glanced toward the Eldian Internment Zone. "The night’s been falling quickly these last weeks — you don’t want to miss the curfew. And don’t get into trouble for my sake. You might have it a bit easier than the others thanks to your military records — still, I wouldn't recommend wandering around."

Her eyebrow lifted faintly. She did not remember him as the caring kind — always too focused on his goals, nearly thinking about the consequences, be it on others or himself — as long as he earned what he longed for, it did not matter.

Reckless, yet dedicated for sure.

"I wouldn’t have proposed, had I been hesitant to do so." Her fingers brushed against the greyish armband a few times before she walked past him — heading in the opposite direction of the fenced district. “Come on, let’s go.”

Needless to say he did not expect her to take the lead. Young Vivian used to be passive, standing in the back, following without a blink anything one standing ahead might suggest.

And now it was as if confidence had met her.

"You're still reluctant to ask for help, even after all these years." Vivian broke the quiet atmosphere a moment later, its embrace akin to a thick, unyielding blizzard.

Reiner turned his head as she spoke.

"And you still dive blindly into potential troubles for me. Maybe it's a habit you should break."

"I made the call myself. If there's any consequences to carry, that's on me."

His gaze shifted, a hint of guilt shining briefly in his eyes.

"Sorry."

The alleys immediately filled up with more men in those grey, fancy suits as they crossed one of the main districts of Liberio. Though they did not draw much attention at first, there was still that cursed star on her arm that made more than one eye turn to them, the air around them filling up with disdain as soon as they noticed that small, tiny, but oh so significant symbol.

"I've heard about your achievements in the war against the Mid-East Allied Forces." Reiner was, this time, the one breaking the silence. "They say you're the one who took down the two enemy aircraft during the last raid. That's impressive."

"Only one actually — it appeared the pilot lost control after I aimed at his engine, and crashed into his peer."

"Impressive still. And clever. You don't need to humble yourself."

Harter glanced at him.

"That's a lot of compliments coming from you."

"Huh?"

It hit him like a cold, icy wave.

Then he remembered the way his younger-self used to behave with her — always pressing her to follow his playful plans, not even bothering to acknowledge if she was still running behind or not, and reproaching her when she was not pouring enough interest into it. Their games were filled with dreams of becoming those strong, fearless warriors, indulging in the tales of previous battles the Empire had always bragged about — the valiant Marleyan soldiers driving the devilish foes away, embodying that invincible nation that could reach anything it craved for by the sole use of those precious shifters. Those dreams — or shall he say, his dreams, as Reiner was the one pushing them onto her — were what ruled their friendship. And for reasons he had never really thought about, Vivian had not once protested.

"I get it." The blond man sighed quietly, shaking his head to push the memories away. "I'm sorry".

"Don’t be.” Her gaze lingered over his frame. "It's just always a bit unsettling to be praised for taking lives, though I signed for the job knowing this."

"And it was either you or them. It's not like you had a choice."

"I know it too well."

The words sank with unease — too familiar. Grimness flew between his clenched jaw.

They escaped the crowd of Marleyan men, the rumble of their shoes now a far-off echo in the newfound calm.

Within minutes, Reiner’s anxiety over the two children doing God-knows-what in a place they did not yet belong to, grew more intense. They were, indeed, warrior candidates and could walk out of the Internment Zone more freely than any other Eldian. But had they done anything a bit too wrong, a bit too eldian , he knew not only they would face retaliation — their entire families would pay the price. Falco's relatives were already under close watch after his uncle was exposed as an Eldian Restorationist — new accusations against the Grices, even unfounded, could send them straight to Paradis Island.

To many, death was a sweeter fate.

"Soldier, huh?" The blond man muttered under his breath. "Not a warrior, at least."

"Did you say something?".

Reiner's thoughts escaped him before he could even acknowledge it.

"No... No, I didn't.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing important."

Nothing you need to worry about.

Vivian did not push the conversation further.

It did not take long for them to hear commotion nearby and see the two missing children burst out of the corner of a small park.

"I know you placed this rock there on purpose just to win the final race!" Gabi grumbled, her knees stained with mud. "That's unfair!"

"You're imagining things!" Falco shook his head, offended by the accusations she had been throwing at him since she fell. "How could I even place the rock on the road if you're the one who led us to the area—"

"You're trying to confuse me again! — like always!" The young girl cut him off, refusing to hear him out. "Still, that's unfair!"

She stopped in her tracks as soon as she noticed her cousin from afar. Immediately forgetting her argument with the boy, Gabi ran toward the newcomers and gave the tall man a rough but affectionate embrace.

"Reiner!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with joy as his arm wrapped around her shoulders in return, keeping her from falling into him. "What are you doing here? And you too, Vivian? It's been a while!"

"You know each other?" Reiner asked, surprise briefly flickering across his features at the warmth between his cousin and his childhood friend.

"We sometimes cross paths when I spend a few hours with Pieck." Vivian nodded.

"I see." He stepped away from the girl and dusted his long beige jacket off. "Makes sense."

Falco caught up to them a few seconds later, his chest heaving rapidly from the race.

"Good evening, Mr. Braun." He greeted him with great politeness, his left hand raised the way Eldian soldiers are taught to, before turning toward the young woman as well. "I wish the same upon you, Ms. Harter."

"Come on, Falco," Gabi scoffed and patted the blond boy’s back hard enough to push him a few centimetres forward. "No need to be so formal."

"Gabi's right," Vivian’s lips curled into a small smile at Falco's display of respect. "There’s no such need for the official salute."

Gabi grinned briefly before turning once again toward Reiner.

"What are you doing here? Don't tell me you were looking out for us again?"

"I think they were." Falco said — unlike her, he had noticed the slight frown of concern on the warrior’s features.

She let out a grumpy sound before glaring at her cousin — yet it was far from impressing him.

"You don't need to monitor me every day," the girl placed a fist on her hip with the intention of accentuating her words. "I'm grown enough to take care of myself."

"Gabi, you're barely ten," A sigh escaped Reiner’s mouth. Vivian, meanwhile, could barely hide the brief amused glint in her grey irises. "Don't you dare talk to me about maturity and independence."

"That's still ten years!" Gabi insisted. "A whole decade — a lot of things are possible in such a long time. And you always seem to forget I'm the best warrior candidate — that means I’m able to handle any situation, including the necessity to take care of myself."

Reiner crossed his arms as soon as that explanation of hers reached his ears — it was not the first time she tried to justify herself and convince him she knew best.

"It has nothing to do with being a talented warrior candidate. I just worry about what could happen to you out there." He paused for a few seconds. "I've been there too, I know what I mean."

"You should be glad someone cares that much for you, Gabi." Vivian patted her head gently, removing some dirt that fell onto her hair. "This is something to cherish."

"I know, I know. I just… don't want to be seen as a defenseless child anymore."

The young woman's hand remained on her head for a few more seconds before she pulled away and looked up — a painting of dark, dull blue-ish grey hovered by a slightly lighter veil of clouds, giving the scenery some sort of tiny contrast. Reiner was right — the night has been falling quickly lately.

"...And you better not cheat this time!" The girl exclaimed, interrupting Vivian's contemplation. “The one reaching the Internment Zone first wins!”

"I didn't—" Falco protested before Gabi began to sprint, not waiting for him. "Hey! You're the one not being fair, we're supposed to start running at the same time!"

He then sighed and quickly greeted the two adults goodbye before leaving as well.

"A perfect copy of you." Harter said softly, a hint of amusement in her tone. "As stubborn as a mule."

"I wasn't that bad." Braun scoffed faintly.

"You were. Should I remind you when—"

"No need to — you're going to find a way to be right."

She hid a smile. If there was something young Reiner was known for back in time, it was for his need to prove to anyone he was right and could achieve anything he had in mind. A thousand souls could prove him wrong, he would never lose that passionate fire burning within himself and would keep fighting for his goal until the last opposing voice died on their lips. A confident demeanor — yet often leading him to troubles and drifting apart from his peers.

And now he seemed to be a completely brand new person, acknowledging whatever flaws he might have had.

"It was a pleasure to see you again." Vivian tucked back a strand of brown hair that escaped her low bun. "I missed it."

Something undefinable sparkled in his hazel gaze. His head raised at the sound of her voice — yet immediately hidden behind a neutral expression.

"Wait, Vivian..." The blond man trailed.

She faced him back.

"Would you mind having dinner tonight?" He asked, a sudden hesitation tugging at him. "I'm certain my mother would be delighted to receive a guest."

"Would she?"

"Absolutely. You know how she is. And she’s quite fond of you, I don't think it'd cause any issue.”

"If she's fine with it — I can't disappoint."

They set off toward the Brauns mansion, once again in that silence that had been following them ever since. And this time she let him take the lead — though she knew the way.

Her eyes moved a few times toward his tall figure illuminated by the dim rays of the streetlights, the sharp angles of his face highlighted slightly, bringing some softness to the painting. His once full and childish — although already a bit square-like — cheeks and jaw had vanished to form a more masculine, defined ensemble that fit perfectly with the shape of his nose, the hump on it bringing a certain harmony to his profile side. The golden glimmers of his eyes had slightly faded over the years, making his gaze sterner and unreadable — yet without taking away the beauty of it, akin to a rock that had been shaped, broken and reshaped over and over, giving a certain sensibility to it. 

But it seemed to Vivian that he was a bit skinnier than he should be.

"You've been staring," His voice interrupted her thoughts. "Have I gotten something on my face?"

"Sorry," She answered, readjusting her gaze quickly. "Don't mind me."

She then spoke again, this time with a touch of uncertainty in her tone.

"You've changed a lot, Reiner. I can barely recognize in you a single sign of the boy you once were."

"I guess I have." The blond man nodded faintly, his fingers twitching by his sides — he knew this topic would come, eventually. "Much happened during all those years. And you as well, Vivian — you're a completely different person. I didn't expect to find out you'd returned to the military path after cutting all ties with the Program. Didn't you say after being denied as a warrior candidate, that you couldn't see yourself taking up arms for real? That you couldn't bear the thought of having blood on your hands?"

"I guess I did." She looked down, allowing the distance to settle once again.

The two of them turned into another street, passing a small coffee house whose waiters tried to get the attention to consume their beverages, and then immediately backed off after noticing the little star on her left arm.

"Why this sudden change?" He kept on pushing. "And you used to smile way more back then. And you're colder — nothing like the brighter and a bit shy girl I played with."

"Are those complaints?"

"N-no, they're not."

Reiner passed a hand over his face, aware that his words may have been too harsh, or given the wrong impression.

"I mean..."

"You expected me to build a different life." Vivian finished the sentence for him, an answer to which he nodded. "Sometimes it doesn't happen the way you planned it."

“Right, you’re right.”

A sigh left his lips. Then another question slipped out.

“What would you have done differently?”

Something in her grey irises sparked — quiet, almost faint, yet still there — and a subtle tension curled the corners of her lips.

“More.” The words came with a certain softness. “I would’ve done more.”

Their journey came to an end before he could even respond, as they reached a large, sophisticated wooden door adorning the front of a refined house, surrounded by other mansions built in those same elegant bricks. It was a huge change for the Brauns who once lived in a small, almost mediocre building — a common type of Eldian housing in Marley, designed to contain dozens of families without taking up too much space. Vivian still remembered the cold winter afternoons at his place, wrapped in a thick blanket as the heat did not always function properly.

And now that he resided in such a place, all those pitiful life conditions were part of the past. A distant, unpleasant memory he had left behind.

"Come in." He took a step aside and gestured for his friend to go first.

She nodded a quick thanks before moving in, her coat already hanging from her arm. It took only a few seconds for Reiner's mother to show up to welcome her son, an apron tied around her waist. Her smile widened as she noticed the guest.

"What a surprise!" Karina immediately pulled Vivian into a warm embrace — exactly the way one would welcome someone sharing their own blood. "Vivian, my dear Vivian..."

"Good evening Ms. Braun." Harter could not help but smile a bit at this sudden display of affection and joy. "I hope I am not—"

"No 'Ms.’ with me, young lady. You're a friend of the family, I told you so many times."

She then looked at her son and offered him a small smile.

"It took you too long to make up with Vivian, Reiner. I thank the Lord you have finally decided to put your pride and stubbornness aside."

“Yeah, I guess I have.” The mumble left his mouth with a faint frustration clinging to the words.

Karina then led them to the dining room, insisting on taking care of dressing the table by herself, delighted to see the two friends sitting in the same room for the first time in years.

"She’s a bit too enthusiastic," Reiner took a seat, his tone low, careful not to let his mother hear. "It never happens when it's Zeke or the others coming over."

"It's okay," Vivian shook her head, her fingers playing with the hem of the lacy tablecloth. "It feels nice to be held dear sometimes."

He remained silent for a moment, her words settling uneasily in his chest as the silverwares were placed before him.

"I suppose it is."

The dishes were brought on the table, the portions quite generous, as if Karina had been expecting guests for dinner. It was a habit of hers to always cook more than necessary, making sure to have something to offer had any potential guest — known friend or Marleyan official — paid the Brauns a sudden visit. She was committed to appear as a flawless host, just as she had always strived to be the most perfect honorary Marleyan — though it often led their peers to see her as obsequious and rather keep their distance.

"Here," she smiled proudly after placing the last plate on the table — right in the centre. "I hope you don't mind eating herring again, Vivian. I do recall I offered the same meal the previous time you came over."

"I have no issue with it." Harter responded with a small smile. "Your cooking is always excellent, Karina."

The blond woman gave a gentle squeeze to her guest’s wrist before she turned toward Reiner, who was pouring himself a glass of water.

"Don't you think you should serve the ladies first? I don’t recall raising you this way."

"Sorry." He mumbled before serving the two women as well. "I thought it was a simple friendly gathering, not something that required etiquette."

Karina then once again faced Vivian, a frown of concern etched on her features.

"Sometimes I fear Reiner won't find a fine woman to marry."

"Mom!" The sip went down the wrong way. “Not this again.”

"It concerns me a lot , son." She placed a few slices of tomatoes on Vivian's plate before filling her own. "Your free time is spent locked in your room, absently staring through the window as if you couldn't take the few steps separating you from the outside. Meeting someone would be good for you."

"This position as Vice-Captain of the Warriors takes all my attention — I have neither the time nor the wish to bother with a hypothetical marriage."

He then grabbed the seasoning to pour it onto his portion of salad.

"Besides, wasn't it you who wanted me to focus solely on proving we were worthy of being Honorary Marleyans?"

"This you've done very well," Karina smiled softly, the slight hint of sarcasm in her son's tone unnoticed. "But it would be time to think about our family, our future. Do you really want the Brauns to simply vanish after all you've done?"

“They won’t — at least, our name won’t. Gabi’s doing a great job at honoring us.”

His mother raised an eyebrow.

"She's already being praised quite a lot during training." Reiner said after swallowing a bite of food. "No doubt she'll do good the day she inherits one of the titans."

"What wonderful news!" Karina's eyes suddenly glowed with genuine joy and admiration. "I wasn't aware that Gabi was as talented as you!"

He let a simple hum pass his lips before focusing on his plate again. Although he now occupied a high rank within the Warrior Unit, Reiner still remembered his years of harsh, intense training during which he was almost always at the brink of not passing through — there was Marcel and his incredible leadership, Porco and his already shaped strength, Bertholdt and his impressive dexterity, Annie and her invincible hand-to-hand combat skills and at last, Pieck and her clever tactical mind.

And then there was him — just being there, with no talent to claim.

Reiner never received those praises Gabi effortlessly did. But to keep his mother proud, he had to make things look better, invent some achievements he could not even dream of completing.

All for the simple glints of affection the child he once was so desperately craved.

"I remember to this day when I used to prepare pies for the two of you," A soft sigh escaped Karina. "You were always asking for more until your stomachs were completely full. Sometimes Reiner couldn't make it to dinner and then I had to make sure there was something he could eat by himself during the night. And here you are, all grown up but finally, oh finally, sitting side by side at the same table."

"You’ve really held on to these memories.” Vivian said, her knife slicing a piece of herring.

"Of course I have." The older woman chuckled. "I've been taking care of you and watching you shine all these years — like the daughter I’ve never had. Thus, seeing that Reiner and yourself have made up sends me over the moon."

Her smile softened further.

"And I owe it to Teresa, may she rest in peace. I'm certain she’d be proud of the woman you've become, Vivian."

"I appreciate—"

"But a pretty lady like you risking her life on the frontline? She’d never approve — why waste your most precious years there, buried in mud for weeks when you could wear feminine dresses daily and receive flowers from a good man?"

"Mom, please, I invited her to spend a cosy evening," Reiner’s grip on the silverware tightened. "Not to embarrass her with your questions."

Disbelief flickered across her features.

" Embarrass her? I am not embarrassing her! Am I, dear?"

"I must say it’s a bit unexpected to be suddenly questioned on such topics." Vivian nodded subtly.

"Are you sure?" He glanced up. "My mother will put you on the spot over and over."

"I know."

"You’re making me sound like an awful person for asking genuine and normal matters." Karina’s tone sharpened faintly, a narrowing of her eyes following.

"Because you're insisting way too much, mom."

"I care for her future, son. Women aren't made to fight their entire lives — their strength doesn't lie in battles and wars like it is the case for men. And when it comes to children…"

Reiner pinched the bridge of his nose as she kept talking — her words intrusive, out of place .

Vivian's hands toyed slightly with her fork. She remembered the few conversations she had shared with her own mother on that very topic before losing her to a lung disease. Teresa did wish for her daughter a loving husband and happy marriage, the thought of attending her only child's most precious day — an event she had always longed to see. The gown, the delicate bouquet, and the ring that would mark the passage from girlhood to womanhood — as momentous as the day Vivian was born. 

But her hopes had never turned into pressure.

"Please, let’s not linger on the matter." She interrupted politely, a stiff smile playing on her lips. "My talents are needed in the military, and I don't think marrying the first man who shows interest in me to avoid loneliness suits me best."

"The young people today," Karina sighed heavily. "Are utterly blind to what is of real value."

The herring and tomato salad gradually disappeared from the plates as the dinner continued. Then came the sweeter dishes and beverages — lemon cakes and cinnamon tea, the former supposedly Reiner’s favorite according to Karina. 

"This tea flavor has grown quite infamous in Liberio.” She offered a pleasant smile to her guest. “It is said the most influential ladies of Marley consume it day and night."

"I suppose it must taste good then." Vivian lifted the cup to her nostrils, the warm trail of smoke caressing her senses.

"Oh, I’m certain of it. These women embody timeless elegance — from their demeanor to the dishes they savor. A true example for ordinary women like us."

And she kept on praising them, describing with awe the way they appeared in those rich fabrics, their silky hair braided in a perfectly harmonious way with no strands running away from the dozen hairpins, always making sure to shine to one’s eyes. “A flawless, prestigious culture” were her words, giving as much detail and reasoning an expert on the topic would — it was clear she had admired them for years and still was.

"This is what Eldian lack in the Internment Zone. And we could not be more blessed, as we had joined this highly educated society thanks to Reiner’s efforts." Karina rested her hand on her guest's forearm. "You could be a part of it if you wished, Vivian."

Her speech was filled with genuine affection, yet Vivian was not convinced. She responded with occasional, polite nods to avoid offending her host.

Next to her, Reiner remained silent to his mother's tirade, focusing on the lemon cake before his eyes — joining in the conversation would be pointless. 

She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall — past seven-thirty. Not too late, yet reckless for an Eldian like her to be out of the Internment Zone. The curfew was only half an hour away. Her fingers met the fabric of her armband.

Her friend caught the urgency blooming on her face and stood, informing his mother that their guest had to leave. Karina pouted slightly but let them go, offering another of those sweet smiles to the young woman.

"I apologise again for my mom's comments," he leaned against the wall after reaching the entrance, observing his childhood friend pull on her coat. "For some reason she's been like this since I returned from the Island. I thought it would fade after a few weeks."

"It's okay, I don't think she meant ill."

After a few seconds of quietness, her voice rose again.

"Lemon cake's your favorite? Funny. You used to hate it back then — its sharpness a real torture for your palate."

"And you used to dislike vinegar seasoning." Reiner shrugged. "Too bitter for your taste."

"Was there vinegar in the salad?" Vivian lifted an eyebrow.

"There was."

A faint chuckle escaped her. Then she gazed back at him, her coat now fully buttoned.

"You want me to walk you back?" He asked, his voice gentler now, as he opened the door, the evening breeze brushing through their hair.

"I'll be fine," Vivian shook her head before taking a step out. "Thank you for the offer. And for having me. See you… soon?"

"Yeah," he confirmed with a nod. "Soon."

She gave a small wave and walked away, the sound of her boots echoing quietly against the paved road, accompanied by the murmurs of distant vehicles. Reiner's eyes lingered on her frame until she turned at the corner of the street, vanishing in the dark, with the trembling rays of the streetlights and flickering shadows behind the other mansions' windows the remaining actors of the scenery.

"I haven't had such a delightful evening in a long time," Karina said with a smile as she carried the empty plates to the kitchen. "It always brings me joy to receive Vivian at home."

"That's good to hear." Reiner faced her after closing the door.

"Please do so more often."

She then approached him and dusted imaginary crumbs off his chest the way she always had after every dinner with the Harters — even though Reiner's attire was completely clean. 

"You should rest a bit." Karina took a step back, that same fondness lingering on her face. "Our Empire needs you at your best."

"Sure." The blond man brushed a hand through his hair. "I'll borrow the bathroom for a while."

He walked past her and made his way toward the stairs.

Then he paused, hesitant, and turned back.

“Good night, mom.”

Gentle, heartfelt words.

Yet only a hum came in reply.

The wind caressed her face, its cold flow cutting through the warm aftertaste of the cinnamon lingering still on her lips.

Vivian moved unnoticed, her steps quick amidst the shadows, avoiding the rays cast by the elegant streetlights. The few Marleyan civilians she passed were too busy or drunk to even acknowledge her presence, chattering and laughing loudly at the exit of the few restaurants nearby — something she was grateful for.

Then came the moment she reached the Internment Zone's large fences. Her gaze caught the two officers standing by, the mink grey uniforms fitting sternly on their frames, toying from time to time with the truncheons that usually hung to their side — as if looking for an excuse to use them tonight.

A faint shiver ran down her spine before she forced her heartbeat to steady and stepped toward the entrance.

"Look at that," one of the men scoffed, his venom echoing harshly to her ears as soon as he noticed the armband. "Can't figure out what 'curfew' means? You're wandering on Marleyan ground when you should be holed up inside your miserable place, doing devilish things."

"Here, the pass." Vivian quickly pulled the paper from her pocket.

Yet the Marleyan slapped her hand away.

"Don't you dare act before I allow it, Eldian wench! This paper doesn't give you the right to disrespect the Empire’s authority, you know what comes of—”

"Quit it, this one’s in the rules." The second man interjected, sternness etched on his features. "Let's not waste time on such petty details when there are bigger issues around, ready to strike at any honest citizen."

"Fine," The former one growled, pushing the cap he wore further down on his head — as if to remind that he still held authority. "But I still believe we should’ve taught her a lesson so she’d remember what happens when her kind dares to act rebelliously."

The second officer then gestured for her to leave quickly and slammed the iron gate immediately after, the shock vibrating through her ears. She caught her breath, her stiff fingers clutching the pass finally loosening.

Sometimes, the Marleyan authorities did not think twice before abusing their power, beating the first unfortunate Eldian passing by with no mercy, just to taste the mad satisfaction of dominating them. Of breaking them. Whether they had violated the law or not did not matter in the slightest. Eldians were barely seen as human beings — meaning that the guilty officers were rarely punished and could easily convince anyone they were acting for the sake of their beloved Empire.

A mock justice that made the starred ones lose faith in hope itself.

Unlike the other districts of Liberio, the Internment Zone lacked light in its streets — akin to the starless sky that had watched over them these past months. “A mere bother for the Government” — the living conditions imposed on the Eldians were of little importance, insignificant . The uneven sidewalks, the cracked walls — silent agents of danger amidst Night’s embrace. Almost left on purpose.

A place perfectly designed for rats to curl up in misery.

After a couple of minutes, Vivian reached home. Her hand quickly sought the key and, with practiced gestures, she opened the door, accompanied by a faint squeak, revealing the dim shapes of the furniture inside. It took a few seconds for the bulb to light up, the sparkles within pulsing briefly before stilling, its yellow light — akin to an old stone on a jewellery — reflecting on her pale skin.

"I'm back," The young woman mumbled to the void welcoming her, took off her coat and shoes, and left them at the entrance.

She then made her way to her room, her fingers untying on the way, the hair band that kept the strict bun she always wore when adorning the uniform. Her brown curls cascaded down her shoulders, brushing softly against her back with each step.

Her gaze lingered for a few seconds on the portrait hanging over the small sideboard in the corridor — one of her parents, the only picture of themselves they ever possessed. They posed with shining smiles before a refined yet simple backdrop, Franz's hands gently resting over Teresa’s covered shoulders, his touch mirroring the affection he held for his wife and their soon-to-be-born daughter.

Happier times — before came the cold, sweeping them apart. 

As her hand curled around the wardrobe handle, Vivian met her own reflection in the mirror embedded in the wooden material. Her eyes studied herself as Reiner's comments resurfaced. It was true — her younger self used to smile more. A little girl with still a hint of innocence in her eyes, her palms pure and soft, the cruelty of this world — though already witnessed within the fences of the Internment Zone — just a distant event that involved grown people only, a place a child like her could still avoid in the warmth of her mother's arms.

Yet still a world that had taken her father away before she could even remember a fraction of him — a voiceless man with a sole smile and grey irises like hers as memento of his existence, as well as the personal belongings her mother kept of him, unable to let go of what was left of her beloved husband. 

Vivian could have chosen to stay away from this somber reality — instead, she dared face it, dive into an abyss of blood and monsters for the sole reason it was whispering her name, almost like an invitation to feel closer to that unmet father with that same illusion she could protect a tiny amount of what she possessed, akin to the memory of Reiner’s heroic dream that lingered still in her heart. Yet carmine now ran down her fingers, a few drops sprinkling her adult features, which bore a stoic, almost cold, expression — far from the softer one the blond warrior seemed to have kept, her feet crushing the path of white, untouched flowers her mother had laid, her long, dark hair whipped by the wind as she kept on walking, kept on moving forward toward something herself was not certain of.

"I supposed I've changed, indeed," Vivian murmured softly before finally pulling the closet’s handle. "As much as you have."

Chapter Text

“I used to believe I could be the one making a change in this world, that I would just need to try over and over until it happened the way I wanted it to. I believed that I could wipe away my mother's tears and make my father finally see me by offering myself to the sole right cause an Eldian like me should follow. I believed by doing this, by adopting that ideal, I would be worthy , and others would cease looking down at me the way they would at some garbage on the side of the road. But then nothing changed and I was so mired in this black and white vision of life I kept on telling myself that I needed to keep trying over and over, to push forward until I reached what I longed for no matter how much damage I was causing. I believed I could be the hero everyone needed without knowing I was a bitter and shameful nothing.”

— Thoughts of a Fallen Hero, 849, Paradis Island.

A slight brush of the blanket falling away was enough to stir him awake, his golden eyes snapping open in a second as he felt the absence of weight over his body. He glanced around and noticed the fine quality bed sheets half-splayed on the wooden floor, a tiny surface of it still covering his legs.

Reiner had become a light sleeper since he returned from the Island — waking up abruptly at the faintest noise or sensation around when it was not nightmares haunting him, poking at his already poisoned mind with more and more guilt that threatened to overwhelm his senses with each new sunrise. The faces of the people he had failed, the ones he had betrayed, killed or left to die — their blood still ran down his hands, those carved, large ones that could not even hold a tight grip on the events he had caused.

A bitter pleasantry .

He sat up and pulled the blanket back onto the mattress, taking a few breaths before noticing the absence of that now-familiar, heavy weight that visited him every morning to curl its sultry arms around his chest — akin to a trail of teasing yet undesired caresses from a mistress seeking to claim him, to mold him to her image. And he remained seated, staring at the wall, waiting for that choking force to assault him with its waves of shame and regret.

It was not a pleasing way to spend the first minutes of his awakened state — but it felt safer . Normal.

A sigh left Reiner's lips before his legs led him to the bathroom, dragged by the routine that had forced itself into habit — thudding, almost burning beneath his skin. The soap scraped against his palms, as if desperately trying to erase something invisible to one’s eyes — that sticky, disturbingly warm sensation deeply ingrained within him, never leaving despite the countless times he had tried to wash it away. “Didn't you say that you couldn't bear the thought of having blood on your hands?” were the words he had told Vivian yesterday like an accusation.

And now they tasted even bitter, almost ridiculous as in the end, he was the one losing his mind over it. 

Reiner glanced down at his fingers — a rash, redness blooming up to the curve of his wrists — and scoffed quietly before splashing water, this time, onto his face, trying to wash away the stiff expression that had become his everyday mask.

After quickly pulling on his uniform, his hand adjusted the symbolic red armband with almost mechanical precision — this same one that once filled him with pride. He used to be a child longing for the heroic missions waiting for him, to prove his worth to Marley, and make his name shine in the pages of History. And now this colored piece of fabric only reminded him of how far he had fallen — a little boy who had allowed himself to be manipulated by those utopian, black and white ideals for dreams of glory, and the desperation to be seen by his peers. 

Yet he still had a duty to fulfil — until then, his trembling peace of mind would have to wait.

The scent of freshly poured coffee offered faint relief from his inner turmoil, his fingers turning the spoon in the cup over and over, his eyes glued to this sole movement, as if fascinated by the warm liquid in it, his own reflection troubled in this dark toned drink. It was a brief moment of quietness that allowed him to escape the thoughts crossing his mind, as if washed by the tiny waves of hot beverage he was creating, the thin foam of it sticking to the iron tool and vanishing in an inaudible, soft hiss.

"I knew I had heard the coffee machine running." Karina's voice pierced the silence, followed by the faint sound of her heels clicking on the kitchen tiles. "Good morning, Reiner."

"Good morning, mom." He looked up and noticed the well ironed suit her mother was dressed in. "Again one of those tea parties?"

She shook her head, the silk headscarf that was in the same color tone as the rest of her attire, softly slipping down her short, blond hair.

"I’m visiting your uncle — we haven’t met in what feels like forever. You reminded me of it, speaking fondly of Gabi yesterday. Perhaps I'll arrive early enough to congratulate her in person. She must know we all support her unconditionally."

Reiner nodded before taking a sip of his coffee. His mother was always the first one offering praises when a member of the family — including himself — bore certain aptitudes to shine and satisfy the Empire's demands. To be a good Eldian was the family mantra, something to strive for above all else — from the youngest to the eldest, there was no exception.

“Send my greetings too.” 

"I will." Karina offered him a small smile, and headed toward the entrance. "Have a nice day, son. May you make Marley and our name proud."

He mumbled a short reply, his attention drifting back to the cup before him. His fingers found the spoon again and stirred the liquid for a few seconds longer .

Today, Zeke intended to discuss the reports of the previous battle against the Mid-East Alliance. “A prime necessity” he had said, crushing with force the cigarette held between his fingers — a punctuation to his words — before dismissing his subordinate the next second.

Still a necessity Reiner was dreading — knowing he would, once again, become the target of his comrades’ blame for every plan he had jeopardised. Something he was painfully aware of, being considered the least competent.

The Shield of Marley — yet the most unreliable, unsteady among them.

A sour bite — just like the aftertaste of his coffee.

His eyes caught his own reflection in the mirror and his fingers brushed through the messy strands, trying to fix the disheveled hairstyle he now always adorned. It was not that he lacked time or means to make it look decent — rather conviction. His physical appearance was not going to make a change in the accomplishment of his duty. Must he take part in an official meeting alongside Yeager, an ironed shirt would be enough to satisfy the expectations placed upon him. Clean. Fitting just right in the background.

Yet his presence was rarely demanded. Zeke had always taken care of everything by himself, nailing every single encounter in a way no other Warrior Chief ever had before him. A brilliant, charismatic leader, committed to obtaining concrete and meticulous results through pragmatic methods. In a few words — he could accomplish anything in a finger-snap the so-called hero of the previous Paradis Operation could not even dream of. Instead, Reiner consciously brought a living hell upon his fellow warriors as the terror of returning home empty handed was too great — an incontestable proof of a too heavy failure for his once childish shoulders.

He once again adjusted his armband before tying his shoes, and head outside, taking the direction of the Military Headquarters. 

The dim light of the sun lingered still in the early hours’ embrace. Yet it did not stop the mass of Marleyan workers from coming to life amidst the streets, moving toward the centre of Liberio. A cacophony of soles hitting against the newly renovated paved road echoed as one drew near, accompanied by the enthusiastic voices from the nearby shop owners calling out to attract the first ladies stopping by to admire the new items on display — hats, with different sorts of ribbon wrapped around the head. A feminine accessory that was perfectly fitting in the latest fashion trends. To him, some were too extravagant, almost ridiculous — perfect nests for the few birds still flying among the wintery skies. 

A few gazes turned to him — or rather, to the red armband — before fleeing back to stare at an invisible point ahead. As if fearing the Eldian who passed them — when disgust did not twist their features. 

The warrior reached his destination after a couple of minutes and quickly made his way to the branch assigned to the Warrior Unit, greeting the few officers on his way with a polite sign of the head — yet not many returned the salutation.

Reiner stopped by their meeting room and took a deep breath, hoping the tiredness on his face would not be too noticeable — Zeke always had a mocking comment ready about it — then pushed the door open, his fingers stiff around the handle.

"And at last, our Vice-Captain has arrived," said the man in question, already sitting at the large table with the rest of the Warriors — and Colt, half-hidden behind a pile of folders. "Come in, you're about to be late."

His gaze then scanned him from head to toe, and a sly smirk began to show up on his face.

"You almost look alright today. Had a girl for the night, maybe two?"

"Zeke, you're unbelievable," Pieck’s eyes rolled upward, her black curls as disheveled as usual. "Reiner certainly just managed to rest a bit. We'd fought relentlessly for almost six months, remember?"

"If you say so," He shrugged before lighting up a cigarette, receiving a slight frown from Porco sitting right next to him. "But he's a man — we have certain whims to satisfy, from time to time."

It earned him a sigh from the young woman, a hint of amusement flickering briefly in her ebene eyes before her features bore a serious expression again.

"As you know," The Captain began to speak once Braun took a seat. "Marley has succeeded in depriving the Mid-East Alliance of a major aircraft factory — one that used to deal heavy blows to our army deployed in the northern part of the continent. Maintaining control of the air front line there will enable us larger ranges of attack, more intricate strategies to push them to capitulate — and thus, bringing us a step closer to the end of this war.”

“ Succeeded in is a big word,” Galliard leaned back in his seat, arms crossed on his chest. “We’ve been more than struggling in this conflict — first, a quarter of our titan shifter forces are missing; secondly, the enemy still beats us in terms of technological progress.”. And I must say those cannon-folder strategies don't help with having the upper hand — our casualties nearly doubled theirs. Can we really call it a ‘crushing victory’ ? For how long will our commanders keep on wasting hundreds of lives just to keep the Alliance busy, until they decide to commit to a real offensive with the main army corps and us, Warriors?”

"Empathy can be powerful — yet turns easily into a restrain.” The words left Yeager’s mouth plainly. “Sacrifices are demanded to achieve concrete results, Porco. You must keep in mind that everything has some weight, some value, some purpose to play during a war. Those thousands of men — though completely meaningless on their own as they do not shine in any particular shield the way a commander, a trained special squad or us, Shifters, would — have their strength and use translated through numbers, groups.”

“And these groups are sent to commit suicide while we watch from afar. How brilliant .”

Sharp — not that it had ever changed. Porco never hesitated to voice his doubts, even when it came across as confrontational.

Yeager’s eyes narrowed.

"Would you risk Marley's future by sending our most precious weapons such as you right to the front because you believe your very power is enough to both protect everyone and win a war?" 

"I'm aware of how harsh it is there.” Galliard nodded reluctantly. “But there’s hardly any purpose in losing that many men for side achievements. And how is Marley going to explain to thousands of families that their relatives won't come back? Have they thought about the fact it might create a rebellion within the Internment Zone? Nobody will accept such a heavy number of victims, terrified of the authorities or not. And we all know how it will end — a damn bloodbath . Marley doesn't need any right now."

"Fear not — the district is nothing more than their breeding pool to inherit the different titans," Finger’s calmness joined in. "Thus, I doubt they’ll completely annihilate our own, as it would highly affect the professionalism of our shifter unit and thus, the impression we project onto the other nations. Less distinguished candidates would apply, and some might not even be fit to lead the fight — a stinking fear Marley would do anything to push back.”

“And I assume using the repatriation program would reveal the weaknesses that have been taunting us?”

Pieck hummed.

"So that's how it is," a frustrated sigh escaped his mouth. "Using us to win their battles. It has always been obvious, but I find it hypocritical that Marley uses the exact same tactics as the ones we've been cursing for a century."

Mindless weapons — the exact, precise way the Empire gazed at them.

Their eyes covered by a thick, shadowy veil while they sacrificed themselves with the blind hope they would atone and prove they were good Eldians .

Ignorant.

Just like young Reiner used to be — running after the belief it was a noble cause. That they were different from those conspiring behind the walls.

And yet, when he blended in during Paradis’ mission and met the so-called devils, the cold truth slapped him right across the face — all he had encountered there was people like him, with dreams, fears and hopes, seeking for a better future.

"I hope you've figured out this war is partly because of your incompetence." Galliard's words landed sharp. "Had I been chosen as the Armored and sent along with Marcel and the others to the Island instead of you , this conflict would have never existed at all."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Being sorry won't—"

"What's done is done," Yeager's tongue clicked dryly. "This unfortunate outcome should have been foreseen by our leaders, and that's a miscalculation we won't repeat again. Let this be clear — keep your personal struggles out of your line of work. We're too busy to allow any distraction to tear us apart."

He was right — there were issues that mattered more than their neverending bitterness. The two men nodded, their gazes never meeting throughout the rest of the meeting.

Zeke then turned to Grice and glanced for a few seconds at the notes he had been taking, before crushing his spent cigarette in the overflowing ashtray.

"In addition to the rumors of this anti-titan technology being developed, there’s confirmed evidence that we’ve been infiltrated by enemy agents — or that the Restorationists have somehow passed on details of our strategies to the Mid-East Forces.”

“These rebels have been quite active recently — and in a rather astounding way.” Pieck hummed, curling a strand of hair around her finger. “I wouldn't be surprised if they did sell us. This chaos would benefit them.”

“Impossible,” Galliard shook his head. “The Alliance has no reasons to trust them — they are as hostile toward the Eldian as they are toward the Marleyan, if not more."

"How are they going to solve the issue?” Reiner glanced toward their chief, uneasiness shadowing his features. “I doubt gathering in the strategy room without knowing who the trespasser is, is the way to go. Neither is doing nothing at all — it’d show that we are suspecting something is off."

"They’ll certainly send me to the field to observe their every move." A resigned sigh left the brunette's mouth. "And I was certain I would be able to spend a few weeks far from this turmoil. I should have known better."

Zeke allowed himself a tiny smile before resuming.

"Commander Magath will soon announce what's to come. Until then — be wary of the people you encounter, soldier or not. The enemy might hide for a while before returning, ready to strike."

Not a single word was spoken — but the firm nods bore the tension, urgency lingering in the air. Another mission weighed on their already burdened shoulders — and there would be no rest until the very end.

To catch or to be caught.

"You’re all dismissed." Yeager stood and moved toward the window, a new cigarette between his fingers. "I suggest you enjoy the calm while it lasts."

Before Reiner could even rise from his seat, the War Chief gestured for him to stay.

"Why don't you pay the Internment Zone a visit? I'm sure they will be glad to see their favorite hero."

"Are you intending to inspire more Eldians to enlist in the warrior program, Zeke?" His subordinate barely hid the bite in his tone.

"Come on, Reiner," the older one laughed — though it lacked warmth. "I remember the days when you were over the moon every time someone cheered you. Admit it — it's not so bad. Especially when you were initially supposed to hand the Armored over after Paradis' fiasco."

Yeager’s words struck through him without mercy — a reminder of what everyone whispered behind closed doors. Had anyone committed half the mistakes Braun had, they would have been gone long ago. A luck that had fallen over him solely because he was the only one left.

Be grateful and walk, hero .

"Fine, I'll go." He masked a sigh behind a professional nod, yet his superior read him like an open book.

"That's what I like to hear."

Reiner stepped toward the exit and Porco's exasperated voice immediately reached his ears — Pieck was once again crawling around. “Legs are too weak” she had always claimed after every long-lasting mission in her shifter form. But her comrades were certain she may have used that weakness of hers more than once for the sole pleasure of scaring them half to death — creeping through the headquarters with a tiny smirk playing on her lips, akin to a shadowy beast.

"Pieck, seriously," Porco brushed a quick hand through his hair. "Be a normal human being for once — it’s really unsettling to see you like this."

"I'm on leave," The brunette shrugged as she looked up at him, still knelt on the floor. "I’m allowed to do whatever suits me best. And I told you — I don't want to risk falling down the stairs and hurting myself, though I’ll be completely fine in the next few hours."

"The staff are certainly used to Pieck's... unusual way to walk after the missions." Colt joined in, yet uneasiness immediately bloomed in his gaze as he witnessed the senior warrior in this position. "Aren't they?"

Galliard scoffed, though with no heat in it.

" 'Used to' is a strong word — she once almost gave a stroke to one of them, as silly as she is. You should have seen the scene it caused."

"I apologised to the poor woman afterwards, no need to bring it up over and over. Unless the thought of my hands covered in shards once more scares you? How compassionate of you, Pock."

"Yeah, yeah, that's right, keep on teasing me," He grabbed her crutches before handing them out — though she did not bother reaching for them. "And quit it with the nickname."

Finger chuckled slightly and let him help her up from the wooden floor, yet not without complaining. Colt’s lips parted to speak when Zeke’s raspy voice interrupted them.

"Colt, by my side. I need your help with some paperwork."

The youngster immediately nodded, greeted Reiner goodbye and rushed back in.

Then returned the dread, its murmurs never too far behind. It was not that the crowd was unpleasant — rather, the performance he was expected to give. Bearing that mock expression of pride on his face and pouring conviction into the lies he now knew by heart — like a mantra — was draining.

Yet the main actor shall always shine on stage. Always . Even when the lights burned.

His fingers rose to this same piece of fabric without him even realising, before he headed out of the Headquarters, his steps heavy, resigned.

The streets of the Internment Zone appeared as busy as during his previous visit. Loud. Noisy. Sometimes with a few children running past workmen, a worn-out cap on the top of their heads. The wind, softened by sunlight easing the chill on his skin, blew across his face — his expression seemingly carved in stone. 

It did not take long for the Eldians to notice his presence. First, Reiner received a few greetings, then friendly pats on the shoulder as he made his way deeper into the area, nearing the market place — the usual meeting point for the shifters' display of pride. “Bless you and your resilience, Mr Braun! You make us Eldians proud.” were the words the crowd often praised him with, gratitude flickering in their eyes, 'You will grant us a brighter future thanks to your hard work.' .

Then came the women with their mouths filled with sweet flattery that bordered on fanaticism. Those who had children brought them forward, their tone filled with hope as they wondered if theirs too could become admired figures — heroes — as celebrated as him.

That he wished he could let these mothers know that all of this did not matter .

But instead, he offered a forced smile, complimented the little ones that looked at him with wide eyes, and earned soft giggles of delight before they drifted back to their past activities.

The lies twisted his guts every single time.

The Warriors had many admirers, yet the list of detractors was just as long — envy, resentment grew akin to brambles, fed by the poison Marley spilled willingly into the soil, observing with quiet satisfaction as the tainted garden took form. “Accomplices to the oppressor — blinded by mock honor” the words said under one’s breath always landed like a slap, followed by sharp clicks of the tongue as they walked away deliberately, disdain stinking from their very step, carrying with them a neverending judgement toward the betrayers whose eyes no longer turned to them, now blinded by treats their peers trapped still in the fenced district would never taste.

As Reiner shook another extended palm, a limping figure far behind the crowd met his gaze. Then came the sting and the numbing cold, and suddenly the hand in his weighed heavy — too heavy.

Mr. Leonhart.

He had never spoken a single word — the quiet strikes in his dark irises every time the two men encountered one another were enough of a statement. Suffocating, like a lingering storm that refused to lash its furry upon Man. 

Words, well manipulated, could move Empires.

Yet Silence crushed it all.

Reiner would have preferred the rain.

Annie had never cared — not for Marley, not for Paradis, nor even for being one of the chosen Warriors. Her features always bore the same jaded, distant look — except when mentioning the man she called father ; then her eyes shone briefly.

And now that light had gone, only the ghost of that leadership of his and mock sense of duty remained, both born from the terror of returning home empty-handed. A hollow confidence that always turned into taming the ones following his orders. “We owe it to Marcel.” Young Reiner had hammered the words countless times, before threats took the lead — he could still feel the pulse of her stiff wrist in his grip, sometimes a trace of carmine beneath his nails as they dug into her skin.

He had to push forward.

Yet he had never been fit for the role.

A pathetic, incompetent leader.

A frail boy desperate to play the main role .

"...And you're so strong, and brave, and fearless!"

The praises pushed Reiner away from his grim cage, contrasting with the ones he was endlessly repeating himself. He looked down at the child before him — eyes huge sparkling with admiration.

"They say you’ve fought thousands of those devils all alone and still won the battle. That even with no arms you could defend yourself and give every single hit back until all were defeated, no longer able to hurt anyone. That’s incredible! Boom! Boom! Take this, evil creatures of the Island!"

His smile tightened, the memory igniting the wounds that had never healed. Chaos, then nothing, just a haze of events that had slipped away. Gone. The emptiness left by a fallen brother once again clenched his heart.

"I wasn't alone in this fight." Reiner forced a choked chuckle out. "Trust and cooperation between comrades is what makes us win ruthless encounters like this one. A man alone, even great, can't do everything on his own."

The child tilted his head in wonder, yet his enthusiasm bubbled back after a few seconds.

"I like the other Warriors too. My mom tells me stories about Sir Yeager and the other heroes like Helos. She thinks he is very brave! But you're my favorite one, because you always protect the good people. One day, I will join the Warrior Program and be like you — the greatest hero Marley will ever see!"

He was so innocent. So ignorant . Believing in a mock glory borne from carmine lakes — still warm in the folds of his palms, hell’s foundations for the ones who had miraculously survived. A copy of himself back in time — a child who had fallen for the lies Marley chanted over and over. An altered vision of war and its fighters, those disguised as valiant figures to resemble, yet hollow inside.

And he knew when that boy would find out the truth behind the Warrior title, he and his childish expectations would be completely crushed.

"Little one..." Reiner leaned down, his voice softening as he patted his admirer gently on the top of the head. "What's your name?"

"Marco." The boy beamed. "My name’s Marco. My dad’s the one who named me that. He said it was the name of the man who rescued him when he used to work in the mines, before the accident."

A strike.

Deafening.

Suffocating.

Excruciating.

And he fell back into that day.

The blood?

The screams?

Overwhelming.

An unstoppable storm.

His heart thudded and thudded.

The spiral — eternal.

The memory — infernal.

The aftermath — a denial.

His grip tightened, trapping the poor boy between his quivering fingers. 

We haven't even had the chance to talk this through.

"Sir...?" The child's smile had vanished, and with it, the lightness that used to embrace the crowd of admirers.

Little Marco tried to escape his carved hand in vain. But it was enough for Reiner to regain a shred of composure, a new hint of urgency taking over.

"Marco," the name escaped his mouth hushily, memories thudding still. His palms now rested stiffly on the small shoulders before him. "Listen — don’t be like me . Nobody should. Forget it. Being a hero isn’t worth it."

"Huh...?"

"You should..."

Braun's voice trailed. Confusion and concern spread through the crowd — an oppressive sea of eyes, all fixed on him in stunned silence. 

The mask was at the brink of completely shattering.

To let out the burning truth that must never leave its cage.

A cure that would taste like the deadliest poison — the death of a myth.

And he almost caused it to happen.

He almost freed chaos — betrayed Marley.

How could he?

His gaze shifted from his clenched hands to the expression of puzzlement the child was bearing, before he let out a quiet, shaky sigh.

"What I mean is that you shouldn't try to be me." Reiner finally spoke, forcing himself to steady his voice. "You should instead strive to become your own meaning of what a hero is. And then, you will be as strong as me, or even stronger."

The boy’s eyes sparkled with  admiration and enthusiasm once again. Untouched, as if the lingering ghost of the grip on his scalp had never been.

Just a blind veneration.

"I believe in you, little one." Reiner once again summoned that hollow confidence, reciting the speech Marley had carefully crafted for the moldable minds of the Eldian children — yet shame whispered to his heart. 

“Through your unwavering loyalty and love for the motherland, you will rise as a Warrior — crushing those who dare raise a malicious hand against the righteous. Your name will be cleansed of the curse that had once been cast upon you, shall the Empire recognise your worth. Embody the one who inspires — a hero whose every step carries victory and hope.”

"You really are my favorite hero!" Marco once again clung to him, those cherished, gilded words echoing with the image he had of the man before him. "I'll be fighting for everyone, one day. Just see!"

He did not wait for Reiner to answer, running back to his father with that delight that only bloomed within children’s chests — a pure, genuine sparkle that drew smiles to the faces of the nearby grown-ups. The wide, passionate gestures of the boy’s arms, followed by a few bounces of his tiny legs as he described his earlier encounter, made the older man laugh softly between handing over baked loaves of brown bread. 

I’m sorry.

The scandal had been avoided. Buried just in time. Yet guilt and a certain disgust toward himself remained. One more deceived child, cheered on to sacrifice his very life for the sake of games of power in which he would never be more than a simple piece of chess. Replaceable . Nothing like the glorious legend he and his fellows were pictured in. 

Maybe Reiner Braun was the real evil in all of this — a reflection that had never ceased to appear before his eyes.

Yet this act was all that remained of him.

And he needed to be something.

The boy's presence was soon replaced by new hands eager to shake his — the man who had become the most popular Eldian around by the sweat of his brows. And Reiner kept on forcing that eternal, professional mask onto his face, ignoring the sour stings as he performed once more the act of the hero who survived the Island of Devils.

Chapter Text

“While his mother embraced him tightly, tears of joy cascading down her cheeks as she noticed the yellow armband in his tiny, childish hand, mine simply remained silent until I dared to squeeze her arm, expecting her to ruffle my hair with affection the way she used to when I brought good news home. But instead, her blue cobalt eyes locked on mine with a burning terror I had never seen in her usual tender gaze. Then she pulled me by the shoulders, wrinkling the fabric of my attire she spent so much time pressing earlier on. "Please don't go," My mother had begged, her voice breaking in her throat as neverending rivers began to flow down her face to crash onto the cold stones of the stoop, "Your sole presence is enough for me to be happy — I don't need you to throw your life away for my sake." She not once glanced at the yellow armband I was holding. And fearing the thought of making my mother sad, I accepted to lay aside our shared dream.”

— Memory of a Forgotten Candidate, 840, Liberio, Marley.

"Forward!"

A wave of men, all carrying military equipment on their back, crawled up from the trench and began to race, their feet hitting the ground in a heavy rumble, spreading a bit of mud toward the ones still waiting down, rifles held tightly against their chests.

"Faster!" The officer — adorning a clean, distinguishable uniform compared to the others — shouted again, the words echoing across the field. "You're not strolling on a damn avenue, you slothful Eldians!"

His harsh tone convinced the soldiers to obey, now picking up the pace toward the imaginary enemy shelter, eyes narrowing under the effort, ready to aim and push the trigger once the objective was reached.

"Prove your worth, spawns of the Devil! Prove the Motherland, our great, mighty Empire that..."

His voice died on his lips, gaze shifting behind the advancing lines — one of the Eldians had just collapsed, a groan of pain escaping him at the violent shock of his jaw against the ground, face buried in dirt. His teeth pierced the tender skin of his lower lip.

"Well, well.." the Marleyan stepped closer, menace clinging to his demeanor. "Are you too damn dumb to use your legs correctly?!"

"I-I apologise, Sir!" Fear trembled amidst the hazel of the man's eyes, his hand not bothering to wipe away the blood pouring down his chin. "It won't happen again!"

The officer remained silent, gauging the soldier — bloated frame, weak balance, his chest hissing at each breath taken.

Unfit for battle — and no amount of training would change that.

His lips pressed together before parting once more.

"Indeed, it won't."

Then came the noises — gunshots, deafening.

Powder warmed the air with acridness, shrieks accompanying the impacts’ rash melody, spurts of mud splattering across the officer’s boots. 

Tension took hold, its roots scarring the field. The soldiers’ gaze turned away from the man curled into himself, shifting instead to the horizon, uneasiness and a hint of fright clinging to their every step, seasoned with the other Marleyans’ barks to keep them in line.

Punishment was not much of an extraordinary sight — especially when the unfortunate one bore Ymir's blood. At first, one felt sorry for the beaten, their hands reaching out to soothe the bruises left. Yet that empathy of theirs inevitably faded into relief, a quiet exhale escaping as soon as the merciless blade struck someone else.

Spared for one more day.

"If this weren't training, you Eldian piece of shit , you would already be lying dead!" The words pierced through the smoke once the cartridge was empty, a crater of bullets scarring the earth at a few centimetres from the poor man’s head. "Marley has no use of mediocrity. Get up and keep running before I change my mind and make that hopeless brain of yours explode."

Instinct took over — his trembling fingers gripped the rifle tightly as he staggered up, his feet resuming the forced race beneath the officer’s threats. Tears and saliva mingled on his chin, his mouth no longer able to hold back the raw sobs escaping him.

To anyone watching, he appeared as a pathetic figure — a shell of a living being whose dignity and purpose as a man had been buried amidst the dust of despair, as he allowed himself to be treated as such. Someone who could not bear the weight of bravery and complied with a cattle-like role, following blindly and with no pride the few poisoned words of a master who would send their beasts soon to the butchery. A shattered man whose soul and will were nothing more than fragile shards beyond repair.

One more name engraved on the altar of the pitiful — barely above uselessness.

"That poor man... The officer didn't have to be that harsh."

A sigh escaped the mouth of a young man, the red curls falling over his forehead as he turned toward his comrade.

"They're going to scare away the entirety of the Eldian crew if they keep going that way. And that's a terrible, short-sighted strategy when there are so few of them left after the aircraft factory operation. To train us, members of the Special Unit, alongside the common troops, is a clear sign of it — we might very well be sent to our deaths in the next battle." He then stifled a scoff. "I'd like to see the Marleyan replace us on this kind of—"

"Quiet, O'Connor." Vivian shot him a pointed look. "You know what happens to the ones with a too sharp tongue."

"I know, I know. But still — this makes them look desperate while it is said we are winning the war."

The officer hurried the troops back on the field, his raspy tone unpleasant to the ear. The two Eldians immediately climbed out of the trench. O’Connor paused briefly to catch his breath before continuing.

"Or maybe we're not? It's a possibility, you know. The great ones of this world love to brag about themselves. But admit they’re in trouble, or utterly beaten up? Never. They’re too proud for that. Just like Marley is. What do you think, Vivian? You always seem thoughtful about everything, though you never voice it."

"I think you should focus on finishing training, unless you wish to be the one beaten up." 

A wide grin appeared on O’Connor’s face.

"Oh?"

"Richards." She shot him a faint glare.

"Do you actually care about me and my survival in our blessed Marleyan Empire — your heart clenching at the mere thought of losing a fantastic fellow like myself to watch your back during the toughest missions? I must be dreaming. And you’ve used my name at last. How sweet, how delicate. I always thought of you as cold, unreachable — like the roughest winter."

She offered no reply, just another look urging him to quiet down.

Terribly chatty, prying — yet genuinely devoted to their comrades — were the words that always came to one’s mind to describe Engineer Richards O’Connor. A stark contrast with her stoic, quiet demeanor. But his bright mind was something Vivian esteemed — a genius, with all the eccentricities following close: a brutal, biting honesty that often dragged him into trouble.

Yet his voice never died on his lips.

The Marleyan officer delivered the next orders, toying with the trigger guard of his gun as he stepped by each soldier, pointing it at anyone daring reveal a weakness — a ragged breathing, a posture slightly limp or a trembling gaze; anything that did not fit with the vision of mindless tools that was imposed upon them, disposable at the tiniest flaw, this one unforgivable if ever detected.

His stern gaze swept over the humiliated Eldian, whose dry blood now clung to his jaw, his eyes swollen and trembling still as he rigidly stared ahead, his wounded lips pressed together in fear.

“What happened then?” Richards’ eyes suddenly sparkled with curiosity as he slid into guard, a mock blade held in his fist. “I mean, just after we came back from the last battle — don’t you dare think I’ve forgotten about that old friend of yours, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. Not that I could have, really — his name’s been printed in every newspaper. The Eldian Hero who survived the Devil Island . How do you know him?”

“You said it yourself,” The young woman avoided the knife effortlessly. “He’s an old friend of mine.”

“Yet you've never mentioned him before.”

“Why does it matter?” 

"I'm just trying to get you to talk a bit, to get to know you better. You’re always so quiet.”

The freckled man countered her blow before resuming his speech.

“I've heard some of the former Warriors took their old friends as spouses in order to spare them the grim life in the Internment Zone.”

“And?”

“You’d get that sacred title of Honorary Marleyan and all its privileges — a better place to live, nicer dishes, and you’d no longer have to fear the end of the month. Maybe Commander Drenth would let you resign as well, and you’d no longer have to bear those stupid orders to satisfy the greats of this world’s whims until dust you become. You’d lose nothing by asking your friend.”

"I won't ask Reiner that." She shook her head in a dry gesture. “Plus you know we can’t leave the Special Unit that easily.”

His lips parted but Harter shot him another brief glare.

She struggled at times. Cold tightened around her shoulders in the winter. Water vanished in summer’s waves. And the heavy mutters of the Marleyan crowd weighed in her back.

Yet she would never allow herself to depend on someone.

To hold on to her own fate.

Even if it someday slipped off her fingers.

"I won't push further, but that's something you should keep in mind. And how come you know everyone personally in the Warrior Unit?" Richards' mouth began to flood, once again, with intrusive questions. "Sure the cute brunette might be your neighbor. But I saw you with the frowny man as well, and sometimes with the yellow ones. Not everyone can brag about something like this."

A quiet gasp escaped him.

"Wait, were you—"

"You there!"

One of the Marleyans stepped closer, his blue eyes cutting through them. Then came a blow, against Richards' foot — the sudden pain freezing him — the echo of the rifle’s cross resounding sharply.

"What do you think you're doing, freckled waste?" The officer yanked him by the collar, shoving him around like a boneless puppet before pressing the barrel of his firearm under his victim’s chin.

The bark was soon followed by a litany of mercilessness, the metallic circle tightly held against the tender skin, pressing hard enough to choke the Eldian who could not fight back despite the enraging, shaming words that were coming out of this unfriendly mouth.

"Disregard the orders once more and I'll shove this damn gun right into that cursed, devilish mouth of yours."

O'Connor was dropped, coughing a few times, his breath uneven as he hit the ground. The officer wiped his hand on his own jacket — as if afraid the mere seconds of contact might taint him like an incurable disease — before shooting another glare, this time at Vivian.

"And she'll be the one to pick your exploded guts off the field."

He did not wait for an answer and left, his tongue and fists mistreating a few more of their fellows — the curt speech carving fear on their features, their hands trembling as senseless apologies were stammered in the midst of this marleyan rain. 

Richards let out a quiet groan, his injured foot performing a few rotations of the ankle before going back to their close-combat training.

"I wouldn't be surprised if I found myself bruised tonight—" He murmured with a quick curse for the officer, just before a quiet yelp escaped him.

“Enough.” Vivian's blade struck right between the ribs. “Unless you wish not to find yourself at all.”

Training went on, as relentless as ever — officers barked louder, roughly scolding the Eldians not meeting the absurd standard imposed. Crawl up. Race forward. Aim quickly. Pull the trigger without hesitation. Then do it all again.

Machines pushed to exhaustion in the name of greatness.

A shadow crossed the richly ornamented window. Subtle. Discreet. Someone watched from the higher levels of the Military Headquarters, their eyes settled on the scenery below their feet. 

"Is that everything left of the Eldian units?" The man — bald, greasy — turned from the view, bearing a displeased expression on his face. "Have we begun another campaign of enrollment to supply us with troops? I believe you’re aware that I am not sending our latest vehicles — months of hard work — to the front just to serve as distractions."

"Aren't they supposed to resist direct artillery shots?" Another one — Petrović — answered while cleaning his glasses. "Designed to adapt to any terrain and resist all kinds of damage, a feature directly inspired by the Armored?"

"The reports say it is getting defeated more and more often as the war goes on, though. Building new technology based on a flawed model seems... unconsidered."

The words attracted a sharp glare from the Chief Engineer.

"You're the one in charge of the Eldian Enrollment Program, Fehér. This shitshow's entirely your fault for picking weaklings that couldn't even last a few minutes on the field. Don't you dare tell me how to do my job. For all we know, you might be one of those spies, or a damn traitor who’s switched sides and is trying to sabotage our—"

"Enough." Magath's voice struck across the room.

Heads turned in his direction, expressions unfaltering. Silence followed close — heavy, creeping into the atmosphere that had weighed on them ever since the official report of infiltrators within their ranks had surfaced. Colleagues had begun to sit apart from one another, fingers twitching by their sides as they gauged the ones they had worked with closely for years — even decades. Always looking behind them, expecting a sudden blow between the ribs.

Trust — now a lethal shard in the grip of Man.

"I get it, we’re all on our nerves after such a find. But accusing each other with little to no proof won't do any good to Marley — the enemy wants us scattered, fearful. And that’s something we shall not yield to."

"Always the wisest one among us," Fehér's hands joined each other as he took a seat at the table. "But you haven't made flawless calls either. And it seems the golden era of our shifters is about to begin a slow fall toward its demise — putting your status as Commander of the Warrior Unit, the one you'd worked so hard for, in peril."

The blond man leaned toward his colleague.

"What are your thoughts on it, Commander Magath? Have you already started to establish some clever plans in order to hold onto your command?"

"It was inevitable — no advantage lasts forever, whether we like it or not." His composure did not falter. "But the day our shifters turn out completely useless is still far from today's date. Cart and Jaw, especially, should I remind you of their key roles during the previous battles. Their speed and use remain unmatched, their light frames allowing them to easily evade any heavy but long to set up attacks — like the ones coming from this in-development artillery."

He paused for a few seconds, taking a seat as well.

"That’s why we must crush this conflict before our Empire engages itself too far on this path. The Mid East nations won’t wait for us to catch up with equivalent technology."

"What about the Armored?" Petrović’s voice once again rose. "We can’t ignore the fact that the supposed Shield of Marley has been more than struggling beneath the assaults. It makes us look vulnerable to the rest of the world. Vulnerable against a temporary alliance of tiny , weaker countries. Maybe it is time to replace its possessor."

Magath shook his head. Braun was, indeed, far from excelling and often underperformed during missions. But making someone new — someone with little to no frontline experience — a shifter right before a decisive battle in the war was a risk he was not eager to take. Therefore, the current Armored titan was sufficient to carry out the plans — though it remained an unpopular stance within the chain of command.

"The answer is negative."

"Negative?" The Engineer Chief scoffed. "Why keep that Eldian around? He's barely able to complete his role — and I was complaining about the former one being a damn mess. Have you taken a liking to him?"

"My judgment is none of the engineering department's business, Bodenschatz. Keep working on your machines — and I manage my warriors."

The sternness in his tone discouraged his fellow to retort. Silence returned, wrapping around the room.

There had always been a strong rivalry between the two men as the core objectives of these military branches lay in the perfect opposites — one looked up to embracing modernity and progress; the other relied on an ancestral, god-like power. Besides, agreeableness was not Bodenschatz’s strongest suit — his remarks were always filled with complaints and inelegant bitterness — all of this added to a disgracious physical appearance that certainly had never helped with the rise of his popularity, despite a brilliant mind behind several military innovations.

"What do the Tyburs think of the current situation?"

"General Calvi is set to meet the Lord in the coming days." Fehér lit up a cigarette before handing the pack to Petrović. "But I doubt Tybur's opinion changes much of our plans. His sole job is to keep the country from imploding within."

“A lot of work for one man. Are we sure he will—”

A knock on the door interrupted the four men and a woman — dressed in a classic yet distinguished suit — walked in, a few folders tightly held against her chest.

"I apologise for the disturbance," her voice echoed firmly yet with a touch of gentleness. "I shall deliver a message to Commander Magath."

"What is it, Meisel?" The man in question reported his full attention to his assistant. "I told you that you could handle the paperwork on your own."

"Sir Yeager is seeking a meeting with you. He insisted on mentioning it was an important matter."

"Tsk, Eldians, always so needy." Bodenschatz scoffed again before sneezing loudly in a tissue freshly pulled out of his pocket.

Magath shot him a warning glance before facing the blonde woman once more.

"Has he revealed to you the object of this demand?"

"No, Sir." Meisel shook her head. "Said he would discuss it with you only."

"Let him know I'll be there within a few minutes." Magath stifled a sigh then lit up a cigarette. "Make him wait in my office and serve water, should he ask.”

She saluted to him and left as quickly as she arrived, the sound of her heels echoing softly in the empty corridor. The Commander took a long drag, inhaling the tobacco smoke, which formed a thin cloud in the room after leaving his mouth, lingering for a brief moment around him before vanishing — the strong aroma of it, however, remained.

"Of all tobacco brands, yours is the worst one I’ve ever smelled." Bodenschatz waved his hand before his nose, a grin of disgust displayed on his face.

"Ha! You're saying this because you've never tried." A small laugh escaped Fehér’s lips. "After all, not all men have the same vice."

Bodenschatz growled some unintelligible words before moving back to the window, observing the training of the Eldian units that was still as intense as earlier on.

Once his smoking break was over, Magath left his seat and headed toward his office, right where Yeager was waiting for him.

The sun leaned toward Earth’s embrace — and with it came the end of training. The Eldian were led to the armory under close watch, the Marleyans' fingers cautiously resting on the trigger as if expecting one of them to suddenly rebel. 

And they did have a genuine reason to fear so — though faint, the walls still wore a few bullet scars the outstanding rebellion led by the Restorationists almost three decades ago had left. “Devastation — a war painting” were the words that had been used to describe the grim state of the Headquarters in the aftermath — a mix of ashes and corpses adorning the floor, drowning in carmine.

Yet this Starred Sunrise Rebellion, as they named it — a barbarism that only bloomed within the chests of Eldian devils — was best muffled behind blurry names in the archives, its actors quietly executed in a dark cellar, then erased by the flames.

"Next one. Place your equipment on the surface for the check up."

The Chief Quartermaster called for her as soon as the previous soldier was dismissed. Vivian did as requested, displaying everything that was lent to her earlier on in evidence, her arms strictly resting at her sides once done.

"Name?"

"Harter."

He hummed quietly as he found her on the list and began to examine the set with attention, making sure nothing had been broken — willingly or not — nor stolen. For a Marleyan, this man did not fit the usual picture — polite, composed, haughtiness nowhere to be seen, though he could have been hiding it behind that stoic, professional demeanor. From the few things she knew of him — Wahrmann,  that was the name she recalled — he had been in charge of the military stockroom for almost two years despite serving in the army for less than a decade. ‘ A bit unusual’ , she had always thought. But he possessed all the competences needed to fulfill the role — meticulous, precise, and never missing a single detail.

“Member of the Eldian Special Unit, am I not mistaken?”

The unexpected question made her stiffen slightly, holding back her ability to answer instantly. The question was neither hostile nor strange — yet the final notes rang dissonant. Her fingers twitched faintly before stilling once again.

"That’s correct, Sir." She nodded slowly under his expectant gaze, feeding the discomfort blooming deeper in her chest.

"I see." The tall man then gestured the way to the stockroom, his attitude unfaltered. “All good.”

The young woman complied, carrying the rifle and training knife back where she had received them in the morning, joining her fellows in the large, busy bunker-like room. The Marleyans' eyes remained fixed upon them during the entire process — wary, not a single blink, too distrustful to even allow themselves an ounce of rest.

As she carefully set back the gun in the designated compartment, the wooden stock bumping quietly against the others drew attention to her — though casual, this sole noise was enough to fear a potential arrest, had the Marleyans been in a particularly grim mood. “A dissenting behavior toward the Empire and its honest citizens’ integrity” would have been the excuse thrown on the paper. Familiar words whose efficiency never faltered.

Wahrmann’s question refused to leave her mind, each syllable curling into the very corner of it.

It was no secret that some Marleyans took interest in certain Eldians, be it to satisfy their need for cruel beating, or wicked whims — deviant sexual practices they would not dare reveal to their fellows. It began with tiny, inoffensive comments, before luring the unfortunates into an inescapable trap, witnesses of their own demise. Had the ones in power been caught once, they would simply brush it away with little to no consequences, while their victims' nightmare would go on. Then came the shame of being publicly displayed to the other ones living in the Internment Zone as ones who mingled with their tormentors. A betrayal, an insult to the effort everyone had been pulling to prove they were good Eldians. A way to divide them, to break the natural complicity between the starred ones. 

Divide and rule.

Harter then quickly left once the last weapon was dropped, heading to the main section of the military headquarters. On her way she turned her gaze briefly toward Chief Wahrmann, too focused on inspecting the equipment of the man waiting nervously before him to even acknowledge her — something she was thankful for.

Member of the Eldian Special Unit, am I not mistaken?

And then nothing.

Just a quiet, contemplative nod.

From now on, she would be watching her step around this Marleyan.

The tainted glass of the tall windows projected their altered light onto the passing individuals, their shadows softly caressing the washed out tiles of the area. It was a particularly warm day for the season, the sudden brightness bringing a faintly less stiff expression on more than one face, making the men at the military headquarters more willing to chat with their fellows instead of hurrying up home, aiming for the shelter of their walls.

The building itself was a stunning sight to behold despite its entire dedication to the army and its generals. The dozens of ornamented columns standing perfectly symmetrical on the outside part of the area, the well-trimmed bushes, the majestic doors with the Marleyan shell — the national symbol — engraved in the wood and the way the entire district, as impressive as it was, towered among Liberio, akin to a guardian watching over the city. To convey the prestige of the world's most powerful, bravest army, the Empire had enlisted its finest architects, granting them a phenomenal, almost unlimited budget to bring this wonder to life. A wonder necessary to fuel the propaganda machine that was so successful in Marley, the picture of an unrivaled glory making one's heart beat with pride.

A hand suddenly settled on her back as Vivian took a few steps in the military avenue, making her gasp quietly in surprise.

"Vi! Not too busy? Long time no see."

The newcomer chuckled softly as they noticed her brieve reaction.

"Did I scare you? Come on, you blew up an aircraft all by yourself. You're not scared of anything."

"You shouldn't be so touchy with someone when they're unaware of your presence, Pieck." She glared at her friend, though a hint of amusement shone in her grey eyes.

"Aw, how come you still can't recognise my touch after all those years?" The brunette pouted, a feigned hint of reproach in her gaze.

"Don't say such things. It's creepy — even for you."

Her answer was welcomed with a light laugh, to which Pieck smiled back. The warrior’s mischievous nature sometimes took over — and that was a sight that had always amused one, as long as they were not the target of her relentless teasing.

"It seems you can move around with no struggle again." Vivian said as they walked again, the absence of the clutches clicking on the tiles noticeable.

"I can," Pieck nodded. "But don't expect me to run after the children."

"Still as handy as ever?"

"You can't imagine. Gabi's energy is taking over them for sure."

The brunette let a faint sigh escape her lips as she glanced up at the sky, the dim sunlight reflecting on her pale face.

"I hope Porco's alright. I left him alone with the four of them for the entire afternoon."

"You're straight up evil." Vivian shook her head, a small chuckle escaping her mouth. "What has he done to deserve such a thing? Poured too much sugar in your tea? Made you walk on two? Once again commented on your 'odd book taste' ?"

"Nothing — I just needed a nap."

This time a laugh escaped her, shoulders bouncing faintly as she did so.

"I can't believe it, Pieck."

"But he did complain about my walking habit the other day." The brunette’s face then bore a serious expression. "In the meantime, it's good for Porco to spend time with the future warriors. In a few years, he'll be the eldest one — their anchor, their mentor during their period of service. It’s essential that the five of them bond with each other. Besides increasing the efficiency of the shifter unit, it will also provide them with a source of support."

She paused for a few seconds before murmuring.

"Even some sort of brotherhood — few truly understand a warrior's destiny."

Vivian’s gaze wandered over the urban landscape. She dreaded that destiny — a drift that stood between herself and her closest ones. Pieck. Reiner. It would soon grow wide enough to swallow them all. And she — alone. Watching from afar.

Pieck noticed the brief glint in her eyes, and offered a compassionate squeeze.

The two women’s chat continued as they crossed the city, leaving the busy centre for more secluded, calm paths that would lead them quickly to their district.

Although the brunette was now allowed to own a residence in the main districts of Liberio, she had made the choice to stay in the Internment Zone, not wishing to force a new life full of unfamiliarities onto her father — separating him from the habits he had always known and surrounding him with the Marleyan's distrustful faces instead of the friendlier ones he was accustomed to. All that mattered was that remedy — out of reach for any Eldian, the price far too high to even think of it — vital to him. Life was already rough enough for the ones sharing Ymir's blood — making that Honorary Marleyan status appear as the sole option to crawl out of their fiercest struggles.

Yet few succeeded.

Fortunately, Pieck's sacrifice did not go to waste — her father's illness had been stabilised and allowed him to watch her daughter grow up. But both of them knew he would end up outliving her.

Once in the embrace of the Internment Zone’s fences, they entered a small café, the strong aroma of the beverage lingering in the air with a few touches of sweeter, floral fragrance emanating from a burning incense on the shelves, behind the counter. The owner — a short, old man always wearing well-ironed attire — offered them a polite nod as he recognized the two ladies before leading them to the most elegant part of the area, a privilege granted all thanks to the female warrior's prestigious status. Beside the fact Pieck was an attractive and well-behaved person — making her an agreeable one to have around — there was no doubt her presence was most welcomed for the impact it would have on the establishment's reputation and turnovers.

As soon as the two women placed the menu back on the table, a waiter came to take their order. His agile hand began to note in an elegant writing the name of the drinks, humming subtly with a professional demeanor that made him look like he had spent his entire life working in the field — although he was roughly out of his teenage years — before walking away as quickly as he appeared.

Vivian noticed her friend’s inquisitive gaze linger on the slender young man, yet did not comment on it.

"I missed this place," Pieck rested her chin into her hands, her black curls brushing softly against her skin. "I haven't received a decent cup of coffee in months. Nor anything tasty at all."

"I'm happy with anything — as long as it's not that earthy, brown-tinted water they give us on the field.” A small smile played on her interlocutor’s lips. “You'd better not drink at all, should it make your mouth even drier than it already is."

"Absolutely."

A few laughs escaped them as they recalled a couple of these uncomfortable moments on the front line — moments shared despite their vastly different roles in battle. Being a Warrior meant one's worth surpassed that of over hundreds lives — the more impactful one was against waves of enemies, be it on the fields or in the political schemes, the greater the sacrifices the officials were willing to make.

And Pieck knew her friend — just one of those expendable soldiers — might one day die, for her sake, or for that of any shifter. Therefore, whenever the two women had the occasion to meet up, they always made sure to make the most of it.

The young waiter soon came back with the two cups of freshly poured coffee, displaying them carefully and with no clumsy hand before his customers. He bowed politely as they thanked him for his services, and returned to the kitchens.

"You seem quite intrigued by this boy, Pieck."

"I've never seen him here." The brunette brought the drink to her nostrils, her eyes fluttering shut for a few seconds. "And it’s pretty unusual for this place to hire such skilled waiters. Actually it had never happened — they're located quite remotely from the main streets and often struggle with filling up services. I doubt they have the budget to hire such staff."

She then took a sip of her coffee.

"I wonder if he's a distant relative of the owner who might have just arrived from another internment zone."

"Unlikely, isn't it?" Vivian caught the faint hint of incertitude in her voice.

"Who knows?"

Her hand delicately held the little biscuit she turned a few times between her fingers, before biting into it.

"Oh, and Vi," Pieck's tone suddenly switched to a lighter one. "You must know how men are when it comes to their pride, don't you? They act all tough and stoic but immediately look away from the slightest discomfort they've caused."

"My, my, what’s with men now?" Vivian's lips curled into an amused smile, hiding a chuckle behind her mug. "Again one of those romance scenarios of yours?"

The brunette’s eyes shot her a mock glare.

"No. What I mean is that if you expect to catch up with Reiner, you don't have much of a choice. You'll have to be the one taking the first step. Every time I’ve put him on the spot, all he did was mumble some evasive 'I'll think about it' before burying himself back into the most uninteresting paperwork as if he were truly passionate about it."

His name made her friend lift an eyebrow.

"Speaking of that stubborn man... He’s seemed a bit less broody than usual these past few days."

"Has he?" Vivian replied in a composed voice, readjusting a few loose strands of hair in her low bun.

"For once his eyebrows aren't reaching one another in a deep, somber frown. I must say it's more agreeable to work with him in these conditions."

Pieck leaned forward, her hand resting gently over the other's wrist.

"It might be your chance to pay him a visit. I'm sure the two of you have plenty to talk about."

"I did meet Reiner last week. We’ve exchanged a bit."

"Oh? About time. Care to share the details?"

As she asked, her gaze expectant with a hint of mischief, Vivian could not refrain a light sigh soon followed by a shake of the head.

"You really can't help yourself, Pieck. Always the first one seeking the latest gossip."

Her lips parted once more when a tense atmosphere set in the small café, the warm conversations coming to an abrupt end, the relaxed expressions of the customers’ features turning to stiffer ones as they noticed the newcomers. Their refined, expensive coats — perfectly fitted to their frames — emphasized the assertive, proud aura wrapped around them as they stepped in, their eyes analysing the place with a certain interest.

"What a lovely place," one of them — blond, his lips adorning a scar — spoke in a theatrical tone. "Cozy and sheltered within the outskirts of the Eldian district, the perfect destination for allowing oneself an ounce of tranquility. Wonderful, truly."

The Marleyan sergeant let out a faint sigh of contemplation, toying with the hat he had just taken off.

"Is ignoring customers the special, traditional welcome of this place?" He took a few steps forward, leaning against the wooden furniture, making the owner of the establishment jump slightly, the fabric held in his wrinkled hand almost dropping. "Come on, good Mister. Three coffees. No sugar. No little cookies served with it, those give me tummy aches."

His two colleagues standing behind glanced at each other, uncertainty flickering briefly in their eyes. It was not unusual for their chief to entertain himself during missions, taking unhinged pleasure in performing like a theatre actor on stage. The visited areas were turned into his personal sceneries he could mold for the plays he aimed for — the Internment Zone was nothing greater than a doll house, its inhabitants reduced to puppets with amusing emotions to manipulate at wish, his childlike yet sadistic inclination finding its apex when those played along with that certain hint of resignance in their lowered gaze, as they surrendered to his unwavering and stubborn will to torment. And once his need for entertainment was fulfilled — although he was, often, interrupted by one impatient colleague who just wished for the task at hand to be accomplished — then began the final act, the one that would set him up on the next plot by a trail of chopped fingers and forcefully obtained answers.

"You..." The owner's voice shook, eyes widened in fear and disbelief. "Wish to have coffee in my—"

"This place appears to be a coffee house, doesn't it?" The sergeant frowned. "Had I wished to taste good wine, I'd visit a wine cellar. A few pretty, exotic girls to sit on my lap? Straight to a brothel."

A cheeky smile played on his scarred lips as he turned toward the two other Marleyan.

"I've heard of that particular one that is about to open for the first time, just a few streets away. We should give it a try someday. Busy men like us deserve some grooming after long days at work, don't you think?"

They shrugged at the question, not really interested in enjoying the pleasures of flesh, one of them urging their leader to move on to the matter that brought them here in the first place.

Forced to accept the fact that the three Marleyans would not leave so soon, the Eldian finally passed the order to his staff, his discomfort reaching a new high as they took a seat at the counter, their pairs of eyes sometimes lingering on his trembling figure.

The room remained in this worried, almost suffocating silence, the customers unable to go back to their past conversations, as if afraid to attract the unwelcomed attention.

As they watched discreetly from the opposite side, a shiver ran down Vivian’s spine. The uniform gave away their supremacy — one that forced anyone to yield. Yet their mock civility was unsettling, almost… infuriating. Her eyes lingered over their figures, probing them, seeking something, anything, that would make sense of their presence.

Pieck immediately shot her a warning gaze — the main intruder was none other than an infamous figure of the Public Security Authority in Liberio.

Sergeant Major Friedrich Otto — a name whose letters drown in carmine.

A wolf who made fear bloom even among his peers.

"My good, good Mister..." Otto addressed the old man again, his fingers tapping against the wooden surface in a light, melodic rhythm. "Besides the opportunity to indulge in your genuine hospitality, I've hoped to receive your well-welcomed help in a... quite personal matter."

He then pulled a picture from his pocket and placed it on the counter in front of the owner, a sly smirk forming as he caught a hint of panic in the other's gaze.

"Never seen this man here." The Eldian shook his head, his tone hushed. "We do not seek trouble here, Sir. Such... dangerous individuals would not be admitted to my establishment. It would be a shame — be it for my business or the tranquility of my customers."

"A true shame, indeed." The sergeant's finger ran over the face of the young man, tracing his soft features with insistence. "But somehow... this half-empty café would be the perfect place to play dead, wouldn't it?"

A middle-aged waitress came to serve them, her movements stiff as she placed the cups in front of the three officers, her gaze desperately trying to communicate with her superior. Yet he could not be bothered to even acknowledge it — fear was slowly taking possession of his frail body, his breath uneven.

While their leader grabbed the beverage with no hesitation and brought it to his scarred lips, the two other Marleyans remained still, too distrustful of the Eldian hands that had prepared the coffee to make a single move.

"I have no idea what this is about, Sir." The owner's mouth turned completely dry as his guest kept on insisting. "As I told you, we only welcome honest Eldians here. No bandit. No criminal. None of those... traitors whose names are mentioned in newspapers."

As soon as he finished his sentence, the other looked up, the playful glint in his eyes now gone.

"None?" He repeated. "Are you certain, my good mister? I recall my eyes catching the sight of a young waiter moving around in the back of the venue earlier on. And curiously, he hasn’t shown up ever since."

Otto then pushed the picture toward the terrified Eldian once more.

"It seems to me that they look quite alike, don't you think? Same hair, same demeanor. Same..."

He then leaned in, a predatory, ugly smile deforming his scarred lips.

"And what's the cause of this intense, overwhelming terror that has been stinking in the air for the entire—"

Loud.

Striking.

A breath caught in one’s throat.

Maybe two.

And then a crystal rain.

A bottle smashed with violence — hatred — against his skull, the glass shattering sharply, lacerating the tender skin of his scalp. Blood streaked across the counter, the carmine engraving itself in large scars within the wooden material. The smell would linger long after — the piece of furniture was ruined.

With a guttural groan, Otto fell from the chair — his hat he had kept on his knees dropping into the puddle of coffee in a quiet splash. The cup lay broken on the floor beside it. He did not attempt to stop the bleeding — his mind was too blurred by the impact.

The wolf — laying motionless on his own stage.

The young waiter raised his hand once more, tightly gripping the shard now aimed at the remaining Marleyans. Yet a lone civilian — a teenager, especially — was no match for two well-trained men. They blocked his arm with ease, preventing him from hitting again, and twisted it in a loud crack, the improvised weapon escaping his fingers in the process. The blond boy let out a cry of pain before his voice was muffled the next second by the cold floor of the coffee house, his slender frame beaten up without mercy, each kick bringing blooming bruises all over his skin.

"Our beloved Eldia will prevail…" The poor Eldian croaked between blows, his face unrecognisable as swollenness had already started deforming his juvenile traits. "You'll see... you disgusting excuse of—"

His grunts turned into high-pitched shrieks of agony as one of the men's boots crashed against his hand attempting to reach one of the cup's pieces to fight back. And he stomped on it. Over and over, at an endless pace. Eager to hurt, to destroy, to reduce to dust the one that was barely above the rank of unwanted parasite . 

The phalanges pierced through the tortured skin, his hand now appearing as an abomination hanging from his wrist, a meat bag that could fall off at any moment, far from the immaculate one that used to manipulate the elements around him with elegance.

"Keep your illegitimate pride to yourself, disgraceful spawn." His aggressor spat at the bloodied form before him with disdain, and yanked the Eldian up, shoving him toward the door leading outside, where the military vehicle —- the sole one in the empty street — was parked.

His colleague lifted Otto to his feet — the latter now pressing a blood-soaked tissue to his wounded scalp, his pupils wide with a frightening, almost mad glint in them — and followed quickly without a backward glance. 

The cold infiltrated the place, mingling with the metallic scent of blood that had replaced the flowery one. Every breath was held still, gazes darting at one another in a heavy silence. Tight smiles were forced onto the waiters’ lips, their hands trembling still while the owner frantically wiped the tiled floor.

"A Restorationist…” Vivian murmured. “Was it the reason you were so intrigued by this boy?" 

Pieck nodded discreetly, her gaze fixed on the bottom of her mug, toying with the few drops of coffee inside — the last remnant of the slender blond's presence. Her friend kept on interrogating her silently, but the warrior shook her head.

"I can't say. Just stay out of this, Vi. Let it go. The last thing I need is my closest friend ending up on the list of traitors."

Chapter Text

“Reiner has always been the kind of person who throws himself fully into his ideals, his dreams . To push forward, to change the course of events regardless of others' unfaith in him — that’s something that wills him, like a storm that would only find appeasement when comes dawn and its new, desired fires. Unlike me, he has always tried to be an actor of his own destiny, holding a tight grip on it, never letting go.

But now… I feel like he has completely lost himself. Sometimes I just look at him and see nothing of the friend I once had — different eyes, unnatural tone. It is almost as if he were playing a role — like one of those characters from the terrible plays we Eldian have ever been allowed to appreciate in the Internment Zone.

Marcel’s death has been tough for us all. We have lost a leader, a friend, a brother . But I think this Island is doing something to Reiner too, twisting his mind with astonishing ease — more than once my eyes have caught him laughing heartily with those people, patting their backs as if they were all a huge, tightly-knit family. The very same ones he once called ‘devils to be wiped out’ , conviction clinging to his tone. It scares me to the bone.

Annie tells me not to fuss too much, and to focus on what matters most — to return home. Still… I can't give up on Reiner — though my hands, those damn hands, are bound powerlessly. He is… too far ahead. My concerned words have stopped reaching him. And I know I will lose him completely if we stay here for too long.”

— Worries of a Brother-in-Arm 847, Paradis Island.

The gloomy lighting set back over Liberio as the next days followed, covering the city in a thick, misty coat, erasing the previous rays of sunlight that used to bring a bit of warmth in the heart of Men. Roughness always accompanied wintry days — the ocean embracing the city sharpened its bite with freezing winds blowing across the streets, catching anyone who dared answer the call of adventure. Cheeks and tip of the nose flushed within a few minutes outdoors,  bringing a bit of color to daily life's painting and its shades of grey. It did not matter where one was standing, be it near the docks or further in the city, seeking shelter amidst the massive buildings or in the outskirts.

In the end, they were always reached by the cold and the strong smell of salt.

The faint rattle made by the iron can let her know that she had reached, once again, her target. Vivian's head moved in a satisfied nod before aiming for the next item in line.

"Training on a day-off? You're quite the dedicated one."

The sound of his low-pitched voice made her look up for a second.

"Just releasing tension." Her attention flew back onto the next can to be picked off. "And I could return the same question to you, Reiner."

The blond man let her shoot before answering, a hint of admiration sparkling in his hazel eyes as the can afar fell backward, joining its peers amidst the dirt.

"I'm a warrior — they need me to stay around, should a task require my presence." He shook his head, pushing away a few strands of blond hair that tickled his forehead. "Basically, day-offs mean one is simply going to wander with no duty in waiting."

"And I suppose owning the title of Vice Captain of the Warrior Unit doesn't make it any easier?"

"It's just an accessory-like one, actually. Zeke still makes all the calls without my assistance." Reiner shrugged. "My role hasn't changed much — I obey orders, join in some battles, eliminate the threat, report to higher ups, then it starts all over again. The exact same things ."

He then scoffed under his breath.

"But it's best for the public opinion if the act of my usefulness goes on."

Vivian's hand hovered over the pack of practice rounds. This new side of Reiner — sarcasm, bitterness about what he had achieved by the sweat of his brow — was not something she could have imagined back then. The young boy with that determined smile of his — all gone.

"You don't seem fond of being one of the Eight." She reloaded the rifle, placing with dexterity the projectiles inside the chamber. "Yet it used to be that sole, glorious dream of yours. What happened?"

"Children eventually grow up. And... things happen."

"Things..?"

Uneasiness bloomed — soundless, yet tangible.

The tales of his return had been spread all across the Internment Zone — by the official newspapers, and word of mouth. A certain hint of anticipation lit up the people’s voices at the idea of welcoming the ones — the heroes — who had stopped the renegades of the Island — the cause of all their struggles. 

Little had they imagined witnessing one man, amid the four-member warrior unit Marley had sent to Paradis, taking his first steps unaccompanied within the city that saw him rise. The realisation had sunk with a bitter, harsh taste — there were no saviors, no victorious parades, but a sole survivor unable to hold his gaze steady. Smiles had faded, replaced by a suffocating silence that had clung to the crowd’s hearts. The few flowers the children had once held between their fingers had lain before their worn-out shoes, mingling with the dust of reality.

"Yeah, things." Reiner's voice came out distant — a murmur amidst the wind. "Events a child who used to see wars as simple games of justice and honor could never have imagined were the immediate definition of battling. Events that shattered the idealisation I had of standing before an abyss made of nightmares, awakened from the deepest parts of hell, all to shelter the innocent."

He paused, his hazel eyes trailing a flock of birds flying amidst the clouds, diving around in quick but assured wingbeats — an eternal waltz they performed without ever breaking formation.

"It’s almost comical to remember how eager I was to dabble in the darkest waters for the sake of an unrealistic dream."

"The younger version of you only sought his relatives' wellbeing." Vivian aimed at the following can, reaching it with unfaltered ease, not a single hesitation in her fingers as they pulled the trigger. "And Marley's obsession with heroism — something you were inclined to — only fueled that need to shine in the other's gaze."

"You're wrong — children don't rejoice at the mention of killing."

Hushed were the words, coming from a stiff mouth.

Silence joined in, wrapping itself around the two of them. The birds' faint chirps hung in the air for a couple of minutes before vanishing toward the little forest bordering the training fields, leaving the skies with the grey mist as sole company.

"They've been calling you a hero," she at last turned toward him, moving the rifle aside, the breeze blowing through her untied locks. "The one who resisted the greatest of evil's influence. What does it feel like?"

"Back then, I would’ve been delighted — full of confidence. But now... I no longer know. Is there any pride left when everyone who used to be around you now lies six feet under?” Bitterness rose in the soft rumble of his voice — a scrape against his lips. “And what does it even mean to be a 'hero' ? Does it exist at all? I’ve taken more lives than I ever saved. And yet, I’m not even sure about that — if my actions have ever allowed something good to happen to someone."

Reiner's gaze pierced her grey one, desperate to find a meaning to the turmoil he could barely conceal.

"Why did you become a soldier, Vivian? What good could you have earned out of it?"

Her eyes lingered on the scenery surrounding them, the dim lighting enhancing the amethyst glints within them. Lips pressed together for an ounce of time.

"Certainly not for the glorious tales we were told.” She faced him again. “I am no good patriot nor willing to prove I am more than my cursed blood. I do not wish to stroke Marley's ego — yet I chose to fight their battles knowing I would never be more than a greyish, starred armband."

The wind lashed against their coats, the fabric hissing faintly. In the speech’s echo, her pale hand returned to the weapon, her fingers grazing its surface, tracing the metallic trims in a detached rhythm.

"All I want is a chance to make my own calls, even if it means becoming the source of irredeemable chaos. Just… to hold on to a glimpse of possibilities. This is all I long for."

"Not many would choose blood and war willingly — especially when understanding what it implies." Incomprehension struck across his face.

"Covering oneself in the scent of death isn't ideal, I admit it." The young woman softened, the rifle still held tight in her grip. "But that’s how I prove to be most useful, whether to myself or others. I am not one to wait aside — not anymore. I could suffer the anxiety of my closest ones never returning without any way to impact it. Or I could dive into the deepest hell and act on it. Do you see me doing anything different?"

"Why not? You're far from being stupid — you could easily pull back and apply to civil institutions, for instance. To help people with no blood involved — without risking your life and sanity any further nor your desire to be needed."

He paused, his chest heaving as air filled his lungs. Tension twitched his brows.

"If money’s the struggle, then pursuing this path would solve it. After a few years, you'd earn the same amount as a soldier if not more. And I'm certain it would grant you more 'possibilities' , as you call them, than being a soldier who holds on tight to her paycheck and lives from day to day."

"I do not do this to fill up my wallet." She shook her head faintly.

"Then do it to ease the worry this might cause me. And I'm sure Pieck feels the same. Even Galliard, I heard you've grown pretty tight when I was away."

Beneath his firm gaze, Vivian remained silent. Reiner was not the first to try and change her mind, and though she appreciated the concern, it only made irritation blossom. She once allowed it — to be a witness of little pieces of her own heart, of herself , swept far away. Some parts sank into a bottomless lake. Others were kept close within another heart, cherished until the end.

Yet the sour sensation of unfulfillment, emptiness , weighed down. To spare a loved one from taunting worries was a purpose she had sought, something she had aspired to despite deceiving her own ambitions.

And now, she found herself trying to collect the tiny fragments she could gather, to pursue whatever was left of those dreams.

"I've made these calls knowingly," her voice arose before the words could leave his mouth. "I'm aware one would not wish the dire outcomes soldiers must navigate upon someone they care about. This is a path that often doesn't have a way out — troubled waters hiding the most terrifying, bloodthirsty monsters underneath, waiting for the next unfortunate to stumble right into the deadly trap they have set up."

Her grey irises struck through him vividly. He nearly took a step back.

“But they're mine . Please, respect that."

All Reiner could offer was a stunned nod.

Confidence has met you, after all.

Vivian then handed him the rifle. His eyes flickered between her and the gun before taking it.

"Let's see if your skills can match mine." She stepped back, allowing the blond to kneel before the half-empty pyramid of cans.

"Hitting one of those shouldn't be too much of a struggle."

His focus shifted onto the target through the scope, his breathing steady. A few seconds passed before his fingers pulled the trigger, the stock bumping against his shoulder, the sour smell of gunpowder reaching his nostrils in a faint trail. The round fled following a right, well-calibrated line, leaving an invisible scar in the air.

When it finished its race, Reiner's eyebrow lifted faintly.

"I was certain it would..." He trailed, pointing vaguely toward the can that was standing still, the top of it barely scraped by the shot. "Nevermind. I’ll give it another try."

As he readjusted his position, Vivian lowered beside him.

"Your grip on the rifle is too tight." Her fingers tapped gently over his. "It affects your aim in the long term and tires you more than necessary. Also, if the target were a moving one, you wouldn't even be close to reaching it."

She gave him a few more tips before pulling away.

"Try again."

The blond man nodded and aimed once again at the stubborn can. And this time, the projectile reached its final destination, hitting the object in a powerful blast, now falling to its distorted peers. Vivian offered him a small smile.

"Not bad."

"Not bad?" He repeated with a slight scoff in his voice that made her chuckle quietly. "The dummy went straight to the middle, what do you mean 'not bad’ ?"

As he rose, amazement sparked his hazel eyes.

"I still can't believe how skilled you've become with a gun — you're a born-killer."

"There's still room for improvement." She dismissed the praise with a light shake of the head then held out her hand for the rifle.

He faltered for a second. A mix of regard — and concern — for her diligence bloomed within his chest, gaze landing on her with quiet scrutiny. Quick, practised gestures, a sharp and confident stubbornness etched on her features — all in pursuit of a perfection that did not exist.

And that resolve of hers might very well consume her someday.

"You're good enough, Vivian." The warrior's mumble was faint. "There's no need for you to—"

"Vivian!"

The newcomer came running toward them with excitement shining in their eyes — a real blast of energy that could not be stopped easily.

"Wait Gabi! Don't rush in the middle of—"

"You're training again?" She began to circle around the young woman expectantly, ignoring Falco's worried words — and Reiner's disapproving frown — as her feet boldly crossed the line of fire. "Can I watch you shoot? Raise the cans again? Hold the practice rounds for you?"

"Careful.” Vivian stood, steadying the rifle against her side. “You'd forget to breathe.”

Yet that enthusiasm of hers only rose like flames.

"Have you seen how easily she can shoot?” She tugged at her cousin’s sleeve. “ I'm certain she can reach any enemy with closed eyes! She should be the one training us instead of those sloppy instructors we have in—"

"Hold your tongue, Gabi." Reiner’s voice hushed after a quick glance around, a hint of worry and alarm flickering briefly. "Marley's training the lot of you with the best they have."

His attention then shifted briefly to Falco.

"Speaking of your presence — shouldn’t you be with your families today?"

"They can wait," Gabi scoffed. "Should I inherit one of the Eight, then I must be ready to carry this role on my shoulders. I’ll prove I’m the one — the only one — who can bring glory and honor to Marley. They’ll see that good Eldians aren’t a myth."

She then took a deep breath.

"And I'll make this goal of mine true. I've been fighting for it my entire life — and I won’t let anyone take it from me."

A gust blew through her brown hair, brushing the locks away from her childish features — and with it, the brief lightness that had embraced the atmosphere.

The words hung in the cold despite their ignited resolve, gazes lost themselves in the mist. Falco’s lips parted, whispering his comrade’s name before muffling the sound, fingers clutching the hem of his coat a few times.

Reiner and Vivian noticed. Gabi did not.

A blind confidence — just like theirs, years ago .

A ghost whose claws the blond man still attempted to evade.

"Why don't you show us your skills?” Vivian broke silence’s thrall, hand moving to ruffle the young girl’s hair. “I'm sure it would be more exciting for you to be the one standing in the spotlight."

"You're letting me shoot?" Gabi's eyes shone once again in delight. "Are you going to train me too?"

"Sure. I'm sure you could use one of two pieces of advice of mine."

The young girl let out an excited cry and took place before the iron pyramid, holding the rifle with a surprising ease.

"Keep your eyes on me, Falco," She smirked while aiming at the target. "I'm going to show you what a good shooter truly is."

A faint pout played across the boy's face, eyebrows pressing down in a challenging frown.

Reiner leaned back against the wooden fence, his gaze resting absently on the three of them. Those were the few peaceful moments he was able to appreciate amidst the blizzard of destruction surrounding him. Yet the sigh of his cousin, so eager to toy with tools that were almost twice her height — tools that looked ridiculously huge between her still plump fingers — clenched his heart.

Eager to pursue the path he lost himself on.

And now he feared Gabi's steps would join his on the blurry road of deceit — but Reiner did not want to be the one to blow out the lights behind her eyes.

"Look at that, I've taken down half of it!" A satisfied beam crossed her face as several cans of the edifice fell back in a loud rumble. "And with two projectiles only!"

"You lack precision, however — it was mere chance that many of them were caught in the blast." Vivian's voice drew a skeptical hum from her. "And you neglected the aim of your second shot by barely replacing yourself. In the direst case, the rifle would have escaped your grip at the detonation and sent the bullet toward an unpredictable way — which can easily jeopardize the mission you'd be part of, including your own safety."

"Isn't it better to hit the most targets with the fewest bullets possible? If I were picking off every single can, one by one, I would’ve wasted both time and ammunition. And everyone knows there is little to no time for details when one is on the frontline."

"You're not wrong. However..."

With almost graceful gestures, Vivian took the gun away from the younger one, knelt back and with an astounding speed and ease, shot twice, blowing away the rest of the pyramid. And when the highest can began its descent, she aimed once again, focus as sharp as a feline's and hit successfully, sending the iron cylinder further behind the pile as a distinct, final touch to her already proven dexterity, leaving the others in a state of greater awe.

"If a lone enemy escapes the blast of your multi-target strike and you’re unable to finish it, consider it a defeat." Her gaze returned to the warrior candidate. "One tiny man among a vast army seems insignificant at first. But remember — a single thorn, well-hidden on a rose's stem, can cause one to bleed. This little tale is the same for us, Men."

Gabi — her eyes still wide in admiration — nodded slowly, engraving each word into her mind.

"You're about to drool." Reiner stepped in, his hand pushing her chin up in a gentle gesture.

"I'm not!" She snapped, stealing a quick glance at Falco.

Yet her faint annoyance and embarrassment quickly gave way to playfulness, a sparkle of mischief lighting up her face.

"You should shoot as well, Reiner, instead of making fun of me. Come on — Falco and I will place the cans on the fence again."

Before the blond man had the chance to respond, the two children ran toward the fallen objects with enthusiasm and began to work together efficiently, their gestures precise, complementing each other — the perfect pair in spite of their burning rivalry, with talents recognised by Commander Magath himself.

"I'm sorry she has disturbed your training," Reiner mumbled, his attention moving to his friend. "With all that energy, it’s not easy to keep her in check."

"No need to apologise. It livens things up a bit, in fact."

He nodded slowly before his lips parted again.

"Thank you for your kindness toward Gabi. But still — don't let her impose herself too much. You might end up stuck in an endless cycle of 'Please, can you train me on that?' demands."

"If it increases her chances of returning safe and sound from battle, then I would be glad to train her." Vivian paused, then spoke again, each word carrying certainty. "She’s talented — a lot, actually. I can tell she’ll easily reach the level of my fellows in the Special Unit after a few years on the frontline."

A faint apprehension twisted Reiner’s features — heart clenching in his chest, jaw tightening. To accept that his young cousin aspired to a role meant for grown people , all for the sake of a crafted bravery, was a sigh that froze whatever spark remained in the ruins of his trembling hope. Gabi was capable, tenacious. But still a child .

Something Marley willingly turned a blind eye to.

Vivian glanced once again toward the warrior candidates — the two of them finishing the pyramid of cans with ease. As Gabi placed the final one, the young woman noticed the brief softness in Falco's gaze before he let out a complaint and began to race after his friend. 

Just like you and I used to be.

Yet the faint smile on her lips quickly faded — memories held tight, her small, little hand unable to stop young Reiner from walking away. Far from her .

And the cold embrace of loneliness had wrapped around her frail shoulders, as one more burden added up to her already full back. 

Don’t think too much.

"All done, Mr. Braun!" Falco announced, hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath.

"The fields are yours." Reiner dismissed the silent demand in the two youngsters' gazes.

"We've rebuilt it just for you ," Gabi nudged him, a pout etched on her features. "Come on, Reiner, don't disappoint us."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm on duty — I lack the time to engage in entertainment."

"Please, just a few shots."

“You know they won’t leave you alone until you’ve touched the rifle.” Vivian pulled back, tucking her hands in her pockets to shelter them from the freezing breeze.

His gaze shifted from the warrior candidates — bouncing with sincere excitement around him — to his friend. “Gabi's a perfect copy of you,” she had said. And unfortunately, he knew their stubbornness would not fade. 

A quiet groan of resignation left his mouth.

“Fine.” He reached for the firearm, earning triumphal giggles from the young girl. “If that’s the price to pay to be left in peace afterward, I suppose I can amuse the public for a few minutes.”

Liberio's landscape was always a sight to behold from the upper levels — one of the Empire’s jewels of pride, besides being home to the prestigious Warrior Unit. At its centre rose massive, richly ornamented buildings embracing the famous golden alleys — the perfect place to revel in prestige and impress the ones whose hearts longed for success.

Then came the quieter districts — yet pleasant still to the eye — surrounded by elegant squares allowing one to rest from the constant growlings of the cars only the richest citizens could afford. 

In the crook of the coast, the docks welcomed shipping boats daily, dozens of workers hurrying to bring the numerous crates of merchandise on the platforms, driven by their superiors' barked orders, the movement resembling that of ants — relentless, intense yet coordinated — flushing their stubbly faces with touches of red.

And at last, the industrial district — its tall smokestacks exhaling thick and black clouds in the air daily — and the Internment Zone in which Eldians who did not have the rare chance to possess an honorary Marleyan title perpetuated their ill-fated lineage, stood in the shadows, fading a bit the grandeur of the city yet without taking away its singular personality.

"First time, I take it?"

The few coughs of his protege interrupted Zeke's contemplation — Colt’s face contorted in an uncomfortable, disgusted grin, a cigarette he did not seem to know how to hold between his fingers.

"You'll be used to it." He commented again, a hint of amusement shining through the circles of his glasses. "You'll even end up enjoying it, somehow."

"I can't believe there are people appreciating the taste of it.” The youngster croaked, a tear forming in the corner of his eyes. “It feels like biting into a huge piece of ashes that can't be brushed away as they stick to the tongue like a tenacious slug."

"Ha! You're the descriptive kind. I like it. It's a pretty handy trait of yours."

It was always a sight to witness the young man's first steps into adulthood — staggering like an infant embracing his first walk, a fall threatening to swallow him at each new inch forward. Zeke remembered his first cigarette, the strong taste invading his palate in a thick, dry cloud that remained stuck in his irritated throat for a couple of hours. He was about the same age as Colt — barely an adult but not a child anymore.

Yet he was certain he had never been one at all — deprived of the innocence the warrior candidate still had within him, pushed from the very beginning of his life into a merciless world in which fighting, resisting was the norm.

All that mattered was that distance he still needed to cover on the path Grisha and Dina had laid for him. Not the embrace of a parent his frail arms craved. Fists clenched every time he had witnessed one earning so easily the object of his longing. There — just before his eyes. Yet unreachable. 

Eventually, he accepted, mingling willingly with bitterness and its cold streams. Zeke even came to appreciate it — just as he did with cigarettes — now viewing it as a game , as an amusing way to feel himself exist among the vainness of existence.

"How has the meeting with the Commander gone?" Colt asked, his hand holding the smoking cylinder over the fence of the balcony, as far as possible from his nostrils.

A faint hum of curiosity escaped the Chief’s lips before he turned his head.

"Perfectly, exactly the way it should have gone." He exhaled a small cloud, swallowed by a gust of wind. "Commander Magath's attention to my interrogations was well welcomed, and so was my tactical advice. Delight is the feeling that catches my heart when it comes to the luck we Warriors benefit, to be under the authority of such a receptive, flexible man."

"Tactical advice? Does he trust you that much?"

A spark of interest lit up his expression.

"It always amazes me that a Marleyan’s willing to listen to what we, Eldians, might have to say — especially when it comes to such important topics as the Empire's military decisions. What was that for? What battle? Or what warrior mission? The upcoming ones are too close to happening to even modify a single element in the plans."

"You're asking a lot for a simple recruit within our unit. I'd say even too much. Not very wise — especially coming from you."

Stiffness washed over him, a hint of worry flashing through his hazel eyes.

"Simple recruit..? What do you mean ‘simple recruit’ ? I’m still the one who’ll be chosen as your successor, am I not..?"

"Fear not — Falco will be spared, as you hoped." Zeke's tone, somehow, softened a bit. "Though he's said to be a promising recruit, I doubt Magath would hand him the Beast right away."

He paused for a few seconds, taking a drag of his cigarette, his eyes half-shut as he did so.

"You already know this titan’s quite unpredictable, don't you? Some inheritors obtain a decent form, thus able to prove themselves useful in battle. Yet... they could also receive the most useless, weakest one anyone has ever seen. This would make our enemy laugh to tears rather than fear Marley and its deadly warriors — something to avoid at all costs.”

His protege nodded slowly, though his lips remained pressed together in a tense expression.

"This is the reason why your little brother won't be selected so soon. Marley would risk big by wasting his potential into this kind of titan. But I believe you're not too bad yourself — I trust your hand will pull out a lucky one."

"Good.” Colt’s breath left him with a soft sigh, shoulders easing.  “As long as Falco is spared, I am more than grateful. I could carry the most ridiculous form that has ever existed, it would never affect my pride to have successfully allowed him to live longer."

As soon as the words reached his ears, Zeke's gaze shone in a strange, unreadable light. To love a brother — something even his brilliant mind could not put into words or sensation, though himself had one. Did affection flutter when thinking of Eren? No. Just an ardent, urgent call to yank him out of that cursed ideology their father pushed upon them. Pulsing in his veins in a primal, brutal beat — just like the impact of bombs, or freshly transformed Eldians crashing against the Mid East positions. 

Irrational.

Maybe that was his own definition of love — yet still a tool.

An odd, powerful tool.

"I've heard your uncle used to be a major figure of the so-infamous Restorationists. How does it feel, to be related to the worst ones among us, to bear the sins of a traitor on your back?"

"It's not a pleasant way to live." The young man shot a quick, nervous glance over his shoulder before hushing. "Every new morning might be the last one we wake up to — anything a bit too unusual, suspicious in our routine might be branded proof of our duplicity. It's been years since that... unfortunate event happened. But it doesn't make us free from the charges our family has been accused of."

Colt’s eyes returned to the skies — the soft gray slowly fading into a darker, threatening shade. Salt brushed against his nostrils.

"It’s draining and terrifying to carry such a burden."

"I see."

The older blond dropped the smoking end of his cigarette from the balcony, his blue gaze glued to the tiny ember as it disappeared into the detailed painting of the alley, floors beneath the two men. It could crash against the tiles, slip into the sewer or even land on one's hat — his aim was true enough to allow it. As long as it did not cause the accessory to catch fire, he was not too concerned about where it ended up.

"What about your family, Mr. Zeke?"

"My family?" A brief hint of surprise escaped his usual composure.

"You never talk about yours. Do you have... someone to look after?"

Heart twitched in his chest. A curious topic to debate — yet an uncomfortable word when shoved right before his face. Family … an emptiness Ksaver had barely mended — glimpses of warmth stolen once the forgotten child he was began to heal, the tremor in his frail hands slowly subsiding.

"There's still my grandparents." The Warrior Chief looked away for a moment, leaning against the balcony’s fence. "Both psychiatrists at the Eldian hospital."

"Are they? I'm not surprised, though. Your kind seems to be the clever and thoughtful sort of."

A deep laugh rumbled from his throat.

"Praising me and my lineage won't make you earn your titan more quickly, Colt."

"I'm not..." he shook his head a few times.

"Just teasing."

The older one then glanced at the cigarette his protege was still holding.

"You're not going to finish it, aren't you? That's unfortunate."

"Sorry." Colt mumbled. "I suppose smoking is not to my taste."

"Then I'll bring you a flask of fine alcohol next time."

The young man almost choked on his spit, earning another amused smirk from his superior. If he was remembered for anything besides being Zeke's favorite candidate, it was his miserable drunk state in the aftermath of the Marleyan Army’s victories. His comrades — soldiers and Warriors alike — never missed a chance to tease him relentlessly, sometimes before Falco's concerned eyes. 

And it was something the older brother wished he could change.

“Chief Yeager — I bring important matter to you.”

The voice came from behind. Low-pitched, with a faint roll of the R. The door clicked closed when the last syllable left his mouth.

Zeke turned to him, his gaze unreadable. With a subtle nod, he took the envelope from the messenger before dismissing him as quickly as he arrived. Colt only caught a glimpse of the man — shaved scalp and the absence of an armband on his left limb.

"You know what to do next, Colt." Yeager said, twirling the piece of paper between his fingers with purpose as he headed inside. "There’s another pile of folders waiting for you in my office."

"Yes, Sir." He nodded firmly. "It'll be done."

"Good."

Before disappearing, Zeke turned one last time toward the recruit.

"And Colt? Send my greetings to your family when you're home."

"It's getting darker and darker. Probably going to rain by the end of the day."

Reiner faced up for a few seconds, his eyebrows pressed in a faint frown.

"We should seek shelter. To get ill at the dawn of a new battle would be unfortunate. Especially for you — I wouldn't even guess I have recovered from any cold."

"There's something I need to do first." Vivian shook her head before stepping forward, engaging herself in the streets of Liberio.

"What is it?"

She paused for a few seconds, a tiny smile curling on her lips.

"My parents' grave, in the cemetery — the dirt needs to be swept off, the faded flowers replaced. And besides…” the words trailed, her gaze flickering aside briefly. “I'd like to visit Bertholdt's resting place. I haven't gone yet.”

Her voice faded into a soft murmur — a flower’s caress.

“And should I not return from the next mission... Then at least, I would've had the occasion to mourn a friend."

It slashed through his own self — a wave of freezing guilt and shame.

Bruising were their hands wrapped around his tortured neck, trying to choke the air from his lungs by drowning him under an impossible weight to carry.

Whether Reiner fought back or not did not matter .

In the end, he would be brought back to the surface — just to endure another wave.

"I'm sorry."

Two single words, mingling with the wind that blew through the hair she no longer bothered to keep maintained by the collar of her jacket.

Sharp, stabbing knives whose blades were coated in the poison of regret.

Vivian stopped in her tracks and faced him again, eyes reflecting a distant sorrow illuminating the ocean-like gray of them. A heartbreaking but oh so stunning sight, to witness such appeasement in the cold waters of grief, to meet more than the rough caress of the rocks on one's tender skin, scratching, tearing until memories and blood cascaded from the flesh wounds. Reiner would not mind losing himself into this sort of sea, swallowed quietly for eternity, his frozen, detached shell licked by the salt until it eroded him completely, now lingering as a vague memory within infinity.

As long as the bruising hands did not yank him back to Earth.

"So am I."

Her tone echoed gently, pure to the ears — untouched by the sour honey that had filled the comments people rubbed against his face, frail hypocrites surrounding him every day. 

Then there was her — embodying a singular presence amidst the crowd of imposterous faces. An unexpected spark in the abyss he was still sinking into. Something he was uncertain how to face.

It would have been easier, had Vivian despised him — the memories of him and their shared past gone, forgotten .

Just to shelter the last person on Earth who saw him.

"I wish it were me instead." Nails dived into his trembling palms as he spoke, cutting deep, red marks through his skin. "That way you would still have a friend by your side."

Her hand came to rest on his arm. Sudden, urging to appease the turmoil she could barely imagine in its totality. The same hand that, earlier on, could aim and kill so easily, never missing the target.

"You are a friend of mine too."

"I'm not sure I deserve the title, Vivian."

With a dry shudder, Reiner pulled his arm away. The calm water of her eyes faltered.

Another wave.

Their steps led them to the upper levels of the Internment Zone, where the cemetery was located — dominating the district as a reminder they would rise most honorable in death. The Honorary Marleyans were buried still amidst their own, like a symbol for the common Eldian to strive to embody, even long gone. 

To nurture the illusion of being part of those born on the right side of the world.

Resemble the heroes.

Atone for the sins.

And maybe the dust of your name would be made of a mock gold.

"You still do gardening? I remember you used to help Teresa back then." Reiner broke the silence, his shoe brushing over a cracked tile.

"Whenever I can." Vivian nodded faintly before pulling up the collar of her coat as the breeze hissed furiously against their faces. "But I'm not half as good as my mother."

"There must be some flowers growing still in your garden."

She looked at him, an almost inaudible chuckle escaping her lips, reddened by the cold.

"It's the middle of a freezing winter, Reiner — they would die before even having the chance to blossom."

He mumbled a sheepish reply, hand running through his hair, before he stopped at the entrance of the cemetery — the tall, dark fences imposing, surrounding the land of the deceased in a protective shell. The clouds thickened — shades of angst that would soon unleash their never-ending tears. 

"I can’t visit him." 

His eyes settled on the washed out pavement. Air weighed around them.

"Not when his blood remains still warm over my cowardly hands. Not when I broke so many promises I made in his name." Jaw tightened. "A damn name I can no longer pronounce."

"You're not the one who killed him, Reiner." She shook her head, hand once again hovering over his arm — yet she stopped herself. "Don’t force more burdens than necessary onto your back. It'll end up crushing you."

"Maybe I deserve it."

It caught her off-guard — but she did not let it appear on her features. 

“I don’t think so.”

“You weren’t there — it’s easy for you to assume such a thing.”

For a second, young Reiner resurfaced — yet with grimness shadowing his stubbornness.

The flicker of revolt had turned into a desperate beg for blame.

A desperate need to brand someone responsible for the mess blazing still behind him.

To point to himself — only for his gaze to flee from his own reflection.

Vivian did not like it.

But the grief was his to bear — so was the shape it would take.

Thus, she kept her concerns in the midst of quietness.

"If the rain surprises you before my return, please don’t wait for me." Gentleness caressed the small smile she offered him.

"You have my word."

His eyes followed her for a few more seconds until she disappeared in the empty alleys, her brown hair whipped by the salt-scented wind.

Brave were the sepultures against the numerous assaults of rain and blizzards endured over the ages, the stains — marks of resilience against the ravages of time — covering their tough skins. Some bore the names of the resting ones, barely legible, the carvings fading more and more as they were caressed by the relentless breeze on the hills. 

Time seemed frozen in an eternal, quiet painting of gravestone alleys whose silence was only pierced by the faint taps of her boots against the soil. The cool-toned landscape complemented the wintry weather with an almost comfortable stillness, welcoming the curt air on her pale cheeks.

Then came the grave of the Harters — the final memento of her legacy. Vivian knelt down and with her fingers, began to brush the few colorless petals that covered it like a crackling blanket. They fluttered away, caught in a dance led by the gusts of wind, spiralling rapidly before dispersing like fragmented souls. White chrysanthemums replaced the faded flowers — two for Teresa, two for Franz — before she murmured a few words, greeting the ones long gone.

Once the sepulture was tended, she headed towards the center of the cemetery, where lay the deceased Warriors. Unmissable — all paths eventually led to the symbolic resting places of past heroes. The low bushes surrounding the area appeared perfectly trimmed, tamed into a geometric pattern — a request issued by the Government itself to preserve the ideals and persuasive power crafted around the prestigious status of Honorary Marleyans.

Two gravestones whose surfaces shone still stood amidst their peers, rich bouquets embracing their sides — the names Galliard and Hoover lay, engraved in elegant, flawless lettering.

And next to them, an empty slot — designed for the third missing-in-action warrior. Many had witnessed Mr. Leonhart's fierce refusal to accept his daughter’s demise. “She’s alive, I know it,” he would say, his crutch punctuating the words dryly every time the topic arose. “No one could have defeated her so easily — she’ll find a way to return to me.”

His desperate confidence always earned him polite smiles, behind which rolled eyes and tired sighs were concealed.

As she neared the monuments, Vivian offered the oldest Galliard brother's grave a soft, respectful nod, then turned to the second one. For a few seconds, breath refused to come.

"Hey, Bertholdt. Long time no see."

The first words reached the cold stone in a hesitant whisper.

Here lies Bertholdt Hoover, honorable Warrior who gave his life for Marley — yet only dry earth composed the grave.

An empty symbol — yet one her heart clung to.

"I didn't expect to have to lower my gaze when conversing with you so soon. Back then, you were already the tallest of us, towering over everyone despite the softness in your frame. But we're no longer children, are we? And that's been true for a long time."

"I wonder what kind of man you were becoming — were you still the quiet boy whose eyes spoke more than a full speech? Or had you grown into someone whose confidence embraced the soul, finally facing the harsh world before you with answers?"

"My own voice arose from the bottom of my chest — words had been buried for too long.”

“I didn't want to comply with the misery of my existence anymore — to see my closest ones leave first, to let another decide for me in the name of my so-called happiness . To watch from aside , and nod when demanded . But I didn't expect it to become something brighter, either."

"In the end, I am still standing — and I will be, until the skies cast their grip upon me."

A nostalgic smile painted her face. She brushed aside a stray lock of hair that had blown across her face.

"I can't say who I would be facing today. Reiner avoids talking about you — shame blazes in his gaze every time your name echoes. But fear not — he doesn't see you as anything less than a friend. In fact, he has always admired your patience, your calm. You’ve always been an anchor to him, just like you knew exactly what to say to soothe his troubled self.

"And I'm grateful you were by his side during all those years, when I couldn't find the courage to face him."

Vivian sat down next to the grave, with that same gentleness in the voice, words now fluttering free.

She and Bertholdt’s friendship shone — their personalities alike in many ways, making it easier for two quiet children to connect. A deep frown would appear on young Reiner’s features whenever he witnessed their closeness, suddenly filled with fearful vulnerability. He would mutter, lips forming a faint pout — “ Don’t you dare forget about me.”  

As if we could have forgotten you .

"Do you remember that day, when you found us squabbling in the middle of one of those games we used to play? I had the funny idea to wear a dress, and the branches of the small tree we were climbing were caught in the fabric."

A light chuckle echoed as she continued.

"Reiner was truly upset, scolding me about how heroes never wear such attire on a battlefield, that becoming a Warrior wasn't for princesses — or whatever term he might have used."

"And when he was about to leave me on that tree, struggling with freeing my dress from its wooden grasp, you arrived and immediately lent me a hand. I still remember the look on his face — a mix of disbelief and vexation."

"From then on, Reiner always made sure to be there whenever I needed him — to climb trees, carry things for me, make sure my knees weren't too scraped."

A sigh left her mouth. Quiet. Taken away by the breeze.

"Those were the easy times, before we dove our hands into an ocean of blood and sins. War has become the thudding beat in our chests — the sole melody we will ever know, even after the storm has long passed.”

Voice faltered — the taste of bitterness lay under her tongue.

“I don't know if I will ever be able to fill the void in his chest."

Eyes closed. Fingers curled in her sleeves.

"Nor in mine — I've already lost so much."

Then came the first tears from the skies, splattering Man’s lands. A soft coldness that made her lids squint briefly as she looked up.

Her hand then brushed against the untouched engravings on the stone, placing the last two chrysanthemums before she offered a final, soft smile.

"To our next meeting, my friend. May it be under a warmer, brighter sun."

Chapter Text

I was sorting out the recently filled up pieces of documents for the future generation of warrior candidates, scrupulously inspecting everything my secretary had written down. Solely the ones with potential were certain to be granted the chance to be selected by my care, as our mighty nation shall not be jeopardised by one of those Eldian spawns. When my hand reached for the signed papers with Leonhart’s picture pinned on them and noticed they were the last ones from the precious pile, I could not help but frown. I remembered there was another candidate fit for the job, and their files were missing. What the hell had Meisel done with them? Was she aware of the importance of these documents for Marley’s military power? My voice struck through the quiet room as I called her, barely able to hide my annoyance toward her careless work. But Meisel answered nervously that the papers given to the Harters had not been returned, meaning that they had refused to send the girl to the Warrior Program despite her admission in it. What a waste of time, what was wrong with their cursed Eldian brains to reject such opportunity?! I slammed the filled up files against the wooden desk and took a few seconds to process the information, irritation etched on my traits. There were no other valid candidates to replace her, the rest were a bunch of useless products issued from flawed breedings. Or maybe… 

“Meisel,” I sighed heavily. “Go back to the denied files and get me that boy’s one. The name… I guess it was Braun.”

— The choice that had changed everything, year 840, Liberio, Marley