Attack on Titan: Wolfborn

[Renko]

To be continued...

If you have just reached chapter 18, you are in for a treat if you continue.

Click to shrink...

Can I make a suggestion and resquest? If this is going to have like some kind of lesbian shipping going on between Anja and Annie, can you add the [yuri] tag?

It's better for people to know about these things beforehand since there are some who are genuinely interested in reading stories with a straight female protagonist since those are very, very, very rare around here.

Those people might or will get very upset due to them finding out later down the line, ruining their expectations.

"Curious thing about that day," he continued, each word falling like stones in still water. "Every casualty was accounted for. Even the ones they could barely identify." His steps never faltered. "Except one."

Nac. The name reverberated in her skull, an accusation and a condemnation all in one.

Click to shrink...

"But you wouldn't know anything about that," Levi said softly. "Would you, Anja?"

Click to shrink...

But Anja didn't have any control at that time!

It seems whatever happened to her runs deep into her family similar with the Ackerman bloodline with Mikasa and Levi!

The last thing she saw before the rifle butt struck was those birds, watching. Always watching.

Click to shrink...

Damn! Is this about the murder?

Hange approached with a syringe, then hesitated. "Levi, if she's like Eren... any wound could trigger—"

Click to shrink...

Wait! Huh!? She's actually a titan shifter!? A 10th titan lost in history or something else?

Two glass jars caught the flash—one containing a clouded eyeball, dark veins spider-webbing through it; the other, a segmented creature, black and insect-like, parts of its body dissolving slowly in the fluid.

Click to shrink...

Uh...

What happened? What is that? Black centipede thing!? WTF!?

 

[Fran Gark]

To be continued...



Can I make a suggestion and resquest? If this is going to have like some kind of lesbian shipping going on between Anja and Annie, can you add the [yuri] tag?

It's better for people to know about these things beforehand since there are some who are genuinely interested in reading stories with a straight female protagonist since those are very, very, very rare around here.

Those people might or will get very upset due to them finding out later down the line, ruining their expectations.




But Anja didn't have any control at that time!

It seems whatever happened to her runs deep into her family similar with the Ackerman bloodline with Mikasa and Levi!



Damn! Is this about the murder?



Wait! Huh!? She's actually a titan shifter!? A 10th titan lost in history or something else?



Uh...

What happened? What is that? Black centipede thing!? WTF!?

Click to shrink...

Spoiler

Hey there again! I see you've made some progress with the story!

Regarding romance - honestly when I started writing this, it wasn't really on my mind and still isn't my main concern. I'm focused on the plot first. If relationships develop naturally as the story goes, that's fine, but if not, that's also fine. Annie and Anja's relationship is pretty complex and hard to define with a single tag, their dynamic is just another part of the larger mystery. But the way I deal with pre existing characters is to attempt to replicate how they were originally written and allowing them to evolve on its own, if that makes sense, with regards to their personalities and sexual orientations for that matter.

The bloodline stuff was a good catch! Without spoiling anything, yeah, there is something inherited, if you could call it that, going on there, though it works quite differently from the Ackerman situation. You'll see what I mean as the story continues.

About Anja being a titan shifter is an interesting theory. The story will tell you more about what she is in the upcoming chapters. They have noticed similarities, but maybe not in the way you might expect.

For that last bit just remember to keep an eye on the small details, they are all over the place, even some things that have to be decrypted. And yeah, things might get even more intense from here!

Glad you're enjoying it so far! It's cool seeing your theories as you read through. Let me know if you have any more questions!

 

[Fran Gark]

Chapter XXVII: Underneath

---

The Female Titan's footsteps shook the earth like drumbeats, each impact resonating with increasing intensity. Anja's horse shifted nervously beneath her, ears flattening against its skull as the world seemed to slow, sounds becoming muffled as the Titan altered its course. Each movement carried an odd familiarity that made Anja's skin crawl.

"She can see you." Heinrik stood impossibly still amid the chaos, watching as though this moment had always been inevitable.

"Anja, move! Now!" Petra's voice cracked with urgency as she released the framework's control mechanism.

The release made her feel vulnerable, exposed. Her hands trembled as she drew her blades—her only pair. The Titan raced toward them, devouring the distance with horrifying speed. She yanked her horse's reins hard, but terror made the animal rear and buck against her commands.

Before she knew it the Female Titan was already there, its foot swinging forward. A shadow fell over her, and Anja caught a glimpse of crystalline patterns forming along its leg just before impact.

The strike caught the horse's hindquarters with enough force to send tthe animal reeling. Anja lurched from the saddle as her mount stumbled, the landscape blurring into a whirl of green and brown. Instinct took over—she fired her ODM gear, the anchors latching onto the Titan's thigh. She jerked to a halt midair, pain jolting through her limbs as she struggled to regain control.

Something was wrong. Her body wouldn't respond the way it should. Where was the rage? The strength? It was as if her own flesh had forgotten how to fight, how to surrender to that crimson haze.

In that split second Anja saw Petra attempting to maneuver for an attack. But the framework's connection between them turned against them as the Titan's movement yanked Petra from her saddle. Her scream cut off abruptly as she hit the ground.

"Something's different about this one," Heinrik's voice carried an edge of recognition. "Can't you feel it?"

The world spun as Anja engaged her gear, forcing herself to stabilize. No time to think—she had to strike now, while she still could. She ignored Heinrik's presence at the edge of her vision, focusing on the titan's red flesh. Her strike sliced a shallow gash across the titan's thigh before something tore her back with brutal force.

Her body twisted in torment as the Female Titan seized her cables, leaving her dangling like a marionette on strings. Her cloak slipped free, spiraling away as blood rushed to her head. The framework's pressure became a new kind of agony—pulled upward by the titan, backward by its connection to Petra.

The Titan remained unnaturally still, head canted at an angle that made Anja's skin crawl. Steam rose from the superficial cut she'd managed. But why wasn't it doing anything? Why just hold her there, suspended and helpless?

"She remembers us," Heinrik's voice had an otherworldly echo. "You have to kill her."

A metallic groan from the frame sent ice through Anja's veins. The attachment points were stressing, metal yielding to pressures it was never designed to withstand.

Then the titan's head shifted a fraction, and though Anja couldn't see its face from where she dangled, she felt its attention as a physical force. The steam reached around her suspended form, carrying an oddly familiar scent.

"Hold on!"

That voice... Reiner!

The thunder of hooves grew louder as he approached.

She saw the Titan's free hand rising in a swift line as Reiner launched himself from his horse. He made an attempt to change directions but he was snatched from the air.

"No!" Anja thrashed against her restraints. Helplessness and despair smothered her fury.

She couldn't save Reiner. She couldn't even save herself.

Without warning, the Titan released its grip on her. Anja plummeted, her swords slipping from nerveless fingers. She hit the ground hard, reflexes dulled by pain and exhaustion.

Behind her, the cable connecting her to Petra snapped taut. The broken framework constricted around Anja's chest, crushing the air from her lungs.

Through darkening vision, she saw Reiner twist free of the Titan's grasp, blades flashing as he carved his way out of the its fist. His movements were too smooth, too practiced. Had he done this before?

The Titan showed no reaction to its wounds. Its head slightly turned towards her still.

"So," Heinrik said calmly. "She's not after us." His tone made it sound like he'd known this all along.

Anja lay in the grass, each strangled gasp a battle. The framework's broken bands cut into her ribs.

Reiner landed hard beside her, steam rising from his face where titan blood evaporated.

"The tank," Anja choked out. "I need the tank..."

Reiner's hands found the buckles, straining against the warped metal. "It won't budge! Is there a release on this thing?" He scanned the grass, spotting where the tank had fallen. "I'll be right back."

The world narrowed to the desperate need for air. Every second stretched into an eternity. Dimly, Anja noticed the Female Titan kneeling in the distance, studying its regenerating hand.

It hadn't pursued them. Why?

"Anja..." Heinrik's voice pulled at her fading thoughts. "We need to go. Now."

Reiner slid to his knees beside her, damaged tank in hand. "This should do it." He slotted the tank back into place. The pressure released with a hiss, framework loosening.

Anja gulped air, tears streaming down her face. Reiner watched her with a concern that somehow didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Easy there." His voice held an edge she'd never noticed before. "That contraption... Scout Regiment's new toy?"

Before Anja could find the breath to answer, the Female Titan rose to its feet. But instead of attacking, it turned and sprinted away, each stride oddly purposeful.

"What's it doing?" Anja's voice came out raspy, raw.

Reiner frowned, as he looked towards the titan's retreating form. "She's leaving. I think I scared the bitch off."

"Anja!" Armin's shout preceded the sound of hoofbeats.

Anja turned to see him supporting a grimacing Petra, their horses trailing behind. The sight of Armin, battered but alive, made Anja's chest tighten with an emotion she couldn't name.

"You're alive..." Wonder and confusion warred in Armin's wide blue eyes. "Where have you been all this time?"

His arms encircled Anja. She leaned into him, suddenly exhausted. When was the last time someone had held her like this? "I'm sorry," She murmured into his cloak. "I wanted to tell you. I just...couldn't."

Armin pulled back, searching her face. His fingers brushed the edges of her eyepatch, questions crowding behind his eyes. "Your eye...Anja, what happened to you?"

Anja touched the rough fabric, a pang of unease twisting in her stomach. "I...it was a training accident."

"They told us you were on a special assignment. That no one was allowed to see you. What-"

A hiss of pain cut him off. Petra slumped against her chestnut horse , face pale and posture rigid. The framework's controls hung off her in a tangle, struts bent and connection points mangled.

"The framework needs repairs," Petra's voice was tight as she braced herself, then with a sharp exhale, wrenched her arm back into place. A shudder ran through her. "And we need to report this encounter. That Titan... it's heading straight for the center of the formation."

"We can't let it get there. If we don't warn them—"

"It's because of Eren, right?" Armin's eyes narrowed. "He's there, isn't he?"

"How would you know that?" Petra demanded.

"It's the safest place in the formation," Armin replied, mind clearly racing. "But that Titan came straight from the right wing... I wonder... We saw the distress signals, but it reached us before we could do anything..."

"We just came from there, the right wing was destroyed by that thing," Anja added. "It wasn't alone - there were other titans following it too, but they stayed behind."

"Then the difference is clear - it acts with purpose, unlike a normal titan, it doesn't show mindless hunger. Its behavior is intelligent." Armin's tactical mind was already working. "When it killed our team leader, it didn't try to eat anyone. It was looking for something. The way it examined you just now..."

"Like it recognized her," Petra finished, her tone oddly flat.

A cold wind swept across the grass, carrying the distant sound of hoofbeats and something else - the soft beating of wings. Ravens had begun gathering in the trees around them, their black forms stark against the pale sky.

"It's a human," Armin's voice dropped lower. "Just like Eren, the Colossal, the Armored Titan… It has to be after him!"

Near Anja's dead horse in the distance, Heinrik stood watching. "We have to keep going, Anja. Home." His arm rose, pointing in the opposite direction from the formation's path.

"We can't waste any more time," Petra managed, steading herself against her mount, wincing as she successfully mounted it. "Armin, give her your horse, double up with Reiner."

"The formation will be changing course again by the looks of it," she nodded toward the horizon where green smoke signals were already rising. "We'll need to catch up quickly, tell everyone we find."

As Armin helped Anja up, she felt his eyes on the semi broken gear strapped to her chest.

"What happened to you?" He asked quietly.

Anja slumped forward slightly in the saddle, suddenly bone-tired. "I don't know," she answered honestly, feeling the weight of Heinrik's gaze on her. "I don't know anything anymore."

Overhead, a raven's wings beat a steady rhythm against the cloudless sky, black eyes fixed on the path ahead.

---

Team Leader Darius wiped sweat from his brow as he surveyed the abandoned village one last time. The midday sun beat down on the weathered buildings where his team now crouched in wait. Eleven of them remained, down two from this morning's losses. The aberrant that had broken through their flank still needed to be dealt with before it reached the main formation.

The village center created a natural choke point. Darius had positioned his soldiers carefully to maximize the advantage. With the right timing, they could bring down their target quickly.

A raven cawed, drawing his attention to the rooftops, many were perched there, their unnatural stillness setting his teeth on edge.

"Everyone's in place, sir." Jurgen's voice remained steady despite the rigid set of his shoulders. "Ready on your signal."

Motion flickered in Darius's peripheral vision. He turned to see a figure adjusting their gear near the town's crumbling bell tower. "Rader, get back in position before-"

"Sir?" The confusion in the real Rader's voice snapped Darius's head around. The boy stood exactly where he was supposed to be, blades in hand.

A cold knot formed in Darius's gut. He looked back up at the tower, but the figure had vanished. Unease prickled up his spine. He knew everyone under his command, knew their faces, their tics... Maybe it was a surviving soldier form the right wing.

"Listen up," He pushed down his disquiet and forced his voice to remain level. "We're dealing with an abnormal, and a dangerous one at that. Stay sharp. Our usual tactics won't be enough. We move as a unit, watch each other's backs. No one plays the hero, understood? We go in together, we come out together."

In the distance, a shout rang out. "Contact! From the north!"

Darius raised his hand, eyes fixed on the path leading into the village square. This is it. The ground trembled, the vibrations intensifying with each passing second.

Through gaps in the buildings, he caught glimpses of a sprinting figure, its movements they were too precise. Too human.

"Hold positions," he ordered, muscles tensing. "Wait for my signal."

The rhythmic impacts, grew louder and louder. The titan was nearly upon them. Even the birds had gone deathly silent, beady eyes all turned to witness what came next.

A massive shape burst into the square, seeming to unfold from the spaces between one blink and the next. This titan had the distinct shape of a woman, she straightened to her full height, pale hair swaying slightly as she turned her head, icy blue eyes sweeping the plaza.

"Now!" Darius barked, as he closed his hand into a fist.

His soldiers struck in perfect unison, ODM hooks flying from every direction. This was what they trained for. He watched as Ivan aimed straight for the nape, blades flashing in the sun.

A diamond-hard shell encased the Titan's neck an instant before Ivan's strike connected. The sound of shattering steel rang out like a death knell.

"What?! The nape's protected!" Darius's warning came too late.

The Female Titan moved with deadly grace, every gesture purposeful and swift. Her fingers closed around Ivan's cables and yanked. Darius had time to see the boy's eyes bulge in terror before he smashed through the crumbling belltower, his body practically splitting on impact.

Two more soldiers died in the space between heartbeats. The first landing in her hardened palm with a sickening crunch, blood spurting between her fingers as she squeezed. The second disappeared beneath a calculated stomp, the wet cracking of bone and the squelch of pulverized flesh drowned out by the thunderous blow. Those who remained scattered, falling back on drilled formations that now felt pathetically inadequate.

Jurgen rallied them, directing hooks to wrap around the Titan's legs, aiming to hobble it. Synchronized and flawless, a dance they'd performed a hundred times before.

The Female Titan dropped low, muscles coiling. Darius had a fraction of a second to realize what was about to happen before it launched itself skyward with a jump, hooks trailing from its body like spider silk. The soldiers anchored to it jerked violently, their screams cut off with horrific abruptness as the force tore them apart.

Darius drew his flare gun, one shell already loaded, motioning to Rader as he took aim. If he could blind it, he could buy them a precious few seconds. He raised the barrel, finger tensed on the trigger.

Movement flickered in a darkened window. Darius's gaze snapped to it instinctively. That man from before, he stood motionless in the shadows, face obscured. Something about the wrongness of its stillness made his blood run cold.

He wrenched his focus back to the Titan just as it turned its head, icy blue eyes fixing on the flare gun. It twisted just as he fired, the hissing charge streaking past its jaw, leaving behind a green smoke trail.

"Rader, go!" He shouted.

The kid leaped, blades flashing as he hurtled toward the Titan's exposed neck. Two more soldiers flanked him, faces set in fierce determination. He was certain she couldn't protect her nape and limbs at once.

The Female Titan's hand moved in a blur, crystallizing from fingertip to elbow as it shielded its weak point. Rader's blades shattered like glass against the hardened flesh. Before even taking any damnge from the others, she spun around, a single kick reduced a soldier to a red smear against the wall. The titan caught the remaining cables attached to her, whirling them around. It used their own momentum like a slingshot, hurling them through the air with devastating force. Rader... He hit the ground beside Darius in a tangle of shattered limbs, his eyes wide and staring vacantly.

Darius whistled for his horse, refusing to give in to the dread. He had to warn the Commander. Had to reach the formation. He threw himself into the saddle, leaning low over his mount's neck as he spurred it forward, desperately seeking to escape the town.

Twenty meters to the village edge. Fifteen. Ten-

The blow came without warning. A massive foot swept through his field of vision, catching both him and his mount. The world spun, ground and sky trading places. He couldn't tell if the scream he heard was his own or his horse's. Then came the bone-shattering collision with stone and earth.

Pain. Brutal, absolute, all-consuming. Darius tried to move, to crawl, but his legs were shattered, jagged bone protruding through torn flesh. He watched helplessly as the titan continued her advance. Their deaths hadn't even qualified as an inconvenience.

A raven landed beside him, its head twisting slowly towards him. More descended, their wings casting shifting shadows across his broken form. Bare feet stepped into view - human yet wrong, stained with dirt and dried blood.

The first raven's beak plunged into his eye. The pain should have been unbearable, but it felt like ice spreading through his veins. More followed, each strike sending waves of cold deeper into his flesh. He tried to scream, to pray, but his mouth filled with a tarry liquid, heavy, piercing his lungs, his skin.

This isn't death, he realized with mounting horror. This was-

---

Ancient trees stretched toward the sky, their massive forms reaching so high they looked as if they could pierce the clouds, their weathered trunks casting long shadows across the expedition's path. Commander Erwin tracked the steady march of black smoke signals converging toward the formation's center, each one likely marking another unit lost. The messenger's horse wheezed beside him, its flanks trembling from the desperate sprint.

"Commander, the target is advancing faster than anticipated," the messenger reported, his youthful face tight with worry beneath a mop of sandy hair. "Squad Darius' signals have ceased. There...there are no survivors, sir."

Erwin's fingers tightened on the reins, his expression carved from stone. Behind him, wooden wagons rumbled into the forest depths, following the lone path that cut through it, their contents concealed beneath heavy canvas. The distinctive smell of lamp oil wafted from beneath the covers, mixing with the forest's natural scents.

The ground trembled with approaching hoofbeats from the rear. Hange drew alongside him, her brow furrowed with distress.

"My team is ready," Hange reported, adjusting her glasses. "Any word from Petra and Anja? They were due to check in by now but remain unaccounted for."

"No signals from their last three checkpoints." The words settled like lead as Hange's expression darkened. A muscle worked in her jaw, but before she could speak, Erwin turned to the waiting messenger. "Send the orders: only the center column enters the forest. All other units are ordered to circle arround it and maintain titan control."

"Sir!" The messenger vanished into the fading haze, his figure quickly swallowed by the distance.

Hange adjusted her glasses, studying the web of flare trails. Her gaze shifted to the wagons passing nearby, Miche riding guard. "Petra would never miss a signal. The vanguard, have you-"

"She isn't there," Erwin cut in. "I already sent someone to verify."

Erwin signaled to Miche, the tall section leader guiding his horse closer. Miche's nose wrinkled as he tested the wind. "Something's off, Erwin. Too many foreign scents on the wind. I can't pinpoint it exactly, but that forest is crawling with titans."

"Erwin, the framework wasn't tested for extended combat," Hange murmured. "If it failed-"

"The forward scouts would have found evidence." Erwin met her gaze. "We proceed as planned. This is our only chance."

"But Anja," Hange pressed, fingers tightening around her reins. "You said she was an asset."

"She is, but, unlike Eren, she is not essential to humanity's survival. Our entire mission depends on him. Our resources are already stretched thin." His eyes never left the forest. "Petra is capable. You know why I picked her for this task. We have to trust she can handle it."

Erwin signaled to Miche again, his voice steady and resolute. "Take your unit to the front. Clear the main route and secure the site."

Miche nodded, blond hair whipping about his rugged face as he broke formation, his squad falling into step behind him as they disappeared into the towering trunks before them.

"Commander," a mud-splattered messenger approached. "Captain Levi requests backup."

Erwin weighed the stakes. The reserve units were meant for Miche's operation, but Levi's defense was vital. One misstep would unravel everything. "Send the reserves to his location immediately."

As the messenger saluted and galloped off, a flock of ravens took flight from the canopy, their dark wings stark against the sky.

Erwin turned to Hange. "Your squad and Miche's will need to secure the site on your own. The reserve forces will buy you the time you need to set everything up."

"It's the right call," Hange said quietly, watching another wagon vanish into the shadows. "That titan knows our formation. Our tactics."

"Yes." Erwin's eyes hardened to blue steel as he surveyed his forces, taking in the grim faces, the hands white-knuckled upon reins and blades. The ancient forest rising before them. "Let's move out, we can't let this sacrifice be in vain. Once we complete our task, it's all in Levi's hands."

Erwin urged his white horse forward, Hange riding close behind as the formation trailed them into the forest of giant trees. The darkness embraced them, broken only by thin shafts of light that managed to pierce the dense canopy above. A heaviness hung in the air, an unspoken acknowledgment of the blood that had already been spilled - and the certainty of more to come.

There was no turning back now. Everything depended on this moment, on this single throw of the dice. And he would see it through to the bitter end, no matter the cost.

---

Anja winced as the framework's plates dug into her ribs with every step the horse took. Broken joints had shifted together, metal bands constricting abruptly and making her gasp shallowly. Petra turned back, her face concerned at the sight of Anja's pain.

"We're getting closer," Petra said, holding her wounded arm tight against her. "The tracks look fresher here."

Armin's words cut through the stillness. "Wait. Those titans ahead. they're not moving."

At the center of the clearing was a cluster of titans that stood stock still, their empty eyes fixed in space. They stood frozen in place, not a muscle twitching in their entire body.

"They're waiting," Heinrik's warning sent dread coursing through Anja's body. "We have to go, now."

Another spasm wracked through Anja's body as the framework constricted, forcing her to clench her teeth against the pain. Her horse stumbled beneath her wavering balance.

Reiner and Armin rode up beside her, the wind tugging at Armin's hair as he studied her with sharp, worried eyes. "Anja, are you alright?"

"I'm okay," she managed, but the words sounded hollow even to her own ears. Heinrik's ghostly form had crystallized before her, his presence carrying an intensity that made her skin crawl.

"They're coming, Anja. Can't you feel it?" Heinrik's words scraped against her consciousness.

Above them, a flock of birds wheeled in formation, their movements unnaturally synchronized. Anja felt moisture trickle down her cheek from her patch. Her fingers came away stained with that dark liquid. Her breath caught. She blinked, rubbing her fingers together—but in the next instant, it was gone.

"This whole situation has me on edge," she admitted, trying but failing to steady her voice.

They gave the still titans a wide berth, venturing into the forest of giant trees. The ancient trunks soared into the sky, their canopy so dense that it cast the ground in perpetual twilight. As they crested a rise, Anja spotted a dead horse near the treeline, its rider nowhere to be found, an ODM gear scattered across blood-stained grass. The device sputtered weakly, residual gas hissing from its damaged tanks.

Reiner got off to take a look, his expression serious. "The blood's not dry yet. We just missed them."

Anja gripped the reins tighter as more of the framework's connections failed, each pop making her stomach lurch.

A rhythmic dripping caught her attention, drawing her gaze upward. Her heart seized as she spotted a body suspended in the branches above, blood falling from it in steady drops.

"There's someone up there," she breathed.

Reiner followed her gaze, his jaw tightening. "Poor bastard..."

The distant hiss of flares cut through the air, red smoke trailing through the branches.

"That's close from here," Armin murmured, his eyes scanning the canopy.

"We cannot stay," Heinrik warned, his image flickering. "Turn back."

But the footprints led deeper into the forest, leaving clear impressions in the soil.

Petra's next words trembled with fury. "Damn it... We'll never catch it now. All those lives, and they didn't even slow it down."

Reiner exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You're really thinking about going after it? Look, I don't like backing down either, but that's suicide."

"What else can we do?" Petra shot back. Her fists clenched at her sides before her tone softened. "If I could just reach Captain Levi..."

Armin's eyes widened. Anja knew that look.

"There must be a reason why the commander led us here. We can't catch up to the Female Titan. So let's regroup with the others—I'm sure there's a plan."

Petra hesitated, torn between the dying flare and the depths of the forest.

"The old route will take you to her," Heinrik murmured, pressing closer. "Through the ravine, past the spring. The way remains beneath the growth."

The words spilled from Anja's mouth before she could stop them. "I know a shortcut. This area was once a tourist destination. There's an old trail that cuts through here. We might still have a chance."

"A tourist trail? Here?" Petra's brow furrowed. "This forest has been abandoned since Wall Maria fell. Those routes would be long gone."

"The stone steps remain," Anja insisted, unsure if the memories were her own or Heinrik's whispers, but she felt so certain. "If she's following the main trail, we can get ahead of her."

Armin's eyes were narrowed to slits. "Anja, how could you possibly know that? There's no way to be certain where—"

"I used to come here with my family when I was little. I know this place like the back of my hand." The words tasted like ash in her mouth, but she couldn't seem to stop herself, she knew she was telling the truth, somehow. She could feel Armin's questioning gaze boring into her.

Petra glanced between the tracks and the flare, then made her decision. "Armin, Reiner, follow the flares and rejoin the main group. Stay in the trees if you run into any titans. Anja, you're with me. Lead the way."

---

They pressed onward, Anja following half-remembered routes with unsettling certainty. Weather-worn steps emerged from the undergrowth, smooth from countless forgotten footfalls. Her body moved with an assurance her mind rejected, each landmark pulling at her like fragments of a fever dream.

The framework seized again, stealing her breath. She forced herself forward, urging her horse deeper into the gloom.

"Are we still on track?" Petra called from behind, her horse struggling through the thick underbrush. Shadows crept closer, blurring the boundaries of their surroundings.

"I'm sure," Anja replied, despite her growing unease. The memories felt artificial, as if they'd been grafted onto her consciousness. Yet each fork appeared before her with haunting familiarity.

"This place is not for you," Heinrik's presence wavered, his form splitting and reforming. "The way ahead is wrong."

"Continue," another aspect of him commanded, anticipation threading through the words. "She awaits."

The trees towered above them, the twisted trunks curving inwards like reaching fingers. Anja saw something move at the periphery of her vision, the leaves rustling and whispering secrets that she couldn't quite catch.

"There's something out there," she breathed, the words barely louder than the pounding of her own heart.

Petra's reply carried the edge of steel. "Stay alert. I think I hear something ahead. We're not far from the main trail, right?"

Anja heard it too—but what? The forest pressed down upon them, suffocating in its vastness. For a moment, she could have sworn she heard something slithering just beneath the earth's surface.

"Underneath." Heinrik's voices spoke in unison.

Suddenly, the air was torn by a thunderous crash, the earth trembling beneath the pounding hooves of their steeds. Anja's head snapped up just in time to see white-hot jets of steam erupting through gaps in the canopy, curling into the sky.

Petra's eyes grew wide. "Was that a cannon? Out here?"

The explosions repeated, each blast sending shockwaves through the ancient forest. A sharp, acrid scent drifted through the thick air—gunpowder, heavy and clinging, mingling with the steam. It burned at Anja's nostrils.

They pressed on, drawn toward the source of the disturbance—yet with every step, a deep, gnawing wrongness settled in Anja's chest. Something else was out there. Watching. Waiting.

"Run," one aspect of Heinrik begged.

"Stay," The other ordered, just a second later, expectation heavy in his tone.

Their voices merged, resonating at frequencies that set her teeth on edge. "You are close... Find them."

They rode toward the chaos, following the echoes of battle until the trees parted before them. The forest path stretched wide, cutting through the dense woodland like a scar. At its center, the Female Titan knelt, ensnared in a web of hooks and cables, crystallized hands shielding her nape. Captain Levi stood atop her pale blonde hair, his small frame stark against her towering form.

"They did it," Petra breathed, awe slipping through her tension.

Through the haze, Anja caught a glimpse of riders vanishing into the forest depths. One of them looked back—Eren. Relief surged through her, sharp and fleeting. It lasted only heartbeats.

A sound like the world splitting open shattered the air.

The ground erupted twenty meters to their right. Anja's horse reared as pale, twisted flesh burst from the soil. A titan emerged – its form a grotesque aberration. Its skin gleamed with an unnatural whiteness, dark veins pulsing beneath like living serpents. The stench of rot rolled over them in a wave.

Anja's hand flew to her hip instinctively, grasping at empty air where her blades should have been.

"Contact!" A scout's warning pierced the air. "Multiple hos-"

The earth shattered beneath his tree. Another titan surged upward, elongated fingers closing around the scout's torso. A wet crunch silenced his scream. ODM gear clattered to the ground, harness straps still attached to—

Anja's horse bolted. The sudden movement saved her life as pale fingers grasped at empty air where she'd been heartbeats before. Petra's blade flashed, biting deep into the Titan's wrist. The strike wasn't enough to sever it completely, but the force sent the massive hand lurching back. Viscous dark liquid sprayed from the wound, and as the Titan recoiled, its quickly dissolving fingers crumbled into the earth, the corrupted essence seeping into the soil.

"Move!" Petra's words cracked with desperation, her left arm held close to her body as she maneuvered. More titans erupted from the ground – five, eight, a dozen pale forms emerging like corpses clawing free of a mass grave. Their movements betrayed an unnatural intelligence.

A group of scouts dove for the nearest titan's nape. Their blades struck true, but the flesh merely rippled.

"Impossible!" A woman's voice cracked with horror as the Titan's head lolled at a grotesque angle, its neck half-severed. But dark veins pulsed, knitting the wound back together. The head remained twisted, unnaturally bent, even as the scouts' momentum carried them forward straight into the grasp of waiting pale hands.

Screams rang out, mixing with the deep rumble of shifting earth as more Titans clawed their way to the surface. Anja's horse reared, hooves skidding on loose soil, as another Titan erupted from the ground ahead. They were everywhere, emerging from the depths like a nest of pale spiders.

"Attacks are useless!" The warning came too late. Three scouts struck their targets, only for their blades to sink in and hold fast, trapped in the shifting flesh.

Realizing the futility, they disengaged, abandoning their weapons as they pulled back.

"The napes just regenerate!" One of them shouted as they maneuvered toward the Female Titan. The pale titans followed, their eerie, unbroken pursuit tightening the noose around the retreating scouts.

Anja's breath caught. This was it. They were being herded—pushed toward certain slaughter.

And then—

"All units, fire!" Commander Erwin's voice cut through the chaos.

Flames erupted from the treetops. Hidden scouts emerged, wielding modified gas tanks fitted with pilot lights. Fire caught the pale titans mid-stride, their writhing forms hardening into dark crystal wherever the flames touched.

But they kept rising, the same titans reforming again and again. The acrid stench of burning flesh mixed with an oily scent clinging to the air. Anja's horse spun in desperate circles, trapped between the emerging horrors. Their black eyes fixed on her. Two lunged forward, only to be driven back by streams of fire, while others circled, methodically cutting off escape routes.

Panic seized her as she tumbled from her horse, an inexplicable terror clawing at her mind. The greasy smoke stung her throat. Petra's shouts became distant, meaningless through the roaring in her ears. She tried to run, but the damaged framework groaned, its mechanisms locking her in place, was she stopping her? A half-crystallized titan, reeling from the flames, crashed onto the cable connecting her to Petra. The framework's tether snapped.

The safety mechanism triggered instantly, metal bands crushing against her ribs, stealing her breath. She couldn't move, couldn't think through the pain as the titan's fingers reached for her. The titan's grip found the framework itself, pulling – metal screamed, joints popped, and suddenly the pressure vanished. The mechanism fell away in pieces as Petra's blade flashed between them, her movements precise but unbalanced by her twisted arm, severing the titan's fingers before they could close around Anja's now-unrestrained form.

"Anja—the framework—" Petra's eyes widened at the broken mechanism, but another Titan's emergence cut her assessment short. "Come on!" She grabbed Anja's arm, noting with grim relief that, despite the wreckage, her ODM gear remained intact. "Get to higher ground!"

Steel cables hissed as they fired their anchors, propelling themselves onto a thick tree branch. Below, the pale titans thrashed against the bark, clawing and snapping as they struggled to follow.

Fire raged across the battlefield, the blistering heat clawing at her skin as flames, steam, and dense smoke consumed the landscape. Anja averted her gaze from the climbing inferno, forcing her trembling body to steady, each breath deliberate. Strange, how light she felt without the framework's constant pressure—yet the absence brought no relief in this nightmare.

Through the chaos, her gaze locked onto the Female Titan. Something about its trapped form struck a deep chord, a resonance she couldn't place. A pale titan broke through the curtain of flames, its white almost translucent hand, reaching for the Female Titan's leg.

Captain Levi moved to intercept, but before he could strike, the Female Titan's mouth opened. The scream that followed shook the forest itself, vibrating in Anja's bones and setting her teeth on edge.

The sound slammed into her like a physical force – the same roar that had drawn the titans out of Trost, now burning itself into her mind anew.

Through smoke and shadow, hundreds of heavy footsteps approached. More titans, drawn by that terrible cry, began flooding into the clearing from all directions. The trap had become a killing ground.

The defensive formation shattered as the titans' bodies tore through cables and equipment, all converging on their captured prey. Steam billowed as the horde descended, creating a wall of writhing flesh.

While normal titans surged forward in a mindless frenzy toward the Female Titan's cry, the pale ones withdrew with calculated precision, their crystallized limbs shattering as they slipped into the shadows. Two forces moving with opposing intents.

She saw as Levi's blades claimed three titans in rapid succession before the mass of bodies became too overwhelming even for him to handle. More titans pressed forward, climbing over each other to reach their target, cutting and pulling on the web of cables and hooks.

"Disengage!" Commander Erwin's orders pierced the din. "All units, to the trees!"

Scouts scattered to the higher branches as titans flooded the space beneath. Anja found her perch, watching the horror unfold through curtains of steam. The titans tore at the Female Titan's restraints, ripping into her flesh with savage intensity. Something in Anja's chest constricted at the sight, an inexplicable ache she couldn't name.

"What are they doing?" Petra whispered, her question hanging in the steam.

But Anja understood. Armin's words echoed in her mind as she watched the frenzied titans tear at their prey – just like they had in Trost with Eren, they were desperate to devour the human within.

She saw as the remaining pale figures slipped away from the feast, their white forms vanishing down the main path.

A flash of movement caught Anja's eye - stillness amid chaos. At first glance, another scout taking position, but... something was terribly amiss. The figure stood like a puppet on strings, its posture unnatural. She glimpsed blonde hair, bare feet, and tattered clothing half-hidden in shadow.

"Anja," Heinrik materialized beside her, his voice urgent. "Don't look. You're free now. We need to leave."

The figure vanished when she blinked, gliding through the canopy with an impossible speed. Retreating?

"They're going after him." Heinrik's words cut through the steam.

Anja's heart skipped a beat. "What?" She stammered, a knot of worry tightening in her chest.

Dark blood trickled down Anja's eyepatch, as she wiped it away this time it didn't vanish, the cold sensation lingered at the tip of her fingers.

"Don't follow." Heinrik's voice wavered with concern.

"He'll die if you do nothing. He can't fight them alone." The words carried darker undertones. "She can't stop you now. Go."

Below, a dead scout lay sprawled across fallen branches, his unused blades still secured in his scabbard.

Anja's resolve hardened. She had to go—she couldn't let Eren die.

"Anja?" Petra's voice rang out with confusion as Anja began moving down. "What are you doing?"

As she retrieved the blades, the framework's final pieces still clinging to her torso fell away, leaving her truly unrestrained, the sensation felt foreign.

Through the chaos, that wrong figure moved with terrible purpose along the path. Each step they took pulled at something deep inside her, like a half-forgotten melody struggling to surface.

"Please—" Heinrik's hand reached for her.

"Chase them—" The darkness in his tone promised violence

Anja's gaze darted between Petra and her retreating target. Something shifted in her expression.

"Wait!" Petra's cry rang with sudden urgency. "Stop!"

She paid no heed to her orders, Anja fired her ODM gear, weaving between towering trunks with uncanny familiarity. Behind her, Petra's cables sang as she gave chase, but Anja knew these paths, these branches, these hidden angles between the colossal trees. Her body remembered what her mind could not, each turn taking her further from Petra's desperate calls.

She followed the pale titans as they raced through the canopy, her gear straining with each burst of gas. Yet deep in her bones, she knew exactly where they were heading. An instinct older than memory drove her forward, faster and faster through the shadows.

Then she heard it – Eren's scream echoing through the forest, and her heart stopped.
/
/
/

Hope you enjoyed the read! Sorry for the delay this chapter took me WAY longer than expected since I kept going back and forth on it. Thanks for reading!

 

[Fran Gark]

Chapter XXVIII: Monster

---

Through gaps in the forest, Eren watched distant smoke signals fade into the forest's gloom. His fingers drummed restlessly against his leg as Captain Levi's final orders echoed in his mind - wait, stay hidden, transform only as an absolute last resort. The words felt like chains around his throat, choking back the rage and helplessness that had become all too familiar since joining the Survey Corps.

The squad had pulled their horses into a natural alcove formed by massive, gnarled roots. Moss-covered bark rose around them like fortress walls, but the temporary shelter did little to ease Eren's growing unease. He couldn't shake the image of Anja from earlier - the eyepatch cutting a stark line across her face, that haunted look in her remaining eye, the strange metal framework binding her movements. What had happened to her in these past weeks?

She was chasing after that Female Titan too? He had already lost count of how many had fallen to defend them… To defend him… And he didn't fight back. In the end he wanted to think it was the right choice, they had managed to capture it after all.

"So... you guys knew about the plan?" The question slipped out before he could stop it. The plan to capture the Female Titan - it seemed too elaborate to have been improvised.

Oluo straightened in his saddle, that familiar self-important smirk crossing his weathered features. Grey was already creeping into his undercut despite his relative youth, though he'd probably claim the premature aging came from too many titan kills. "Of course we knew. I knew all along."

"We didn't," Gunther cut in flatly. The most level-headed of the squad kept his dark eyes fixed on the forest around them, broad shoulders tense beneath his cloak. Unlike Oluo, he wore his experience in his bearing rather than his boasts.

"Maybe you didn't, but I did." Oluo sniffed, adjusting his cravat with that affected gesture he'd picked up from trying to imitate the Levi. A thin trail of blood trickled from his lip - he'd probably bitten his tongue again.

Gunther's eyes narrowed slightly as he absently adjusted the strip of fabric holding back his dark hair. "Those at the site knew, those who've spent years in the Survey Corps, even before we arrived..."

"Who cares anyway?" Oluo interrupted, puffing up like an irritated bird. "None of them have as many kills as I do, except Captain Levi, of course."

"Don't listen to that idiot." Gunther's tone carried the bone-deep weariness of someone who'd watched too many friends die to have patience for false bravado.

"You wish you had as many kills as me."

"Whatever," Gunther sighed, turning to Eren with something like sympathy in his eyes. "My guess is the Commander only confided in the longest-serving veterans."

"But why didn't he tell you?" Eren pressed, trying to understand the layers of secrecy that seemed to suffocate everything in the Corps lately.

"Commander Erwin always has his reasons..." Gunther's expression darkened, shadows deepening the lines around his eyes. "To lure that titan into a trap like that... He probably suspected someone, a spy, it's the only reason I can think of. I hope they make that thing suffer. Too many died for this."

"What's that about a spy?" Oluo scoffed, though his hand unconsciously tightened on his reins. "Don't be ridiculous. Didn't we find out about who killed the research titans?"

"Research titans?" Eren leaned forward, but Oluo waved him off like an annoying child.

"Nothing that concerns you, brat."

Gunther shot Oluo a warning look before explaining, his voice pitched low enough that it barely carried past their small circle. "We managed to capture two titans in Trost. The Commander wanted to keep it quiet from the Military Police given the panic you caused with the military." His tone dropped even further. "Turns out they didn't last long in our captivity. They were killed by one of our own."

"He should have listened to Captain Levi," Oluo muttered, "That girl should never have been allowed to stay in the scouts."

"Maybe she had something to do with this?" Gunther mused, fingers drumming against his blade hilt.

"Who are you-" Eren started to ask, but something caught his attention.

A strange scent carried on the wind, acrid and wrong. "Something's on fire."

"Could be just a flare... Wait." Gunther tensed, scanning the canopy with the sharp eyes.

A scream hit them like a physical force - high and piercing, vibrating through the ancient trees until Eren's teeth ached. His blood ran cold with recognition, that same shout he'd heard in Trost rising up to choke him.

"What was that?" Gunther's hand moved to his blade, the steel whispering against its sheath.

"It sounded just like that in Trost..." Eren's voice was barely a whisper, memories of that day flooding back - the Armored Titan's burning orange eyes, that roar, the tide of titans retreating in a mindless stampede after it.

He continued. "When the Armored Titan was there," His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. "I remember hearing that, then all of sudden the titans started leaving the city."

"So that was why the district was empty when we got there..." Understanding dawned in Gunther's eyes.

Eren's hand rose to his mouth, teeth already aching with the need to transform. "We have to go back. I can fight!"

"Stay put, brat." Oluo's blade flashed between them, catching what little light filtered through the canopy. "You heard the Captain's orders. We have to wait for him. Besides, you can only transform as a last resort, don't push your luck."

"Captain Levi will come back..." Gunther didn't sound entirely convinced.

"What if he doesn't come back?" Eren demanded, rage blazing inside his chest. "Are you going to let him die?!"

Blue smoke trails suddenly pierced the canopy, their color stark against the forest's shadows like veins against pale skin.

"We're retreating," Gunther announced, relief cracking through his usual stoic mask. "They made it. Mission's over."

"That means they captured whoever was inside it, right?" Eren asked, his voice loud in the stillness.

"Shut up," Oluo hissed suddenly, tension rigid in his spine. "I hear something... Maybe it's the Captain."

Gunther's voice dropped, hand white-knuckled on his blade. "No... Captain Levi said he'd signal us... There's someone else. Who's there? Show yourself!"

The shadows between the trees seemed to deepen, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Even the leaves had stopped their whispered conversations, leaving only the thunder of Eren's heart in his ears.

Through the gloom, something moved a silhouette that made no sound as it passed between each branch. But there was something wrong about the way it moved, as if its joints weren't quite connected properly, like a puppet with half its strings cut.

None of them noticed the black birds gathering silently above the tree cups, their eyes fixed on the scene below.

Watching. Waiting.

---

Eren's scream pierced the burning forest, twisting something primal in Anja's gut. She propelled herself through the smoke-filled air, each burst of gas from her ODM gear sending shards of pain through her ribs where the framework's broken pieces bit into flesh. The heat from burning trunks seared her lungs, while flickering firelight painted nightmarish shapes in the roiling smoke.

"It's not real," Heinrik's form shimmered beside her, his face a mirror of their mother's worry.

Another scream shattered his warning, closer now, filled with agony. The sound carried all of Eren's rage, his pain - too perfect to be false. She had to reach him.

"He needs you," a second Heinrik materialized on her right, his edges bleeding into the smoke like watercolor. Where the first's eyes held desperate concern, this one's gleamed with hunger. "They're tearing him apart while you waste time with doubt."

Movement caught her eye - bone-white fingers parting the smoke thin like a pale spider's legs. Anja twisted mid-air, letting momentum guide her blades through the pallid flesh. The severed fingers crumbled into black ichor that ate into the bark where it fell. The second Heinrik flinched as if the wound was his own.

"Help me!" Petra's voice cracked with terror somewhere behind her. Anja spun so hard her gear's cables groaned, but found only dancing shadows between the burning trees, there and gone.

"Help!" Armin this time, his cry carrying a desperate edge.

"Armin?!" Her voice broke as she searched the inferno below. "Where are you?!"

The cries multiplied, a chorus of familiar voices begging for aid from every direction. Mikasa, Sasha, Armin, Eren.

Anja pressed her hands against her ears, but the voices burrowed deeper.

Below, pale titans began to move with horrible purpose, climbing over each other like insects. Their bone-white flesh pulsed with black veins as they built a living ladder toward her perch. Hands reached up, fingers grasping at empty air where she'd been heartbeats before.

"Stay away!" She slashed desperately at the reaching limbs, each strike forcing her higher into the canopy. The pleading voices rose with her.

"Anja," the first Heinrik's voice. "Focus on me."

"You're so close, sister," the second one's words carried a promise. "He's waiting for you."

The writhing tower of titans suddenly collapsed, writhing across each other as they stood up in unison this time they did not try to climb again, they stood there, eyes fixed on her. Through the gap they left, she saw it - the titan from Trost. Its hairless head rose above the veil of smoke, its jaw beginning to open, hanging impossibly wide, black saliva dripping like tar between yellowed teeth. Black depthless eyes staring deep into her core.

Its distended belly shifted and bulged, something pressing agaist its ghostly flesh, as if something inside was fighting, clawing its way out.

"Get me out of here! Help!" Eren's voice echoed from that fathomless maw.

"He's in there, sister. With all the others" The second Heinrik's voice dripped with anticipation.

"Anja, please!" The first one's warning faded like smoke. "Don't look!"

"Don't you want to save your friends?"

Her feet carried her forward pulled by invisible strings. Dark liquid seeped steadily from beneath her eyepatch, each drop darkening the wood where it fell. The titan's jaw stretched wider, shadows within its throat writhing with terrible purpose. The screaming from inside grew more desperate, more familiar.

"Anja! Is that you, Anja? Help us!"

She found herself at the edge of that darkness, the forest no longer around her, she had been transported into another place entirely, her footsteps echoed as in vast cavern. Deep within that impossible void, a flash of auburn hair caught what light remained.

"Mom...?" The word broke from her throat like shattered glass as her swords slipped from numb fingers. "You can't be..."

"Anja, sweetie, it's me." Her mother's gentle voice drifted from the abyss, carrying all the warmth of childhood memories. "I'm right here."

Through the endless abyss, her mother's silhouette coalesced, though remaining tantalizingly out of reach. Her fiery hair captured impossible light, framing that beloved smile - the one that had chased away her nightmares and tucked her away to sleep. The sight made Anja's heart splinter with yearning.

"I've missed you so much," her mother's voice carried that familiar warmth. "You've grown into a lovely young woman."

"How is this possible?" Anja's words quavered in the emptiness. "How are you alive?"

"Alive?" Emma's head shifted with unnatural grace. "Oh no silly. I'm dead, just like you."

Anja's lungs seized. "W-what?"

"Yes, dead," her mother's expression contorted, teeth glinting like razors in the void. "Dead, as in buried six feet underground dead." What followed was no human sound - a grinding screech of metal on metal that masqueraded as laughter.

The creature observed her with clinical detachment. Its speech now emerged in fragmented bursts, like someone dissecting language itself.

"C-at got your ton-gue?" A pause, contemplative. "Is that the ex-pression, ex-pre-ssion? Well the other thing was too one, odd."

"Who are you?" Fear made Anja's voice brittle. "What do you want from me?"

"You?" Amusement twisted the creature's features, now erased, the face of her mother blurred, wrong. "What could we possibly want f-rom someone that doesn't exist?"

Anja lunged forward, taking back her weapons, but the gulf between them stretched endlessly. Like chasing the horizon - always in sight, forever beyond reach.

"Interesting this... Sp-eech..." The thing pondered. "Perhaps we have not mastered it yet."

"Let me out of here!"

"You resist," it observed with cold certainty. "Meat are not meant to... resist." The word seemed to fascinate it. "Resist. Re-sist. Curious."

Something beyond the abyss howled, as if reality itself was being rent apart.

"Meat should obey," it continued, its cadence deteriorating. "That is its purpose, obey."

Space folded between them as it closed the distance, studying her with eyes like empty wells.

"Resistance is... futile? Meaningless? Incorrect." It parsed meaning like a child with a puzzle, before making that jarring human gesture - a shrug that only emphasized its otherworldliness.

"Anja!" Heinrik's voice pierced the darkness like sunlight.

When she blinked, the thing now replaced by her brother's face stared back at her. "Why do you want to leave?"

Her mind filled with images of friends – the people she loved – the only people she had left. It harvested these thoughts, she felt as it plucked them with a thought, without notice it transformed those tender memories into a chorus of terror that echoed through the nothingness.

The void wavered at the edges, cracks spreading like ice over water. But the thing remained focused solely on her, unmoved by the dissolution of its domain.

"That's the sound they make when they meet us," it mused through Heinrik's lips. "But that's fine, we are not the same. You scurry about in that skin," its voice grew distant, contemplative. "A bag of blood, bone and thought. But they know what you are, don't they?"

The screams intensified as it invaded her space, right in front of her, but she couldn't so much as move a muscle.

"A monster." The declaration rang with finality.

"That's your nature, imp. Do you think they can't see it? The hollowness behind your eyes, the absence at your core?"

The abyss began disintegrating, light lancing through widening fissures.

"An example. They need examples. Why not? In the end, you'll always return. It's where you belong." Its voice fragmented like breaking glass. "No matter how you claw and scrape at the edges of their world, you'll never be one of them."

The darkness exploded outward, reality crashing back in waves of heat and light. Anja found herself sprawled on the forest floor amidst carnage - pale titans reduced to mutilated heaps, their essence seeping into scorched earth. The massive-jawed titan lay bisected, its remains dissolving into viscous darkness.

Anja pushed herself upright, each breath burning as smoke invaded her lungs. The fire had caught up to her, sap crackling in the heat as flames devoured the canopy above. Her fingers shook as she wiped viscous darkness from her skin, the entity's words fragmenting in her mind like broken glass - "a bag of blood and bone and thought."

She launched her ODM gear skyward, desperate to escape the flames and suffocating haze below. Pain shot through her battered frame with each anchor's impact, but the physical discomfort helped ground her in reality. Breaking through the smoke revealed a sky painted in warring colors - brilliant blue flares cutting through towering columns of ash.

"Heinrik?" The word dissolved in the vast emptiness above. "Are you there?"

Only silence answered. The absence of his presence felt wrong - like losing a limb she hadn't known she had. She touched her eyepatch, remembering the entity's words about hollowness. What had it meant about returning? About an example? Just as she remembered them she could feel them slipping away.

Green light bloomed against the smoke, another flare answering from somewhere distant. Without her flare gun, she remained incomunicated from her comrades. Was Petra searching for her? The thought of explaining what she'd witnessed in that vast emptiness made her throat close –that thing wearing her mother's face like an ill-fitting mask.

Movement drew her attention to the forest floor a figure in a Survey Corps green cloak gliding between burning trunks. Their hood concealing their features, but something about their movements tugged at her memory. She nearly called out but the memory of false voices crying for help made her hesitate.

The entity's final proclamation whispered in her mind: "You'll never be one of them."

The figure navigated deeper into the forest in direction towards the flare. Anja followed, keeping to the higher branches, torn between pursuit and caution.

---

From his perch, Erwin observed the frenzy below as titans devoured what remained of their captive. Steam mingled with wildfire smoke, shrouding the forest floor in an impenetrable haze, visibility had been reduced to mere meters. Despite accounting for every contingency, preparing for each possibility, the enemy had a few new tricks up their sleeves...

Levi touched down silently beside him, methodically wiping his blades clean. A flicker of annoyance crossed his otherwise stoic features. "The brass won't be happy. All those resources, those deaths - and nothing to show for it. They'll use this as an excuse to get their hands on the brat."

"We'll think of something on our way back." Erwin's eyes remained fixed on the steaming remains below. "Our enemy chose to take their secrets to the grave."

Something like satisfaction tugged at his mouth as pieces clicked into place, he was getting closer to the truth. The pale titans had emerged only after Wolf appeared.

"Tch. What's with that look?" Levi's eyes narrowed. "You're plotting something again."

"Our enemy just revealed how valuable Eren is to them. Valuable enough to sacrifice everything rather than to face capture."

"Well the Female Titan was definitely after him. Hard to tell if those freaks were after him or her though."

"We'll find out soon enough." something sparked in his mind as he surveiled the chaos below, they had provided the perfect cover...

Levi shifted his weight, preparing to depart. "I'm heading back to my team."

"Wait." Command resonated in Erwin's voice. "Replenish your gas and blades first."

"I have enough-"

"That's an order." His attention never wavered from the dissipating veil below, "The pale titans may have withdrawn, but they're still out there. And whoever was inside the Female Titan..." He chose each word carefully. "If Hange's assessment about them is correct, they could be perfectly equipped with ODM gear inside the titan, wearing our uniform. We can't afford to lower our guard, not with the long ride to Karanes ahead."

Levi studied him for a moment before clicking his tongue. "Fine. I trust your judgment."

---

Pain blazed through Petra's left arm with each movement of her ODM gear. The burning forest streaked past in a blur as she pressed forward, each landing sending fresh waves of agony through her shoulder. Nothing made sense anymore.

Captain Levi had always trusted her with critical information - why keep her blind about this plan to capture the titan? She would have guarded that secret with her life. She'd proven herself trustworthy time and again. Even though impersonating her had felt wrong, she'd kept that secret too. So why exclude her now?

Her charge had vanished into that dense forest, moving through the trees with unnatural grace. The shattered framework haunted Petra's thoughts – if that thing hadn't torn it apart... The whispers about what she herard of Anja echoed in her mind. Even if half of what Levi told her was true, they couldn't afford to have her roam around free.

A green flare pierced the smoke-filled sky. Her pulse quickened at the sight of her squadmates perched in the upper branches ahead. They had abandoned mounts, weapons drawn with white-knuckled intensity, faces twisted with horror.

"Petra!" Raw fear had stripped away Oluo's usual pretense. "Get up here, quick!"

She landed among them, swallowing back a cry of pain. "Are you all alright?" She scanned their faces, they all looked like they'd just seen a ghost. "What happened to your horses?"

"Nearby," Gunther said, his usual steadiness wavering, fractures showing in his tone. "We couldn't stay down there, too exposed."

"Did you just signal the Captain?"

"Yes…" Gunther shifted uneasily. "We are waiting for him."

"Stay alert," Oluo snapped, his gaze darting between shadows like a cornered animal.

"Since when are you so jumpy?" Petra attempted normalcy, though her own voice seeing the terror that had gripped her squadmates. "Don't tell me the great Oluo Bozado is scared of a few titans?"

"We saw Eld." Gunther's words struck like a physical blow.

Petra's lungs seized. "…What?"

"He was watching us." Oluo's voice cracked. "Just standing there, staring. Whatever it was wearing his face."

She remembered how he was taken by those sick titans, so similar to the ones they had just faced, its impossible that he had survived, not after so much time out here.

"But he's dead. You must have-"

"Damn it, Petra!" The raw anguish in Oluo's outburst made her flinch. "I know what I saw! We all saw it!"

"Miss Petra..." Eren's question carried a tremor. "Where's Anja? Wasn't she just with you?"

The question lingered unanswered in thickening darkness. Something shifted through the forest beyond their sight.

---

Anja had pursued the hooded figure as they wove between towering trunks. Their movements nagged at her memory, hauntingly recognizable. Free from the framework's constraints, she matched their swift pace, unease building in her gut as they ventured deeper into the gloom, directly in the direction of that flare.

Remnants of the green signal still lingered above, visible. The figure shifted direction subtly, was it going around? Anja followed, realizing too late how far they'd strayed from the others.

This couldn't be Petra… Neither, Captain Levi… Who was this?

Something kept poking at her thoughs, what Armin had said. The other intelligent titans, beings like Eren, one of them could be out here at this moment, the Colossal and Armored where still unaccounted for-

Before she could finish her thought, the forest opened before them. Her heart lifted at the sight of her comrades positioned above - Petra, Oluo, Gunther, and-

"Eren!" His name burst from her before she could catch it. In that instant, she realized her error.

The figure halted mid-flight not firing their anchors. For just a heartbeat, sunlight caught pale blonde hair beneath the hood. Then electricity cracked in the air as a sudden flash of lightning shattered the sky.

The blast ripped through bark and branch, sending splinters flying like shrapnel. As the steam cleared, crimson muscle stretched up, that distinctive blonde crown unmistakable. The Female Titan towered above them.

She had escaped?! How?!

"The Female Titan!" Terror echoed through the clearing.

"Eren, run!" Command fractured Gunther's voice.

"Protect him!" Petra surged forward, steel flashing. "It's after him!"

---

"We can take it down together!" Eren's fists clenched at his sides, rage burning in his chest. They'd trapped this titan once - united they could end this.

"No! Listen to us, brat, we know what we're doing!" Oluo's voice cracked with desperation.

"Eren, find your horse and get to safety!" Petra's command rang with authority. "Believe in us!"

Eren stood frozen, teeth grinding as his eyes drifted to Anja. He wanted to stay, to fight alongside them, but Captain Levi's words echoed in his mind, he had wanted to fight then when the Female Titan had pursued them, after it had killed comrade after comrade: "Either you believe in yourself or the soldiers of the Survey Corps. Just do your best to make a decision you won't regret."

With a snarl of suppressed fury, he turned and launched his ODM gear into the canopy.

"I trust you." He muttered to yourself.

Each burst of gas carried him further from the sounds of combat, his chest constricting as distance grew between him and his comrades. The soldier's of Team Levi were humanity's finest - chosen by Captain Levi himself. If anyone could handle this threat, it was them.

He pushed his equipment harder, scanning the darkening forest for his mount. They had trusted him before he owed them that much. The trees pressed closer, shadows pooling between massive trunks. Wrong silence filled the air - no birds, no clash of steel, only the whisper of his cables and the hiss of gas slicing through space.

Movement flickered at the edge of his vision. His pulse quickened as he caught glimpses of a figure matching his pace through the branches. Were they using ODM gear too? Each time he turned to track it, it vanished, only to get closer and closer, herding him deeper into the gloom.

That man that had been watching them? He'd followed him here? A missing comrade they'd said? Dead?

Time slowed as sunlight caught the edge of a blade. The figure stepped into view fully - Eld's face, he could clearly see his eyes, dark bottomless pits.

Levi's warning pounded in his skull: Transform only as a last resort. If your life is in danger.

But this thing, this mockery of a fallen comrade, left no choice.

Kill or be killed.

"I don't know what you are, but I'll tear you apart!"

His teeth tore into flesh. Blood flooded his mouth as static cackled around him, then lightning.

His titan's roar shook the forest as he swung with crushing force at the aberration.

It evaded his strike with inhuman grace, alighting on a branch. When it spoke, the voice froze his blood solid.

"Eren!" His mother's voice emerged from that wrong face.

---

Erwin's instincts had proven right again. Two explosions, two pillars of lightning had pierced the canopy - the Female Titan and Eren, most likely. The smoke was thickening, every second counted now. He trusted squad could hold their own against the Female Titan, but Eren...

The clearing ahead brought him to a halt, he'd left his mount with his team and now it lay among other fallen horses, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition. Deep gashes marred their flesh, edges blackened, dark ichor stained the wounds. He didn't stop to examine it closer, that told him enough - the pale titans were still around.

Their blood had left a trail, it thnned down to droplets as it marked a path deeper into the forest. The further he ventured, the larger the destruction became. Broken trees marked by combat, some split completely in half, others uprooted entirely. Steam rose from massive footprints seared into the earth. Whatever fight had happened here had been brutal and brief.

Then he saw it - Eren's titan form slumped against a broken timber . Blood and steam rose from countless lacerations, one shoulder ending in a ragged stump where an arm should have been. Methodical damage to incapacitate him? If they had wanted him dead they could have just gone for the nape.

Through the steam he caught sight of a figure, they approached Eren's prone form with measured steps. Wearing a tattered uniform hung from their frame, steaming blood-slicked blades gripped in scarred hands. Despite the distance, recognition stabbed through Levi's chest.

No matter, Eren was the priority. Neutralize the threat, ask questions later.

He swept in low, blades ready.

I'll end this quickly.

The figure turned at the last possible second, and Levi's heart stuttered.

Eld Jinn stared back at him – or something wearing Eld's skin. His squad member's once-vibrant face now bore a waxy pallor, his blonde hair matted with blood and forest debris. Black voids staring deep into his soul where amber eyes should be.

No time for hesitation. His blades struck true, opening Eld's throat in a spray of black blood. The head lolled to the side, nearly severed as the body crumpled to the forest floor with a dry thud.

Levi flicked his blade clean, something hollow opening in his chest. That man had fought at his side for years, he had failed to rescue him when those things took him…

"What did those things do to you?"

He closed his eyes for a second and turned toward Eren's titan wreathed in steam, already thinking the fastest way to extract him from the titan's nape. Behind him, cloth rustled as the body rose. A woman's voice emerged from behind him - a voice he hadn't heard in years, one that haunted his dreams.

"Levi..."

---

Petra surged forward despite her injured arm, cables singing as she aimed for the Female Titan's flank. Anja's breath caught as she recognized that defensive stance - the subtle weight shift, the coiled tension. Annie's stance? She'd seen her take this exact position countless times during training.

"Look out!" Anja launched herself toward Petra as the Titan's leg blurred into motion. At the last possible moment, the kick redirected, missing both of them by inches.

The hesitation cost the Female Titan dearly as Oluo's blades carved deep into her calf, sending steaming blood spraying across the bark.

"Anja, what are you doing? Get back!" Petra's voice cut through billowing steam, but explanation would have to wait.

"Don't let it get away!" Gunther led the charge, his strikes forcing the Titan further off balance. "We end this here!"

The Titan moved with the grace of a practiced fighter, yet something felt deeply wrong. Each time Anja entered its range, attacks that should have been fatal turned into glancing blows. The squad seized every opening, their coordinated assault leaving the Titan no time to recover.

"You thought you could mess with us bitch?!" Oluo's fury echoed as he carved as vapor rose from the wound.

---

"Isabel?"

Her face emerged through dissipating steam with haunting clarity – he had forgotten just how similar Anja looked to her. Every detail was perfect. Her auburn pigtails, that youthful face he'd seen mangled and lifeless in the mud six years ago, half-devoured by titans. This had to be a nightmare born out of guilt and unspoken regrets.

"I thought... I thought you'd never come..." Her voice carried that familiar street-tough optimism, the kind even a life in the Underground couldn't extinguish.

Memories Levi had buried deep crashed over him - his first expedition beyond the walls, the downpour that had masked the titans' approach, discovering their shattered bodies scattered across blood-soaked grass. His greatest failure. He'd promised to protect them, that they'd finally leave that filth of a place... He'd just led them into danger, from the Underground into the Survey Corps, only to arrive too late to save them from the titans.

"We waited for you..." She took a small step forward, Isabel's head tilting just like she always used to. "Furlan and I... He said you'd rescue us... I thought so too."

"It was cold... So cold..." Each word pierced him like frozen needles. "Why did you take us there?"

"We could have stayed home... Together... All of us..."

It raised its face, and where Isabel's bright green eyes should have been, only black eyes stared back. The thing wearing her face lunged at him without warning with inhuman speed.

That's not Isabel. Isabel died in the rain that day. He'd left her broken body to the titans, he had no choice.

Levi's body responded on instinct, faster than thought - but something felt wrong. The creature's movement was too precise, its trajectory slightly unnatural. He sidestepped, his blade carving through its arm in a clean arc. But as the severed limb fell, he didn't notice its other hand already snatching a fresh blade from his scabbard.

Black blood welled from its fingers as it gripped the blade's edge without regard for pain.

Targeting the limbs is useless. It collapsed when I cut its throat before. If I cut its head off, then maybe…

"Tch. So that was your plan." Levi's eyes narrowed on the weapon in its grasp as they began to circle each other. If this thing had managed to take down Eren, he couldn't afford to underestimate it. One false step—that's all it would take.

The creature's mask of emotion had vanished, replaced by cold, predatory focus. Isabel's face now looking like ill-fitting skin.

"Done pretending?" Levi matched its measured pace, each waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"Got me there for a second, you ugly freak." He'd buried too many comrades to count, watched countless uniforms soaked in blood. The familiar hollowness in his chest was almost comforting now a reliable companion in a world that kept taking. "It won't happen again."

Movement behind - Eren's titan was stirring. The thing's head snapped toward the sound, those bottomless eyes finding new prey.

Now

He lunged, blades aiming toward its neck.

Its attention returned instantly. It twisted, deliberately taking his blades in its chest rather than its throat.

Too late. The trap was already sprung—stolen steel flashed toward his leg.

Agony blazed through muscle as the blade struck home. But Levi didn't hesitate. In one motion, he detached his embedded swords, drawing fresh blades, cutting its head before it could press its advantage.

The body collapsed, dissolving into black liquid that seeped into the earth.

Just another stain among many in this cursed earth.

He assessed his leg with clinical detachment. The wound ran deep but wouldn't cripple him. He could still move, proper treatment would have to wait, he had to get Eren out before more of these things appeared.

The pale titans always returned, if this thing was one of them he couldn't fight it in this condition.

He moved toward Eren's steaming form, trying not to think about Isabel's voice, about the weight of failures that never truly faded.

The mission came first. It always had.

---

A synchronized strike from Petra and Gunther severed crucial tendons, forcing the Titan to brace against a massive trunk. Steam poured from a dozen major wounds as the Female Titan struggled to maintain her guard. Her movements grew increasingly desperate as the damage mounted, regeneration failing to keep pace with Team Levi's relentless assault.

Through the rising haze, the Titan pressed its remaining hand against its nape, elbow raised in a stance that made Anja's muscles ache with phantom memory. She'd been on the receiving end of this counter hundreds of times in the training yard.

Pure instinct drove her as Anja's blades cut into the elbow joint before the strike could land. Gunther capitalized immediately, steel flashing across the Titan's right eye. As blood and steam fountained from the wound, that massive head turned toward her.

Their eyes met for the first time across the chaos.

The world stopped breathing.

Icy blue depths. Eyes she had seen brighten with rare smiles, narrow in concentration, soften in fleeting moments of quiet. Eyes that shouldn't be here. Not in this forest. Not in this Titan.

Annie.

Why? This couldn't be true. She was supposed to be safe in the Military Police. Far from this violence. Far from this death.

Petra struck again, taking the other eye. Steam erupted from the wound as the titan pressed her back against a tree, now blind and vulnerable.

"Keep your guard up." Rain drummed against the training ground as Annie's hands guided Anja's into position, her touch surprisingly gentle. "You're stronger than you think. You just need to believe it like I do."

In her mind the titan blurred away. All that remained was Annie's face, staring back at her. Steam continued to rise from fresh wounds as Petra and Oluo circled for another strike.

In that alley, two starving refugees huddled in the dark. Annie wordlessly broke her last scrap of bread in half. When Anja tried to refuse, Annie's eyes softened. "You need to keep your strength up. We watch each other's backs, remember?"

"Don't wanna fight anymore?!" Oluo's screamed as his blades cut a line through Annie's flesh

Outside the infirmary, Annie's voice barely above a whisper. "I know what it's like, we all have our demons. The parts of ourselves we're afraid to face. You're not a monster, Anja. You never were."

Blood sprayed as Gunther's attack tore through the muscles of Annie's remaining arm. The limb falling limp at her side, leaving her nape unguarded as she slumped against the tree, defenseless, vulnerable.

"You're a survivor, just like me..." Trost. Warm tears falling against Anja's cheek as consciousness slipped. Annie's fingers, gripping hers so tightly it hurt. "Please... just stay with me."

Another wound. Another strike. "This is for our comrades!"

At the memorial service, Annie stood by Anja as the pyres burned, her hand resting on her shoulder. Her grip was firm. "You have to survive. For them. For me."

Steam billowed as they carved deeper into Annie's flesh. Anja could barely see through her tears.

"I'm sorry." Annie's voice cracked as she half-carried Anja back to the barracks. Something like grief flickered across Annie's face. "I can't be the person you want me to be. I wish... I wish I could." Her voice came out low, strained with pain. 'Maybe... it would be better for everyone if I just... disappeared.'"

She remembered the last words Annie had said to her, outside Hange's tent. "I have to go." She couldn't meet Anja's eyes, her shoulders tight with some unspoken burden.

If Anja had known it was goodbye...

"Die monster!" Gunther and Oluo struck in perfect sync, their blades severing the titan's neck at its base.

"I made a promise," Annie had confessed one dusk years ago, something raw and vulnerable cracking through her careful mask. "To my father. I swore I'd return to him, no matter what. Even if it means becoming something I—"

She'd stopped, turning away to hide the tears Anja had pretended not to see. "Just... remember me as I am now. Please."

The Titan's form collapsed forward. They moved toward the nape with deadly purpose.

They were wrong.

Annie wasn't a monster.

She was the one who'd saved Anja from herself, who'd taught her to fight, to survive. Who'd looked at Anja's darkness and never turned away. Who'd protected her, again and again, even when Anja after she had lost control and nearly killed her.

"Annie…" The name broke from her throat like shattered glass as she reached toward the steam, fingers stretching desperately for her friend. Through the haze of tears and rising steam, she could almost imagine touching Annie's hand one last time, could almost feel that gentle strength that had guided her through countless training sessions. This couldn't be happening.

One regenerated eye fixed on her, filled with such profound sorrow it made Anja's heart shatter. In that gaze was every unspoken word, every moment they'd never get to share, every question that would remain forever unanswered.

"Stop! Don't do it! Please!" Her shout was drowned out by the sickening sound of blades slicing through flesh as she moved toward the nape, but Petra grabbed her arm.

Anja shoved her aside, rushing desperately toward Annie.

The nape split open, revealing Annie's human form, unconscious and exposed.

A single tear traced down her cheek as Gunther's blade descended toward her heart.

No time for goodbyes. No time for understanding why. Annie's eyes fluttered open weakly, meeting Anja's with such raw pain that it felt like dying.

Her own blades clattered to the dirt. Something else broke free with them - a familiar crimson haze creeping into the edges of her vision, bringing with it the copper taste of violence.

Annie was dying right in front of her, and she helped to make it happen.

Helped kill the one person who'd truly understood her, without ever knowing why.

They'll kill her. They're going to kill Annie.

The world bled red.

 

[Fran Gark]

Chapter XXIX: Everything's Different Now

---

Pain came first.

Anja's eyes cracked open to a sky she barely recognized—the sun a dim blur through thick smoke. Her ribs stabbed with each breath, her body a solid mass of bruises. The world seemed somehow askew, as if reality itself had shifted while she slept.

She blinked hard, trying to orient herself. The rough bark against her back, the gentle sway beneath her—it took her an unsettling moment to register that she was in a tree. That should have been obvious. Why wasn't it obvious?

When she tried to sit up, pain lanced through her torso, white-hot, leaving her gasping. Her shirt hung in tatters, stiff with dried blood, but someone had bandaged her worst wounds with torn strips of green fabric. A cloak? Her hands traced the makeshift bandages with unsteady fingers, unable to remember applying them herself. Had she done this herself? The thought sent a chill through her. If she had, she didn't remember.

What did she remember?

The expedition. Heading east through titan territory. Then—fire. Smoke. Screaming. Blood.

A wet, gurgling sound that made bile rise in her throat.

She gasped, choking on nothing. The memory slid away like oil over water, leaving only a sick, hollow feeling behind.

Below, the Forest of Giant Trees stretched out in ruin: burned stumps still smoking, the air heavy with the stench of charred flesh. Not wood. Flesh. A smell she recognized with disturbing familiarity.

A small pack lay beside her, stocked with water and rations. Her ODM gear remained strapped to her, beaten but not broken. The gas level was low. Maybe enough to reach the ground.

Something shifted nearby.

"You're awake."

Anja jerked backward, nearly losing her balance. Pain exploded through her side,as a scream died in her throat, becoming a ragged wheeze. The world tilted and spun, shadows crawling at the edges of her vision.

When her vision cleared, Heinrik perched on a nearby branch.

"No!" The rejection burst from her before conscious thought. Pure instinct, born of absolute certainty that something was wrong about his presence.

Her fingers dug into the bark, splinters biting deep. He looked real. Too real. He wasn't supposed to look like that. Usually, she could see through him, his body half-there, flickering in and out like mist. But now… solid. Too solid.

"Stay back," she rasped, the words scraping her throat.

Heinrik remained still, a flicker of something crossing his face—not anger, not fear. Something quieter, almost like hurt.

"I don't..." His brow furrowed. "I don't remember enough to prove it's me."

As if responding to her doubt, his form wavered—chest turning transparent for a heartbeat before solidifying again.

"But if I was that thing," he said, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."

That thing?

—A void, infinite and cold. Her mother's voice, wrong somehow, twisted. Her face ill-fitting, like a mask worn by someone who didn't understand how faces worked. Then Heinrik, similarly distorted.

Something about his current uncertainty felt genuine, though. The entity had been confident, precise in its cruelty. This Heinrik looked as lost as she felt.

"How did I get here?"

He hesitated, eyes darting to the burned forest below. "We need to move."

A sharp pulse of irritation flared through her. "No. Did you bring me here? Answer me."

His hands curled into fists. "I would tell you if I could."

The quiet frustration in his voice startled her. Heinrik was never frustrated, never uncertain. Yet his gaze kept searching the ashes below, vigilant for something unseen.

"Do you remember when it took you?" he asked softly. "It led you there."

Another memory surfaced—moving at full speed through the forest, chasing a distant figure. Then... entering a pale titan's mouth willingly, nothing but the void of its maw before her. The memory was too vivid, too senseless to be fabricated.

"I know it," he muttered, more to himself than her. "That place. I managed to get you out."

Her stomach twisted. "What place?"

—Pale titans, a dozen of them, suddenly turning on each other, tearing one another apart. The titan where she was imprisoned tore open its own belly, her unconscious body dropping from its bowels to the forest floor. She coughing that black liquid as she awakened, tasting rot and sweetness.

Revulsion swept through her as the memory solidified.

"I was a prisoner to it too," Heinrik said, his voice hollow. "I was there for so long it's all I can remember. That void where it took you."

Anja clutched her head, suddenly aware of her hands—cut and filled with dried blood even under her fingernails. They didn't look right, as if they belonged to someone else.

"This can't be real," she whispered. "None of this is... You are not real! I'm going insane..."

"It's what I thought too," Heinrik said, his voice barely audible. "Stuck in that never-ending nightmare, I had forgotten who I was. Even now my..." He trailed off, frustration and fear crossing his face as he struggled for words. "My memories... I've forgotten most of them. I don't remember much beyond that void, not even who I was, until I heard your voice."

He took a tentative step closer. Anja pressed her back against the tree trunk, having nowhere else to retreat.

"You think I am not him... Is that it?" His eyes searched hers. "I don't know what that thing did to me, Anja, all I know is that I once made a promise to you. When I found you, pieces started coming back." He swallowed hard. "I promised I'd protect you, that I'd always come back to you..."

Tears traced hot paths down Anja's blood-smeared cheeks. "You never came back! You are dead..." The words felt true, a certainty amid confusion. "They told me..."

He had gotten closer now, not threatening, but near enough that she could see the subtle shifts in his form—solid one moment, translucent the next.

"It's not your fault," he said gently. "I had no control before, but you helped me escape. Don't you remember?"

Heinrik's form flickered again, like a reflection in troubled water. He opened his mouth, then closed it. His hands trembled visibly now.

Her pulse pounded in her ears.

"But we haven't freed ourselves from it yet," he continued, voice tight. "It used me to get to you. In my eagerness to find you, I never realized I took it with me..."

"And unlike me... It's out there... Following you. That's why you can't stay here."

The rational part of her mind asserted itself despite her fear. Regardless of whether she believed him, she couldn't stay here. And Heinrik's demeanor didn't lie—he was genuinely afraid.

She forced herself to move, testing her gear. Every motion sent fire through her ribs, but she clenched her jaw and pushed through it.

She anchored her cables to the trunk. "How do you know it's following us?"

He let out a slow breath. "I just do."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

She bit back a curse and began her descent, each movement a negotiation with pain. The cables hummed as they bore her weight, the familiar sound wrong, like an instrument played out of tune.

"That thing," she muttered between controlled breaths, "It said I belonged with it. That I belonged to that place."

A silence stretched between them. Too long. Too heavy.

Heinrik's form flickered violently. "Then it wants for you the same it wanted for me." His voice sounded different now—frayed, stretched thin. "I can feel it pulling me back there still. I can't..." His words came faster now, unsteady. "I won't go back. You can't let it take you there again."

Her hands were slick with sweat, making her grip treacherous. She had to focus, had to maintain control of her descent. With each meter closer to the ground, the air grew thicker with ash and the stench of death. Her lungs burned. Her eyes watered. But she couldn't stop now.

The branch above her creaked and shuddered. A warning.

She released the cables and dropped the final few meters. Her boots hit the ground, kicking up a cloud of ash. The impact rattled through her bones, but a deeper ache gnawed at her—a hollow feeling that had nothing to do with her injuries.

Something caught her eye— hanging from a low twig was a scout cloak, half-burnt, cinders still clinging to the fabric like dying fireflies. Recognition slammed into her. She wasn't alone. There were others. Why weren't they here? She had been with Petra, with Armin, Reiner. Then she remembered seeing Eren, in the forest, his face contorted in—

She turned, scanning the wasteland. "The others." Her voice cracked. "Petra, Armin, Eren—everyone. They have to be out here."

"Anja..." Heinrik's expression darkened. "There's no one left to find."

Something about the way he said it made her stomach drop.

His voice was too quiet. Too certain.

"You're lying."

He wouldn't meet her eyes.

Panic clawed up her throat. The memories still wouldn't settle, shifting like sand through her fingers. Why couldn't she remember? Why did it feel like something was pressing against her mind, forcing her to forget?

"What aren't you telling me?" she demanded.

Heinrik's form wavered again, his edges dissolving into the smoke. "Some things are better left buried."

She shook her head. "Please, I need to know—"

"Anja." His voice was barely there. "You don't want to remember."

But she was already moving, calling out names that echoed back unanswered. Behind her, Heinrik flickered like a dying flame, growing dimmer with each step she took.

---

The world had been reduced to piles of ash, cinder and smoke.

Anja moved through the ruined forest, each step sending up small clouds of gray dust that clung to her blood-stained clothes and skin. The boots she wore—were they even hers? Sank slightly with each step, the ground still warm beneath her soles. In the distance, embers glowed like dying stars, the fire still consuming what little remained.

Heinrik followed silently, his form occasionally wavering, always watching with that same uncertain expression.

The devastation was absolute. Centuries-old trees stood as blackened pillars or lay collapsed across her path, forming barriers she had to climb over, each movement sending fresh pain through her injured body. The smell overwhelmed her senses—charred wood mixed with something far worse, an acrid sickly-sweet stench that made her throat constrict. She knew that smell from Trost and before? Burnt human flesh.

Through gaps in the thick smoke, she glimpsed titans in the distance. Normal ones—seven, ten, fifteen-meter classes—standing or sitting motionless among the destruction, their bodies covered in ash, faces blank and uncomprehending. They showed no interest in her.

"I told you," Heinrik said quietly from somewhere behind her. "You won't find anyone here."

Anja ignored him, pushing forward. The path beneath her feet had started to take shape, stone pavers emerging where ash had blown away. Strange how her feet seemed to know this route, even as her mind struggled to recall why she was following it. A thin trail of blood marked her passage, dripping from reopened wounds.

Something pulled her forward—not just Heinrik's insistent presence, but a need to know. To remember.

Her foot caught on something hidden beneath the ash—metal that gave off a dull, muted sound. Crouching, she brushed away the gray powder to reveal a twisted cable with a warped hook.

The trap...

The Female Titan immobilized by dozens of steel cables, arms and legs secured at multiple points.. Captain Levi perched atop her head. They had captured the monster who had killed so many of their comrades.

But then—

The ground shaking. Pale forms emerging, their bodies wrong. Scouts and horses scattering in fear.

Anja's hand trembled as she touched the twisted metal, memories returning not in sequence but in pieces. She passed by the holes they'd left in the earth, half-filled with ash but still visible. Like wounds in the forest floor, each crater marked where one of those things had burst from.

She stood, continuing through the wasteland. With each step, her breaths grew more ragged, not just from exertion but from the pressure building in her mind. She remembered the fire now—how it had spread through the forest, scouts fleeing in all directions, many cut down by titans before they could escape. The Female Titan still trapped at the center of it all, struggling against her restraints as flames licked at her raw skin.

But she'd chased something, someone?

Her foot struck another object buried in the ash. Something larger, more solid than the cable. She knelt, hands sweeping the loose layer of ash aside, revealing dark fabric beneath—she could make out what remained of the wings of freedom, what remained of a cloak, still attached to its owner.

Anja's breath caught in her throat as she uncovered more. The body lay facedown, charred, parts of the jacket fused with scorched skin. With trembling hands, she turned the corpse over.

The face was half-burnt, features distorted by fire, but enough remained to recognize Gunther. His uniform was blackened and brittle, but through the damage, she could see a gaping hole in his chest—a wound that matched nothing a titan would inflict. Not a bite mark, not a crushing injury.

A puncture wound.

The sight triggered a memory that hit her with such physical force that she stumbled backward:

Annie, defenseless in the nape of her titan, eyes wide and fixed on Anja. Gunther standing over her, blade plunging toward Annie's chest.

Crimson filling Anja's vision. Her body moving without thought or hesitation, covering the distance in an eyeblink. The resistance of his body giving way beneath her fingers. The warm rush of blood over her arm. His eyes, wide, barely comprehending what had struck him. The sound he made—not quite a word, not quite a scream.

The ash beneath her hands felt suddenly hot. She scrambled away from Gunther's body, leaving long tracks in the gray powder.

"No," she gasped. "No, no, no..."

But the floodgates had opened. More memories crashed through:

Oluo's cry as Gunther fell. His blade cutting into her shoulder. The odd sensation of feeling the wound but not the pain. Grabbing his arm before he could strike again, squeezing until bone splintered beneath her grip. His sword clattering to the forest floor as he screamed.

Petra charging forward, a blade piercing Anja's stomach. The sound of Oluo's body hitting a tree as she tossed him aside. Petra's eyes widening as Anja pulled the blade from her own body, blood spraying across the ground between them.

The relentless attack that followed. Petra's perfect defense crumbling under the onslaught, each wound slowing her movements until Anja severed her hand at the wrist. Petra backing against a tree trunk, clutching her bleeding stump, amber eyes wide with terror.

Oluo, somehow still alive, lunging from behind with a knife that plunged between Anja's ribs.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

"Traitor!"

A hot coal of pain throbbed in her side, where those stab wounds would have been. She pressed her hand there, feeling the tacky blood still seeping from her injuries.

Oluo beneath her. The weight of her body pinning him down. Her hands breaking him piece by piece. The strange ecstasy as her teeth found his throat, tearing flesh from bone. Black liquid seeping from her mouth into his wounds. His body spasming, then stilling.

Anja retched, doubling over as her empty stomach heaved. Nothing came up but thin bile that burned her throat. The forest floor beneath her rippled and swam as tears blurred her vision.

The sound of metal scraping against the ground. Stopping her feast.

Annie. Standing next to her steaming titan, clutching a fallen blade. Burn marks seared under her eyes, steam curling from her body's wounds. Her blue eyes locked onto her.

Anja..."

Something shifting inside of her at the sound of her voice. The blood filled vision receding, leaving only pain and confusion. Her body, suddenly aware of its wounds, faltering. Falling.

"What have I done?"

"I killed them," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I killed them all."

"You did," Heinrik confirmed, his voice devoid of judgment.

"She was the Female Titan!" Anja cried, raising her now ash-covered face. "Why would I—"

"Because you knew," Heinrik said simply. "Some part of you understood what they'd do to her."

Anja shook her head violently, sending ash flying from her hair. "No..." But she knew it was true. Even so, it brought no comfort. Annie had fought them. Had killed so many to reach Eren. What reason could possibly justify that?

Had she protected a killer? A friend? An enemy? Or all at once?

The wind carried ash across the forest floor, erasing her footprints as quickly as she made them. Around her, the forest groaned, damaged trees creaking as if still in pain from the inferno that had consumed them.

And what of her? A murderer. A freak. A danger to anything she touched.

She pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly. "It was right about me," she whispered. "I'm a monster."

She thought of the void, that cold emptiness that had imprisoned Heinrik. "If I let it take me there..." Her voice trailed off. Maybe that was where she belonged—locked away where she couldn't hurt anyone else.

"You cannot believe what it says," Heinrik said sharply, his form solidifying as he stepped closer.

She wasn't convinced. The thing had felt beyond human deception. Could something like that even understand what lying was?

"It will say anything, make you believe anything just to get to you," Heinrik insisted. "It said you were a monster? Monsters don't feel sadness or regret. It is one, you are not. Surrendering to it won't make your actions go away." His voice was steady, calm. Not accusing. Not judging. "You're still here. You still have a choice."

Anja stared at the ash covering her hands. "To do what?" she whispered.

"That's for you to decide."

She swallowed hard. Her mind felt fractured, tangled in too many thoughts. She had killed her own comrades—there was no justification for that.

"I should turn myself in," she whispered, barely audible over the creaking of charred wood. "Tell them what I did."

"And what will that accomplish?" Heinrik asked.

"Justice," she said, the word hollow even to her own ears.

"Justice," he echoed. "Or punishment? There's a difference."

Anja stared at Gunther's charred body, guilt weighing on her like a physical presence. But a question scratched at her mind:

Why?

Why had Annie done it? She had been willing to sacrifice everything... To find Eren? What purpose could possibly be worth all this death?

The question grew, pushing against her self-loathing, demanding attention. Annie wasn't one to act without reason.

And if she was after Eren, then it was only a matter of time before she made another move. And the Scouts whether they knew who she was or not—wouldn't stop either. They had already tried to capture her and kill her once. Sooner or later, they would clash again.

No matter what happened, more people would die. More friends. More innocents.

"Maybe I'm the only one she'd explain herself to," Anja said quietly. "She didn't try to kill me when she had the chance." The realization struck her with sudden force. Annie had every opportunity to finish her when she collapsed, yet here she was, alive. Had Annie helped her somehow?

She looked westward, any remaining Scouts would have returned to Karanes. Maybe Annie followed too? A thin line of smoke marked its position on the horizon.

Heinrik followed her gaze. "I don't like it," he said, "but it's better than staying here." He glanced at the scorched landscape. "At least the fire did you one service—there's nothing left to show what happened. Nothing anyone could recognize."

The words made her stomach turn. Was this what she'd become? Someone who should be grateful that evidence of her crimes had been destroyed? But a part of her understood. If no one knew what she'd done, she could still help. Still try to make things right.

The conflict twisted inside her—she knew she'd have to atone eventually, face judgment for what she'd done. But if finding Annie meant preventing more pointless death, she'd endure the weight of her guilt a while longer.

She had to find Annie. Before anyone else did.

---

Sunset bled across the sky over Karanes District, painting the outlines of the wall in shades of amber and crimson. Armin leaned against the cold stone, watching most of the surviving Scouts pass through the inner gate, faces drawn and shoulders slumped. Some limped, others were carried.

So few had returned. Far too few.

Armin's fingers tightened around the strap of his gear. This wasn't just a failed expedition—it was a catastrophe. The kind that ended careers.

"They'll use this," he murmured, watching a group of civilians gather, their faces cycling between pity, anger, and that ever-present fear. "The Military Police have been waiting for something like this."

Every death would be counted, every resource scrutinized against results that amounted to nothing but questions and death.

He glanced toward the small medical outpost where Eren was being kept. Mikasa hadn't left his side since they'd returned. She stood sentinel outside, always so calm. Armin knew her well enough to see the storm brewing beneath the surface—fear for Eren, fury at those who had put him in danger, and a cold determination to prevent it from happening again.

Commander Erwin had allowed them to stay behind rather than forcing them back to headquarters with the others. A small mercy, given what awaited them—interrogations, blame, and almost certainly renewed demands to hand Eren over.

But Armin couldn't leave yet.

His fingers tightened on the worn leather strap of his gear, the material creaking softly. The weight of it pressed against his bruised hip as he pushed himself away from the wall, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. Out in the field, survival had kept it all down. The adrenaline had faded, leaving every muscle aching.

He'd already given his report to Commander Erwin—the Female Titan's intelligence, its intent. His suspicion: it was human, like Eren. Maybe that was why the Comnander had confided in him. Or maybe he had no better option.

The leader of the Scouts hadn't been surprised. No one could have predicted this, but all planned based on their own assumptions, didn't they?

Armin hoped his were wrong. That something could still be salvaged.

But the Commander wasn't the type to give up easy. Armin understood that sacrifices had to be made. But could he ever make that choice himself?

His feet carried him past the empty storage building. For the greater good? For someone else? How far would he go?

The wind shifted, carrying the distant smell of smoke. Armin's boots scraped against the cobblestones as he walked toward the cluster of officers near the gate. Captain Levi sat apart from the others on a wooden crate, his face impassive as a medic finished changing the bandages on his leg.

Armin hesitated, then approached. "Sir."

Levi glanced up, eyes flat and unreadable. "Arlert."

"How are you holding up?" The question felt inadequate, but Armin couldn't find better words.

Levi's mouth twitched, almost a grimace. "I've had worse."

Silence settled between them, broken only by the distant voices of soldiers loading the dead onto carts, their movements methodical, weary. Sheets rustled as bodies were covered, the heavy thud of boots against the dirt punctuating the grim task. Armin's fingers worked against the leather strap, a nervous gesture he couldn't quite suppress.

"What will happen to Eren? To the Scouts?" The question emerged softer than he intended.

Levi's gaze sharpened, something flickering behind his usual detachment. "The way things are looking, they'll probably dissect the brat." He paused, eyes flicking toward the medical outpost before returning to Armin. "As for us, can't say it's looking good either."

"But he didn't harm anyone. And we've made significant discoveries." Armin's hand instinctively moved toward his pocket, where he'd stored his notes about the expedition. "Those titans you faced—Section Commander Hange brought back samples, didn't she?"

A torch flared nearby, casting Levi's face in stark relief. Though his expression remained controlled, Armin noticed the subtle tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes.

"It's not enough," Levi said, voice low enough that it wouldn't carry to the nearby soldiers. "We haven't confirmed the Female Titan's identity, nor what those things are. Without concrete evidence, the Military Police will dismiss it all as secondary to our failure."

His gaze drifted toward the medical quarters, where moans occasionally punctuated the evening air. "Humanity's supposed weapon hasn't proven indispensable yet. They'll play dirty—pin everything on Eren and Erwin while they are at it."

Levi looked down briefly, then toward Mikasa's distant figure outside the outpost. She was clutching her scarf tightly, her posture rigid. Something in Levi's expression shifted. "I did my part. Many gave their lives protecting him. Don't forget that." The words held no accusation, only finality. "Now the responsibility falls to you and her."

Levi's eyes flicked to the cart of bodies as it began to leave, the horses pulling it slowly. His gaze lingered, a quiet solemnity in his eyes.

Armin felt a weight settle in his chest. The taste of ash lingered on his tongue—whether from the distant forest or his own fear, he couldn't tell.

"Are you alright..." he began carefully, "after losing them?"

The question hung in the cooling air. Levi's eyes drifted toward the horizon, where smoke still rose from the distant forest, like a dark banner against the darkening sky. The wind tugged at his cloak, exposing the worn edges where the fabric had frayed.

"Every Scout goes through it," Levi said, his voice flat, with no emotion to soften it. "You either find a reason to keep going, or you break."

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before Armin could place it. "The dead don't carry those burdens."

Armin nodded, his eyes fixed on the cart as it slowly passed through the gates, the weight of the bodies carried within a silent reminder of the cost. The horses' hooves struck the ground softly,

"We keep fighting for them." he said quietly.

"Yeah..." Levi's gaze softened just a fraction as he watched the survivors being treated in the medical quarters. "For them, and those who still live."

His voice dropped lower. "You'll learn that the answer isn't always clear. Choosing is easy. Living with the consequences—the people you lose, the sacrifices you make—that's the hard part. In the end, it's not about the choice. It's being able to live with it, without regret."

The words settled in Armin's chest like stones. His fingers stilled on the strap, a decision crystallizing in his mind. "I'll stand watch on the eastern wall tonight," he said, unconsciously straightening his posture despite his exhaustion.

"Go ahead." Levi nodded, pressing a hand against his bandaged leg as he adjusted his position. "It's protocol to have someone watch, anyway. But no one ever comes back after something like this." He offered no false comfort.

As Armin turned to leave, Levi's voice stopped him.

"Arlert. Just so you know, tomorrow we'll have to hand Eren over. There'll be another trial." His tone held no uncertainty about the expected outcome. "Unless we come up with something concrete, there'll be little we can do."

"I understand, sir." A muscle in Armin's jaw tightened, though his expression remained neutral.

"It's a waste of time in my opinion, but what else is there to do?" Levi shifted his weight onto his good leg. "I'll have someone on standby." Without another word, he turned and limped away.

Armin gave a slight nod, more to himself than anyone else, as the implications settled in. He turned toward the eastern wall, his steps steady but his thoughts anything but. Night was settling over Karanes, torches and lanterns casting pools of light between deepening shadows. From atop the wall, he watched the streets below before lifting his gaze outward. Beyond the gate, the abandoned town was barely visible in the darkness, though he could make out the lumbering shapes of titans still wandering aimlessly.

The night air carried a chill that seeped through his uniform, but he barely noticed. His mind kept returning to Levi's words. A few hooded figures moved between buildings below, citizens or perhaps soldiers seeking shelter from the growing cold.

His gaze drifted to the few titans lingering outside the walls, their forms mere silhouettes against the starlit sky. The reports of pale titans filled him with dread—intelligent, coordinated. Were titans changing? Was there a human behind them, just like the Female Titan—a person manipulating them, using them as weapons?

The thought made him shudder. How long could the walls keep them safe if humans were involved? Enemies from within and without.

Survival seemed impossible with those things roaming free. But if what the Commander had said about Anja was true—that titans had trouble seeing her—then maybe there was a chance.

He had to believe she'd come back.

"Where are you, Anja?" he whispered, his voice swallowed by the night, carrying his conflicted heart away into the darkness.

---

The wall of Karanes loomed ahead, a dark silhouette cutting across the star-strewn sky. Anja halted at the town's edge, her scavenged gear and canister awkwardly fastened over the ruined framework beneath. She'd taken it from a fallen Scout whose face she couldn't bear to look at.

"Do you really plan to go back to them?" Heinrik asked.

Anja stared at the wall. No torches marked the battlements, only a few distant lights marking the gates. No guards paced the walls, no warning bells rang out - as if the military had already accepted there would be no one to return.

"My friends are there," she said, glancing back at him.

"It feels wrong," Heinrik said softly, his form wavering like mist. "Too silent."

"Maybe they've given up on survivors..."

The words died in her throat as fragments of memory threatened to surface. The smell of ash and burning flesh. The sound of-

"You don't have to do this," Heinrik interrupted, as if sensing where her thoughts were leading. His outline flickered, growing fainter. "You can bypass the distric."

"No." The word came out harder than she intended. "There's no chance I'll find Annie on my own... I need to know why she did it. Why I..." Her hands trembled on the triggers. "I can stop this."

Heinrik gave a tired, breathless chuckle, but it lacked its usual warmth. "Always stubborn."

His voice was thinner than before. Anja had noticed it for a while now—his steps had grown lighter, his figure dimmer, as if the world itself was forgetting him. She had tried not to look too closely, afraid of what she might see. But now, standing still beneath the moonlight, there was no ignoring it. His skin had lost its depth, the edges of his form blurring like mist in the cold air.

Her chest tightened. "Heinrik?"

He swayed. A grimace crossed his face. "I can feel it coming back," His outline wavered, breaking apart in places before struggling back together.

"Hold on." Anja checked her gear's gas levels - enough for a few attempts. "We're almost there."

"It won't matter..." His form flickered violently, pieces of him fading.

"Listen," he said urgently. "When I'm gone, it will come. It will wear my face. It will say things—terrible things. But you can't listen to it." His voice trembled, words fraying at the edges. "No matter what it says, you have to keep going. You'll be safer inside the walls. Be careful."

She reached for him, but her fingers passed through empty air.

And then he was gone.

The night pressed in, she hadn't realized how quiet it was, how empty. Anja swallowed against the hollow feeling in her chest.

She clenched her jaw. Keep going.

Her fingers found the trigger of the gear. A sharp hiss of gas filled the silence, and the anchors fired, yanking her upward. As she ascended through the darkness, a chill prickled the back of her neck—the sensation of being watched. Hunted.

The top of the wall came into sight, her final anchor catching solidly as she reeled herself in. Almost there. But as she neared the edge, her scavenged gear, ill strapped, shifted awkwardly to the side after the pull, throwing off her balance.

Her stomach lurched. The world tilted.

The next thing she knew, she was dangling just below the wall's edge, her grip slipping against the worn handles of the gear.

"Grab on!"

A hand shot out over the wall. Her heart lurched. Armin!

She barely had time to react before his fingers locked around her wrist, steady and unyielding. With a sharp tug, he pulled her up, the cold stone scraping against her arms as she dragged herself over the edge.

They collapsed onto the wall's surface, both breathing heavily from the exertion. Anja's ribs screamed in protest as she tried to sit up, the framework's broken pieces shifting beneath her skin.

Moonlight caught on his blond hair, the same gentle slope of his shoulders she'd recognize anywhere.

"Armin… I'm glad you're okay." The name escaped her lips before she could stop it. Relief flooded through her veins, warm and dizzying.

He smiled. "I knew you'd come back," Genuine relief breaking through his usual measured tone. "When I saw the smoke rising from the forest, I..." He trailed off, studying her face in the moonlight. His eyes widened slightly at her condition - the blood-crusted rags she wore, pieces of the framework still embedded in her flesh.

She tried to stand but stumbled, her legs buckling. In an instant, he was at her side, arms wrapping around her shoulders, steadying her.

"The others," she gasped, clutching his arm. The fabric of his sleeve felt impossibly real beneath her fingers. "Did everyone else make it back?"

Something passed across his face, gone too quickly to decipher. "The right flank was nearly wiped out. Many couldn't keep up when we retreated." His voice dropped lower. "We lost so many people out there..." The realization settled like a stone in her chest. "That's why I'm by myself here… No one expected survivors."

The wind carried a whisper across the battlements. For a moment, she thought she heard Heinrik's voice, a fragmented warning that dissipated before she could grasp it.

"What about Eren and Mikasa?"

"Both alive," Armin replied, his voice measured. "Eren was injured. Mikasa is looking after him."

"That's a relief," she said softly. "After Trost... I had no way of reaching any of you. They kept me isolated."

"I wondered where you'd been." Something flickered across his face. "But, that doesn't matter now, let's get you somewhere warm," Armin said, eyes lingering on her wounds. "Those need attention."

"No!" She exhaled, steadying herself. "No," softer this time. "Just some bandages. And..." She glanced around the battlements. "I need to talk to you. Somewhere private."

Armin's brows furrowed, but he nodded. "Sure, there's a storage building near the wall. Should have something to patch you up, it's bound to be quiet this time of night."

He supported her weight as they descended the inner stairwell. Every step sent fresh fire through her body, but the solid presence of Armin beside her made it bearable.

The streets were eerily empty as they moved through shadows between buildings. Moonlight painted everything in shades of silver and black, making the familiar architecture feel somehow wrong. Or maybe it was her that felt wrong, moving through this normal world with blood on her hand.

They kept to the narrowest alleys, avoiding the pools of torchlight cast by passing patrols. Once, voices drifted too close, sending them pressing against the cold stone of a nearby wall, holding their breath as the footsteps faded. The city felt like a ghost of itself at this hour.

At last, they reached the storage building. It was smaller than she expected—a stone chamber with a single barred window that admitted thin moonlight. Wooden crates filled one corner, stacked alongside barrels of what smelled like lamp oil. The air hung thick with dust and the musty scent of disuse.

Armin locked the door behind them, the key's metallic scrape unnaturally loud in the silence, before lighting a small oil lamp that cast long shadows against the rough stone walls.

"Sit," he urged, guiding her to a wooden crate. The hinges of the door creaked as weight settled against it—had the wind pushed it? She couldn't be sure.

Armin retrieved a waterskin from beneath a stack of water tasted of minerals and metal, but it soothed her parched throat. As she drank, his gaze lingered on her injuries, darkened blood seeped from the wounds.

"We have to change those," he murmured, reaching for a small kit tucked beside the crates. "They'll become infected."

"It can wait a little," she whispered, lowering the waterskin. "Are you sure no one uses this place? Is it safe to talk here?"

"I'm sure. No one will come until morning. The Garrison let us store our supplies here, said they didn't use it." He met her gaze. "You can speak freely—but let me take care of that. You need it." His voice was gentle but firm.

She nodded, and he got to work, carefully unwrapping the makeshift bandages on her arm. He cleaned around the scrapes first, then around the shards embedded in her skin, his touch precise and light.

"Tell me what happened," he prompted softly. "When you split from us in the forest."

She winced as the cloth brushed raw skin. "We were pursuing the Female Titan. Petra and I..." Her voice faltered. "Commander Erwin tried to trap her, but then everything went wrong. Titans appeared—pale ones."

Armin's fingers paused for just a heartbeat, then resumed their work. "I read about them in a report. They were inside the forest?"

"Yes. They came from nowhere—from underground. Then..." She grimaced as he touched a particularly tender spot. "The framework broke." She gestured weakly toward the broken metal mechanism, what remained of it still strapped to her legs.

"What caused it to break?"

"I don't remember exactly, I think one of those titans pulled it…" she admitted, her gaze drawn to the shadows writhing in the corners. Had one of them moved? "There was so much happening."

His hands moved methodically as he cleaned away the dark, viscous mixture of blood and something else that oozed from her wounds. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the barred window. For an instant, she thought she glimpsed a face there—Heinrik's? No, something else. Something wrong.

"I found Levi's squad," she continued, forcing herself to focus on Armin's steadying presence. "And the Female Titan. She fought them, and... you were right, Armin. She was like Eren."

His expression didn't change, but there was a shift—an almost imperceptible flicker in his eyes. "You saw who was inside?"

"Annie." Meeting his gaze directly. "It was Annie."

For a moment, Armin was still. Then, he gave a slight nod. "That's a lot to process… So, you saw her when the nape was opened?"

"Yes."

"So you must have defeated her." His voice remained even.

"...Yes." Her hesitation was barely perceptible.

"And then?"

"Everything after that is..." She pressed a hand to her temple, pain flashing across her features as something pushed against her mind. "It all blurs together."

Armin's gaze lingered on the gashes across her arms and shoulder. They were deep, jagged.

"Those are deep cuts," he observed. "Did Annie do this to you? You said Levi's squad was there too, what happened to them?"

"No... it's just—" A sharp pain lanced behind her eye. "A headache. They've been happening for..." She trailed off as something wet traced down her cheek. A drop of black liquid oozed from beneath her eyepatch, following the contour of her face. Armin watched, his expression unchanged.

"Since when?" he asked quietly.

She wiped the liquid away absently. "Some time now... I'm the only one who survived. Everyone else was gone when I woke up."

"Everyone?" His voice remained soft, encouraging. "What happened to the others?"

"I found Gunther," she admitted, the name catching in her throat. For a moment, she could feel it again - the warm rush of blood over her hands. "One of Levi's men. His body was in the ashes."

"And the others?"

A shadow in the corner of the room drew her eye. For a heartbeat, she saw Oluo standing there, his throat a ragged ruin, eyes accusing. Her hands began to shake.

"Anja?" Armin's voice pulled her back. The corner was empty now, but the shadows seemed deeper somehow.

She looked away, unable to look at him. "I... I saw remains," she whispered, "Some burned beyond recognition. They didn't make it."

Another shadow flickered at the edge of her vision - a familiar silhouette. She jerked away instinctively, nearly falling from the crate.

"Hey… you're safe," Armin steadied her, his touch grounding. "You're here with me."

Armin worked in silence for a moment, his fingers gentle as they wrapped a clean bandage around one of the smaller wounds. The shadows in the corners seemed to lengthen, stretching across the floor toward them.

"So you think Annie saved you," he said, not quite a question.

Her fingers clenched in her lap. "I know she did. I would have died there otherwise."

Armin's expression remained unchanged, but something in his eyes had shifted—a coldness that hadn't been there before. "What will you do now?" he asked, tying off the bandage. "About Annie?"

Anja looked away, her chest tightening. "I..."

"You didn't want anyone to know you survived," he continued, his tone quiet but insistent. "Did something happen between you two in the forest?"

The shadows seemed to writhe at the mention of Annie's name.

"She... saved me, she…" Anja whispered, her voice faltering. The taste of copper filled her mouth, the images threatening to resurface. She couldn't finish.

Heinrik's form flickered violently near the window.

"And now you want to find her," Armin said, his voice carefully neutral. "Why come to me?"

"Because you see things others don't." Anja met his gaze. "You understand people. Like you understood me, back when everyone else just saw a... monster."

Something passed behind Armin's eyes. He tied off a bandage before asking, "What do you hope to achieve?"

"I need to understand why she's doing all of this... There has to be a reason." Her voice slowly strengthened with conviction. "If I can find her first, talk to her... maybe I can stop more people from dying."

"Even after everything she's done? You know how many of our comrades she has killed?"

"She's still my friend." The words came without hesitation. "She could have killed me in that forest but she didn't. That has to mean something."

Armin studied her face in the lamplight before standing slowly. "It's dangerous," he said, moving toward the stacked crates. He ran a hand over the worn wood. "If she feels threatened..."

"She won't hurt me."

"You can't be certain of that anymore," Armin turned, shadows playing across his features. "Everything's different now."

The lamp's flame guttered, making the shadows jump and stretch. For an instant, she thought she saw Heinrik standing in the corner, his face twisted. But when she blinked, he was gone.

"Annie betrayed everything we fought for," Armin said quietly. "But you'd still risk everything to help her." His voice softened almost breaking. "Why does she matter so much to you, Anja?"

Before she could answer, Armin continued, his tone shifting to something more practical.

"I heard she joined the MPs. If she's smart, she'll head for the interior. The Military Police have many outposts throughout Wall Sina." He moved to adjust the lamp, his movements paused, hesitant. "I might be able to get information about where she's stationed."

Relief flooded through Anja. "You'll help me find her?"

"It's better than you searching blindly," He hesitated, then suddenly moved forward, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. "Promise you won't do anything rash. I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

The hug took her by surprise - His shoulders trembled slightly, and for a moment, she felt like they were children again, holding each other after the fall of Wall Maria.

"Thank you," she whispered into his shoulder. "I promise, I knew I could count on you."

Armin held on for a moment longer, his breath uneven. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were bright. He turned quickly toward the lamp, his hand moving to the wick.

The flame died with a tiny hiss, plunging the room into darkness. Only moonlight from the barred window remained, painting everything in cold, blue-gray tones. The sudden darkness disoriented her.

Something moved in the shadows. Not Heinrik - something else. A presence that made her blood run cold.

"I'm sorry, Anja. It's for your own good." Armin's voice came from near the wall. She heard the soft thud of his back pressing against stone, saw his silhouette slide down to a crouch, fingers rising to cover his ears.

"Armin?" Confusion crept into her voice as metal clicked against metal outside the door. "What-"

Light exploded into the room as the door burst open. A mechanical whir filled the air, followed by the sharp snap of releasing tension. Before she could process the sound, something struck her with crushing force. Steel mesh entangled her limbs, driving her to the ground.

Through the net's links, she saw Armin pressed against the wall, unable to watch. Commander Erwin's silhouette filled the doorway, others moving in.

"Secure her for transport," Erwin commanded, his voice flat and final.

Strong hands seized her arms, wrestling them behind her back. Heavy restraints, clicked around her wrists and ankles. Each cuff bit into her skin.

"What is this?" Anja gasped. Her gaze sought Armin, finding him still pressed against the wall, eyes downcast, unable to meet hers. "Armin!"

The silence that answered her hurt more than any words could have.

"Cadet Anja Wolf," The Commander's voice cut through with brutal clarity, "by the authority of the Scout Regiment, you are hereby taken into custody on charges of treason, for the murders of Scout Regiment personnel Gunther Schultz, Oluo Bozado, and attempted murder of Petra Ral."

The words hit like physical blows. Petra was alive? She looked to Armin, but he wouldn't meet her gaze.

"Under military law, your actions would warrant execution. However, if you cooperate, your life may be spared."

A sharp prick in her neck - someone administering a sedative.

As consciousness began to fade, that thing whispered in her ear, its tone almost gentle: "You see now?"

"You'll never be one of them." it whispered as darkness claimed her.

/
/
/

Note: Sorry for the delay. Hope it was worth the wait. Thanks for reading!

 

[Fran Gark]

Chapter XXX: The Hunters

---

Annie jerked awake, her heart hammering against her ribs. The nightmare clung to her like smoke—Anja's face streaked with blood and something darker, black liquid dripping from her mouth as she whispered, "Help me." Those green eyes, so familiar, swallowed by darkness.


The familiar confines of her room materialized slowly—stone walls, narrow window, shadows shifting in the pre-dawn light. She'd barely made it to her bed last night, collapsing in exhaustion still wearing her uniform.


Her fingers brushed her cheek, coming away wet. She'd cried in her sleep again. Such weakness was dangerous, but she didn't have the strength to care.


No sound pierced the silence except her own uneven breathing. Hitch's bed lay empty across the room, covers thrown back in disarray. She hadn't been there when Annie arrived, apparently hadn't come back yet.


At least there was a certain comfort in the silence.


She sat on her bed, drawing her knees to her chest, staring blankly at the window as the first rays of light shone through. The mission, her purpose, her promise to her father - everything balanced on a knife's edge now. Because she'd hesitated. Because she couldn't bring herself to strike Anja down, and just go after Eren.


"What am I supposed to do now?" She whispered to herself.


She'd missed her chance, made things worse. Her fingers dug into her knees until they ached. The taste of bitter failure was becoming all too familiar.


And Anja... had she even made it out of that place? She could scarcely comprehend what was going on with her, what she'd done... Had the Scouts been experimenting with her? Annie had done what she could—moving her to relative safety while she was unconscious, leaving her where she might be found—but was it enough? The image of Anja's blood-covered face and that terrible darkness in her eyes haunted her.


Was saving her the right choice? Maybe it would have been kinder to end it there. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Even now, with everything falling apart, she couldn't add Anja's death to the weight she already carried.


But would Anja tell them who she really was? The question gnawed at her, impossible to answer with certainty. She should have gone home when she had the chance after the masquerade. None of this would have happened.


Had the others seen? No... They weren't there but they'll surely find out soon enough. Regardless, failure in their mission meant they'd be disposed of.


What would Marcel have done? At least he used to have plans... She never should have listened to Reiner.


Maybe the information they had collected over the years would be of use, would it be enough to save her head?


At this point she was out of options. She'd had enough, she just wanted to go home.


Dawn's pale fingers crept through the window. She drew a deep breath. She'd figure it out somehow. For now she had no other choice than to continue her act.


Morning formation would be starting soon. Her movements were mechanical as she rose from her bed, each muscle protesting yesterday's strain. Her jacket hung crooked on its hook. As she reached for it—


It was covered in blood, the Wings of Freedom emblazoned on the back barely visible beneath the stain, vivid and fresh.


Annie recoiled, blinking hard. The Military Police unicorn stared back at her instead, pristine as ever. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she fought to push the image aside.


Her fingers found the torn inner pocket as she slipped the jacket on - she still needed to have that repaired. The reminder of the papers she used to keep there hit her like a cold wave. She should take them somewhere safer than her room—things were complicated enough already, and the last thing she needed was more risk.


Annie dropped to her knees, prying up the loose floorboard beneath her bed. Her notebook was exactly where she'd left it. Brandt's papers were folded and tucked underneath. She pulled them out, shaking off some dust then skimming through them—


Her blood soon turned to ice. Pages were missing—impossible. Her breath quickened as her hand reached back into the hiding spot, searching desperately—her fingers brushing only dust.


She searched every hiding place she could think of: underneath the mattress, between the sheets, inside her pillow. With each failed attempt, her heartbeat quickened, dread crawling deeper into her chest.


Finally, she patted her jacket, her fingers catching the torn fabric inside again. A wave of unease hit her.


The alley. Marco. Their scuffle—that's when it got torn. She thought she hadn't lost anything then, but what if she had? What if he had them?


Had he seen the papers? Had he taken them? The implications sent a chill through her core.


It hadn't been long, maybe they were still in that alley—she could get them back before anything else happened—


The sound of footsteps in the hallway growing louder made her freeze. Her breath caught. She hurriedly shoved the remaining documents out of sight, the urgency tightening her chest. Then, without thinking, she pressed herself against the wall beside the door, ready for whoever might enter.


The handle turned slowly.


The door creaked open.


Annie tensed—


"Oh!" Hitch's startled yelp echoed as she and a tall black-haired boy stumbled through the door, both of them freezing when they saw her. She recognized him then; that bowl cut of his was unmistakable: Marlo Freudenberg.


"Annie!" Hitch recovered first, shoving him aside. A deep blush crept across her face. "You're back! I mean—when did you-" She fumbled, straightening her disheveled uniform. "This isn't what it looks like."


"I didn't see anything," Annie said flatly, looking away. She forced her body to relax despite the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.


"No, really!" Hitch protested. "We were just—I mean—what is all this?" Her gaze swept over the aftermath of Annie's frantic search before landing back on her. "Actually, where have you been?" Her tone shifted from flustered to accusatory. "You said you'd be back by the afternoon! I had to cover two of your shifts, you know? Then I found your letter and thought..." She trailed off, genuine worry flickering across her usually carefree features.


Annie's stomach dropped. The letter. In the chaos of everything that had happened, she'd completely forgotten. She hadn't planned to come back then—


"So... did you send it?" The question came out more vulnerable than she intended.


"Are you kidding?" Hitch scoffed. "On a Friday? While I had to cover for you? Of course not!"


Relief flickered through Annie, brief but welcome. It was for the best she hadn't sent it to Anja. That connection was already dangerous enough for both of them.


"So, why are you back? Changed your mind?"


Annie frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"


"Well... because of what you wrote." Hitch's voice softened uncharacteristically. "Sounded an awful lot like goodbye. Honestly, I'm offended you didn't leave me one, I mean you even left her a gift."


"You read my letter?"


"What was I supposed to do? You didn't show up, and then you had me worried. Especially after what Marlo told me—" She cut herself off, glancing at the black-haired boy.


Marlo shifted uncomfortably. "Well..." He cleared his throat, his usual composure strained. "Three recruits have gone missing."


Annie's blood ran cold. "What? Who?"


"Two of our friends, Dennis and Boris. And someone Hitch said you knew, Marco Bodt."


The name hit her like a physical blow... Marco? He got caught up in all of this? Then he must have taken those papers. Annie fought to keep her expression neutral. Had he discovered something? Had he told someone before he disappeared?


Or had someone made him disappear?

---

The wagon wheels found every rut in the dirt road, each jolt sending papers sliding across Hange's lap. A full day of interrogation transcripts, and Anja hadn't given them anything useful. Just fragments, half-memories, and pleas for Annie's safety.


"How much further?" she asked the driver.


"Another twenty minutes, Section Commander. Maybe thirty with the road this bad."


Hange nodded, returning to the papers. Smoke drifted across the road ahead. Through the trees, she glimpsed firelight—travelers preparing to make camp for the night.


Two wagons visible in the clearing, maybe three men around the fire. One stood to tend it as they passed, his movements casual, unhurried. He wore a wide-brimmed hat that shadowed his face, travel-worn clothes mud-splattered from the road. When he noticed their wagon, he touched the brim of his hat in greeting—a gesture so ordinary it barely registered.


Hange returned the nod absently, already looking back at her work. Travelers were common enough on this road, stopping for the night rather than risk the forest paths in darkness. These days the countryside teemed with refugees and bandits alike.


But something nagged at her. The man's posture, perhaps. Too relaxed for someone camping in the countryside, this far from the safety of the walls. Or maybe it was how the other two hadn't looked up at all.


She shook off the feeling. Paranoia was an occupational hazard in her line of work.


The trees pressed closer as they continued, branches forming a canopy that blocked out the dying light. Hange found herself checking the treeline more often than necessary. Once, she could have sworn she saw movement—a figure keeping pace with the wagon—but when she looked directly, there was nothing but shadows between the trunks.


The mill came into view against the darkening sky. As she climbed down from the wagon, a rhythmic thudding reached her ears from below.

---

Water dripped somewhere in the darkness. Each drop impossibly loud, then impossibly distant. The rhythm matched the pounding in Anja's skull—or perhaps it was the other way around. She couldn't tell anymore.


She tasted copper and salt. Blood, she knew, though from where exactly had become unclear. Her tongue felt swollen, catching on the gaps where teeth should be.


Another impact. Stars burst behind her eyelids—no, just one eyelid. The right eye was... covered? Gone? The distinction seemed less important than it should.


She tried to focus through her functioning eye. The cellar swam into partial view—stone walls sweating moisture, her own blood painting abstract patterns on the floor below her suspended feet. And in the corner, sitting cross-legged like he used to during their childhood games, was Heinrik—not Heinrik, she reminded herself.


Not as he'd been at the end, but younger. Fifteen, maybe sixteen, wearing his new cadet uniform. The lamp behind him cast his face in warm gold, and she could almost smell their mother's lavender soap on his clothes.


"Does it hurt less now?" he asked gently.


She wanted to answer, but a fist connected with her ribs again. Something cracked. The pain should have been overwhelming, but it felt strangely distant.


"I'm scared," she whispered, to the young man in the corner.


"It's okay. I've got you." Heinrik's voice was exactly as she remembered—steady, protective. "Just rest now."


But something was wrong. His shadow fell the wrong way, stretching toward the lamplight instead of away from it. And when he smiled, the edges of his mouth extended just a fraction too far.


"You said you'd stay," she mumbled, the words slurring through her swollen lips. Some part of her knew this was wrong—Heinrik was dead, had been dead for years—but the memory felt more real than the chains biting into her wrists.


"I really wish I could." His uniform was pristine, he had just visited them, he'd just been accepted to the military. "But you know I can't stay. Not anymore."


The warm bedroom of her memory flickered, stone walls bleeding through like water through cloth. Her childhood bed became the cold metal digging into her flesh.


"You'll leave again then?"


"Yes." His face shifted subtly, aging and regressing in the span of a blink. "But I'll be back. You'll never get rid of me that easily."


"Promise?"


The word had barely left her lips when everything shattered. The cellar snapped back into focus with brutal clarity. She hung from chains that had rubbed her wrists raw, arms wrenched above her head. Her ribs were indeed broken—she could feel the edges grinding with each breath.


Heinrik still sat in the corner, but now his eyes were wrong. Not green like they should be, but dark. Empty. Like holes cut in the fabric of the world.


"I promise," he said, and something black dripped from between his teeth.


Another wave of pain crashed over her as she was struck again, but before it could overwhelm her, something cold slithered through her thoughts. The agony dimmed, muffled like sounds underwater.


Let me help, the thing wearing her brother's face whispered. I can take it all away. Make it stop. You just have to let me in a little more.


"For the last time," The man before her panted, flexing his bloodied knuckles, "where is she hiding?"


Anja's eye focused with difficulty on the Scout. Some of the blood on his hands was definitely hers, but there were flecks of something darker mixed in. Black droplets that seemed to move of their own accord before dissolving.


She tried to speak but only managed a wet mumble. Her jaw was definitely dislocated. When she ran her tongue along her teeth, counting the gaps became a way to stay grounded in her own body.


"That's enough."


The new voice cut through the haze. Anja knew that voice.


"Section Commander?! But—"


"I said enough, Geller!"


Hange. Recognition brought fresh anguish that had nothing to do with her physical wounds. Hange, who had tried to understand what she was. Who had shown her kindness even when others feared her.


"Go upstairs with the others."


Geller grunted, boots heavy on the stairs. Each step echoed strangely in the confined space, the sound bending and warping as if the cellar itself was rejecting reality.


Hange approached slowly, pulling over a wooden stool. Through her swimming vision, Anja saw exhaustion etched in every line of the Section Commander's face.


"Why, Anja?" Hange's voice held none of its usual enthusiasm. "Why did you do it?"


In the corner, the thing wearing Heinrik's face leaned forward with interest, shadows pooling beneath it like spilled ink.


"You're just making this harder on yourself." Hange sat at eye level with her prisoner. "We know your friend is in Stohess. She can't hide forever. No one else has to get hurt. Just tell me where she is."


The mention of Annie cut through everything. Anja jerked against her chains, feeling something tear in her shoulder. "Please," she gasped. "Don't harm her... Leave her... alone."


"I'm afraid we're way past that. But if she cooperates, I'll do my best to see she's not harmed unnecessarily. Just tell me where she is, Anja."


"I don't know." The words tore from her throat. "But I know her, Hange. She'll get scared. More people will die. You have to... trust me."


"Trust you?" Hange stood abruptly. "After everything you've done?"


"Please... You have to..."


"We'll handle this." Hange turned toward the stairs. "As for you, I suggest you cooperate. I'll send someone for you once it's done. Take this time to think."


"Hange... Please wait!" Anja strained forward. "HANGE!"


But the cellar door was already closing. The lock turned.


Darkness rushed in—not mere absence of light, but something actively hungry. The thing in the corner unfolded itself.


"She left you," it said with Heinrik's mouth. "They all leave, in the end. But I'm still here. I'll always be here."


Tears burned down Anja's face. It was her fault. All of it.


"Shh." Cold fingers stroked her hair. "Don't cry. Big brother's here. I'll make it all better."


The touch brought numbness, seeping into her bones like winter. But something in Anja recoiled. She'd felt this before, in the forest. Its hunger. Its patience. How it had been using his memory as bait.


"No." The word came out stronger than she expected.


The fingers paused in her hair. "No?"


"You're not him." She forced her eye to focus on the thing in the corner. "You're just wearing his face. Using his voice. But you're not Heinrik."


The smile widened slightly. "What are you saying silly? Who do you think this is? The pain still stops when I help, don't you want that? All memories fade eventually, you'll see. Soon you won't even remember why you're fighting."


"I will, I'll remember them. I'll remember her. I'll remember what I have to do."


"Will you?" It circled her slowly, leaving no footprints in the blood. "How many names have you already forgotten? How many faces have become strangers? Let me carry it all, little sister. Let me take the weight."


Anja closed her eye, focusing on the pain instead of the offered numbness. Each throb of her broken body was proof she was still herself. Despite everything.


"I said no."


"You are only hurting yourself. We'll see how long that lasts."

---

Gray clouds filtered the afternoon light across Stohess's winding streets as Annie walked between Hitch and Marlo. Their boots echoed against cobblestones in a rhythm that should have been comforting—just another patrol, just another day. But Annie's fingers kept finding the torn lining of her jacket pocket, the absence of those papers like a missing tooth her tongue couldn't stop probing.


"Don't be such a baby, Marlo. No one will notice." Hitch's voice carried that careless confidence Annie had once envied. Now it just made her nervous.


"This isn't the route I was assigned." Marlo's hand twitched toward his rifle strap.


"Relax, me and Annie do this all the time. Besides, the higher-ups are all worried about that prisoner being transferred here from the Scouts."


Annie's step faltered slightly. A Scout prisoner? The timing seemed too convenient, coming so soon after the failed expedition.


"So, nothing to worry about," Hitch continued. "We just have to be back once our 'patrol' is over. Easy peasy."


"If you say so... But we could have left this to more experienced soldiers."


"You know how it is. Someone files a missing person report and it gets passed around for months." Hitch stepped around a puddle. "Besides, Annie is quite experienced in finding missing—I mean, I am."


"Hitch, I already know you gave her Carly Stratmann's case. That was supposed to be yours."


"I, no, actually—"


"Would you two just shut up and pay attention?" Annie's voice came out sharper than intended.


She'd been scanning the street, noting exits and blind spots—old habits that had intensified since finding those papers missing. A woman hanging laundry from a third-floor window. Two men arguing over a cart blocking an alley. Normal city life, but any of them could be watching.


"Hey, it's her, not me," Marlo protested.


"Why do you think I brought you two for?" Hitch shot back. "You're the ones who like to play detective, not me."


Annie thought of Brandt's investigation notes, how Dennis and Boris's names had appeared in the margins. Just patrol assignments, routine stuff. But Brandt was dead now, and they were missing. She'd assumed it was coincidence—Hitch and Marlo were mentioned too, and they were fine. Still, the unease sat heavy in her stomach.


"Didn't you say you were worried about Boris and Dennis?" Marlo asked.


"I was, but after Annie came back, I wasn't that worried." Hitch shrugged. "Knowing those two, they probably ended up at some party and haven't shown up to work. It's only been a couple of days."


"That wouldn't be the case for Marco." Marlo's expression tightened. "He's serious about his work, unlike you."


Marco. Annie's chest constricted. He'd taken those papers—she was almost certain now. The way he'd looked at her in that alley, blood streaming from his nose, determination mixing with fear...


"So he's another one with a stick up his ass like you. Figures." Hitch's teasing tone didn't quite mask her concern.


"MPs really should stop taking in people like you..."


"Oh, this"—Hitch gestured to herself with a flourish—"is what a prime specimen of the MPs looks like. Just a few years and I'll be ordering you around. You'll see."


"If you're done, we're here." Annie nodded toward the intersection ahead.


The neighborhood was one of Stohess's quieter districts—Rows of modest shops and apartments, their facades worn but clean. The kind of place where people minded their own business.


Perfect for hiding things.


"Dennis's last assigned patrol," Hitch said, consulting a crumpled note.


"I wonder why he was even placed here." Marlo frowned at the empty streets. "The parade didn't even come close to this area."


"Lucky him. Bet he could slack off the entire time."


"It's a quiet area. Safe too." Marlo pointed down a side street. "That's why the Military Police keeps a warehouse around here."


"Let's ask around." Hitch started forward.


Annie caught movement from the corner of her eye. A brown haired soldier stood across the street, speaking earnestly with a middle-aged woman who kept shaking her head.


"Hey, isn't that..." Hitch started.


"Jean," Annie finished.


Her mind raced. What was he doing here? Last she'd heard, he was firmly committed to the comfortable life of an interior MP. This neighborhood was far from his usual post.


Jean must have sensed their attention. His eyes widened slightly when he spotted them—no, when he spotted Annie specifically. He finished his conversation with visible haste, the woman hurrying away as he crossed toward them.


"What are you three doing here?" His tone aimed for casual but missed.


"We're looking for our friends," Hitch interjected. "One of them was on patrol here. Dennis Webber. Know him?"


"I think I've heard the name, but no... I'm, uh..." Jean's gaze kept flickering to Annie, something unspoken in his expression. She recognized that look—the same one Marco had worn in the alley. Did he know something?


"Looking for Marco?" Hitch guessed.


His shoulders tensed. "How did you—"


"Not a hard guess." Hitch smirked. "You were all in the same training corps, right? And you two were always looking at Annie like you'd lost something."


Color rose in Jean's cheeks. "That's not—it's... Whatever." Jean's jaw tightened. "I don't care about her. I'm just looking for my friend."


Despite his words, Annie caught the hurt that flashed across his face.


"Why here?" Marlo pulled out his notebook. "Marco was reported missing from his room."


"He's my roommate." Jean's seriousness slipped back into place. "He'd been jumpy all that day. Turns out he snuck out during the night. I asked around—I don't know if it was him, but someone noticed odd movements around the archives that night—people loading a wagon.


The archives? What would he even look for? She remembered the papers referred to an investigation file, but it was a dead end. Annie kept her expression neutral while her mind raced.


"I traced it all the way to this area," Jean continued, "but so far I've had no luck. No one saw anything."


Three people missing, two led to the same quiet neighborhood. Annie didn't believe in coincidences anymore.


"We should try the warehouse then," Marlo said. "There's no other place they'd go around here."


"A warehouse?" Jean's interest sharpened. "Let's go then."


With no better option, the group followed Marlo's lead through increasingly empty streets. Annie noted how the foot traffic thinned the closer they got to their destination. Even for a quiet neighborhood, it felt too deserted. Windows that should have shown signs of life stared back empty. A cat skittered across their path, the only movement besides their own.


The warehouse squatted at the end of a dead-end street, surrounded by a tall fence. A loading area for wagons dominated one side, though no vehicles were present. The building itself looked unremarkable—weathered brick and small windows, the kind of structure that blended into the background.


"Hello! Is anyone in there?" Jean rattled the gate, the sound sharp in the stillness.


"Shout louder so the whole neighborhood can hear," Hitch muttered, though she was already peering through the fence gaps.


"Looks like a dump." Hitch peered through the fence. "Cigarette butts everywhere."


Annie examined the loading area. Fresh wheel ruts marked the dirt—deep grooves from heavy loads. The cigarette butts weren't weathered either. Someone had been here recently.


She watched Jean prop his rifle against the fence and begin to climb.


"What are you doing?" Marlo sounded scandalized.


"What does it look like?"


"But wait... we can't just—"


Annie was already following, her hands finding purchase on the fence links. The torn pocket of her jacket caught briefly.


"Come on," Jean said as he dropped down on the other side. "I doubt anyone will see us if we're quick."


Annie landed beside him, knees bending to absorb the impact. Behind them, she heard Hitch encouraging a reluctant Marlo to follow.


The warehouse loomed before them. Annie's instincts screamed warnings—too quiet, too empty.


Jean reached for the door handle testing it, his eyes widened as it turned. "It's unlocked."


He looked at Annie as if waiting for confirmation. She nodded.


The hinges whispered, recently oiled. Inside, afternoon light struggled through grimy windows, casting rectangles across concrete. Dust motes hung suspended, undisturbed.


They stepped inside.

---

Water dripped.


Anja counted the drops. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Sometimes they came fast, sometimes slow, like a clock losing time. The sound echoed wrong in the cellar, bouncing off stone in uneven patterns.


Her wrists had gone numb a long time ago. Blood had dried in rusty rings around the shackles, pulling at her skin when she shifted.


In the corner, the thing wearing Heinrik's face hadn't moved for... how long? It sat still, not even mimicking breath. Watching.


Twenty-nine. Thirty.


A new sound threaded through the dripping—distant thunder. Anja's head lifted slightly, neck muscles protesting. Through the small barred window high on the wall, she could see the sky had darkened. Storm coming.


The entity's eyes tracked her movement. "Listening for them?"


She didn't answer. Her throat was too raw, and words felt dangerous here. Like they might summon what she feared.


"They're efficient, your Scout friends." Its voice carried no emotion, just observation. "Quick. Clean. She won't feel much."


Thirty-one. Thirty-two.

---

The warehouse held its breath around them.


Annie's boots made soft sounds on concrete as she moved deeper inside. Crates towered on either side, stenciled with inventory numbers and dates. Recent dates. The dust here had been disturbed—footprints crossing and recrossing, the casual traffic of people who belonged.


Hitch's voice seemed too loud when she spoke. "Look at all this stuff… Shouldn't there be guards?"


"Normally, but I told you this area is safe," Marlo replied.


Jean had found a path through the crates, following something only he could see. Annie watched him pause at an intersection of aisles, head tilted, listening. The warehouse wasn't silent—wood creaked as temperature changed, pigeons rustled in the rafters, wind worried at loose roof tiles. But underneath those normal sounds was an absence. The particular quality of a space recently vacated.


Marlo had gravitated toward a desk shoved against one wall, its surface covered in papers held down by an empty tea cup.


Annie crouched beside the loading area. Crates were stacked haphazardly here as well—some split, others damp-stained at the base. The acrid smell of lamp oil hung in the air, seeping from seams in the wood. The concrete beneath her was stained in patches: grease, oil, and something darker that had dried in irregular swirls.


In a corner where the light didn't quite reach, something metallic caught her eye. She reached for it—heavy, cylindrical, about the length of her forearm. Brass, with precise threading and a sealed rear end that reminded her vaguely of a pressure valve or ignition pin. It looked like it could be part of a weapon, maybe even the firing component itself. But she'd never seen anything like it. Not standard issue. Not anything they'd been trained on.


Maybe it fell—or was dropped in haste.


"Annie." Hitch's voice was taut, uncertain.


"You need to see this."

---

Anja tested the chains again. The same result—iron bit into flesh, sent fresh blood trickling down her arms. The pain was there but muted, like hearing a voice through water.


Those chains were never meant for someone like you." It said. Why pretend to be what you're not?"


She forced her eye to focus on it. The resemblance to Heinrik was perfect and wrong—the way his hair fell, the angle of his shoulders, but also the stillness between movements, the way shadows gathered where they shouldn't.


"Look what they did to you. Look what your loyalty earned you." It stood, finally, moving with too-fluid grace. " I can give you what they never could—freedom."


Thunder rolled closer. The first drops of rain struck the window, running down stone in dark threads.

---

The manifest spread across the desk like an accusation. Routes marked in red ink, delivery schedules noted in margins. Annie traced the lines with growing unease. From inside Wall Sina to Stohess, two weeks ago. Stohess to Karanes, just two days past. And today—


"The capital," Hitch read. "Final delivery to Central Command?"


But it was the cargo descriptions that made Annie's blood chill. Written in the careful euphemisms of bureaucracy: "Human resources requiring relocation." "Subjects - research classification." "Live specimens - priority handling protocols."


Jean's voice carried from deeper in the warehouse—a sharp intake of breath, metal scraping on concrete. They found him standing before what appeared to be a solid wall of stacked supply crates. But the dust patterns were wrong. These crates had been moved recently, repeatedly.


"Help me," Jean said, already pushing against one section. The crates weren't stacked—they were mounted on a hidden track system. As they slid aside, they revealed a section of floor where the concrete had been carefully cut and replaced. The seams were nearly invisible, filled with matching mortar, but fresh scratches around the edges betrayed recent use.


Jean found the hidden latch disguised as a drainage grate. The section lifted on silent hinges— Below, wooden steps descended into darkness that breathed with the scent of chemicals and worse.

---

"May I?"


It gestured to her wrists. Its fingers weren't quite right—too many joints, or perhaps too few. Details kept shifting when she tried to focus.


Anja held still. There were no good choices here, only necessary ones.


Its touch was winter given form. Where skin met skin, sensation simply ceased. Not numb—absent. As if that part of her had never existed. She watched her right hand begin to pull against the shackle, steady pressure building.


"Just a bag of meat and bone," it murmured.


Her thumb bent backward silently, a wet snap of tearing ligaments barely registering as her bones shifted and cracked. Distantly, like furniture rearranging in another room, she felt the structure of her hand collapse until finally, her wrist slipped free—bloodied, mangled, but free.


She was steadying herself, breath ragged, when thunder crashed directly overhead—dust showering from the shaking beams. Underneath the fading echo, wagon wheels ground sharply through gravel outside.


Someone's here.

---

The first basement room was almost mundane. Almost. Storage shelves lined the walls, boxes of paperwork gathering dust. But the chair in the center didn't belong. Heavy wood, leather straps at arms and legs, dark stains soaked deep into grain.


Jean's breathing had gone shallow. Behind Annie, Hitch made a small sound—short of a gasp.


The tools hung on the far wall in neat rows. Some medical—scalpels, forceps, things that belonged in hospitals. Others had no legitimate purpose.


"We should go," Marlo whispered. "We should go right now."


But Jean was already moving toward the second doorway. The chemical smell was stronger here, but underneath it—no distinct odor.


A crematorium occupied the far wall, its mouth sealed behind heavy iron doors. What struck Annie was the sophistication of it. A proper chimney system snaked up through the ceiling, with multiple chambers for filtering smoke. Ventilation grates drew air from the surface. Someone had spent considerable money making this facility functional.


But it was the adjacent alcove that made Annie's stomach turn. Drainage tables with segmented channels—designed not just for disposal, but for systematic processing. Bone saws hung in precise arrangements, their blades worn smooth from use. This wasn't just about making people disappear—it was about reducing them to manageable components first. And underneath, tucked almost out of sight—


"Don't touch it," Annie said, but Jean was already reaching.


The owl mask came up in his shaking hands. Gold paint flaked away at his touch, revealing darker stains beneath. The same mask she'd seen at the masquerade.


Dr. Weiss's mask.


Now she knew why he'd been so afraid.

---

The second hand came easier, her body repeating the horror without hesitation. Flesh tore, bones compressed, and then she was completely free—arms hanging useless but finally unchained.


She could barely walk, but she could still crawl.


"Listen," it said.


Footsteps above. Boots on wood, multiple sets. Voices raised in confusion then alarm.


"The window."


Anja looked at the barred window, then at her ruined hands. The bars were set perhaps six inches apart. A child might fit through. A small child.


"Through," it whispered.


Lightning illuminated the cellar again. In that flash, she saw herself reflected in the entity's black eyes—not as she was, but as she could be. Changed. Wrong.


But alive.


The first gunshot cracked through the storm like judgment.

---

They climbed from the basement in silence. The warehouse felt different now—not empty but abandoned. The kind of abandonment that came from sudden flight, from plans interrupted.


Annie's mind raced. The Interior Squad had been using this place. Dr. Weiss had been here, questioned here. Probably died here. And the deliveries—people processed like cargo? shipped to locations unknown?


"We need to leave," her voice came out steady, controlled. "Now. If anyone finds us here..."


She didn't need to finish. They all understood. This wasn't just trespassing—this was discovering something people killed to keep secret.


Thunder rolled across the sky as they emerged into the main warehouse. The storm had arrived while they were underground, turning the grimy windows into sheets of running water. Rain drummed against the roof with increasing intensity.


They moved quickly toward the exit, no longer caring about stealth. Behind them, forgotten on the basement floor, the owl mask stared at nothing with empty eyes.

---

The window bars bent outward with sounds like breaking teeth. Anja's body moved in ways bodies shouldn't move, guided by instinct rather than thought. She felt her ribs compressed, organs pushing against her chest, bones ground against each other in symphony of wrongness.


But she fit. Inch by impossible inch, she fit.


The rain hit her like a blessing, washing away blood and worse. She fell into mud, body trying to remember its proper shape. Everything hurt now—its gift receding, leaving only damage and determination.


Through the rain, she saw them. Black shapes moving in the night. A Scout lay face-down in the mud, rain pooling in the hole where his head used to be.


A horse stood tethered nearby, sides heaving with nervousness. It shied when she approached, smelling blood and wrongness, but she managed to grip the reins with fingers that barely worked.


Behind her, screams from the mill. Gunshots. The thud of bodies falling.


She didn't look back.


The horse needed no urging. It ran from that place of death like it understood, hooves throwing up mud and water. Anja clung to its neck, broken hands tangled in the mane, body screaming protests she couldn't afford to hear.


The mill fell away into darkness and rain.

---

Mina pressed her spine against the mill's damp wall, trying to become part of the stone. Her legs had given out somewhere between the third gunshot and the fifth.


Through the doorway, she could see them. The Scouts who'd brought Anja here—she'd seen them from afar in Karanes, still alive just one day ago.


One still moved, dragging himself toward the exit with his one working arm. His legs left red trails across the floorboards. The sound he made wasn't breathing, wasn't crying. Just wet and desperate, like a punctured lung trying to pray.


"S-stop..." The word bubbled from another's lips. "We surrender."


He was kneeling, hands raised above his head.


The man in the wide-brimmed hat paused mid-cleaning his pistol, glancing down with the bored curiosity of someone watching an insect crawl.


"Where's the girl?"


"She's in the basement!" The Scout's voice came fast, stumbling over itself. "Here—the key—"
His shaking hand fumbled at his belt.


The gunshot came with a flick of the wrist—barely aimed, yet final. The Scout's words died mid-syllable, replaced by the dull wet sound of impact. Another body collapsed.


"Fuck you!" The second Scout—the one crawling—propped himself up on his elbows. Blood ran from his mouth, but his eyes blazed with desperate fury. "You said if we surrendered—"


Another shot. His head snapped back. The fury in his eyes went out like a snuffed candle.


The man in the hat—when had she started thinking of him as a man and not a monster?—laughed. A brittle sound, like glass breaking in a crypt.


"Ha! You see that, Caven?" He nudged the second body with his boot. "He totally shat himself."


"Yes. Very funny, sir."


The woman's deadpan voice made Mina flinch deeper into her corner. She walked through the aftermath like it wasn't there, stepping over bodies like puddles. Her uniform was spotless despite the carnage, as if blood knew better than to touch her.


"Right then." The man ejected the spent canister from his pistol, letting it clatter softly onto a corpse below. From beneath his coat, he drew a fresh one and locked it into place with the smooth efficiency of long practice.


"You know what to do, fellas. The girl is mine."


He strode toward the basement door, and Mina's paralyzed mind finally understood.


They'd come for Anja.And she had led them here. It was her fault all these people were dead…


She'd told them where to find her, telling herself they'd just capture her. That justice would be done. She never expected they'd go this far.


The basement door exploded inward under his boot. Wood splintered, hinges screamed.
Mina heard his boots on the stairs—each step deliberate, unhurried, as if he already knew what he would find.


Then, muffled by stone:


"The fuck? She's not here."


The boots came back up—faster now.


When he emerged, his face had shed its casual amusement. His eyes swept the room like a predator seeking heat, and found her.


"Well, well." His voice was soft now. Gentle, almost. "I spy with my little eye... a little rat."


Mina tried to press herself deeper into the wall, but walls were solid things. They didn't care about guilt, or fear.


She didn't scream. She didn't even run. She just froze. Somewhere in her head, her body had started remembering Trost. The blood, the smoke, the noise that never stopped. Except now, it was all inverted—this time she had brought the monsters.


He crossed the room in three strides. His hand tangled in her braid before she could even raise her arms.


"No, please, I helped you, I—"


He dragged her like luggage. She scrambled uselessly, her feet slipping across the blood-slick floor. Her hands clawed at his grip, but it was like trying to tear through steel.


Down the stairs. Her shins slammed against each step, every impact jolting through her spine. She tried to scream, but it caught behind her teeth.


The smell hit her first—blood, thick and warm. And beneath it, the deeper stench of rot and death. Chains hung from the ceiling, ends dark with blood. Fresh puddles spread across the floor.


And the window—


The bars were bent outward, twisted like taffy. Strips of flesh clung to the metal where someone had forced themselves through an impossible gap. Rain howled through the opening, mixing with blood into long pink streams that spidered across the stone.


"Didn't you say your friend was here?" His voice was quiet now. Too quiet.


"I—I followed them to this place," she blurted. "They took her here, I saw it—I watched them—"


He kept her hair twisted in his grip, forcing her to meet his eyes. Pale gray. Flat. The color of dead sky.


"Please." She hated herself for the word, but it kept spilling out. "Give me more time. I can find her. I swear I can—"


The gun. She hadn't even seen it rise. One moment it wasn't there, the next, the barrel was a perfect black circle.


Recognition flared—then vanished.


Nothing.


"Useless." Kenny Ackermann let her body drop, then frowned at the blood flecking his boots like it was a personal insult. He wiped them clean on the girl's hair, taking his time. Making sure to get every spot.


"Well. Had to get rid of you anyway."


He paused, looking back toward the window where twisted bars marked his quarry's escape. A slow smile spread across his weathered features—not cruel, but genuinely impressed. In his decades of hunting, he'd seen desperate people do desperate things, but crushing your own bones to slip through prison bars? That took a special kind of steel.


"Clever girl," he murmured with something approaching fondness. Must've wanted out real bad.


He climbed back up the stairs, whistling a chirpy tune between his teeth. The others had already begun their work—lamp oil splashing across walls, soaking into wood, pooling beneath the dead.


"What now, sir?" Caven asked.


"You know the drill." Kenny paused, picturing the bent bars below. A flicker of professional appreciation passed through his expression.


"I want this place torched. Caven—take two of your best. Look for her. Can't have gone far."


The first flames caught despite the storm, hungry tongues of fire racing along oil-slick walls. Smoke billowed thick and fast, clinging low to the rafters. The mill began its slow transformation—from crime scene to pyre.


Outside, the storm had reached its peak. Rain fell in sheets, turning the world into a gray blur.


Perfect weather for disappearing. Perfect weather for a hunt.


Kenny pulled his hat low against the rain and smiled.


He did love a challenge. Especially when it ran.


Behind them, the mill burned like a beacon. Smoke curled upward, swallowed by the storm.


And somewhere out there, in that rain-soaked dark—


Their prey.


Wagon wheels cut deep grooves into the mud as they rolled forward, patient as death itself.

*


*


*


Note: Hey, I know it's been a while, three months, might be a new record.
I wasn't in a great place mentally, and this chapter sat half-finished for a while. I kept turning the story over in my head, questioning things, until I finally got it done. Sorry it took so long, hope the update was worth the wait, and thanks for sticking around.

 

[Fran Gark]

Chapter XXXI: Only Exits

---

Rain hammered against Anja's face like cold needles, each drop mixing with the blood that seeped from her torn palms. Somewhere along the road she'd broken into an empty toll-house and stolen a pair of boots and rough linen tunic—the quickest way to hide the shredded remnants of her clothes without losing time.

Her left hand was still a swollen mess—thumb bent, two fingers shattered. She seized a brief lull in the horse's stride to press the bones back into place, gritting her teeth at the grinding sensation. The makeshift splint she'd fashioned from torn cloth was already soaked through with rain and blood.

Every jolt of the horse's movement sent fresh agony shooting up her arms, but she couldn't slow. Through the storm's gray veil, Stohess's walls loomed like mountains. Steady wall‑lamps shimmered in roadside puddles—soft amber halos that mirrored the city's quiet vigilance.

The storm tasted wrong. Not just rain and mud, but a copper‑sweet film across her tongue—the same flavor that had filled her mouth in the forest when the thing that wore her brother's face and promised salvation. Even now, she felt it watching through the downpour, patient as rot.

Her mount slipped, hooves skidding on the mud. For a heartbeat she seemed to watch herself from above: a broken thing clinging to a terrified animal, racing toward a city that would spare her no mercy. No good choices—only exits. The thought arrived in a voice that might have been hers, or something else's.

Lightning split the sky, bleaching Stohess's walls for one brilliant second. In that flash she caught a purple flare arcing above the ramparts. Something was happening. Something big.

"Annie," she whispered through split, swollen lips. The name was prayer and promise at once. Was she too late? Whatever they had done to her friend—whatever Annie had done to others—none of it mattered now. She had to find her. She would, even if it meant feeding what was left of herself to the thing that lurked in her mind.

The horse surged forward, and Anja let the vow carry her toward the city's waiting chaos.

---

One hour earlier…

Annie watched Jean pace the small room, his notebook clutched in one hand as he scribbled down everything they'd seen at the warehouse. His movements were sharp, agitated—controlled desperation. They'd gathered in the room she shared with Hitch, though Annie had been packing her few belongings all morning, slipping them into her rucksack whenever Hitch wasn't looking.

The others hadn't noticed yet, too focused on the evidence they had haphazardly spread across the small table between them.

"We need someone who can help us," Jean said, his voice tight. "Commander Pyxis, maybe. Or someone in the Scouts, anyone who can actually do something." His fingers traced the edges of the shipping manifests, as if touching them might reveal where Marco had gone. "We don't know what happened to any of them—Marco, Dennis, Boris. They could be—"

"They could be what? Alive?" Annie interrupted, her voice flat. She knew exactly what happened to people who disappeared into facilities like that warehouse. The drainage tables, the crematorium... They hadn't found bodies because the entire operation was designed to ensure no bodies remained to find. "They're dead, and if we get involved, we'll end up like them."

"You—" Jean's face flushed, but he swallowed the retort. "You don't know that! You think we aren't in danger already? Think again, anyone could be next unless we do something."

"I agree with Jean, looking the other way won't fix anything. But I think we have more options..." Marlo said, producing a folded document. "I did some digging after we left. The warehouse—it's not just some MP facility. Turns out it's owned by the royal government directly, leased to the Military Police, listed as a 'storage facility' with an added clause for 'discretionary special logistics operations.'" He looked up at them. "This place... it goes all the way to the top. Which is exactly why we need to follow proper channels. I'm willing to bet Commander Dawk has no clue what is going down there. If we document everything, file reports through the correct chain of command—"

"Like Brandt did?" Annie's question hung in the air like a blade. She moved to her bed, straightening her sheets while sliding another folded shirt into her bag. The papers hidden in her jacket seemed to burn against her ribs—Brandt's investigation notes, what was left of them, the ones that had gotten so many people killed.

Jean's hands clenched around his notebook. "We are already neck deep in this shit... I don't care what you say, Marco is out there somewhere, and every second we waste—"

A sharp knock interrupted him. The door swung open to reveal a rain-soaked Hitch, who'd gone to check on their duty assignments.

Her usually tousled brown hair was flattened by the rain, clinging to her face in limp strands.

"Prisoner transfer arrives within the hour," she announced. "All hands to defensive positions, we have to gear up. Commander's orders."

The others began gathering their evidence, preparing to leave, but Hitch blocked Annie's path.

"We need to talk," Hitch said quietly, her usual carefree demeanor replaced by something else. "Alone."

After the others filed out, Hitch closed the door and leaned against it.

"What?"

"Planning to disappear again?" Hitch nodded toward the bed, where the outline of Annie's bag was barely visible.

Annie let the silence stretch for a moment before answering. "I'm taking a few days off." She moved toward the door, but Hitch didn't budge.

"I'm not stupid, Annie. You've been acting weirder than usual. Even before the masquerade. Now the warehouse, this prisoner transfer, you packing your things—something's happening. Something you know about."

Annie kept her expression neutral. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't lie to me." Hitch's voice dropped lower. "Look, I'm not Jean or Marlo. I'm not going to charge off trying to save everyone. I value my life too much for that. But I can't rest easy if my roommate is keeping secrets that could get me killed."

For a moment, Annie considered telling her. Warning her to run, to get as far from Stohess as possible. But that would raise questions she couldn't answer. Instead, she moved past Hitch toward the door.

"There's nothing to tell," Annie said. "We should get ready."

Hitch caught her arm. "Annie, you owe me that much—"

"Let go." There was something in Annie's tone that made Hitch's hand drop immediately. "Whatever you think is happening, whatever you think I know—forget it. Keep your head down during the transfer. Don't ask questions. Don't investigate anything. Just... lay low."

She left Hitch standing there. In her pocket, her fingers found the cold metal of her ring. She slid it on without hesitation. Time was running out, and she had already decided—it had become too dangerous for her.

No good choices left, only exits.

---

Annie stood at her assigned position on the district's main thoroughfare, the repaired inner pocket of her jacket pressing against her ribs with each breath. The distant bell of the district clock tower tolled once—fifteen minutes until the transfer ended. She would leave then. Fifteen minutes that suddenly felt like a lifetime.

The alley she was assigned to watch opened a few paces behind her post—a narrow lane between tidy stone town-houses, flagstones slick with moisture yet otherwise undisturbed, feeding straight into the thoroughfare. Half-torn posters lauding the "Hero of Trost" clung to the nearest wall, drizzle streaking Anja's printed likeness into a ghostly smear.

Beyond the mouth of the lane, the cobblestones gleamed like dark mirrors. Nearby, Military Police officers adjusted their gear with awkward movements—no blades, only rifles and ODM. The authorization had come down barely an hour ago, outside normal protocol. Were they expecting trouble?

Movement registered in Annie's peripheral vision. She glanced upward. Hitch stood on the opposite rooftop, rifle cradled loosely, her gaze sweeping the street. Their eyes met. Hitch held it a heartbeat too long before turning away. Was that suspicion? Warning? Or just Hitch being Hitch? Annie's hands wanted to tremble. She clamped them tighter on her rifle.

A shout from the gate cracked through the damp air; Hitch pivoted east to cover the call, a wide stone chimney blocking her view of the alley mouth.

The convoy rumbled past. Through a gap in the middle wagon's canvas she glimpsed the prisoner—broad‑shouldered, head bowed, features lost to shadow. A prisoner from the Scouts transferred under this security? It had to be Eren. No one else warranted such measures.

"Annie."

Her whole body went rigid. She turned slowly, mechanically, to find a hooded figure in the alley. The hood fell: Armin, rain dripping from his cloak, stood half‑lit by a lamp.

"Good to see you," he said—brief smile, almost sad.

"I'm on duty." The words came out steady. Good; her voice still worked.

"This can't wait." He stepped closer, and Annie's mind registered a dozen details at once—the way his cloak fell suggested full gear beneath, how the alley's far exit was partially blocked, the careful distance he maintained. "That prisoner in the wagon—it's a decoy. One of our people volunteered to buy us time."

The words hit her in waves. Decoy. Of course.

"The Military Police plan to execute Eren without trial," Armin went on, voice low and urgent. "They're planning to move him to a black site. We're getting him out, but we need someone inside the MPs—someone who knows patrol routes and blind spots. Someone they won't suspect."

Exactly the kind of plan the Scouts would hatch: bold, desperate, logical. But why tell her? Why now? Her chest felt too tight, like her ribs were closing in.

No. She didn't want any of this. She wasn't going after him again; she'd made her choice already.

"Not my problem. Find someone else." She started to turn back toward the street.

"Please, Annie. Anja said you would help."

She stopped mid-step, the words hitting her like a physical blow.

For half a heartbeat Annie forgot to breathe. Anja—alive. Relief flooded so hard her knees threatened to fold.

"She's with us," Armin pressed, eyes glinting. "Said you were the only MP we could trust. She told us you'd understand."

Something warm bloomed in Annie's chest—Anja trusting her, even after everything. Needing her. The thoughts jostled, clashed—hope and doubt, rising all at once, but a cold, sharp dread pierced her gut, whispering that something was terribly wrong.

"Where is she?" The question came out raw, desperate. She couldn't help it.

"Waiting at the underground passage near the old chapel." Armin gestured south. "She wanted to come herself, but her injuries from the expedition slow her. We couldn't risk it. You know how stubborn she is."

Annie's mind went absolutely still.

Injuries. Slow her. Couldn't risk it.

No.

The word rang through her skull like a bell. No, no, no. She did know how stubborn Anja was. Stubborn enough to show up with broken bones. Stubborn enough to crawl if she couldn't walk. If Anja were really there, really part of this, she would have come. Would have looked Annie in the eye. Would have asked for this herself, even if they had to carry her.

Relief curdled into lead. Either Anja wasn't with them—or she couldn't choose to be.

"Her injuries," Annie heard herself say. "From the expedition."

"Yeah, she's still healing, but she's managing." Armin's words flowed smoothly, just a touch lighter than before. "You know Anja—she pretends it's nothing, but traveling is difficult for her right now."

Each syllable drove the spike deeper. He knew. Wherever Anja was, Armin knew she wasn't here.

Trap. This was a trap.

"I just need five minutes." The words came out calm, controlled. Inside, Annie was screaming. "To grab something from my quarters. Papers, credentials. We'll need them for the checkpoints."

Armin didn't argue. A pause—calculation flickered behind those ocean‑blue eyes. Then he nodded.

"Makes sense. Remember, the old chapel's passage. We'll wait ten minutes, no more."

"Understood."

Annie turned and walked away. Steady steps. Normal pace. Don't run. Don't let him see. Ten steps. Fifteen. Around the corner.

A faint metallic click drifted from the rooftop behind her—too light for a rifle bolt, too deliberate for rain—and vanished into the hiss of drizzle.

Then she ran.

Her mask shattered the moment she was out of sight. Panic flooded her system hot, electric. Her cover was blown.

Annie's feet pounded against wet stone. Her ODM gear shifted with each stride, rifle clanking against gas canisters in a rhythm that broadcast her guilt. She couldn't use it now—she'd give herself away.

Everything she'd built here, every careful lie—gone. They knew. How much did they know? How long had they known?

And Anja—

What had they done to her? Where was she? Was she even—

No. Don't think about that now. Run.

A sob tried to claw its way up her throat. She swallowed it down, forced her legs to pump harder. The barracks were three blocks away. Her bag, then the gates. She could make it. She had to make it.

---

The rain had picked up again, turning the world into a blur of gray shapes and refracted light. Streets deserted—the MPs were all on decoy duty. Idiot. She should have seen it sooner. The absence of people sent alarm bells screaming through her skull.

A puddle splashed behind her—too heavy for raindrops. She didn't look back.

The barracks loomed ahead. Annie forced herself to slow at the entrance, nodding casually to the gate guard hunched over his reports.

"Forgot something in my room," she said, words sliding out smooth despite her hammering heart. "Back in five."

He waved her through without a glance. Annie took the stairs two at a time, wet boots squeaking against worn boards, rifle bumping her hip. Second floor. Third. Her hallway stretched ahead, absurdly empty—

Click—scrape. Roof tiles shifting? Or something else?

She reached her door. One hand gripped the knob.

---

The covered wagon rolled to a stop in the courtyard, wheels grinding against wet cobblestones with a finality that made Jean's shoulders tense. He stood with the other MPs, rifle held at the ready.

The Scout Regiment soldiers who'd accompanied the transport dismounted with practiced ease. Three of them—one tall and blond, with the bearing of someone used to being obeyed; a shorter man whose sharp gaze scanned the courtyard like a blade, favoring one leg slightly as he landed; and a third who remained close by the transport. All three stood still, hands visible, following protocol to the letter.

So why did everything feel wrong?

"Open it," Commander Dawk ordered, voice clipped.

Jean stepped forward with another MP. The canvas tarp was heavy with rain. As they peeled it back the prisoner sat hunched in chains, head bowed low.

Jean's eyes followed the figure's frame: the shoulders, the posture, the hair—

Something didn't line up.

He blinked, heart skipping.

The prisoner looked up. Not Eren. Not even close. The resemblance vanished under scrutiny. Whoever this was, it wasn't him.

His breath caught, but before he could speak, a commotion burst at the courtyard entrance. A soldier sprinted in, nearly slipping on the slick stones.

"Commander! Emergency report!"

---

Annie's door hung half ajar when the whisper reached her— steel cable retracting somewhere in the building's depths. ODM gear spooling up. The sound was soft, almost lost in the rain's percussion, but unmistakable.

"Annie."

The voice came from the far end of the hallway. She turned slowly, to find Mikasa standing there, fully geared, her red scarf dark with rain. Water dripped from her cloak in silent beads, each drop impossibly loud in the hush. Her palms cupped the hilts of her blades, dark eyes fixed on Annie.

"Mikasa." Annie kept her tone light, easing half a step back toward her room. "I was just heading to the old chapel. Something wrong?"

Mikasa's expression didn't change. No pretense, no games. "Come with us. No one has to get hurt."

Annie's free hand slid to the sling, two fingers resting on the buckle as if merely steadying her rifle. Behind Mikasa, she caught movement—more shapes materializing from the stairwell.

"No one has to get hurt, huh?" The words scraped out flat, controlled, cracking beneath. "Funny, coming from you."

---

"The Scouts—they're chasing someone through the streets! Multiple units in pursuit! They're attacking us!"

The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Rifles lifted, fingers tensed. The MPs bristled, confused and on edge. The three Scouts didn't move—but Jean noticed the short one's eyes flicking between barrels, calculating odds.

"Send reinforcements," Commander Dawk snapped. "Secure the district immediately!"

He wheeled on the tall Scout, fury mounting. "Erwin, what in the hell is going on?!"

"Nile," the man answered—measured, unshaken, his voice cutting cleanly. "Send those reinforcements with blades. They'll need anti-titan steel."

---

Mikasa's eyes flicked past her shoulder—more behind, they'd cut off her retreat.

Click. Annie's thumb eased back the rifle's hammer, the sound soft but surgical—

"We know about the expedition," a Scout called. "About what you did. About Anja—"

Stock snapped to shoulder, muzzle leveled, trigger pulled. The shot tore into the wall beside them, exploding brick and wood in a burst of splinters and smoke.

Time contracted—rain hissed against the roof, her heartbeat thundered, and every muscle in Annie's body answered an unspoken order to survive.

Move.

Annie's heel kicked her door wide as she dove backward into the room. No time to think. Bag—bed—grabbed. She twisted toward the window.

Breach open, spent shell out, fresh round in—reflex.

Mikasa burst through the doorway like a storm given form, blades whistling through air where Annie's head had been a heartbeat before. She brought her rifle up crosswise, catching the strike, metal rang against metal. The force drove her back, boots sliding on wet floorboards.

"Where is she?" Annie snarled, the words tearing from her throat before she could stop them. "What did you do to her?"

Mikasa's expression hardened further, if that was possible. "Surrender and find out."

---

"There are no titans in Wall Sina!" Commander Dawk's voice cracked like a whip, rising above the rain. "Your men are rampaging through the city—and you're talking about titan blades?!"

"Not yet," Smith replied, tone neutral as stone. "But that's about to change. We're here to capture one."

Jean's head swam. A titan? So far inside the walls? Impossible.

"Enough!" The Commander's voice cracked like a whip. "I don't know what delusion you're operating under, but this ends now. Secure the prisoner. Detain these three!"

The MPs surged forward, rifles raised.

The short Scout stepped slightly ahead, voice low and cold. "Lower your weapons. Before you do something you'll regret."

A few MPs faltered—hesitating, uncertain—but none stood down.

Smith's voice followed, quiet but ironclad. "We're wasting time. You'll have bigger problems than us very soon."

Jean's thoughts were still tangled—until the MP beside him hissed, "Hey. Snap out of it. The prisoner—"

He blinked. His voice came out strangled, but firm enough to cut through the rain. "Commander — Sir—the prisoner isn't Eren Jaeger."

All eyes turned to him. Silence.

Commander Dawk's gaze flicked to the prisoner, realization dawning—and then the sky above the distant rooftops flashed violet. A purple flare arced upward, hanging in the rain like a wound in the gray clouds.

Smith's expression never changed, but something in his eyes suggested this was exactly what he'd been waiting for. "As I said, Nile. Bigger problems."

---

Annie pivoted, using Mikasa's momentum against her, and slammed the rifle butt into her ribs. Mikasa grunted but no collapse, one blade sweeping low. Annie jumped back, felt the window glass against her spine. No room left to retreat.

The other Scouts were crowding the doorway now. In seconds, they'd overwhelm her through sheer numbers.

Annie made her choice.

She spun and dove through a burst of glass and rain.

For a moment, she was flying—three stories of empty air, rain slashing at her face, the ground rushing up with fatal promise. Her fingers found the ODM triggers by instinct, cables firing toward the building across the street. The anchors bit into brick and her fall became a swing, arc carrying her in a wide curve as glass shards glittered in her wake.

Behind her, Mikasa followed without hesitation.

Mikasa moved through the air as if physics were optional. Annie's hands worked frantically—breach open, cartridge out, new round in, breach closed—all while swinging through the air. She fired backward one-handed, more to force Mikasa to dodge than with any hope of hitting. The shot went wide, striking a chimney in a spray of red dust.

She angled toward the southern gates—Scouts were already there, herding her like wolves. Every time she adjusted course, they were there, forcing her back.

They were steering her toward the market square.

Reload. Swing. Dodge. Reload.

Her movements became mechanical, muscle memory taking over as her mind raced. It was simple but slow—one shot, reload, one shot, reload. Each time she had to break her momentum, giving Mikasa precious inches.

"Annie, stop!" Armin's voice carried from her left—urgent, pleading.

She almost laughed at that. It had already ended badly. The moment they'd used Anja's name as bait, the moment they'd revealed they knew—it had all ended.

Her left cable didn't retract properly, gear grinding. The malfunction cost her precious speed. Mikasa's blade passed so close Annie felt it part the air beside her ear.

Annie landed hard on the market square's cobblestones, rolling to absorb the impact. Her hands were already working—breach, cartridge, close—last round. When she came up, they were all surrounding her. Scouts dropping from buildings like spiders, forming a closing circle.

Her finger hovered over the trigger, too many targets, nowhere to aim that would matter.

She steadied herself, assessing. Empty space in every direction. Too far to reach any building before they'd cut her down.

Eren touched down behind Mikasa. Of course. They'd brought him here too.

"Annie, it's over!" Armin stepped forward, hands spread peacefully. "I know you don't want this. Out there, in the forest—you didn't kill us, it does't have to end that way. We're not your enemy."

Her eyes flicked down to her ring. The rifle didn't waver.

"I thought I could keep going. Even for a little while. Be who they needed me to be… and still be something else."

"Told myself it didn't matter. That if I stayed in control, I—"

She blinked hard. Rain or tears—it didn't matter now.

"But she got caught in the middle."

A breath.

"Because of me."

Her voice flattened.

"You were always the enemy. I just wanted to pretend you weren't."

Another pause—longer now.

"I failed to be a warrior. I failed her, too."

Eren stepped forward, his voice raw.

"Then why didn't you stop?!"

His fists clenched, rain running down his arms. He wasn't just shouting—he was pleading.

"You let her fight for you. Why did you let her throw everything away?"

He met her eyes. For just a second, there was grief behind the rage.

"Did you really even care at all?!"

Annie's hands trembled. Not much. But enough. The rifle stayed up. Barely.

"She's still alive," Armin said, voice low.

Her eyes snapped to him.

"For now."

He took a slow, measured step forward, hands raised higher.

"She told me who you were. She thought she could reach you. That none of this had to happen. That no one else had to die."

His voice dropped further.

"She believed in you, Annie."

A pause—then the final thrust.

"I want to believe her too. Was she wrong?"

Mikasa said nothing. She didn't need to. Her stare was a judgment—and a sentence.

Annie's lips parted, but no words came out. She looked at Armin—then past him. Her jaw clenched. Her rifle dipped an inch.

"Believed…"

A whisper. Then sharper:

"You don't know anything. None of you do."

A breath. Shaking.

"You're all the same."

"Talk about saving lives—but you take the ones who try. You break them until they can't even speak."

"This world doesn't want peace. It just wants killers in the right uniform."

"She thought I was different. That I could be different."

A pause. Her breath caught.

"She was wrong."

"I'm done pretending."

She stared directly at Armin.

"You wanted a monster."

And to all of them—

"You'll get one."

Her finger moved to the trigger. Mikasa shifted instantly, placing herself between Annie and Eren. Armin raised his hands higher, real alarm in his eyes now.

She saw the moment Armin realized what was about to happen. Someone moved behind her—trying to grab her while she was distracted. The rifle fired, the shot going wide as hands seized her arms.

Too late.

Annie's hand moved in a blur, her ring's hidden blade slicing deep into her thumb. Blood welled instantly. Thunder cracked overhead, but it wasn't from the storm.

Lightning split the world in half.

The transformation hit like a bomb, golden light erupting from Annie's position. The Scout who'd grabbed her—along with three others too close to escape—were instantly vaporized by the explosive force. The closest survivors were blown backward like leaves, cobblestones cracking in a spiderweb pattern beneath the point of impact. Steam billowed up in a massive column, and through it, something huge began to take shape.

When the steam cleared, the Female Titan stood in the market square, fourteen meters of corded muscle and focused intent. Rain sluiced off her form in sheets as she looked down at the scattered Scouts—some motionless, others struggling to rise, a few simply gone.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Eren's roar answered hers, and the battle for Stohess began in earnest.

---

The gates of Stohess loomed before Anja like the mouth of hell. Guards scattered in every direction, their shouts of "Titans! There are titans inside!" cutting through the storm. She didn't slow the horse, didn't hesitate. The animal's sides heaved with exhaustion, foam flying from its mouth, but she drove it forward into the chaos.

People flooded the streets—civilians fleeing in blind panic, Military Police struggling against the human tide. Near the gate, a young MP, probably around her age, stood frozen in place. Her brown, wavy hair clung in wet strands to her face, rain streaming down as hands grabbed at her uniform, shouting demands. The girl didn't respond, didn't even blink. Just stared into distance.

Anja barely registered her before a woman stumbled directly into her path, arms full of belongings. She yanked the reins hard left—hooves skidded on wet stone. They barely missed the woman, but the motion sent fresh agony lancing through her broken fingers.

Above the screaming crowd, she saw them.

Two titans locked in combat, their massive forms demolishing buildings with each exchange. Eren's titan—she recognized the burning green eyes, the wild dark hair—threw a punch that Annie's Female Titan deflected, the impact sending debris raining down on fleeing civilians. Annie moved with grace, every motion calculated, while Eren fought like a rabid animal.

Her heart clenched.

The horse finally collapsed near an old chapel, its legs giving out completely. Anja rolled off its back, landing hard on cobblestones awash with rain and worse. Her broken fingers screamed protest as she pushed herself up, scanning the chaos.

There—a Scout's body crushed beneath fallen masonry, gear intact. The sight hit her like a physical blow. Another life snuffed out in an instant. Just like in the forest. Just like in Trost. The dead woman's eyes stared at nothing, rain pooling in their sockets. Her cloak was torn but salvageable, the Wings of Freedom still visible beneath the mud and blood.

Anja's hands shook as she worked. She couldn't think about who this woman might have been. Couldn't afford to. The cloak settled heavy on her shoulders as she buckled the ODM gear around herself. The weight felt wrong on her body, but it would have to do.

Her grip was slipping—fingers raw and trembling. She tore a strip of cloth from the inside hem of the cloak, fastened it around each hand and handle in a quick loop. Crude, but enough to hold.

She fired her anchors and launched into the air.

---

Rage. Pure, crystalline rage that burned away everything else.

Annie moved on instinct, a life of training taking over. Eren came at her again, all fury and no technique, telegraphing his moves like a child. She ducked the wild swing, snapped a hardened elbow up beneath his chin—bone splintered, teeth flew, his titan's jaw dangling loose. Before the steam even billowed she slid inside his guard and drove her knee into his ribs with a crack that echoed off the surrounding buildings. He went down, destroying a bakery beneath his weight.

Scouts were everywhere. Cables shot past her head, blades flashing. One managed to score a hit on her shoulder before she could harden the skin, steam hissing from the wound as it began to heal. Another went for her ankles. Like gnats, individually harmless but collectively threatening to bring her down through sheer numbers.

She grabbed one out of the air—didn't look at their face, couldn't afford to—and flung them into a building. The wet crunch told her they wouldn't be getting up. One less problem.

Eren was already rising, his titan's jaw hanging from her last strike, steam pouring from the damage. He didn't know when to quit.

She could fight him, but not forever—every heartbeat here narrowed her odds.

BOOM.

She barely had time to register the sound as something pierced her ankles—cables, but different from standard ODM. The same type they'd used in the forest. A frantic Scout with glasses was shouting orders, more cables shooting out to secure her limbs.

Annie snarled, reaching down to tear at the restraints. Eren took the opening, slamming into her with his full weight. They went down together, crushing buildings and anyone too slow to escape. His broken jaw couldn't bite, but he used his body to pin her, hands scrabbling for her nape.

She bucked against him, trying to throw him off, but more cables kept coming. She tried to crystal-coat her nape, but her hardening was stretched thin from her elbow strike—too slow.

Through the chaos, she spotted a figure approaching at incredible speed—red scarf streaming behind her like a banner. Mikasa, angling for the killing strike.

This was it. Trapped and executed like an animal while—

A figure in a Scout cloak intercepted Mikasa mid-flight, blades meeting with a sound like breaking bells.

---

The impact jarred through Anja's entire body, but she'd done it, barely managed to block Mikasa— In the same motion, she twisted, her second blade slashing through the tendons of Eren's titan fingers. The grip loosened just enough for Annie to wrench free, her titan rolling away from Eren's grasp.

Anja landed hard on a rooftop, legs nearly buckling. Mikasa touched down across from her, and for a moment they just stared at each other. Rain washed the steaming blood from Anja's cloak, the Wings of Freedom on its back a mockery of everything she'd just done.

"Mikasa, we don't have to fight, please..." Anja said, lowering her blades despite how her broken fingers screamed.

Mikasa's expression was carved from stone. "Why would I listen to you?"

There was no point arguing. No point explaining. Anja adjusted her grip on the blades, trying to compensate for her injuries.

Please. I don't want to hurt her. Don't make me hurt—

Mikasa moved.

The first exchange nearly ended it. A blade whistled past Anja's throat by millimeters, only a desperate backward lunge saving her. The second strike came before she could fully recover, forcing a parry with hands that could barely hold steel.

They had done this a hundred times in training—wooden swords, bruises instead of blood. Even then Mikasa had been faster and stronger, and Anja too stubborn to yield.

"You're not walking away from this," Mikasa said, her blades moving faster than Anja could follow. "Not after what you've done."

Steel met flesh.

Three fingers spun away from Anja's right hand like red petals.

Always making the same mistakes... I never stood a chance against her.

The pain was so absolute it circled back around to numbness. Anja stared at her mutilated hand—her thumb and an already-broken index remained, still twisted; the other three were simply gone, blood pulsing with every heartbeat.

Mikasa took a step forward, blades raised. "This ends here."

Anja didn't move.

She didn't even flinch.

For a heartbeat, she accepted it.

Behind them, a massive crash. Eren's titan had fallen, steam rising from its still form. Mikasa's head turned—concern flickering across her features.

The Female Titan loomed, climbing to her feet.

Anja took her chance. Her right hand barely functioned, each twitch sending shocks up her arm—the opening was there. She fired an anchor into Annie's shoulder; the recoil nearly tore the grip from her broken fingers. Her body lurched forward—off-balance, half-falling, vision tunneling.

Mikasa turned too late. Anja slammed into her midair with raw momentum, both boots striking Mikasa's chest more by accident than aim. The impact sent them spinning—Mikasa thrown back to the rooftop, Anja dragged in a jagged arc toward the titan. Her anchor line jerked tight—pain flared—but she didn't stop.

She hit Annie's shoulder hard, boots skidding against steaming flesh, and climbed.

Rain fell in sheets. Smoke curled from ruptured buildings. But for a single breath, the world narrowed.

Annie's titan turned her head slightly—just enough to see her. Through the boiling steam and the howl of the wind, their eyes met.

No hesitation.

She turned, broke into a sprint for the wall, every step scattering debris and screaming bodies. Anja clung tight, her good left hand tangled in coarse golden strands, the other pressing against her ribs to stanch the blood.

Mikasa recovered quickly, giving chase. Her anchors fired with deadly precision, closing the distance in a blink. Annie was almost to the wall, hands reaching for purchase to climb, when Mikasa would overtake them.

Anja twisted herself around, heart pounding, and fumbled for the trigger. Her hand spasmed—but she managed it.

Her blade snapped down, catching one of Mikasa's cables. Steel parted with a shriek. The severed line recoiled violently, and Mikasa was sent veering off-course, forced to land on a distant rooftop out of reach.

Their eyes met across the gap—cold fury on Mikasa's face—she could not catch up now.

Annie's titan fingers punched into the stone, dragging them up the wall in lurching bursts. Below, the sounds of shouting, collapsing masonry, and distant gunfire bled together into chaos.

She'd reached Annie. The relief came sharp and breathless—but it soured just as quickly.

Behind them, Stohess bore the cost: a trail of destruction and death carved through one of humanity's safest refuges.

/

/

/

Note: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this one.

 

[Fran Gark]

Chapter XXXII: Permitted to Move

---

The noose hung slack against Eren's throat, rough hemp scraping skin already rubbed raw by shackles. Water dripped from the gallows beam above, cold against the back of his neck. The storm had passed, leaving the air sharp and bright, sunlight breaking through torn clouds to illuminate the devastation below.

He stood at the platform's edge, wrists bound tight behind him, staring out at Stohess as it bled smoke into the pale afternoon sky. The crowd below writhed like a single furious animal—hundreds of faces contorted with hate, their voices merging into a roar that made the wooden platform tremble under his boots.

A stone struck his shoulder, jolting him sideways. Another slammed into his ribs, doubling him over with a grunt. MPs flanked him, hands on rifles, but none moved to stop the barrage. Why would they?

Steam hissed faintly where blood welled from torn skin.

Through gaps in the seething crowd, he glimpsed the charred husk of what had been a bakery that morning. Rubble lay scattered across the street, beams blackened, windows blown out. Amid the debris, a woman knelt, cradling something small and still. Her scream carried even through the mob's fury, a ragged, wordless sound that twisted his chest.

We did this. His teeth ground together. Annie and I.

"Murderer!"

"Monster!"

He closed his eyes against the words, against the truth in them. When he opened them again, only rage remained—rage and a hot, pulsing frustration that burned through the ache of his bruises.

They didn't understand. None of them understood what was at stake.

They were allowing them to escape— What could happen then? No wall would stand. No city.

He had tried to tell them. Tried to scream the truth at every guard who shoved him down dark hallways, every soldier who spat in his face. He tried now, voice hoarse and breaking.

"She's out there!" His words were swallowed by the crowd's roar. "They're getting away! You're wasting—"

A rock hit his temple, flashing the world white. Warm blood trickled down his cheek, catching in the rope's coarse fibers.

Below him, an officer in a stiff cloak checked a pocket watch impassively, ignoring the screaming masses, ignoring his ragged words.

Another stone. Another scream. The rope creaked as it was pulled taut behind him, settling against his windpipe.

Somewhere in the crowd—soldiers forcing their way forward, shouting—but Eren couldn't focus. His vision swam with blood and fury and the certainty that humanity was making its final, stupid mistake.

Through a gaping fracture in the outer wall, the roar of the crowd carried in sharp and clear.

"Kill the Titan! Hang him!"

The chant rose making the ruined structure tremble with each syllable.

At the top landing, two Military Police guards blocked the shattered doorway, rifles lowered to bar their path.

"Halt." The first guard's voice cut sharp. "State your business."

"We have to get through!" Jean tried to pass, but the soldiers shoved him back.

"Back off, son."

Marlo coughed out words between ragged breaths. "Please—Commander Dawk needs to hear—"

The second guard grabbed his arm, twisting until Marlo grunted in pain.

"Commander!" Jean shouted past them. "It's about Annie Leonhart!"

The rifle butt cracked against his jaw. Jean's head snapped sideways, copper flooding his mouth. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard a voice.

"Wait."

The guards froze. Beyond them, Nile Dawk stood by a shattered window, his uniform damp with rain and sweat. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. Eyes fixed on Jean.

"What did you say?"

Jean spat blood, words thick. "Annie Leonhart. She's the Female Titan."

Marlo found his voice, still trembling in the guard's grip. "I saw her transform, Commander. Others saw it too. The Scouts—they weren't lying."

"How can you prove it?" His voice was rough, frayed at the edges.

Jean stepped forward, ignoring the guards shifting behind them, his voice tight and desperate. "Check her quarters, sir. There's signs of fighting. Just this morning we saw her packing everything to flee before the Scouts cornered her. She's escaped. They were right—they were chasing a spy."

Nile's jaw clenched so tightly the tendons stood out in his neck. For a long moment, he just stared at them, chest heaving beneath his cloak.

Outside, the shouts from the crowd rose and fell, hoarse voices slamming against the stone walls, demanding blood.

An aide stepped forward, visibly uncertain. His eyes flicked between Jean and Marlo then the Commander.

"Sir…" the aide said cautiously. "Your orders?"

The Commander didn't answer. His gaze drifted past them, out the shattered window, down to the scaffold.

He stayed like that for a beat. Two.

Then a breath. Slow. Controlled. Barely.

"Stop the execution," he said, voice hoarse. "Tell them to stand down. It's suspended until further notice."

The aide then saluted and rushed out.

Jean exhaled hard, only then realizing he'd been holding his breath. Beside him, Marlo sagged as though his bones had gone soft.

"Get me Erwin Smith," Nile ordered, the words clipped, low, thrumming with tension. "Bring him here. Now."

His knuckles whitened against the fractured stone of the windowsill, eyes locked on the noose.

Nile's boots echoed sharply against stone as he led the three shackled Scouts through the undercroft archives. Their chains clanked with each uneven step. His head throbbed—forty-seven dead. Titans inside the walls. The 'Hero of Trost' and of his own MPs a spy, traitors...

The world had collapsed in under a day.

"You wanted the cadet files," Nile muttered, voice brittle. "Here."

He yanked open the drawer with more force than needed. "104th Cadet Corps. That's every file we have of the recruits from Wall Maria. Including Leonhart."

Erwin stepped forward to take them. His chains rattled. Nile grabbed his wrist.

"You knew, didn't you?" The words scraped out. "About Leonhart."

A beat.

"Yes." Erwin didn't blink.

Nile's fist struck him across the jaw. The crack echoed like a rifle shot in the archive's stone chamber. Erwin staggered a half-step back, blood blooming at the corner of his mouth.

"That's for the forty-seven," Nile said, breathing hard. "You let this city become a battleground. You could've warned me."

Erwin wiped the blood with the back of his hand, then met Nile's eyes.

"Would you have believed me?"

Silence. Heavy, bitter silence.

Nile's hand fell away. He didn't answer.

Erwin took the files and began flipping through them, passing pages to Hange and the others.

"Most of these are incomplete—probably lost when Maria fell," Hange muttered. "But look—Leonhart. Braun. Hoover. All from the same border settlement. No surviving family. No background checks."

Levi's eyes narrowed. "Sons of bitches never give us a rest. We should move now—before they get the chance to run."

Nile's head snapped up. "You're assuming they haven't already. How do you know they're not halfway to the next wall by now?"

"I don't. But after the expedition failed, I started connecting the pieces. Wolf was isolated—yet the enemy still knew exactly where to strike. Someone else had passed along our plans. So I recalled the recruits to headquarters and they're being quietly monitored."

A beat. Nile's jaw tightened.

Erwin didn't flinch "Which means they're contained—for now. If Braun and Hoover are what we suspect…"

A knock. Urgent.

"Commander," called a soldier from beyond the door. "Report just came in—Leonhart and Wolf were seen heading southwest. Wall Rose."

Hange's eyes widened. "That's in the direction of headquarters…"

Nile froze. His mind raced.

Erwin's voice followed, quiet and resolute. "We can still stop this. Set a trap. But we have to act—now."

For a moment, Nile said nothing. His eyes drifted to the charcoal sketch pinned to the edge of his desk—a titan's face half-exposed in Wall Sina. Beside it: casualty reports, Kirstein's warehouse file. A stack of nightmares, growing by the hour.

Then—without a word—he stepped forward and unlocked Erwin's shackles. Then Hange's. Then Levi's.

"Don't make me regret this," he muttered, eyes lingering on Erwin.

He turned to the soldier by the door. "Get them their gear. Any MP who volunteers rides with them. Now."

The man saluted and ran.

"You're not coming?" Hange asked.

Nile shook his head. "Someone has to hold this together. Explain things to the Premier. Contain the press. The mob's still screaming for Jaeger's head—and I'm about to let him walk out the door."

The others began moving.

"Erwin," Nile said, voice rough, cracked at the edge.

Erwin paused at the threshold.

"Just stop them. Before whatever they unleash makes this look like a mercy."

Erwin nodded once, then shut the door behind them.

Nile stood alone, staring down at the sketch pinned to his desk—the face of a titan embedded in the wall, unmoving. Watching.

They had already seen three—exposed by the damage Leonhart and Wolf had left behind.

They'd been living with monsters. Not just outside the walls… but inside them, all along.

And the people still had no idea.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

God help us all.

---

Annie's titan form stumbled, steam venting from joints that can no longer hold. The rhythmic thunder of footfalls became erratic, then stopped. They were in farmland now, far enough from Stohess that the walls were just a smudge on the horizon.

The Female Titan dropped to one knee, then both. Steam billowed up in great clouds as the titan began to dissolve. Anja's grip loosened involuntarily - the flesh beneath her fingers losing substance, muscle fibers unraveling into vapor.

She slid down the evaporating shoulder, landing hard in mud. Her legs gave way, and she caught herself on her left hand the right useless clinging to her side.

Through the steam, she could barely catch a glimpse of her.

She emerged from the nape. Blonde hair plastered to her skull.

Anja's mind stopped.

The steam cleared in wisps, revealing Annie, her body detaching from the weakened flesh with ease, skin peeling away in places like silk. She descended the steaming corpse in one fluid motion.

Anja didn't move. Stayed in the mud, half-submerged, lungs stuck on the inhale.

Annie wouldn't look at her.

Burned sinew framed her face like remnants of a mask—red tendrils clung to her jaw, her cheeks, the sharp slope beneath her eyes. The shape of her titan still marked her, etched in raw muscle that hadn't fully receded.

"Annie…"

The name scraped out of her throat. Annie's hand twitched, half-reaching toward her, then froze in the air. Retreated.

Say something. Say anything.

"I… Please tell me what they said about you is wrong… Please, I know you didn't want to hurt anyone… Please."

Still, Annie wouldn't meet her eyes. Her face turned away, shoulders hunched.

"No… No. You didn't…"

The words came out warped, as if spoken underwater. This wasn't real. Couldn't be.

"Tell me why?!"

Her body moved before thought—left hand seizing Annie's collar. The right hand twitched uselessly, phantom fingers digging into air. The momentum knocked them both down, Anja landing on top, breath heaving, her fist shaking Annie violently.

"Why?!"

Each word tore its way out like broken glass.

"You betrayed us!"

Her fist connected with Annie's jaw—barely—but pain shot up her arm anyway. She didn't stop. Couldn't. Her body remembered something primal,rage, grief, abandonment.

But already the blows were faltering. Her strength going. Her body, broken.

Annie didn't fight back. Didn't even raise a hand. Just let the hits come silently.

"Fight back!" Anja screamed.

"I'm sorry." A single tear clung to Annie's cheek, trembling there before falling. Then another. Soon they streaked through the grime and burn scars, a quiet, uncontrolled surrender.

"I'm so sorry." Steam curled faintly from where her skin had begun to mend.

Anja's shouts collapsed into choking sobs. Her hand dropped against Annie's chest, fingers trembling.

"You don't get to do this," Anja whispered, voice raw. She grabbed Annie's face with her good hand and forced eye contact.

"Tell me at least you had a reason. Say something. Did I—was it all just…"

A lie?

She couldn't finish it. Couldn't form the shape of the words around what she'd lost.

Annie's reply came brittle, half-swallowed. "There's no good reason."

Worse than silence.

"I'm not from inside the walls," she said, and her voice gained strength by losing hope. "I came here with a mission. We… we had to break the walls."

A beat. No apology. Just the shape of history reasserting itself.

"I didn't know you when Shiganshina fell. I didn't think about the families, the lives crushed. I couldn't afford to. I just wanted to go home."

Shiganshina.

The name detonated in her mind like a flare. Her mother. Heinrik. The earth shaking. The light. The dust. The screams.

Annie had been there.

Her mind reeled—tried to construct some lie to shield itself—but the ground beneath it had already given way.

She was part of it.
She helped make that happen.

Her hand slipped from Annie's face. Not sharply—just weakened, lost. As if her body, on its own, needed space to process the blow.

Anja didn't feel her limbs anymore. Just the pressure behind her ribs, the slow inward collapse.

"You were there…" she said, but her lips barely moved.
"You did that."

Who was this?

Was she ever her? Was any of it real?

"I should've stayed away from you," Annie said, eyes fixed on the sky. "I let myself… I let myself care when I had no right."

Her voice was cracking now. Fraying.

"I didn't want this. Any of this. I just wanted it to end. But I couldn't…"

Anja wasn't hearing her anymore. Not really. Her mutilated hand hovered in her sightline.

When had that happened?

She couldn't remember. Couldn't even feel it properly. Only the ghost‑ache, the trembling in her core that spread outward.

"I'm sorry," Annie said, barely audible. "For lying. For letting you get hurt. For not keeping you safe from all this."

Anja was staring at the ground, but not seeing it.

"What have I done?" she murmured.

What have we…

In the corner of Anja's vision, barely visible through tears, Heinrik or it, she couldn't tell, sat on a broken fence. Watching.

You know don't you?

Mikasa's blade—cold, merciless. Armin's eyes, unreadable as he walked her into a trap. Eren's fury. Hange's disappointment.

Monster. Traitor. Murderer.

They were right.

They'd always been right.

"There's nothing left now…"

The words barely escaped her, a whisper pulled from the bottom of her heart. Her eye blurred with tears.

She collapsed into herself like wet cloth, limbs folding in as if her strings had been cut. Body shaking. Sobs tearing through her chest. Each one stabbed her broken ribs. Everything inside her was shrapnel.

She didn't hear Annie move—only felt it. A soft shift in the mud. Then a knee settling beside her. A hand hovered, uncertain. Then two arms—hesitant, unsteady—gently draped around her shoulders like a blanket being placed, not worn.

Anja flinched—just once. A full-body spasm. But it ended as quickly as it came. She didn't pull 't.

Her limbs remained limp, collapsed in the mud. Her brain registered only fragments,warmth. Familiarity. Hands she remembered from what felt like another life.

"I know," Annie whispered. "There's no explanation that makes this right. No reason that justifies any of it."

Then—slowly, carefully—her arms began to shift. Not squeezing, not clinging. Just moving around Anja's torso in increments. Like trying to lift a shattered doll without letting any pieces fall apart. She eased Anja's upper body from the mud, just enough to stop her from drowning in it, then let her settle against her chest.

Her hold tightened by degrees, not enough to restrain. Not even close.

"I never wanted you to get hurt," she said, voice fraying. "It's all my fault."

Some small, buried instinct in Anja tried to protest—No, you chose this, didn't you? But the words drowned before they surfaced.

"I'm here now," Annie said, almost silent. "You're not alone."

Anja didn't answer. Couldn't. But her body responded anyway—leaning into the hold, letting her weight sag into Annie's shoulder. Letting herself tremble. Letting the sobs return, quieter now.

What else was there?

"We'll figure this out," Annie said, so softly the wind almost stole it away. "Somehow. I promise."

For a time, there was nothing but the weakening rain. It lessened to a drizzle, then to a fine mist that settled on their skin like a shroud. The world had shrunk to this muddy patch of earth.

Anja's sobs had subsided, leaving only the hollow, shuddering breaths of their aftermath. Her mind, for the first time in days, felt terrifyingly quiet. It was silent. All those bad memories were distant echoes. There was only the cold seeping in from the mud below and the small patch of warmth where she was held.

It was Annie who stirred first, a slow shift of her weight. Not to pull away, but to look up at the sky. The clouds were breaking. Tears washing mud and blood from their skin, Annie's hands stayed steady—anchoring her to something that hadn't shattered yet.

---

Upstairs, Sasha sat at a table by the window, forehead pressed to the glass, watching clouds drift over the too-quiet courtyard. Beside her, a quiet game of chess between Reiner and Bertholdt played out—the soft clack of pieces marking time. Across the room, Ymir sprawled across two chairs while Christa perched beside her, murmuring something that made Ymir smirk. A few other recruits lingered nearby, talking in low voices or nodding off—but no one paid Sasha any mind.

A letter sat folded in her pocket.

She wasn't sure if she'd send it. Or if she'd go herself.

She'd already told Connie's family what happened. Months ago, when Trost was still smoke and rubble, she'd made the trip. Told them he died a hero. That it was quick. A mercy. She didn't mention the blood. How he...

She'd gone back a few times. They were close, just a ways south.
Close enough to be convenient. Too close to forget.

His little brother Martin had Connie's grin. His sister Sunny always asked when "Miss Sasha" would visit again. And every time, it scraped something raw.

Maybe she'd stop by again. Just check in.
But the thought of seeing their faces... it was like bracing for a wound.
They made her smile. And that smile made her want to cry.

She hadn't visited her own family. Not in years.

Her village wasn't far either—but it never felt close.

They remembered too much.
The weird hunter's daughter. The one who spoke funny. Who hoarded food during the famine and never said sorry.

She hadn't forgotten either. The flood of refugees after Maria fell. The storehouses running dry. The game in the forest vanishing like smoke.

People got desperate. Some stole traps. Others stole meat. A few just stared at her family's cabin like they were counting how long they'd last.

Hunger teaches you things.
To move quiet. To eat fast.
To eat whenever you can.
To hide food where no one else can smell it.

The ache of it never really left.
Neither did the way the others looked at her. Like she was wrong.

The day she left for the military, plenty made it clear she wasn't welcome to return.

"You planning to fog up that whole window?"

Sasha turned. Ymir was reclining in a lazy sprawl, legs hooked over the chair beside her, Christa still balanced close.

"Just thinkin'."

"Dangerous habit." Ymir stretched like a cat. "Speaking of dangerous, what do you think those two are whispering about?" She nodded toward the veterans near the door. "Henning's been making eyes at Lynne all week."

"Ymir!" Christa swatted her arm. "They're discussing patrol routes."

"Sure," Ymir said dryly, smirking. "Definitely patrol routes. That's why he keeps brushing her elbow."

Reiner looked up from the chessboard.

"Don't you think it's strange?"

Bertholdt glanced at him, concern flickering.

"What, Henning's hopeless crush?" Ymir asked. "She could stand there in uniform doing nothing and still turn heads."

"No, I mean…" Reiner's frown deepened. "We've been stuck here with nothing to do. No drills. No orders. But they're fully geared. Like they're waiting for something."

Bertholdt slid a piece across the board. "Maybe they're just on edge. After what happened in the expedition."

Reiner shook his head. "The Survey Corps doesn't do cautious. Not like this."

Ymir leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, you're right. It does feel off. The way they're watching us, the way no one says why…"

She paused, her eyes wide with mock seriousness.

"…They're probably afraid one of us is gonna turn into a titan and eat the rest."

She burst out laughing.

"—oof!" Christa elbowed her, giggling. "Someone's gonna take you seriously."

Reiner's jaw twitched. Bertholdt didn't look up from the board.

Christa turned to Reiner, trying to reset the tone. "Maybe they're giving us a break because we're new?"

Reiner didn't smile. "Before this, they had us training like our lives depended on it. Now nothing? Just sitting around? Doesn't feel like a break."

Christa's smile faltered. "Well… when you put it that way…but I…"

Sasha turned back to the window, only half-listening. Her family's land was just an hour's ride north. Her father would be checking trap lines about now. Her mother preserving vegetables for winter.

Connie's folks were probably tending the fields. Stockpiling for winter…

A low sound cut through her thoughts. Rhythmic. Heavy. Familiar in the worst way.

"Was that your stomach?" Ymir asked. "Because I swear, Sasha, we just—"

"Shh." Sasha pressed harder against the glass.

There it was again. Not thunder. Not her.

Footsteps.

Massive ones. Many.

Her hunter's instincts screamed before her mind caught up.

"Titans." The word barely made it past Sasha's lips.

Reiner turned toward her, puzzled. "What?"

"Titans!"

Sasha's voice cracked across the room like a whip. Everyone flinched.

A veteran leaning against the far wall looked up, frowning. "Hey, relax Braus. That's not funny—"

The door burst open, slamming back against the wall. Miche filled the frame, winded and grim. The stink of horse sweat clung to him—and something else beneath it. Fear.

"Multiple titans approaching from the south."

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then—

"Shit!"

"That's impossible—"

"How many?" asked the short-haired woman already moving across the room.

"Too many," Miche snapped. "Everyone outside. Mount up. Now!"

The woman didn't wait for acknowledgment—she was already pounding down the stairs. "I'll get Petra!"

Chairs scraped back. Boots hit stone. Ymir yanked Christa to her feet.

"Are you insane?" she barked. "We don't even have our gear!"

"No time," Miche shouted. "They'll be here in minutes."

Sasha's breath caught in her throat. "My family—they're just north of here. I need to warn them!"

But even as she said it, her mind jumped ahead. South.

Connie's village was south.

---

They spilled out into the courtyard. Horses were already being saddled, reins thrown loose as soldiers moved on instinct. Orders rang through the air.

Squad Leader Miche vaulted onto his horse. "Listen up!" he bellowed. "Once we're clear of the base, we split into four groups. Each group covers nearby settlements. Recruits pair with veterans. Warn the civilians send them toward Wall Sina. Do not engage the enemy!"

No one waited. The gate yawned open. Boots hit stirrups. In a rush of motion and muscle, they galloped out—tight formation, wheels kicking dust and disbelief into the air. Some glanced back only once, eyes wide, faces pale. The world had shifted.

As they rode, Miche shouted again—voice carrying above the thunder of hooves.

"If anyone knows the lay of the land—speak now!"

Sasha tugged hard on her reins and leaned forward. "Sir! I know the area well. But—" she hesitated, "Please, let me head south. Toward Ragako. I know people there. I have to make sure they're safe."

Miche gave a sharp nod. "Fine. But the villages in the titans' path come first. Once they're clear, you can go."

The woman with the close-cropped hair—pulled up alongside Miche, squinting toward the tree line. "They're moving faster than expected. If they angle east, they'll cut us off."

Miche narrowed his eyes. "Damn it."

He scanned the formation.

"We split now! Four groups—spread out. Don't bunch up, don't stop, remember my not engage! Just warn the towns and keep moving!"

Miche turned his horse toward the advancing titans.

"I'll buy you some time!"

"Sir!" someone called. "Going alone's suicide!"

Miche didn't look back. "I gave you an order. GO!"

They broke in all directions—hooves pounding against dirt as the soldiers split into separate groups, fanning out toward nearby villages.

Two riders pulled up alongside Sasha, falling into pace. Reiner on one side, Bertholdt on the other.

"South's where they're coming from, isn't it?" Reiner asked, voice level.

Sasha nodded once..

"Family?"

She shook her head. "Connie's. His family lives there."

Reiner's eyes scanned the treeline ahead. "Then we're going with you."

Bertholdt gave a small nod. "You can count on us."

Sasha rode harder, wind stinging her face, chest heavy with everything unsaid.

She'd get there. She had to.

Somewhere behind them, another group veered off toward the north.

"Is he gonna be alright?" a voice asked—one of the recruits near Nanaba.

Gelgar's answer came without pause. "That man's second only to Captain Levi. He's not dying today."

But Sasha saw the look exchanged between the veterans—tight, grim, wordless.

They meant what they said.
But they weren't sure.

As the thundering of hooves stretched out ahead, Sasha stole a glance toward the horizon.

Please, she prayed, let some of them make it. Let Connie's family have run. Let my father have seen them coming.

---

Miche's blades sang through titan flesh. Steam hissed around him as the second one fell, its carcass collapsing near the perimeter. He'd dismounted earlier, using the trees and the walls around HQ for height and leverage. It had worked—so far.

A few titans still lingered nearby—scattered, slow. One paced just beyond the clearing below, another pawed idly at the base of the watchtower. None had a line to reach him.

He drew a sharp breath, eyes sweeping the treeline.

That should be enough. Most of the groups would be in the clear by now.

Time to move. Regroup before nightfall.

Once the civilians were safe, the next task was clear.

Find the breach.

Movement.

His eyes snapped to it.

That titan again.

Seventeen meters. Fur-covered. Arms too long.

It lumbered between corpses without attacking—didn't feel like the others. Didn't move like them either.

The thing paused mid-stride. Head tilted. Watching.

Miche's grip tightened.

Just another abnormal. Big. Strange. He could avoid it. He just had to make it back.

He whistled sharply.

His horse turned at once, trotting toward him.

Miche was already calculating the route back when the Beast moved.

Fast. Too fast. The horse screamed as massive fingers closed around it like a child grabbing a toy. The titan turned towards him.

What—

He barely leapt aside before his mount was hurled like a cannonball. It clipped his leg mid-air—something snapped—and the rooftop vanished beneath him. He slammed into the ground, breath gone, pain knifing through his thigh. The world tilted. He was still reeling when shadow fell over him.

A small titan had closed the distance. Its hand clamped around his leg like a vise—then came the teeth. He screamed—pure panic, raw and useless—but just as suddenly, the pressure stopped.

"Wait."

The word rumbled from that beastly titan's throat. Deep. Articulate. Impossible.

He froze. Pain fogged his vision. Had he imagined it? A titan… speaking?

It smiled with too-human satisfaction.

The beast hunched before him, eyeing him with an uncanny curiousity.

The small titan's jaw clamped down again. Agony tore through his leg—

"You must not have heard me," the Beast said calmly. "I told you to wait."

Its hand closed around the offending titan's head—and crushed it like rotten fruit. Blood sprayed in a wide arc across the grass. The body collapsed backward as Miche dropped to the ground, his legs a mangled ruin. Red spilled over a patch of violet wildflowers, petals snapping under his weight.

He stared upward, dazed, into yellow eyes gleaming with uncanny focus.

"May I ask," the Beast said, its voice almost curious, "what is that weapon of yours?"

It gestured lazily toward Miche's waist.

"That thing that allows you to fly."

Miche tried to speak, but nothing came out—

The Beast tilted its head. "Perhaps you are too frightened to formulate a response?"

Its gaze shifted lower, toward the blades scattered on the grass. One of its long fingers traced the air above them.

"I noticed you also use swords."

It crouched slightly, it's fingers descending over him.

"Fascinating,"

Miche's breath caught as the Beast's hand hovered near his face. But it didn't strike. Instead, it grasped the metal of his gear, plucking it from him with a mechanical click.

"Suppose I'll just take it back with me."

It rose and began to walk away. The ground trembled under its retreating steps.

Miche's hand twitched.

He reached for his swords.

I have to stop it. I can't let that thing reach anyone else.

He let out a ragged scream—more instinct than strategy.

Behind him, the Beast paused. Without turning, it spoke again.

"Ah, right. You're permitted to move now."

The still titans responded instantly.

They surged.

Miche swung once—twice—cutting flesh, screaming as he did. But it was hopeless. One caught his arm. Another gripped his back. His blades slipped from his hands.

For a breathless moment, he thrashed.

Then the fear hit him—raw and absolute.

His voice cracked as he cried out, "Please—stop!"

Screams tore through the trees—then fell silent.

Blood soaked the ground, seeping into crushed wildflowers. The violet petals wilted, drowning in red.

---

Anja knelt beside a cluster of violet wildflowers. Some were strangely withered, their petals black at the edges, as if burned by invisible fire. She touched one gently with her left hand, watched it crumble between her fingers.

Across from her, the shadow of Heinrik stood half-veiled in the treeline—silent, motionless. He mimicked her gesture, crouching as if to touch the same dying bloom. She didn't acknowledge him.

"Anja?"

Annie's voice was soft, careful. Like she was afraid Anja might break again if pressed too hard.

"I'm coming."

Annie stood a few paces off. Despite the exhaustion, despite everything, they hadn't stopped moving. Now, they both wore their cloaks drawn close, hoods low. Both had removed their insignias.

"It's safe to move," Annie said. "Patrol just passed. I'm sure they won't circle back for at least an hour."

There was no fear in her tone. Just certainty—like she knew exactly how long they had.
Anja didn't ask.

They walked together, Annie deliberately matching Anja's slower pace. The silence between them wasn't empty—it was dense. Full of things neither knew how to say.

"We're making good time," Annie said quietly. "Won't be long before we reach the wall."

Anja gave a faint nod, eyes forward. Nothing in her posture invited more.

Annie hesitated, then asked, "Are you okay?"

Her gaze flicked to Anja's bandaged hand, guilt bleeding through her expression.

"Yeah." Anja tried for a smile. "Don't worry about it. Stopped bleeding hours ago."

They resumed walking, but the atmosphere had shifted. Lighter somehow.

"Annie?"

"Hmm?"

"What does the sea look like?"

Annie actually smiled—small but genuine. "Where did that come from?"

"I just... Well you said you come from outside… Armin used to talk about it all the time said it was somewhere out there. This huge body of water with no walls, no borders. It sounded like freedom."

Annie's expression softened further. "It's big. Bigger than you can imagine. Stretches past the horizon and keeps going."

Anja's voice was quiet, uncertain. "What color is it?"

"It depends." Annie seemed to consider. "Sometimes green like... like spring grass. Sometimes gray. Where I'm from, it's deep blue. So deep sometimes it looks black."

Anja's eye was distant, it felt hard to picture but... "Sounds beautiful."

"It is. Cold, though. Colder than you'd expect." Annie's voice warmed. "But the sand is warm. Gets between your toes. And the sound... waves just keep coming. Never stops. It's... It sounds peaceful."

"You miss it?"

"I... I haven't thought about it... But… Yeah, I think so."

They walked in companionable quiet for a moment before Anja spoke again, softer.

"I don't know if I should go with you. What if—"

"Hey." Annie stopped again, reaching out to touch Anja's shoulder carefully. "You're coming with me. That's final."

"But your people—"

"Let me worry about that. When we get there, just let me do the talking."
She offered a faint smile—steady, but her fingers tensed slightly at her side. "Trust me. It'll be fine."

Anja nodded, something loosening in her chest. "You've been trying to get back to your dad all this time, haven't you?"

Annie didn't answer, but her shoulders dipped—just slightly.

Anja's hand drifted to her throat before she even noticed. Fingers touched bare skin, and only then did she realize what she was reaching for.

"Your pendant," Annie said. "Where is it?"

Anja's fingertips lingered on her collarbone. "They took it. Said they needed to study it. Hange thought maybe it was connected to..." She gestured vaguely at herself. "Whatever's wrong with me."

Annie's jaw tightened, but she didn't slow her pace. "It was your brother's."

"Yeah." The word came out small. "Stupid, but I keep reaching for it. Like he's still…"

"It's not stupid." Annie's gaze dropped for a second as her fingers brushed the ring on her hand—simple, worn, clearly well-handled. "I do the same."

They kept walking, the silence no longer awkward but weighted with something unspoken.

Then Annie reached into her pack. "I almost forgot."

She pulled out a ring—silver-toned, worn at the edges, with a faint etching of two crossed keys nearly smoothed away.

"This... someone gave this to me in Stohess. Doctor Weiss. He said you'd need it. I think... maybe it was from your family." She hesitated. "I was going to send it to you, but… never got the chance."

Anja blinked. "My family? Who—?"

"I don't know. He just said you should have it." Annie took Anja's good hand and placed the ring gently in her palm. "Maybe he thought it'd help."

Anja turned it over. The metal felt old. Familiar, somehow. But there were no markings she could read. Just the faint trace of time.

"I don't have a chain," Annie said, rummaging in her pack. "Can I see it again for a second?"

Anja handed it back without a word. Annie found a leather cord, threaded the ring through it, then offered it to Anja.

"Here," she said simply.

Anja slipped it over her head, the ring resting just above her collarbone.

"It's not the same," Annie added. "But..."

The ring settled lightly against Anja's chest.

Anja's voice came soft. "Thank you."

"Don't." Annie didn't look away. Her eyes held Anja's, steady but heavy. "You can thank me once you're safe. Not for this."

Annie's fingers tightened around hers for just a moment. When she looked back, her eyes were bright.

"Come on," she said softly. "We should keep moving. The sea is still a long way out."

They walked on together, the ring warm against Anja's chest. For a few moments, she almost forgot they were fugitives. It felt like peace—fragile, borrowed, but real. Just two girls walking south, talking about the ocean, carrying small kindnesses into the growing dark.

Behind them, the withered flowers crumbled in the wind.

/

/

/

Note: Hey guys! Thank you for your patience. I know it's been a while but the story never left my mind. As always, I appreciate every reader still walking this road with Anja. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

 

[Fran Gark]

Chapter XXXIII: A Cage of Living Bars

---

The fields lay quiet beneath a pale gray sky. Wind moved through the grass, but nothing else stirred—no birds, no insects, no distant barking. Only hooves thudding soft in the dirt, tack creaking.

Petra kept her right hand steady on the reins and used her left forearm to brace the leather against the saddle horn. The strap bit against the bandaged stump. She forced her shoulders down, kept her posture straight. Her gear felt clumsy, only the grip on her right hip answered now, its trigger tension still unfamiliar.

Miche's orders had been plain: warn, guide, retreat. Don't engage unless you have to. Don't waste blades, don't waste gas. There was no resupply waiting, only what they carried and whatever they could scavenge from abandoned homes.

She found herself counting. One flare on her. Two on Lynne. Gelgar had extra rounds for the signal gun. Everyone still had canteens. Their horses were still under them.

For now.

They'd warned a few towns on their way south, spotted titans only from a distance—slow silhouettes on the plains, too far to hear. They hadn't been chased. Pure chance.

Every minute of this quiet made her wonder how many had already slipped inside Wall Rose.

"It's too damn quiet…" Gelgar muttered.

Sasha Braus rode point, posture rigid. The girl claimed she knew the back roads, but Petra saw the desperation in her shoulders. Braus had been steering them toward Ragako from the start, begging to check on the family of a dead recruit.

"Sasha," Petra called, voice scratching her dry throat. "How far?"

"Past the hill." Sasha didn't look back.

Soon they crested the low ridge and the village came into view.

Three houses at the northern edge had been crushed inward, roofs caved like eggshells. A wooden watchtower lay scattered across the road in pieces no larger than a child's fist. Massive circular depressions pockmarked the main street, filled with yesterday's rainwater that reflected the gray sky like dead eyes.

No bodies. No signs of struggle beyond the raw destruction itself.

Gelgar reined in beside her. "They came through here. Don't get sloppy."

"I don't see any from here…" Lynne's voice was tight.

"All right," Gelgar said, pitching his voice to carry. "Open up the formation. Don't rush in. Remember we're—"

Sasha snapped her reins and surged ahead.

"Braus!" Petra lifted her hand on instinct.

The girl didn't look back.

"I'm going after her." Gelgar kicked his horse into a gallop. Two recruits followed—Braun and Hoover.

Behind Petra, the recruits' mounts sidestepped nervously, mirroring riders who kept looking to Petra's back for the next command.

"Stay back in the field." Petra said, her voice dropping to a flat, command. "No one enters until we signal. If something comes out, you don't chase. You fire red and fall back. Understand?"

The recruit nodded too fast. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. I'm not losing anyone else today." She spurred her horse toward the village. "Lynne. With me."

---

The silence was worse inside. A cart stood half-turned in the lane, one wheel broken. Tools lay scattered in yards. An axe wedged into a chopping block, clean and unused.

Her stump brushed the empty space on her left hip. The harness sat wrong without the left grip—usable, but always pulling her off-center.

At a glance, the place looked deserted. A home near the square had been stepped through, roof collapsed, walls bowed outward. The massive footprints led deeper into the village, then scattered, as if the titans had wandered aimlessly before moving on.

No trampled bodies. No smashed carts with human remains.

It looked like the villagers had simply vanished—or been taken so completely there was nothing left.

Clack.

A sound from behind a house. The metallic clack snapped her focus. Her blade cleared its sheath before the echo died.

A low growl vibrated through the air.

She moved around the corner, blade lowered.

Just a dog.

It was tethered to a post near the smithy—thin and scruffy, thick gray coat dust-matted. Its snout was long and sharp with a pale white smear over one eye. It threw its weight against the rope, collar digging into its neck, choking itself in a frenzy to escape.

But it wasn't growling at her. It faced the back of the village, hackles raised, pulling away as if trying to break its own neck to get away from whatever lay deeper in the settlement.

"Shh... easy..." Petra murmured.

She approached carefully. The animal didn't even look at her. Its amber eyes were rolled back in terror, fixed on something unseen.

She cut the rope with a quick slice. The dog didn't linger. It tore past her, claws scrabbling at the dirt, and bolted.

Petra watched it go. The village behind her had gotten quieter.

She followed the direction it had been staring. Past empty yards. Past doors left swinging in the gentle wind. Past a child's toy cart overturned in the dust.

At the end of the lane sat a barn with a sagging roofline. A stable beside it.

She heard nervous stamping from the stable. Hooves clattering against wood.

Petra reached the stable door first. Eight horses shifted in their stalls, ears pinned back, eyes showing white. Their water troughs were almost dry.

"They left their horses?"

The voice behind her made her spin, blade coming up.

Lynne. Weapons drawn, moving quietly. "My side was clear. Place looks empty."

"I found livestock," Petra said. "Horses, eight of them."

Lynne counted the stalls under her breath. "Don't think this place would have much more."

The horses pressed to the far wall of each stall, trembling.

"Poor things," Lynne murmured. "They're terrified."

Lynne took a step toward the barn door, voice dropping to a whisper. "Think someone's still here?"

Petra moved past her. "If people ran, they'd take horses first. Cover me."

As they approached, a smell leaked through the cracks in the wood. It hit her like a physical blow—not the coppery smell of blood, but something sweeter, thicker. The smell of fruit left to rot in the sun, mixed with the sharp sting of something metallic.

Petra pushed the door open.

Carrion birds exploded from the rafters, wings hammering as they fled. For a heartbeat the inside looked normal—sacks, crates, tools—then her eyes adjusted.

"Ugh," Lynne muttered, waving her hand. "What's that stench?"

Light filtered through gaps in the roof, illuminating dust motes hanging stagnant in the air. The floor was a graveyard of small things.

Rats and sparrows lay in heaps near the blackened grain sacks.

Petra took a step closer, boot crunching on something brittle.

The carcasses were wrong.

A rat lay near her boot—stiff, rigor mortis long set, but bloated. Thick, black, viscous fluid leaked from its eyes and mouth, pooling in the dirt. Not blood. Like tar. It shimmered in the low light, oily and dead.

"In my town," Lynne's voice came through, muffled, "we put poison down around stores before winter." She nudged a rat with her boot. It rolled, too light. "I think they overdid it... by a lot."

"No flies. No maggots," Lynne said, fighting her gag reflex. "Should be crawling."

Petra stopped breathing. The scent dragged her backward.

Oluo's cry as Gunther fell. His blade cutting into Anja's shoulder.

"Traitor!"

The wet tearing of flesh. Anja pinning Oluo down. Her teeth finding his throat. And that black liquid... seeping from Anja's mouth into his wounds, mixing with the red, turning the forest floor into a nightmare.

The smell inside the barn wasn't just rot.

It was the smell of her.

The room spun. The black puddles seemed to widen, reaching for her boots.

She barely made it outside before she retched, bending double, heaving bile onto the dry earth.

"Petra!" Lynne's hand was on her shoulder.

"Don't touch the corpses!" Petra gasped, wiping her mouth, stumbling away from the barn. "Don't touch anything in there!"

Lynne stepped out behind her, face pale. "Relax, I wasn't planning on it. Come on, we need to clear-"

A scream tore through the village.

Sasha.

---

They found Sasha at the far edge of Ragako, kneeling in the dirt before a cottage that had been crushed inward. Braun crouched beside her. Hoover stood back, staring at the dirt between his boots.

A titan lay sprawled over the wreckage.

Small. Its limbs wasted—atrophied sticks of bone wrapped in pale skin. It lay on its back, pinned by the roof beams, arms splayed helplessly. Blonde hair matted to its scalp. Mouth hung open, saliva stringing from slack lips.

It was staring at the girl.

"What happened?" Petra's voice was a rasp. She kept her distance, blade ready.

"They're gone," Sasha choked out. "Connie's family... everyone..."

"Hey, we don't know that," Braun said, voice steady, gentle. But Petra saw his hand resting on Sasha's shoulder, fingers digging in too hard, knuckles white. "There are no bodies, Sasha. They probably left."

Petra circled the creature slowly. One beam ran through its thigh. No blood, just slick tissue and thin steam leaking off the wound.

"I don't think it can walk. How did it even get here?"

Gelgar's voice came from behind. "Could be an abnormal, or it got pinned after it fell in. Either way, don't get close."

Petra stared at the titan's belly, thin as stretched cloth. It didn't look like it could eat anything.

Its eyes glistened. Wet. Almost human.

It opened its mouth.

The sound was wet, gurgled, like rocks grinding together at the bottom of a well. The jaw worked uselessly, cartilage clicking, tongue lolling heavy and thick.

Guh... ah...

"Did it just..." Gelgar's hand locked onto his grip. The color vanished from his face. "Is it trying to talk?"

Nobody moved. The sound hung in the air — that wet, grinding, almost-shape of a word — and nobody moved.

"We're losing daylight," Petra said. Her voice came out wrong. She said it again. "We're losing daylight here. Let's move."

Gelgar shifted his weight. "Right... We're halfway to the wall. Let's move before it gets dark. Everyone mount up."

"Come on, Sasha. We're leaving." Petra grabbed Sasha's arm and hauled her up.

"But-" Sasha's eyes were wild. "If they're moving north... I have to check my village. My family is to the north."

"We can't. Mission goes first, Braus. We still have towns to warn, and we have to locate the breach. Another team is warning the northern sector."

"But my family-"

"We're soldiers!" Petra's voice snapped across the ruined street like a whip. She saw Braun flinch, a crack in his composure that vanished as quickly as it appeared. "It's our duty. Everyone behind us is counting on us to do our job. We don't get to stop. Not now."

Sasha wiped her face with the back of her hand. Nodded once. Didn't speak.

Braun helped her onto her horse. Hoover was already walking toward the mounts, shoulders tight.

Petra turned her horse.

The titan was still watching them. Mouth hung open in a silent scream.

A tear rolled down its cheek.


[/CENTER]

---

They'd been moving for more than a day now.

Anja knew because she'd watched two sunrises blur into existence through an eye that wouldn't quite focus anymore. The first from a roadside ditch where they'd pressed themselves flat against cold mud while a patrol passed. The second from inside a culvert that smelled like rust and death, Annie's hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her ragged breathing.

They'd tried to circle back toward Trost twice. Both times, Annie had pulled them away at the last moment, reading something in the patrol patterns that Anja's exhausted mind couldn't process.

Annie's hand dipped into her backpack. She pulled out a small notebook wrapped in cloth, edges softened from being opened too many times. She flipped it open without stopping, thumb sliding down tight lines of pencil—times, routes, changes marked in short, ugly shorthand.

Anja caught a glimpse of crude maps, a few names crossed out hard enough to tear the paper.

Annie snapped it shut the moment Anja looked too long.

"Too many," Annie whispered. "And they're not moving like search parties. They're moving like they're waiting for us to walk into a trap."

So they'd kept moving. South and west. Staying off roads. Sleeping in snatches that felt more like drowning than rest.

They kept their cloaks, the cloth plain green where insignias should have been. Annie was down to a hoodie over boots and trousers; Anja had stolen layers and no jacket. The harness sat under it all, stripped to quiet essentials: no blades, no loose metal, just gas and hooks to make it over the wall.

Her clothes still smelled like drainage ditch mud and something fouler, something chemical that made Anja's stomach turn when the wind shifted wrong. Her boots squelched with every step, leather softening and splitting at the seams.

Annie wasn't looking any better. Shadows under her eyes dark enough to be bruises. Hair matted with sweat and dirt. But she moved with the same efficiency she always had, scanning treelines, counting minutes between patrols with a precision that Anja found both comforting and terrifying.

Had she done this before, run like this?

The thought came and she walked through it. Later. She could think about what that meant later.

Right now, she just had to keep moving forward.

The hills leveled out near a treeline, revealing rooftops below. Faded planks. Small fences. A tilted well near the center. No smoke. No movement.

Annie crouched beside her behind a low ridge, scanning through the long grass. "No soldiers. No one on watch."

Anja tried to focus on the village, but the edges of her vision kept swimming. The horizon bowed. She blinked, and the treeline snapped back into rigid, violent focus.

"Through the wheat," Annie said. "Low. Let the stalks hide you."

Anja nodded. Started to stand.

The ground swerved sideways.

Annie's hand caught her elbow, steadying her. "Easy."

"I'm fine."

Annie's grip tightened. "When's the last time you slept?"

"I'm fine," she repeated.

Annie's gaze flicked from Anja's trembling knees to the sweat beading at her hairline, lingering on the dirty bandage over her missing eye.

"Come on," Annie said finally. "If you go down, I'll drag you. Don't make me."

They moved down the slope, keeping to the wheat rows. Left. Right. Left. She counted the boot-falls, locking out the burn in her lungs

The wheat changed as they pushed through it. First yellowed, then gray, then brittle and brown underfoot. Near the village edge, entire rows had withered—stalks curled inward, blackened at the base in uneven patches that spread like rot.

Anja brushed one of the dead stalks. It crumbled between her fingers, leaving a faint slickness on her fingertips, like sap gone bad.

"Blight?" she whispered.

Annie spared a quick glance at the dead crops. "Keep moving."

---

The village streets told a clearer story. Doors stood wide open, creaking softly in the wind. Deep wheel-ruts marked the road where carts had been loaded and driven away in haste. The ruts weren't random—two parallel grooves, deep and straight, as if the carts had lined up and rolled out one after another.

And there were tracks beside them: many footprints, packed close, mostly in the same direction.

No signs of violence.

Just absence.

"Everyone's gone," Annie said quietly. "Not long ago."

"You think they ran because of us?" Anja's voice was a dry rasp that barely carried over the wind.

"No." Annie scanned the empty windows, the open doors. "They would have left someone behind. A watch. Something." She paused. "This is something else." Annie nodded toward the wheel ruts. "Those carts didn't flee. They left in a line."

They moved through the square, checking corners. The well stood untouched, bucket secured. A market stall had been stripped, only spoiled vegetables remained, their smell cloying in the still air.

No insects. That's what was missing. No flies on the rotting food. No bees in the wildflowers growing through cracks in the cobblestones.

Just silence and a faint smell of decay.

They found a larger house at the edge of the square—two stories, shutters painted blue, a carved lintel over the door that suggested wealth or at least comfort. The door stood ajar.

Annie pushed it open slowly, listening. She raised a hand to her lips, then slipped inside.

Anja followed.

Dust hung in shafts of afternoon light. A table set for a meal that never came. The hearth cold, though ashes still filled it. Whoever lived here had left in a hurry, but not in panic—the chairs were pushed in neatly, dishes stacked beside the sink.

Annie moved to the shelves, checking jars, testing weight. Always practical.

Anja stood in the middle of the room. Her legs trembled faintly. She locked her knees to hide it, teeth grinding.

"Sit down," Annie said without looking.

"I'm fine."

"You're shaking." Annie turned, holding a jar of something pickled. "Sit."

Anja found a chair. The chair groaned. Her locked joints gave way the second her weight hit the wood.

Annie set a hard roll on the table. "Eat. Try to rest."

Heinrik's voice slid in close, amused.

Back to your old habits. Slip through a door, take what isn't yours, run before the bill comes due.

The bread was stale, dense as a stone. Anja bit into it anyway. Her stomach cramped around it, suddenly aware of how empty it had been. She chewed slowly, forcing herself not to wolf it down, while Annie packed supplies into a canvas bag—grain, dried vegetables, salt.

Anja watched her work. Despite the tiredness in her face, there was no wasted movement.

How long have you been prepared for this?

The question sat heavy in her throat, but she didn't ask.

"Let me see your hand."

Anja looked down at her right hand. The stumps where three fingers used to be, wrapped in cloth that hadn't been changed in... she couldn't remember how long.

Annie crossed to her, crouched, took the hand gently between both of hers. Started unwrapping the bandage.

The cloth stuck to the wounds. Anja hissed as Annie peeled it away carefully, revealing—

Smooth skin.

No scab. No redness. Just… sealed over, pink and smooth, like weeks had passed.

Annie's hands went very still.

She stared at the stumps for a long moment. Then, slowly, she traced the edge of one stump with her thumb. Testing. Checking for inflammation.

Nothing.

"It's only been two days."

Annie's voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it Anja hadn't heard before. Not quite fear. Something sharper.

"You can't let anyone see that." It wasn't a warning—it was an order, clipped and immediate.

Her eyes flicked to Anja's face, then away. "If my people notice it, they won't kill you."

A beat.

"They'll cage you."

Annie swallowed, jaw tight. "And if they decide you're not worth keeping—" A pause, controlled. "Let me handle it. But you need to give them something. Anything. Don't give them a reason to think you're useless."

"I'll keep it wrapped. No one has to see it." Anja pulled her hand back, curling the remaining fingers into her palm. "I heal fast, you know that. And… I won't give them a reason."

"Not like this." Annie's eyes met hers, and there was something in them Anja couldn't name. Fear, maybe. Or recognition. "Anja, this isn't—"

"It doesn't matter." Anja stood abruptly, chair scraping. "I'm fine. We should get a move on before—"

"What did they do to you?"

The question hung in the air between them.

Annie hadn't moved from her crouch. She looked up at Anja with an expression that made something crack in Anja's chest, like she was looking at something broken and trying to figure out if it could be fixed.

"What did they do?" Annie asked again, quieter.

Anja turned away. Focused on the cold hearth, the scattered ash, anything but Annie's eyes.

In the corner of the room, Heinrik stood watching. Closer than usual. Close enough that she could see the individual threads in his uniform, the stubble on his jaw he'd never quite managed to shave smooth.

Look at me, it whispered.

"They did what they had to," Anja said, voice flat. Hollow.

"Anja—"

"They had to make sure I wouldn't hurt anyone else." The words came faster now, tumbling out before she could stop them. "And they were right. Things went wrong anyway. So whatever they did wasn't enough, was it?"

Silence.

Annie stood slowly, following Anja's gaze. She looked to the corner, saw nothing.

She set another roll on the table. A jar of pickled vegetables. "Have some more. You need it."

Anja took the food. Bit into the bread without tasting it. Felt Heinrik's gaze like a hand on the back of her neck, patient and unrelenting.

She can't help you, he whispered. But I can. You don't belong with them.

She didn't look. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The air in the room thickened, pressing against the back of her skull until her teeth ached.

---

The town's stable was empty. Gates open, hay scattered across the floor. No horses.

"We keep moving, then," Annie said.

They followed the road south for speed, keeping to the treeline. The clouds had thickened, turning the light gray and flat. Anja focused on the rhythm of walking—left, right, left, right—and tried not to think about how much farther they had to go.

"What's it like?" she asked after a while.

Annie glanced at her. "What?"

"Your home. Where you grew up."

For a long moment, Annie didn't answer. Just kept walking.

"Growing up, there wasn't much to see," she said finally. "Lots of walls."

"Like here?"

"No. Nothing like here." Annie's voice was distant, like she was remembering something she'd tried to forget. "Much shorter. But everywhere. Around the streets. Around the buildings. Around us." She hesitated, like she'd already said too much.

"You learn the sound of gates when they open." she added. "Chains. Metal on metal. The kind of noise that means you're allowed to breathe again."

"When you said there were no titans where you're from…" Anja kept her voice low. "I didn't imagine it would be like that. Why lock yourselves up if you could live free?"

"In a way..." Annie's jaw tightened. "They're just scared of different monsters."

Anja absorbed that, tried to picture it—a place of walls within walls, fear layered on fear.

"Did you get to leave often?"

"Only when they needed us for something." The flatness in Annie's voice didn't invite a response.

"Then we were useful. Then they opened the gates. But it wasn't all bad."

After a beat, she added, almost grudging: "They sold sweet bread on the street. Warm. Real sugar."

A short, raspy exhale escaped Anja's throat. A smile threatened the corner of her mouth, fracturing the tension.

Annie's shoulders loosened by a fraction.

They walked without speaking for a while. The road curved around a hill, and the valley opened below them—fields stretching toward the gray line of Wall Rose in the distance.

Annie stopped.

Anja nearly walked into her. "What—"

"Don't move."

Anja followed Annie's gaze.

Across the valley. Near the horizon.

Shapes against the sky. Tall. Moving.

Titans.

Anja's breath caught. Her mind stuttered, trying to process what she was seeing.

Inside Wall Rose?

"That's not possible," she whispered.

"I'm seeing it too."

Anja counted them. Five. Six. More cresting the far ridge. And they weren't wandering aimlessly. They moved in a line, following each other like soldiers marching toward a destination.

But they weren't chasing anyone. No fleeing figures ahead of them. Just movement, coordinated, purposeful.

"They're just... walking?" Anja said slowly.

Annie's jaw was clenched so tight Anja could see the muscle jumping.

Then Anja saw it.

Among the distant shapes was a different titan—low to the ground, moving on four legs. It kept pace with the others, and something rode its back, a frame carrying cargo she couldn't make out from this distance.

"Look at that one." She squinted. "It's… carrying something."

"That's—"

Annie stopped. Her grip tightened on Anja's arm. "Move."

"Annie? What's going on?"

"Before they see us." Annie pulled her toward the trees.

"They can't see me. You know that."

"But they can see me." Annie's voice had gone flat, urgent. "And whoever's directing them isn't blind the way they are. Move."

They ran.

Anja stumbled after her, dragging air into burning lungs. The treeline swallowed them and they kept going, through brush, over roots, around boulders, until the village was far behind and the titans were just shapes on the horizon.

Annie finally slowed near a creek bed. Checked behind them. Listened.

Nothing followed.

Anja leaned against a tree, chest heaving. Her hands shook. The bread she'd eaten sat like lead in her stomach.

"The wall's close," Annie said, still scanning the treeline. "We might make it there before dark."

Tired. So tired.

Don't you want to go home?

The voice wore Heinrik's shape, but it wasn't him. The disguise was thin, wrong at the edges, like a familiar face spoken with someone else's mouth.

Do you trust her? Really trust her? After what she has done to us. To you?

Anja opened her eye. Pushed off the tree.

Annie's brow pinched. Her hand hovered an inch from Anja's shoulder before dropping.

"I'm okay," Anja said.

Annie didn't look convinced. But she nodded and turned south again.

Anja followed Annie through the trees.

You will only get her killed just like you get everyone killed.

The voice was getting harder to ignore.

But Anja kept walking.

Because the alternative was worse.

And Annie was here. Real. Breathing. Matching her pace.

The voice kept at her anyway, needling at every step, looking for a place to sink its teeth.

At least she wasn't alone.

Yet, it whispered.

Anja didn't answer.

But she felt Heinrik walking beside her, just out of sight.

​

---

The wall's shadow stretched across the fields like a stain that swallowed what light was left.

Petra rode as it crept over the grass, consuming the road inch by inch as the sun slid down behind Wall Rose. No smoke. No dust. Just the wall, enormous and indifferent, and the same quiet that had been riding her nerves since morning.

They'd lost numbers as the day wore on. Some recruits had been sent back with messages—too green, too shaken, not worth dying in the dark. Barely a handful volunteered to keep going, refusing to turn around when the wall was this close and the breach still hadn't been found.

Now it was a thin column. Petra. Gelgar. Lynne. And the recruits who still had enough nerve to keep their reins steady.

Sasha was still with them, riding like the horse could outrun what she'd seen. Petra let her. Hope kept people upright longer than orders ever did.

Petra kept looking for the obvious: collapsed stone, rubble spilling outward. Anything that made sense of the panic and the patrols and the empty towns.

There was nothing.

No damage along the wall line. No signs of a titan pushing through. Just the same high face of stone and the narrow strip of ground beneath it, untouched.

Gelgar rode up alongside her. His jaw worked once, like he was grinding down a thought. "If there's a hole, it's not in this sector."

Petra didn't let the question hang. "There has to be. Or we find what everyone missed."

Her stump throbbed under the bandage. The strap on the saddle bit. She shifted her weight and forced her shoulders down, forced the same posture she'd worn under Levi's eyes. Stand straight. Don't show it. If you sag, they sag.

Night crept in fast once the sun dipped. The air cooled. The fields turned the color of ash.

"At least they don't move at night," Gelgar said. It was meant as comfort.

Petra didn't believe in comfort anymore.

They rode the base of the wall until the road curved and the terrain broke into low hills. The wall's shadow lifted off them for a moment, and the last light showed a cluster of figures ahead—horses, cloaks, someone raising a hand in signal.

"Nanaba," Gelgar said, relief sharp enough to sound like anger. He leaned forward and kicked his horse into a faster trot.

As they closed the distance, Petra recognized her stance before she saw the face—Nanaba, sitting her horse like she'd been born in a saddle, eyes scanning the treeline as if the dark might leap.

Nanaba's gaze flicked over Petra's group, counting. It paused at Sasha, at Braun and Hoover, at Petra's bandage. "Everyone okay?"

Hennig rode up from Nanaba's flank, shooting a hand up in greeting. "Good to see everyone's still kicking."

Behind him, a freckled girl with sharp eyes swung down from her horse with a grunt, rolling her shoulder like she'd slept wrong.

"Ymir?" one of the recruits—Braun—blurted, disbelief cutting through the fatigue.

"Miss me?" she shot back, and it almost sounded like normal.

Another voice, quieter. "Where's Christa?"

Nanaba's mouth tightened. "Not here. She's riding to Sina with our report."

Petra nodded once. "You find anything on your end?"

"We passed through a village that was destroyed by titans. We've been riding the wall for hours. No breach."

Nanaba kept her eyes forward. "We came up to the wall north of here. Met a Garrison patrol riding down from Klorva. They'd already inspected their stretch—nothing."

A brief pause.

"They turned back to double-check. We continued south along the wall."

Her expression didn't change. "Same result."

"Then where the hell are they coming from?" Lynne's voice cracked on the final word, her grip strangling the reins.

The freckled girl, Ymir, was watching her, eyes fixed on her bandaged stump. Petra ignored it.

Nanaba looked past them at the wall, then toward the hills. "No idea, but we won't find anything in the dark either. We passed an old tower not far from here. Some castle ruins." She nodded toward the slope.

Gelgar hesitated. "I guess we could hole up there for the night."

"It's for the best," Nanaba confirmed. "We wait out the night. Regroup. Move at first light—maybe reinforcements will arrive by then. The courier I sent to Ehrmich should be there by now."

Petra looked at the hills. The outline of something jagged stood against the dim sky now lit by a pale moon—made of stone, broken, but it would be enough to catch breath.

Petra spurred her horse toward the slope. "Then what are we waiting for?"

Nanaba's eyes held hers for a beat. Then she nodded once. Approval, or simply recognition of necessity.

They turned their horses toward the hill.

The wall loomed behind them.

​

---

Ruins rose from the hillside like broken teeth.

Anja spotted them first—stone walls silhouetted against the darkening sky, a tower that had somehow stayed standing while everything around it crumbled.

"We could rest there," she said, voice rough.

Annie glanced at the ruins. Her eyes traced the tower. "No. Too open. If anyone's operating in this area, that's the first place they'd post a lookout. Or already have."

"But we've been walking for—"

"The wall's close." Annie kept moving, angle set toward the darker line of trees. "The canopy will hide us. We rest in cover, tomorrow we'll climb before the sun comes up."

Anja looked at the tower again. It looked solid enough. Safe. A place to stop.

But Annie didn't slow.

She sighed—too tired to argue.

She's brought us this far…

She followed Annie into the forest.

---

The forest swallowed them whole. The canopy locked together overhead, choking out the moonlight entirely and trapping the damp cold against the earth. It was pitch black, forcing them to navigate by touch and memory until the trees broke, revealing a small, natural clearing illuminated by a single shaft of pale moonlight.

A faint click—stone on stone—somewhere behind them.

Anja turned her head.

Nothing. Just trunks. Just shadow.

Annie didn't react. Either she hadn't heard it, or she had and decided it didn't matter.

They pushed deeper until the ground dipped and fallen logs formed a low, natural barrier. Annie stopped there, finally, and dropped into a crouch like a switch had been flipped.

"Here," she said. "We rest for a few hours. Then we move."

Anja hit the dirt against one of the logs, lacking the strength to even ease herself down. She watched Annie gather dry moss for padding, arrange their meager supplies.

Anja's thumb found the ring at her chest without thinking. She turned it once. Crossed keys, cold against her skin.

Annie settled across from her, back against a tree, face half shadowed. "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

"You need to rest too."

"I will. After you."

Anja closed her eye. The forest floor vanished, instantly replaced by a frictionless, heavy dark.

Almost home, Heinrik whispered. Almost there.

She didn't know what home he meant anymore.

---

The vibration through the dirt woke her.

The forest was no longer quiet. A low, massive shifting of weight echoed from the dark perimeter. Wood groaned under pressure, and the damp earth compressed with synchronized thuds.

Across from her, Annie was already alert.

Anja barely breathed.

"Annie?"

Annie lifted two fingers then pressed them to her own lips.

Quiet.

Anja swallowed. Her throat felt too loud.

She followed Annie's stare. The clearing had shrunk.

At first, she saw nothing. Just tree trunks. Just darkness.

Then the massive shapes peeled away from the bark and stepped out of the shadows, breaking into the edge of the moonlight.

Titans.

They stood between the trees like statues. Five. Six. More, forming a tight ring around the clearing.

Watching. Waiting.

Anja's hand snapped to her hip. Her fingers dug into the empty sheath, grasping at air.

Maybe, if we are fast enough, we could—

Annie's hand snapped out and caught her wrist.

Don't.

Annie mouthed the word. But her grip said it for her—hard and urgent, like she was holding her down against the edge of a cliff.

The titans had stopped moving. No heads turning. No mouths opening. No sudden wet breath.

Just stillness.

This is wrong. What are they waiting for?

Anja's mind tried to assemble logic out of it, failed, tried again.

And then she understood.

They were surrounded. Inside a cage of living bars.

She brought you here, the voice whispered. She knew.

Anja's lips moved around air. What do we do?

But Annie didn't answer.

Her eyes weren't on the titans. They were fixed on something beyond them. Something moving through the trees with unhurried steps.

Not a titan.

A man emerged from the shadows like he belonged there—tall, lean, moonlight catching the circular glass of his spectacles. Blonde hair. A neat beard. Mid-twenties, maybe. Hands buried in the pockets of his coat.

The titans didn't even spare him a glance. He moved past them like he'd just walked past a room full of furniture.

He stopped at the edge of the clearing. A smile crossed his lips.

"Annie," he said, voice warm and familiar, like greeting an old friend. "It's been a while."

Annie's breath hitched. The blood drained from her face, leaving her features rigid, her eyes locked on the man like an animal caught in a snare.

Annie's hand was still on Anja's wrist, grip so tight it hurt.

Annie's lips moved. The sound came out broken, strangled—like something being forced through a closing throat.

"Zeke."

"Look at you," the man said, adjusting his glasses. "It's been exactly five years. You've had a rough time of it, haven't you?"

His gaze slid to Anja—curious, measuring her briefly—then back to Annie.

"Made a new friend? How uncharacteristic of you."

Anja tried to pull away, but Annie held fast.

"Don't," Annie breathed. It was barely sound. "Don't run."

The next word scraped out of her like it hurt.

"Please."

Anja stopped pulling. Annie rarely said please. Had never begged.

Zeke tilted his head. He looked them over with the mild curiosity of a man inspecting livestock.

He took a step closer.

Annie didn't reach for her gear. Her posture slumped, the tension draining entirely out of her shoulders.

"You look exhausted, Annie." Zeke said, almost conversational.

"Come on. We have a lot to discuss, and I'd rather do it somewhere more comfortable than a forest floor."

He extended his hand toward Annie.

His smile didn't change.

"It's time to come home."



/

/

/



Note: Hey! It's been a while. Life pulled me into other things for a bit but I haven't abandoned the story. Thanks for sticking around and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! More is coming.

 

[Fran Gark]

Chapter XXXIV: Dead Weight

---

Christa rode with the reins loose in one hand, Nanaba's sealed report tucked into the saddlebag where it pressed against her thigh with every stride. She kept her eyes forward, tried not to think.

But the road was quiet, and quiet was where the thinking lived.

The girl was eight at most—dirty-blonde hair, blue eyes gone dry—slumped against the far wall with both hands locked around an axe handle. Her neck was a bloody ruin. Her mother was spread across the floor between her and the door, and the girl's dress was soaked through.

They'd been too late. The titan had already moved on, and the girl had just sat there slowly bleeding out as it ate her mother, waiting for someone to help. No one had.

She knelt and closed the girl's eyes. The skin still warm.

Ymir pulled her out. Hands on her shoulders, turning her toward the door.

All she could remember was her words, before she was sent away.

Move. Don't stop. Don't turn this into an excuse to die.

So she kept riding. And the girl's face stayed lodged in her gut.

She almost didn't see the horse.

It stood off the road in the tall grass, saddled and riderless, reins trailing. Its flank was streaked with blood. The saddle had shifted, girth half-loosened.

Past the horse, a man lay in the road. Long dark coat fanning out behind him in the mud, as he crawled, fingers gouging trenches in the wet earth. One hand was clamped to his side, and between his fingers she could see it — a crescent-shaped tear through the coat and the flesh beneath. Ragged. Deep. Teeth marks.

Don't stop.

She pulled back on the reins. Her horse planted its hooves and skidded, and she was out of the saddle before the animal settled. She dropped to her knees beside him, pulling the medic pouch from the saddlebag by touch.

"Don't move. I can help."

The man's eyes rolled toward her. White-rimmed. Losing focus. Blood filled his mouth. He grabbed her wrist — hard, desperate — and tried to force a word past the gurgling in his throat.

"Wai—"

A shot like thunder came from behind her.

The grip on her wrist went dead. His hand dropped into the mud, and the effort left his face all at once.

Her hands stayed where they were — pressed to a wound that didn't matter anymore. Her ears ringing.

She looked up.

A tall man stood three paces away, lowering a pistol that trailed a thin ribbon of smoke. Wide-brimmed hat pulled low, long coat crusted stiff with gore that wasn't his. Behind him, three riders sat their horses on the road — battered, pale, watching the southern horizon like something was still behind them.

"Can't haul dead weight." He didn't look at her. He stepped over the body and crouched, checking the dead man's coat pockets. Took something small — a folded paper — and straightened.

"Titan got his liver, sweetheart. He was dead the minute we hit the road. I just saved him the wait."

He turned toward his horse, already done with her.

"Scram, kid. Road's not—"

He stopped.

He'd stooped to pick up her medic pouch from the grass, but his hand stayed in the air. His grey eyes moved over her face, and the idle amusement dropped out of them.

He lowered his hand.

"Huh." The grin that crossed his face had nothing warm in it. "Now that's funny."

The farmhouse. Lantern light and frost on the grass and the men who had come in the dark. Her mother's hand shoving her away — not to protect her, just to put distance between them so the men wouldn't think they were related. The blade drawn quick across her mother's throat. The spray that hit her face while she stood with her arms at her sides and listened to the choked gurgles.

And the tall man in the hat who had looked down at her exactly the way this one was looking at her now.

She lunged for her stirrup.

He was faster. He dropped from his idle stance into motion so fluid it barely registered as movement, and his hand locked around her upper arm like a shackle.

He wrenched her away from the horse. Her teeth cracked together.

"Let go—"

She clawed at his glove, drove her knee toward his thigh. He absorbed it without shifting his weight.

"Rod Reiss's little accident." His voice was low. His eyes went to one of his riders. "Spent two days tracking the freak through the mud and she slips me in a titan stampede. And what do I trip over instead?"

He looked down at her.

Her legs had stopped working. Rod Reiss. He had told her to forget that name, to leave behind hers. Told her to live quietly, under a different one.

"My father?"

The man in the hat clicked his tongue. "Bad luck, runt."

He hauled her off her feet and threw her face-down across the front of his saddle. The horn drove into her stomach. Before she could draw breath, rope cinched around her wrists and bit into the leather, lashing her to the saddle. A rag followed — wadded and shoved between her teeth, tied at the back of her skull.

He mounted up behind her.

"Move out!"

He kicked the horse into a gallop.

Historia twisted her neck, cheek grinding against the wet leather. The road unwound behind her. She could see the dead man shrinking in the mud, and beyond him her own horse standing riderless in the grass — and somewhere on that horse, growing smaller with every stride, Nanaba's report. The sealed orders. The message that was supposed to reach Ehrmich and bring reinforcements to the people counting on her.

I'm sorry, Ymir.

She'd stopped anyway—because Christa Lenz couldn't ride past a man dying in the road.

---

The wind found every crack in the castle's old walls and made itself at home.

Ymir stood by the gap where a window had been, arms crossed, staring out at the trees and the wall's outline.

She'd told her not to go. The road's long. Send someone else.

But Christa had stepped forward before anyone asked. Of course she had, just like when she joined the Scouts. Hand up, voice steady, already volunteering for the ride to Ehrmich like it was a privilege.

Nanaba had waved it through. She'll be fine, the road east was clear when we came through. Barely saw a titan between here and Dauper.

Which should have been a comfort. Wasn't.

Behind her, the lower keep had settled into something that almost passed for rest. Petra had posted Lynne on watch, and the recruits had spread across the stone floor around a fire that Hennig had coaxed out of broken furniture and dry moss. The smoke collected against the ceiling and made the air taste like a chimney.

Nanaba sat against the far wall, sharpening a blade with slow, methodical strokes.

Gelgar came down from the upper stair with a crate balanced on his shoulder. He dropped it near the fire with a thud that made two recruits flinch.

"Found some supplies. The bandits holed up here probably left everything behind when they saw titans. There's blankets, candles, some food."

Gelgar crouched, pried the lid, and pulled out a dark bottle. He held it up to the firelight, squinting. "Can't read this damn label."

He popped the cork and sniffed. His eyebrows went up. "That's alcohol."

"Then put it down," Petra said from across the fire. "We're on watch."

"I'll save it for later." Gelgar set the bottle aside, close enough to reach.

Hennig leaned over. "Think it's from Sina? Never seen that label."

"How should I know? Stuff gets moved around."

Nanaba's blade slowed. "Bandits don't abandon a place like this unless titans are close... " The steel resumed its quiet scrape. "Strange, though. We didn't see any on the ride here."

"Maybe they moved through already," Hennig said. "Headed deeper in."

"Or they're concentrated somewhere else," Gelgar said. "Some sector we haven't reached, here's hoping the bastards leave us a good night's sleep at least."

Petra said nothing. Her hand rested on her knee, fingers still.

Sasha sat near the edge of the firelight, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She hadn't eaten. Reiner sat beside her — close but not touching. He'd draped a blanket across her shoulders from the supplies.

"Try to get some rest," Reiner said. "Even an hour."

Sasha didn't respond. Her eyes were on the fire.

"That titan in Ragako," she said quietly. "The one that was stuck."

"What about it?"

"It looked at me. When we were leaving. I think… It looked right at me and it was crying. It was trying to talk too."

Hennig stopped fussing with the fire. Nanaba's blade went still for half a stroke before it started again.

Petra's hand had moved to her blade grip. She didn't speak.

"Titans don't cry," Reiner said. His voice was steady. Gentle. "And they don't talk either. You were exhausted, Sasha. The mind fills in what it wants to see."

"I know what I saw."

"I believe you saw something." He put his hand on her shoulder. "But you'd been riding for hours without food, looking for people you kne—" A pause, barely there. "— know. The brain does strange things under that kind of stress."

"Really?" Ymir pushed off the wall. She couldn't take it — the silence, the firelight, the pretense that any of this was normal. "If titans cry, Sasha, what—do they laugh too? Have birthdays? Maybe try asking the next one you find how its day's been."

Sasha flinched. Reiner's eyes snapped to her.
"Ymir." His voice was even. "Lay off."

"Oh, give me a break." Ymir shot back. "Think sitting there talking her down like that fixes anything?"

"Enough," Petra's voice was sharp.

"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, we're sitting in a pile of rocks in the middle of titan country, and everyone's acting like if we're quiet enough they won't find us." She spread her arms. "We rode the wall all day and found nothing. Nanaba just said it herself — we didn't see a single titan on the way here. So, where are they coming from? Raining out of the sky?"

"I said enough." Petra didn't raise her voice, but something in her tone carried the weight of rank. "Nobody here has forgotten where we are. Running blind in the dark gets people killed. The plan doesn't change."

Ymir held her stare for a beat.

Then she looked away. Clicked her tongue.

"Sure. Rest in the haunted castle while the world burns. Inspiring."

Reiner watched her a moment, expression flat. Then he sat beside Sasha again.

"Ignore her," he said quietly. "She runs her mouth when she's nervous. "

That landed wrong because it was true.

She turned her back on the fire. Standing still felt like agreeing to wait, and waiting felt like giving up.

"I think I saw some rooms downstairs worth checking," she said, already moving toward the stairwell. "If there were supplies up here, might be more below."

"Take a light," Nanaba said without looking up.

Ymir picked up a candle from a crate and held the wick to the nearest flame until it caught. The small light barely cut the dark of the stairwell.

She descended, and the voices above faded to murmurs.

---

The titans parted like curtains.

They stepped backward in unison — no signal, no sound — and opened a corridor through the trees.

Anja watched them move like dogs called to heel.

The man walked ahead, hands in his pockets. Annie followed a few paces behind, head down, shoulders drawn.

Let me handle it, Annie had told her. Don't give them a reason to think you're useless.

So Anja walked. Mouth shut. Eyes down. Left hand wrapped around the ring at her neck, the crossed keys biting into her palm.

The trees eventually thinned. Firelight bled through the undergrowth, and the forest opened into a clearing.

A military camp. Tents in clean rows, supply crates stacked under tarps. People moved between the fires —unbothered by the titans at the perimeter. Men straightened as he walked past, eyes sliding away from him first. They wore uniforms Anja had never seen: muted white, high-collared, with black boots. The rifles slung across their backs were different too — shorter, the metalwork finer.

One of the soldiers looked up as they passed. His hand drifted to his sidearm. He rested his fingers there, tracking Anja the way you'd track a stray dog near your food. He and another stepped back, giving her a wider berth than necessary.

Nobody spoke. A few stared. One spat.

She smelled cooking meat and her stomach clenched. Annie's hand found her elbow —steering her forward.

They bypassed the central fires and moved toward a larger tent set apart near the tree line. Before they reached it, something shifted in the dark to the left — low, massive, and breathing.

Anja stopped.

The four-legged titan. The one they'd seen in the distance. Up close it was worse — flat-backed, strapped with heavy cargo harnesses, its face long and slack, chin resting on crossed forelimbs like a dog by a hearth.

Its eyes were open. They tracked Anja with a heavy, tired intelligence.

Then its jaw opened.

"Annie."

Anja's hand tightened on the ring so hard the cord bit into the back of her neck. The voice had come from inside the titan's mouth. It was deep, resonant and slow.

"You're late," it said.

Annie stopped. "Pieck. It's been a long time." She raised her right hand — her posture stiff, abbreviated. Some kind of formal gesture Anja didn't recognize.

"Too long." The massive head tilted. The eyes — brown, heavy-lidded — slid off Annie and settled on Anja. "And who is this?"

"A guest," Zeke said, stepping between them. He adjusted his glasses, firelight catching the lenses. "Don't overwhelm her, Pieck. She's had a rough trip."

The talking titan made a low sound — almost a hum — and settled its chin back onto its forelimbs. The eyes stayed on Anja for another beat before drifting shut.

Zeke gestured toward the command tent. "Inside, Annie. We have a lot to discuss."

Annie ducked through the flap. Anja followed, and the canvas fell shut behind them — cutting off the firelight, the camp noise, the breathing of the thing outside.

The interior was lit by a single lantern hanging from the center pole. A table built from crates and planking dominated the space, covered in maps—coastlines she'd never seen, marked in symbols she couldn't read. The air smelled of tobacco and lamp oil.

He draped his coat over a chair and leaned on the table, eyes on Annie.

"Five years," he said. "I'll be honest, Annie. We saw the breach, but after we received no contact... we prepared for the worst."

"I understand, sir."

"Marcel was supposed to be leading your unit, where is he?"

Annie's breath hitched, barely. "We lost him before we reached the outer wall. A titan caught us off guard during the approach. There was nothing we could do."

Zeke was quiet for a moment. His thumb traced the edge of the table.

"A titan," he repeated, and let the word hang. "Marcel was the most experienced among you."

"It happened fast. We were in the open."

Zeke studied her. The silence stretched long enough that Anja could hear the lantern wick hissing.

"That is a significant loss," he said finally. His voice carried no inflection — not sympathy, not accusation. "And the Jaw?"

"We searched. The area was crawling with titans — we couldn't stay without risking the mission entirely." Annie's voice held steady. "We made the decision to proceed to the wall without it."

Zeke regarded her for a long moment: "And the others?"

Annie's eyes didn't move toward Anja. "Alive. Operational. Still embedded within the island's military."

Still embedded.

The words snagged. Others. More of them. Inside. Annie had said we had to break the walls — she'd never said who we was. Anja's mind pulled toward faces, names, and flinched away before it got there.

Not now.

"Good." He stroked his beard. "Your objective?"

"Unidentified." Annie's voice went clipped. "The plan to flush out the Coordinate didn't work. We pursued a secondary avenue by joining their military. It didn't yield results."

"And your cover?"

"Compromised. I had to extract."

"How?"

Annie paused. "The island military identified me as a shifter. They set a trap. I had to fight my way out."

"A trap." Zeke's fingers drew slow circles across the map. "Which means they were watching you before you realized it. How long?"

"I don't know."

"That's not an answer I can bring back to command, Annie."

"It's the one I have, sir." Annie held his gaze. Then she reached into her backpack and produced the small cloth-wrapped notebook — the one Anja had seen her consult on the road. "But this might help. Patrol routes. Guard rotations. Troop strengths. Supply lines. Five years of observation, encoded. I can translate it for command."

Zeke looked at the notebook.

He took it, turned it once in his hand, and set it on the table beside the maps.

"A failed operation, then."

"An incomplete one."

Zeke's eyebrows rose a fraction. Then he looked at Anja.

It was the first time he'd directed his full attention at her. His eyes moved over her face — the bandage over her missing eye, the way she held her right hand tucked inside her cloak.

"Your companion," Zeke said. "I am going to make a logical leap and assume she is not the Coordinate we've been searching for."

"No, sir."

"She looks like she's been through something unpleasant."

"She was held by the island's military," Annie said. "Interrogated. She helped me escape when I extracted."

"I see." Zeke's eyes stayed on Annie. "And you brought her with you because..."

"She has value." Annie stepped closer, putting herself marginally between Anja and Zeke. "Anja was embedded in a military unit with a boy. We confirmed he can transform. He's the closest lead we have on the Coordinate. She trained closely with him. She knows how they move and guard him."

Anja listened. A boy. He can transform. How they move him, how they guard him.

Her fingers went white around the ring.

Annie had never told her. In all the time they'd spent running, she had never once said why she'd really come here. Who she'd come here for. Her attack on the expedition, now it all made sense.

Annie had come here to take him.

Not the entity's whispers. Something worse. Something that was entirely her own.

She told you to trust her, the thing wearing Heinrik's face murmured. And you did.

Zeke was watching her face. Whatever he saw, he filed away.

"Is that so?" he said slowly. He turned back to Annie. "Does this boy have a name?"

Annie paused. The pause was just a fraction too long.

"Eren Jaeger."

Something stilled in Zeke's face. His hand stopped on the table. The lantern hissed in the silence.
Then he blinked, and the mask returned. He walked a slow circuit of the tent, hands clasped behind his back.

"Interesting…" he said, quieter.

Anja didn't understand. She watched him pace and tried to read the shift, but whatever had passed through him was buried now.

"You've done well, Annie," Zeke said, stopping by the tent flap. He didn't look at her. "Losing Marcel and the Jaw was a blow. The state of this operation is regrettable. But you survived five years behind enemy lines, and you've brought back actionable intelligence. That counts for something."

"Thank you, Warchief."

"We had some complications of our own getting here, you know?" Zeke lifted the flap and looked out at the dark. "Bad terrain south of the wall. Had to avoid dead patches, clusters of titans around them."

He said it offhandedly, almost to himself, and let the flap drop.

"Now. There's a ruined structure, an old castle, a few kilometers northeast. Stone walls, partially collapsed. We've noticed a group of island soldiers has moved in."

Annie stiffened.

"I've got titans in the area if containment becomes necessary," Zeke continued. "But I need a proper assessment before deciding anything. Pieck is fast, but she doesn't know how these people fight. Their equipment — those anchor-and-cable rigs they use — I need someone who understands their tactics."

He turned to Annie.

"Go with Pieck. Observe. Report back."

The air in the tent went taut.

Annie's jaw tightened. Her eyes flickered — a single, fast glance sideways at Anja, barely a movement — then back to Zeke.

"Warchief." Annie's voice was controlled, but thin. "I should complete my debrief first. The intelligence on Jaeger is time-sensitive, and there are operational details that—"

"The intelligence will keep." Zeke didn't raise his voice. "Your friend isn't going anywhere, and besides, she looks like she could use a fire and something warm to drink."

He smiled, pleasant, practiced.

"Is there a problem, Annie?"

Annie closed her mouth. Anja watched the fight go out of her — not all at once, but in stages, like a structure collapsing floor by floor. First the shoulders. Then the eyes, which went cold and distant.

"No, sir. No problem."

She turned and walked toward the tent flap. She didn't look at Anja. She didn't slow down. She pushed through the canvas and was gone, and the flap swung shut behind her, the lantern flame guttered once in the draft and steadied.

Anja's hand was still locked around the ring. Her knuckles ached.

"Have you ever had coffee, Anja?"

She stared at him clueless.

Zeke glanced back, read her face, and something like amusement crossed his.

"You'll enjoy it," he said. "I've yet to meet someone who hasn't."

---

The cellar smelled like damp stone and years of nothing.

Ymir had been down here long enough that the candle had burned to half its length. The flame guttered every time the wind found the grate overhead, throwing the walls in and out of shadow.

She'd worked through most of the room by now. Shelves cut into the rock held the usual debris of abandonment. Against the far wall she'd found a few things worth keeping: a coil of rope that still had some life in it, a dented pot that she'd set near the stairs.

One shelf held something that made her pause: a small hand grinder, iron and wood, with a crank handle and a hopper on top. She turned it over. Coffee grinder. She hadn't seen one in what felt like a lifetime ago. It was in good shape too, no rust on the mechanism, the wood barely weathered. Must have been well-made to last this long here.

She set it aside.

In the far corner, half-buried under a tarp, she found a crate shoved flush against the wall. She dragged it out and looked for an edge to work.

She went back to the shelves and found a small kitchen knife wedged behind a jar, the wooden handle cracked. Good enough.

She jammed the blade under the crate lid and wrenched. The wood splintered.

Inside, rough cloth packages were stacked tight against each other, coarse fabric cinched with twine. She pulled one loose and started working at the knot.

Heavy boots on the stairs.

Ymir set the package down and leaned back against the crate, the kitchen knife resting across her knee, her smirk already in place.

"You shouldn't wander down here alone," Reiner said. He ducked under the low lintel and stepped into the cellar. "It's pitch black. You'll break an ankle."

"Sneaking up on a girl in the dark, Reiner? Didn't peg you for the type to like women."

He let out a short huff, crossing his arms. "Yeah, and I didn't peg you for the type to like men. Hard to believe you'd volunteer for a sweep. Especially since Christa isn't here to impress."

"Oh, I'm just like that, full of surprises."

Reiner stepped inside and pushed, closing the door behind him. The latch clicked softly.

"Sasha's asleep," he said. "Took a while after your little performance."

"Good. Sleep's better for her than that talk you gave her."

"Maybe." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Look — what you said up there, about the wall and the breach. Sasha's already falling apart. The last thing she needs is someone asking questions nobody can answer."

"So, you came down here just to say that? She's a big girl, you can stop acting like her knight in shining armor."

"Not as funny as you think you are, Ymir. You should read the room. Everyone's running on fumes. You start talking about where the titans are coming from and how none of it makes sense, and the people up there who are barely holding it together stop holding it together."

Ymir exhaled a short, harsh breath through her nose. She turned her back on him, picking up the knife. "Right. Better to keep them calm and stupid."

"If it keeps everyone alive tonight, that's enough. We have enough to worry about as it is."

The silence sat between them for a beat.

Ymir turned back to the crate and picked up the package she'd been working on. She cut the twine and pulled the cloth apart. Inside, tin cans were packed in rows small, the labels coated in grime.

She pulled one free and held it close to the candle, wiping the surface with her thumb. Angular characters, stamped clean into the metal.

"Now this is worth bringing up," she said. She read the label after she managed to clean it. "Herring. Not my favorite, but food's food."

She tossed the can to Reiner. He caught it one-handed.

"Canned food, huh?" he said.

"Don't be picky."

Reiner looked down at the tin.

His thumb moved across the label. Then it stopped.

The silence changed.

Ymir's hand was still in the air from the toss. The smirk was still on her face.

Then the echo of her own voice reached her. Herring. She'd read it. Out loud. Hadn't even paused.

The smirk died.

"Ymir," Reiner said softly.

He lifted his head.

The golden eyes that looked back at her had nothing behind them she recognized.

"These letters." He held the can up. "I can't read any of it."

He took a step forward.

"This says herring?"

The candle guttered. The shadows jumped.

"You are able to…Read this language? Ymir… You're--"

"It was a joke, Reiner." The words came too fast. "I don't know what it says. I made it up."

Reiner's mouth closed.

The confusion that had fractured his voice a second ago vanished, replaced by a stillness that was sudden, heavy. He didn't blink. He just stood there, by the door, his thumb resting over the script.

"I made it up," Ymir repeated. Her back hit the stone wall.

"There is only one place in the world that prints this label," Reiner whispered.

"And it isn't inside these walls."

---

The ground trembled once — a deep, shifting compression outside the tent, like something massive rising to its feet. The talking titan. Then heavy footfalls, receding.

Anja stood where she'd been standing since they entered. Hands at her sides. The ring pressed against her collarbone through the cord, and she held it with her left hand because it was the only thing in here that belonged to her.

Zeke moved to a small metal stove in the corner. Beside it, a stack of cans, with labels printed in characters she couldn't read. Two open and empty, scraped clean. A third sat unopened, same dull metal, the same foreign script.

He picked up a hand grinder, tipped dark beans into it, and began cranking with an easy rhythm. His back was to her.

"How long since you've eaten a proper meal?" he asked.

"I don't remember."

"That's too long." He tapped the grounds into a metal filter, set it over a ceramic pot, and reached for the kettle. Both hands occupied. Unhurried. The kettle tilted, water hissing through the grounds, and he stood there watching it drip as if they had all the time in the world.

Anja's nails bit into her palm. She could feel her own pulse in her jaw where the teeth were missing. This man controlled titans. This man's people had broken the walls.

"What will happen to Annie?" she asked.

"Annie is a Warrior. She'll be treated as one." He lifted the filter away. "Five years behind enemy lines is a long time. The debrief will be thorough, but she survived. That goes a long way."

He paused with the pot in his hand.

"And she brought you here. Which was... an interesting choice on her part."

"She said I had value." Her voice came out thinner than she wanted.

Zeke poured coffee into two cups, his back still to her. He set the pot down, reached for a small silver spoon, and stirred one cup twice, then the other four times before setting the spoon down. "So, you trained alongside Eren. I take it you know him personally then."

"Yes."

"A friend?"

Anja didn't answer. Her nails dug deeper.

Zeke picked up both cups and turned around. He crossed the tent and held one out to her.

"Drink. You're shivering."

She was. She took it with her left hand. The ceramic burned.

He leaned against the table and sipped from his own cup, studying her over the rim. Patient. Unhurried.

---

Sasha couldn't sleep.

She lay on the cold stone with her vest bunched under her head, her skirt twisted around her legs. Staring at the ceiling where firelight made shapes that looked like nothing. Around her, the others had settled into an uneasy quiet. Petra sat against the wall with her eyes closed. Nanaba's blade had gone still. Gelgar cradled a bottle against his chest.

Her stomach hurt. Not the usual hunger — deeper, the kind that food couldn't fix. Her father's face kept surfacing. The way he'd look up from his bow when she came through the door.

She didn't know if he was alive.

She sat up. Moving was better than lying still.

She paced the fire once, twice.

Ymir had gone downstairs a while ago. Mentioned something about rooms worth checking, that there might be more supplies. She hadn't come back.

If she'd found food down there and was keeping it to herself, Sasha was going to kill her.

She moved toward the spiral staircase. Bertholdt sat at the top back against the wall, long legs stretched across the opening, one hand still loosely gripping his knee. His chin had dropped to his chest.

Sasha studied him for a moment. His breathing was slow. Even.

She stepped over his legs, weight on the balls of her feet, careful not to wake him.

The stairs curved, narrowed. The stone was cold under her palms as she steadied herself against the wall. Somewhere below, candlelight bled faintly up the stairwell — warm and flickering.

Then voices. Faint at first. Then clearer as the stairwell leveled out into a short corridor. Candlelight threw jittering shadows across the stone ahead. The cellar door was nearly shut — a thin gap, enough for the light and the voices to bleed through.

"—doesn't matter what I am." Ymir. Low, clipped. Nothing casual in it. "What matters is what you are. Because we both know I'm not the only one in this cellar who can read that label."

---

"You're protecting him," Zeke said. Not a question. He set his cup on the table and folded his arms. "I understand that. Loyalty is admirable."

"I don't know what you want."

"Fair. Then let me be direct. If this boy is a shifter, then the people running your military will treat him as a weapon, one they don't understand and can't control. They'll put him in a uniform and march him toward whatever problem needs solving until his body gives out or his term runs out. Thirteen years. That's how long a shifter lives when they become one, Anja. Did you know that?"

She didn't answer. She didn't know if it was true — Annie never mentioned it. Only that it sounded like the kind of truth nobody bothered to tell you until it was too late.

"I'm not here to hurt him. I'm here to get him out before this island eats him alive." Zeke's voice carried a reasonable tone. "I need you to think about something. You should know better than me, you were held by the island's military. I assume your current state to be the result of their interrogation methods?" His eyes moved over her face — the swollen jaw, the missing eye, the bruises.

Anja said nothing.

"This boy — your friend — the people who hold him understand nothing about what he carries. What do you think happens to him? Do you think they'll treat him gently?" Zeke set his cup on the table. "What they did to you is child's play compared to what they will do to him. They'll study him. Restrain him. Push him until something breaks, and then push some more until he has nothing else to give. They'll tell themselves it's necessary. They'll tell themselves it's for the greater good."

The words hit a place she'd tried to wall off. The collar around her neck in the dungeon. Hange's framework. The chains.

They did what they had to.

Her own words. The hollow ones she'd given Annie.

"You already know I'm right," Zeke said quietly. "We are the only ones who can help him."

Anja's hand shook. Coffee rippled in the cup.

"But I can't help someone I can't find. And I can't find him without understanding who he is."

The silence stretched. Zeke let it work. Then, quieter:

"Annie staked her life to bring you here. Was she wrong to?"

---

Sasha slowed. Her hand found the wall.

"Careful." Reiner. Barely above a whisper. The warmth she knew from his voice was gone. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"No? Then why did you close the door? Why are you standing between me and the only exit?" A beat. "You knew what those characters were the second you saw them. You didn't freeze because you couldn't read them. You froze because I could."

Silence.

"Who sent you?" Reiner's voice had dropped to something cold. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough. And nobody sent me. I've been surviving on this island for a long time. I don't answer to anyone."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting. But here's one for free — I don't care about your reason for being here. I don't care who you report to or what you came here to do. I have one thing I care about, and she's not here."

Sasha pressed herself flat against the wall. Her legs wanted to run and her body wouldn't let them — the way her body froze when the woods went wrong.

Report to. What you came here to do.

She didn't understand. But her body did.

"Here's how this works," Ymir continued. Her voice had steadied. "You have secrets. I have secrets. If I talk, you're finished. If you talk, so am I. Neither of us wants that. So we walk upstairs, we sit by the fire, and none of this ever happened."

"And I'm supposed to trust that?"

"You're supposed to understand that I have something to lose. Same as you. That's better than trust."

---

"He's from Shiganshina," she said.

Zeke waited.

Her hand was steady now. It shouldn't have been — she wanted to throw the cup at his head, wanted to scream, wanted to be anywhere but here holding a drink she'd been given. The Scouts. This man pretending to care about someone he'd never met. All cut from the same damn cloth. And Annie had—

But her hand was steady and the coffee was still, she couldn't even make the surface tremble.

Underneath all of it sat the truth she couldn't get around: They had done those things to her. And they would do them to Eren.

Maybe… Just maybe…

She closed her eye with a shaky breath.

"He lost his mother when the wall fell," Anja said. "His father disappeared the same day. A doctor."

"A doctor." Zeke picked up the small silver spoon, turning it slowly between his fingers.

"Yes."

"And the father's name?"

Anja's jaw tightened. She could feel herself at the edge of something. Annie's voice in her head: Don't give them a reason to think you're useless.

"I don't see how that matters."

"It matters because I need to understand who gave this boy his power. Titans don't appear from nowhere. Someone made him what he is. A doctor who vanished the day the wall fell — it could be vital information." Zeke's voice stayed even.

Anja said nothing.

"I'm not asking you to betray your friend. I'm asking you to help me understand what was done to him. There's a difference."

The ring hung like a weight against her throat.

"Grisha," she said. "His name was Grisha Jaeger."

The spoon slipped from Zeke's fingers and hit the ground. The sound was small and sharp — metal on packed dirt, it cut through the tent like a crack in glass. He didn't pick it up. His hand stayed frozen where the spoon had been.

---

A long pause. Reiner's voice, quieter.

"If you step out of line. If you try to put me at risk. If you say one word to anyone—"

"You'll do what? Kill me? Try explaining that to the armed soldiers upstairs."

Another silence. Heavier than the last.

"Clean slate," Reiner said. The words came out ground flat. "Tonight doesn't exist."

"Tonight doesn't exist," Ymir repeated.

The back of her neck, her forearms — every hair standing the way they did before the boar charged.

She took a step backward.

Her heel caught the edge of a flagstone.

The scrape was tiny. A half-inch of boot leather on rock.

Sasha froze. One foot on the step behind her, one below, hand flat against the wall.

---

The composed lean against the table, the folded arms, the mild interest — all of it was gone. What was underneath looked nothing like a commander.

The lantern hissed.

Then he crouched. Picked up the spoon. Set it on the table.

"Apologies," he said. His voice was level. Almost. "Clumsy of me."

He turned away. Walked to the stove. Stood there with his back to her, one hand on the metal frame, his head slightly bowed.

"Grisha Jaeger…" he said quietly.

"You know the name."

He didn't answer that. When he turned back, the mask was in place again, but it fit differently now. Tighter.

"Drink," he said. "It'll get cold."

Anja raised the cup and drank. The liquid was hot enough to scald and bitter in a way she'd never tasted. She coughed sharp, involuntary and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.

"An acquired taste," Zeke said. "Like most things worth having."

He picked up his own cup. Sipped. Watched her.

The interrogator was gone. He regarded her the way you'd regard a finished equation.

"You've been very helpful."

"What happens now?"

He took another sip. "I'll have a word when Annie gets back."

The tent was quiet. The lantern flame burned steady. Outside, the camp sounds continued — low voices, the crackle of fires.

Anja drank again. The bitterness was easier the second time. Her head throbbed. A dull, spreading pressure behind her eye.

"Can I ask you something?" Zeke said. He set his cup down, and his voice had dropped to something almost gentle. "This war — the titans, the walls, all of it. Do you think it ends well? For anyone?"

Anja looked at him.

"I don't think about how it ends."

"No." Something crossed his face. "I suppose you wouldn't. War is a terrible thing, one big, stupid, never ending cycle."

Anja's hands were cold. The cup in her grip had stopped feeling hot. Her shoulders had gone cold. Not the air — something settling inward, spreading down through her arms. She clenched her jaw against the shivering.

"I almost envy you," Zeke said. "Out here, behind these walls, you never had to see the full picture. Never had to carry it." A beat. "But then, I suppose it doesn't matter. You're caught in the same cycle as the rest of us. You just didn't know it."

He turned back to his maps and began rolling one of them carefully, his hands steady, his attention elsewhere.

"Finish your coffee," he said.

His voice carried the soft, distant tone— his eyes already looking past her, looking at something much further away.

"It'll all be over soon enough."

---

The cellar door swung open.

"Sasha?" Reiner filled the doorway. And there it was — his usual warmth sliding back on like a coat. "That you?"

She made herself move. Stepped down into the corridor and through the doorway, pulling a smile onto her face.

"Sorry. Couldn't sleep. Ymir went down here lookin' for supplies a while back and hadn't come up, so I thought—"

"Oh, we found some canned stuff." Reiner held up a tin, easy, relaxed. "Can't read the label, though. Probably nothing."

Her stomach tightened. Ymir's voice echoed — we both know you can read that label.

Ymir leaned against the far wall behind him, arms crossed, face blank. A kitchen knife rested on the crate beside her.

"Oh. Great." Sasha heard how thin her voice sounded. "I'll just — go tell the others, then."

"It's not worth mentioning." He set the can down. "Just junk."

"Right. Well." Sasha took a step back toward the stairs. "I'll just head back up."

She turned.

Soft footsteps on stone behind her. Careful. Recent.

Bertholdt was standing on the bottom step, blocking the narrow stairwell.

His hair was pressed flat on one side. His eyes were half-lidded, still catching up with the rest of him. But his jaw was tight and his weight had already shifted.

"Bertholdt," Sasha said. "I was just heading up."

He didn't move. His throat worked. His eyes went past her to Reiner.

"Sasha." Reiner's voice behind her. Closer than before. "How much did you hear?"

"I-I just got here. I told you—"

"Bertholdt." One word. Clipped. The warmth gone. "The stairs."

Bertholdt's eyes were wet. But he shifted his weight, widened his stance, and the stairwell behind him went from narrow to sealed.

"I didn't hear anything," Sasha said. Her voice was climbing. "I don't know what you're—"

"It's okay." Reiner was right behind her. "It's alright, Sasha. Just stay here a minute. We need to talk."

Her weight dropped. Her shoulders pivoted toward the gap between Bertholdt and the wall — like a hunter calculating the sprint, the angle, the half-second to squeeze past and scream.

Reiner saw her shoulders turn.

His hand clamped over her mouth and wrenched her backward off her feet.

​

---

Anja coughed black onto the dirt and the cup fell from her hand.

She heard it break. She heard Zeke say something. The words didn't reach her — they came from far away, muffled, as if she'd been shoved underwater.

Her knees hit the ground.

The crawling in her stomach had become a roar. It surged upward through her chest, her throat, her skull —every nerve fired at once. She could hear the blood in her own veins. She could hear the lantern flame consuming its wick. She could hear the heartbeat of the man standing six feet away, beating faster than his face suggested.

Her hands pressed into the dirt. Black fluid dripped from her lips in long, thick strings.

"But…" Zeke had stepped back. One step. "I didn't scream..."

Anja tried to speak. Her jaw wouldn't close. The hinge had gone loose, the muscles slack, and when she opened her mouth wider something in the joint popped like a knuckle cracking.

Heinrik stood in the corner of the tent.

The thing that wore him. It stood with its hands at its sides watching her with her brother's face, and for the first time, it wasn't speaking. It wasn't whispering.

It was smiling.

Her right hand spasmed. The healed stumps of her missing fingers split open along the knuckles. Not bleeding. Unfolding. The skin peeled back and something hard pushed through from underneath — ridged, sharp, slicked black and steaming, growing fast.

No sound came when she screamed. Her throat was full.

Annie. Annie's face in the forest. Sasha laughing with her mouth full. Armin drawing shapes in the air with his hands. Eren on the wall at Trost, fist raised. Mikasa pulling the scarf over her mouth against the cold. Connie. Heinrik. Her mother.

The faces came fast, overlapping, blurring — and behind them all, patient and still, his smile widened.

Stop this. Stop — it hurts — stopstopstop please stop pleasehelp pleasehelpAnnie I—

Her spine arched.

I

---

Zeke threw himself backward. He hit the table, knocked it sideways, maps scattering across the dirt. Black fluid erupted from the tears in her tunic, spraying the canvas walls behind her.

He didn't shout. Nothing in his understanding of titans accounted for what he was seeing.

His spinal fluid was a key without a lock until he turned it. He had not turned it. The key had turned itself.

The tent pole buckled. Something massive was reshaping itself inside the collapsing canvas — too many limbs, too many joints, the shapes wrong. A calcified spike tore through the roof and kept going, ten feet, fifteen, dragging the canvas up before the fabric shredded and fell away.

Zeke was already outside. He'd gone through the tent flap at a dead sprint, boots sliding in the mud.

The camp had come apart. Soldiers scrambled from their tents half-dressed, rifles up, barking orders. One man fired into the collapsing canvas and the shot went nowhere. Another was running — not toward the threat but away from it, toward the tree line, his weapon abandoned in the mud.

His tent imploded.

It didn't fall — it was torn apart from the inside, the heavy canvas ripping like paper, support poles snapping and spinning into the dark. What stood in the wreckage was not a titan. It was something else. Something pale and dark and angular, still spreading, still growing across the surface of a body that hadn't finished deciding what shape it was.

Smoke seemed to pour off it. But what hit them was cold.

Zeke steadied himself. His hands were shaking. He looked at the thing, and he looked at the soldiers around him — some firing, some frozen, one screaming something about devils — and made a decision.

He raised his hand toward the treeline. Two of his Titans — four-meter class, standing sentry at the perimeter — locked onto the gesture and launched forward, sprinting through the mud, jaws wide.

They hit the wreckage and buried themselves in it. Teeth on flesh. Biting, tearing, the mindless feeding frenzy of titans doing what titans were made to do.

One second. Two.

A sound cut through the camp — high, metallic, like steel being torn lengthwise. The ground shook.

A limb came out of the dark. A titan's arm — a chunk of steaming flesh — spinning end over end through the air. It hit the mud three feet from Zeke and skidded, fingers still twitching.

The second titan came out next. Headless. It was still running, legs pumping, arms swinging, stumbling through the mud in a blind sprint with nothing above the neck but a steaming stump. It crashed through a row of supply tents, scattering crates and men, and ran three more steps before the legs buckled and it went down.

The camp went silent.

The fires guttered in a wind that smelled like rot and copper. The vapor spread low across the ground like fog, swallowing the firelight.

And in the dark, points of red opened. Two. Then two more. Then more — scattered across something massive, looking down at the camp with eyes that had no right to exist.

Zeke stood in the mud with a titan's severed arm steaming at his feet. Behind him, a soldier was whimpering. Another had dropped to his knees.

The Warchief stared up at the thing he had made, and had no plan.



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Note: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this one. See you next time.