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Meanwhile…
The afternoon sun hung low over Wall Rose, casting long shadows across the dusty road that wound through the southern farmlands. Grandpa Arlet rode alone, his horse picking its way with the patient certainty of an animal that had learned to trust its rider's strange instincts.
He had been riding for hours. The tracker in his pocket pulsed with that steady green dot; Eren's signal, still alive, still somewhere in the godforsaken forest beyond the Walls. But between him and that dot stood an impossible obstacle: the gate. The Wall. The entire apparatus of military bureaucracy that made leaving the safety of humanity's territory a privilege reserved for official Survey Corps expeditions. And there were none scheduled; not after the recent breach scares. Arlet couldn't just waltz up and demand passage; he'd be detained, questioned, or worse. He'd need a way around…or under the walls. His mind raced through old maps, forgotten tunnels from his early days on Paradis. There had to be a path. He could start from there.
He pulled his hood lower against the wind, though the gesture was more habit than necessity. The grey cloak he'd acquired in Trost marked him as nothing; a traveler, a merchant, a man with no particular business anywhere. Useful, that. Invisibility was its own kind of power.
Arlet sighed, a deep, bone-weary exhalation that fogged the air in front of him. His gloved hands tightened on the reins, the leather creaking softly. How had it come to this? He let his mind drift back, piecing together the fragments of the past few days like a puzzle he'd rather not solve. It had started with the rumors; whispers of a "demon dog" terrorizing the southern districts, escalating from noble estates in Sina to outright chaos in Rose. The Garrison chatter he'd overheard in the refugee camp had been laced with fear, but Arlet had recognized the hallmarks: extraterrestrial. Not a Titan, but something worse. Something from beyond the stars, like the horrors he'd likely seen decades ago.
Then came the children. Eren, Mikasa, and Armin; sneaking out under the cover of night just the other day before yesterday, armed with nothing but determination and the Omnitrix on Eren's wrist. He should have followed them. He should have known those three wouldn't stay put. Mikasa with her fierce protectiveness, Armin with his too-bright mind always seeking answers, and Eren—gods, Eren—with that burning need to do something, to be something, to throw himself at any problem until it broke or he did.
He'd seen that fire before. On a dozen worlds. In a thousand eyes…It never ended well.
They're resourceful, he'd told himself. Eren has the watch. They'll be fine. A bitter laugh escaped his lips now, muffled by the hood. Fine? They'd walked into a slaughter orchestrated by the Forever Knights, those fanatical relics who're now attracted to the device on the boy's wrist.
And now the tracker showed said kid deep in Titan territory, the signal steady but unmoving. Alive. But for how long?
Grandpa Arlet shook his head wearily, the motion hidden by his hood. "Not now," he murmured to himself, the words carried away by the wind. "Can't afford to think about that now. One problem at a time, Arlet. First, get outside the Walls. Then, find the boy. Then..." He didn't finish. The 'then' was too vast, too uncertain.
He was so lost in thought that he nearly missed it. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye; shady figures dismounting horses in a copse of trees off the main road. Arlet reined in his horse subtly, guiding the stallion to a shaded spot behind a low rise. He dismounted quietly, tying the reins to a sturdy bush, and crept forward, his cloak blending with the dappled shadows.
There were about a dozen of them, dressed in the crisp uniforms of the Military Police, but something was off. Their postures were too rigid, too vigilant for routine patrol. They moved with the precision of soldiers on a covert op, not the lazy swagger of MPs collecting bribes. Arlet strained his ears, catching snippets of conversation.
"—ready for the descent, sir?"
"—Enoch's orders are clear. No deviations."
Enoch. The name hit Arlet like a gut punch. He knew that name; Enoch: One of the Forever Knights' twisted bio-alchemist. If he was involved, this wasn't a routine patrol. This was a hunt.
Grandpa Arlet's eyes narrowed behind his hood. Arlet's decision was instant. He needed to follow. Whatever they were planning, it must definitely be tied to leading him to Eren. He slipped back to his horse, mounting silently. He'd tail them at a distance, using the terrain for cover.
As he followed, the road ahead narrowed, winding through a cluster of abandoned farmsteads; overgrown with weeds and guarded by opportunistic thugs who'd claimed the ruins as their tollbooth. Arlet spotted them before they spotted him: four rough-looking men, armed with clubs and a rusty sword, lounging against a makeshift barricade of fallen logs and rusted carts. They perked up as he approached, eyes gleaming with predatory interest.
"Hold up there, old timer," the leader drawled, stepping into the path. He was a burly man with a scar twisting his lip into a perpetual sneer.
Grandpa Arlet reined in his horse, his expression hidden but his body language carefully arranged to project weary confusion. "Gentlemen. Something I can help you with?"
"This here's a toll road. Gotta pay the clearance fee if you wanna pass."
Ah. A toll. How quaint.
Arlet kept his face neutral under the hood, his voice steady. "Toll road? Last I checked, this was public land."
The thugs laughed, a coarse; mocking sound. "Public? Nah, this is our land now. And the fee's ten coppers. One of them grinned, showing gaps in his teeth. "Or whatever shiny you got in those pockets."
Arlet glanced past them. The MPs; or whatever they were; had already passed through without issue, their uniforms apparently granting free passage. The leader noticed his gaze. "Them? Soldiers get a pass. Official business and all. You, though? You're just an old coot on a nag. Pay up, or turn around."
The old Wrecker considered his options. He could fight; four thugs were nothing to someone who'd survived things that would turn their hair white…but noise would draw attention. He could flee, but the terrain and barricades were against him. Or he could pay. But he didn't have ten coppers; his pockets held only the tracker, a few dried rations, the dull Atasian core, and a small, concealed dagger, and his satchel…well, let's just say he can't hand that over for good reasons. Then an idea sparked. He reached slowly into his cloak, pulling out a small, tarnished silver locket; not valuable, but shiny enough to catch the light.
"This here's worth more than ten coppers," he said, dangling it. "Family heirloom. Take it, and let me through."
The leader's eyes narrowed, then widened with greed. He snatched the locket, biting it to test the metal. "Silver, alright. Fine. Get gone, old man." The thugs smirked, parting the barricade just enough for the horse to squeeze through.
Arlet urged his horse forward, not looking back. The locket had been a keepsake from his time in Wall Maria; a harmless bauble, but it had bought him passage. As he rode on, he glanced back once; the thugs were already arguing over the trinket. Fools. But useful ones.
Later…
The trail grew colder as the day wore on, the sketchy MPs' group moving with disciplined speed. Arlet hung back, using ridges and thickets for cover all along, his eyes straining to keep them in sight. They weren't heading toward any known gate. Instead, they veered east, toward the rugged foothills where old mining trails snaked into the earth. Arlet's suspicions deepened.
…What were they planning?
After nearly an hour of tense pursuit; dodging open stretches, circling wide to avoid being spotted; he saw them dismount in a secluded ravine. The group huddled close, voices low. Arlet tied his horse far back and crept forward on foot, his cloak blending with the shadows. He found a vantage point behind a cluster of boulders, close enough to hear.
Four more figures had joined them; figures in the same pristine MP uniforms, but something about their bearing was different. Sharper. More military. These weren't paper-pushing bureaucrats; these were soldiers.
And in their midst, giving orders with quiet authority, was a man who made Grandpa Arlet's blood run cold.
Enoch.
"—ready, sir?" one asked, deference clear in his tone.
The lean, silver-haired bio-alchemist with eyes like dissecting knives nodded. He reached up and touched his face. For a moment, the features seemed to shimmer, to shift; and then settle into something new. A mask; a stern-faced, gold-colored mask. It wasn't the crude porcelain of lower Knights; this was ornate, etched with faint, arcane runes that seemed to shift in the light. The mask fitted seamlessly, transforming his scholarly features into an impassive, golden visage of authority. The face of a judge. The face of an executioner.
"We move," Enoch said, his voice muffled but commanding. "The abomination and its shapeshifting companion await."
A younger knight shifted uneasily. "Sir, how do we leave the walls? The gates are the other way."
Enoch's masked head tilted, as if amused by the question. "Do you recall the fables of the industrial city within Wall Rose?"
The knights exchanged glances. One woman nodded slowly. "Before the fall of Maria. They mined there. Ore, coal, iceburst stone. They say the city stretched for miles underground. But is very confidential to the masses and even military."
"Indeed." Enoch's mask seemed to smile, though the expression didn't reach his voice. "A marvel of engineering. When Wall Maria fell, many of the outer mining operations were sealed. Too dangerous to maintain with Titans roaming above." He paused. "But sealed does not mean inaccessible."
Another knight; older and harder; frowned. "You're saying we go under the Wall? Through the mines?"
"I'm saying we use the paths that already exist. Paths that were old when the Walls were new. Paths that lead from the industrial city's depths to the surface beyond." Enoch's golden mask caught the fading light. "The gates are watched. The mines are... not. Not anymore."
The knights absorbed this in silence. Vance looked like he wanted to bolt. The woman beside him, Anya, gripped her reins with white-knuckled hands.
Enoch seemed to sense their fear. His masked face turned toward them, and his voice softened to something almost gentle. "Courage. The divine order watches over us. We are instruments of a greater purpose. What is death to those who serve eternity?"
Grandpa Arlet felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cooling air. He'd heard speeches like that before. They always ended the same way; with bodies and blood and the screaming of those who'd been promised salvation. And the industrial city…a relic from Paradis's early-Titan days, buried deep and guarded like a royal secret. If the Knights had access, their institution ran deeper than he'd last remembered.
The knights mounted up, resuming their journey with renewed purpose. As the group moved on, Enoch paused, his golden mask turning sharply back toward Arlet's hiding spot. Arlet froze, his breath held, pressing deeper into the boulders. The alchemist's gaze lingered, scanning the terrain with unnerving intensity. Arlet could almost feel the probe, like a cold finger tracing his spine.
"What is it, sir?" one knight asked, reining in his horse.
Enoch turned his head away. "Nothing. A trick of the light." He spurred his mount forward, but Arlet noted the tension in his posture. Close. Too close.
Chapter 30-31 are already available on Patreon.com/Weeb Fanthom.