The constant rattling of the wheels over the damp earth accompanies every breath. I'm sitting in the back of the cart, surrounded by a silence that not even the wind dares to break. In front of me, a lump covered by coarse, stained blankets.
I could look away.
I could pretend it's just another useless weight we're dragging back to the Walls.
But I don't.
My eyes remain fixed on that still shape. The fabric rises slightly with the sway of the road, as if the body underneath wanted to remind me it still exists... or that it once did.
The blood has seeped through the blanket at one spot, already dry, like a wound that stopped bleeding not from lack of pain, but from lack of life.
There is no crying, no rage. Just a stillness that feels all too familiar.
Around me, no one speaks. The soldiers stare at the ground, their hands clenched into useless fists. The cart moves forward, and with every bump in the road, the body jolts like a voiceless echo.
Finally, a gust of wind lifts one corner of the blanket. I only need to see for an instant. Brown hair spills out, disheveled, with strands matted by dried blood.
Sasha.
The sound of that name seems to wait for a reaction... but there's nothing to give it.
It doesn't hurt. It doesn't bring relief. It simply is.
It's strange how someone's death can be so heavy for some and so light for others.
For me, it's just another stone in an already full pocket. It doesn't change the fact that I keep sinking.
Maybe I never learned how to lose, because I never learned how to have.
Life is like that: it takes away pieces from you until you realize you don't need any of them to keep breathing.
The rest... is just detail for those who still believe breathing means being alive.
The rattling of the cart keeps going, monotonous, like a clock with no hurry. I don't take my eyes off the lump under the blankets. The air is thick with the scent of earth, sweat... and that absence left behind when blood dries.
A gallop approaches, steady, certain. I turn my head just slightly. Levi, on his horse, as impassive as ever, pulls up alongside me.
"I didn't expect to find you like this," he says, without looking directly at me.
"I didn't expect anything," I reply.
We advance in silence for a few seconds. The sound of hooves and wheels fills the space.
"That mission..." his words hang in the air, as if he's looking for a way to avoid saying them, "...was a disaster."
"I suppose you don't see it as a victory."
He throws me a brief look, almost like a warning.
"We had a chance. You did your part. I... didn't finish mine. The Colossal is still alive."
His voice doesn't shake, but the way he grips the reins betrays a pressure held back. It's not anger. It's something else.
"Not everyone can close every chapter the way they expect," I say, keeping my gaze down.
"I know that," he answers. Then, after a pause: "Even so... you tried. And what you did... not just anyone could have done it."
I don't answer. The wind flips up a corner of the blanket over the corpse. I put it back in place without haste.
"I don't care how you choose to do it," Levi adds, his voice lower, "as long as it works... count me in."
The horse takes a few more steps, but Levi doesn't move away. His eyes, fixed on the road before, shift toward the still figure under the blankets.
"She was a good girl," he murmurs. "She didn't deserve to be in a place like the Survey Corps."
He says it without resentment toward her, but with an obvious weight toward the world that put her there.
"My condolences," he adds, almost as if the words cost him to speak.
"Thanks..." The silence stretches a few seconds until I break it. "How's Erwin?"
He hesitates for a moment. "He'll be fine, but there's no way to recover his arm."
"I see..."
...
...
...
The rain falls relentlessly, wrapping the central plaza of the Wall in a cold, gray mist. In front of the massive commemorative stone, where the names of all those who fell in the last battle are carved, the crowd gathers in silence, sharing collective grief.
Soldiers, family, and friends stand together to honor those who will never return, their faces marked by exhaustion and sorrow. Some whisper prayers, others simply bow their heads, weighed down by absence.
Among them, apart and almost invisible, Kiyotaka stands in silence, leaning on his crutches, his body completely bandaged and clothes soaked by the rain. His gaze is fixed, intense, unblinking, on a single point: the name "Sasha Braus" delicately carved into the stone.
Eyes, dry and tired, reflect a mix of coldness and a restrained pain no one can understand. The rain wets his bandages, but there's no reaction.
Around him, the background voices, the laments, the shared tears, become a distant echo.
"Captain wants me to help you go," says a soft yet firm voice.
I slowly turn my head and see her: blonde hair, wet from the rain, and eyes trying to catch some sign behind my impassive expression. Assistant? Nurse? I don't care. Not now.
I don't stop speaking.
"No, I've done everything I needed to. I'm going back to the hospital, so you can stop following me."
She doesn't move aside. She blocks my way, as if her body could force me to step back.
"No. I have to be by your side whenever you leave, it's an order from above," she says. The sigh that follows sounds like partial surrender, but her eyes stay fixed on me. "It's my job to make sure you're okay. You can't walk around like this, alone."
I don't look at her immediately. I take a second longer than necessary so she knows I'm weighing every word she says.
"I see..." I finally reply, letting the silence weigh more than the answer.
Only the rain breaks the stillness. She waits for me to yield, to thank her for her presence. She has no idea what I'm really thinking.
"You're not good at accepting help, are you?" she finally says, trying to read me.
I don't answer. I just adjust my crutches and start moving, forcing her to follow if she wants to continue.
"You're free to do whatever you want," I murmur without looking at her, "just as I'm free not to care. If the Military Police wants to contact me, tell them to find another way... I don't like it when they send someone to watch me."
I notice her tense up. Her eyes widen slightly. She's understood that I'm not asking for a favor, but giving her an instruction.
"You..."
The rain runs down her face, and in her pupils something like hostility glimmers.
"I suppose you volunteered for this after it was announced that the recovery strategy was my idea, didn't you?" Now I fix my gaze on her. I don't blink, I don't change my tone. "Did any of your comrades die?"
Her jaw tightens.
"...Yes..."
"I see..." I say, without the slightest change in voice.
She waits for an apology, or a show of empathy. She gets neither.
"Finish your report and tell them I'm willing to talk to them. Right now." I maintain eye contact until the discomfort becomes palpable. "I agree more with their way of thinking than with the Survey Corps'."
I don't need to say more. The rest, she'll imagine on her own.
My gaze returns to the commemorative stone. "If it helps you, you can hate me all you want."
...
...
...
The morning creeps slowly into the great hall where the Survey Corps gathers. Levi scans the table, each member lost in their own thoughts, the tension still palpable in the air.
"I gave you more than enough time..." Levi mutters, hand under the table, voice firm but loaded with implications.
Eren rubs his temple in frustration, unable to hide his impatience.
"Well... we can continue cleaning up later," he says, wiping his hands on a rag. "For now, let's clarify the situation and solidify our future objectives."
His eyes rest on Eren for a few seconds.
"Although many things have happened... our initial goals haven't changed. The Survey Corps' objective remains to seal the hole in Wall Maria."
Everyone in the room nods, some with conviction, others with resignation. But the atmosphere is too heavy, as if the words lack the strength to cut through the dark cloud hanging over us.
I keep my head resting on my fist, watching each face in turn. Finally, my eyes settle on Connie. He meets my gaze with a mix of barely hidden shame and hatred. At least he's not stupid enough to try hitting me a second time. Getting attacked by someone as weak as him isn't a big deal if it happens once... but a second time would mean I'd have to respond, and that would certainly be problematic for everyone.
"So, Kiyotaka..." Levi's voice cuts through the silence. "Have you thought of something to seal the Wall?"
Immediately, all eyes turn to me.
"Hmm...?" I clear my throat before speaking. "The Walls are made of hardened Titans, so it should be possible to use Eren's power to recreate that hardening and seal the hole."
A quiet murmur runs through the room.
Everyone's eyes widen slightly, as if the idea was so obvious it hurt not to have said it before. My eyes meet Eren's green ones.
"Although..." I add, "it all depends on whether he manages to obtain that ability or not."
"I see..." Eren murmurs, somewhat uneasy, before Levi turns to Hange.
"You heard him. It's up to you to find a good spot to test this."
Hange nods, and her expression, once restless, darkens even more.
"Hnn..." her tone is low, almost as if speaking to herself. "These things are my job. I'll do it... as long as I can keep breathing."
"Hnn??"
Hange tilts her head, her gaze fixed on some distant point as her tone takes on a bitter sincerity. "The garrisons have mobilized recently, in a desperate effort to reinforce security on the Walls... But this isn't just any job, it's extreme labor."
Her voice lowers, heavy with frustration and exhaustion. "This means that security and public order inside the cities have seriously deteriorated. Riots and violence are becoming more and more frequent, and controlling the chaos is becoming almost impossible."
Hange lowers her head, as if carrying the weight of that reality on her shoulders. "The need to restore Wall Maria has become more pressing than ever..."
Considering the circumstances, the situation overall is much better than anyone could have expected.
It seems that, despite constant suffering, people in this world have a hidden resilience, a capacity to absorb pain that defies logic.
"I want everyone to calm down as soon as possible..." Hange's voice trembles with a mix of urgency and hope, "so that we can once again make these lands within the Walls a place where man doesn't have to fight his own kind for survival..." Her face twists in concern, eyes revealing contained anxiety. "And that's why... I'd like to test Eren's power as soon as possible... every second is a wasted second."
I watch her in silence for a few seconds, using the pause to think over her words without much interest in the situation.
"Also, this time I not only have to make sure Eren can harden himself properly, but also experiment and examine the situation after he's done it." She closes her eyes for a second and speaks in the same serious voice but with more emotion in the tone.
"Even so... we need to think about the other possibilities," I interrupt, raising my voice just enough to cut through the flow of ideas and draw all eyes to me.
A brief, expectant silence falls.
"What do you mean...?" Hange asks, tilting her head cautiously.
"Eventually they'll want us to hand over Eren," I answer without hesitation, "and it's only a matter of time before they learn about Historia." I let out a heavy sigh, as if the future were already written and we only had to wait for someone to read it. "Who knows how the Church will react when they find out."
The words seem to settle slowly in the room, like a soft poison that takes its time to act. Hange's face tightens, twisting into a hard-to-read grimace: concern, resignation... and maybe a trace of fear.
"And I thought it would be a surprise..." she mutters.
"What the hell are you holding back?" Levi's voice cuts in, dry and full of irritation. "Spit it out already."
Hange presses her lips together. She doesn't speak right away. That delay says it all.
Finally, she lowers her gaze and lets the words out, heavy and bitter:
"A priest named Nick was found dead... with severe signs of torture."
A faint murmur runs through those present, a mix of confusion and restrained anger. I don't move. My eyes remain fixed on the window, watching the rain hit the glass with a rhythm that seems to mock our urgency.
"I never spoke to him..." Hange continues, her tone more tense, "but it wasn't hard to understand the reason."
Her hands clench into fists, knuckles standing out sharply.
"It seems rumors spread that Father Nick was the one who revealed the secrets of the Titans to the Survey Corps..."
I raise my eyes to her for the first time since she began speaking. There's no surprise in them, not even apparent interest—only a cold certainty.
In any world, truth is a fragile thing—easily shattered by whispers and distorted by fear. Rumors... they're weapons disguised as words, subtle poisons that infiltrate minds and sway actions without anyone realizing the hand guiding them.
In this world, just like in mine, the mechanics don't change. People crave certainty but are fed doubt instead. They latch onto every half-truth, every shadow of gossip, and twist it until it becomes a story they believe in more than reality.
The difference? Here, the minds are simpler, more predictable. Less capable of questioning, less skilled in seeing beyond the surface. It's almost laughable—how easily fear and suspicion take root, spreading like wildfire among those who refuse to think critically.
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