"What?!"
Grisha stepped forward without hesitation, gripping Lock's shoulders tightly. His voice trembled with disbelief and desperate hope.
"Are you sure that was Dina?!"
Lock didn't flinch. He had expected that reaction.
No wonder Grisha's composure cracked so easily. If there was anyone he had truly failed—someone he carried guilt for even in his sleep—it was his first wife, Dina Fritz. She hadn't just been his partner in the Eldian Restoration movement; she had been the one who believed in him when no one else did.
And now, to hear that she might still be alive, even as a mindless Titan… it was enough to shake the foundations of everything he thought he'd lost.
Lock spoke evenly, his tone calm to balance Grisha's shaking voice.
"I've seen the photo of you and her. And according to your notes, Eldians injected with Titan spinal fluid retain their basic form and facial structure. Their appearance… even some expressions… remain faintly recognizable."
Grisha nodded slowly, his eyes widening.
"Yes. That's correct."
"Then based on that," Lock continued, "I'm ninety percent sure that the Pure Titan wandering near your home—the one seen before the fall of Wall Maria—is Dina."
Grisha froze. His grip on Lock's shoulders tightened again, trembling.
"My home… You said Dina was near my house?!"
Lock nodded once. "Yes. She was seen in Shiganshina District, near your old home. Hannes was there at the time—you can confirm it with him."
Grisha's lips parted, but no sound came out. His eyes, wide with disbelief, gradually filled with tears. The raw emotion in them was almost painful to witness.
"Dina…"
His hands dropped slowly from Lock's shoulders, hanging limp at his sides. His gaze drifted into the distance, unfocused. He looked as though his soul had left his body. Memories poured in—their first meeting, her quiet smile, her conviction when she spoke of freeing their people, the day they swore to fight together.
Lock said nothing. He simply stood by and waited. Words, he knew, would only cheapen the moment.
After a long silence, Grisha drew in a shaky breath. When he finally looked up, his eyes had regained their focus—steady, sharp, and filled with new purpose.
"Lock," he said quietly, "I can help you. But on one condition."
Lock's tone remained calm. "What condition?"
Grisha didn't hesitate. "You must promise to restore Dina to her human form."
Lock met his gaze for a long moment. Then he extended his hand.
"Deal."
Their hands clasped tightly, firm and deliberate.
"Pleasure to cooperate," Grisha said, his voice low but resolute.
Lock nodded. "Likewise."
Their grip lingered for a second longer—two generations bound not by blood, but by purpose.
Even if Grisha hadn't made that request, Lock would have sought Dina anyway. He needed her—her royal blood, her link to the Founding Titan. Without that connection, the Coordinate's full power could never be awakened. But beyond the cold practicality, Lock also felt something else—a flicker of pity for Grisha, for a man who had lost everything and still carried hope.
Both of them shared the same ultimate goal: the liberation of the Eldian people.
The difference lay in their motives.
Grisha sought freedom for all Eldians.
Lock sought freedom for himself—and would grant it to others along the way.
Grisha didn't notice that distinction, or perhaps he did and chose not to care.
To him, anyone willing to fight for Eldia's future was an ally worth keeping.
For Eldians in Marley, life was a waking nightmare. They were branded as "descendants of devils," forced to live in ghettos, used as tools of war, and executed on a whim. The Restorationists had risen from desperation, not ambition.
They didn't ask for wealth or power.
They only wanted dignity—to walk the world as humans, not monsters.
But Marley's hatred left no room for compassion. And so, rebellion had become their only language.
Grisha once believed that if the world could see the truth, if they could just remember that Eldians were human too, the cycle would end. But that belief had cost him everything—his comrades, his wife, his son.
Now, standing before Lock, he saw something different. Not naive hope. Not blind rage. But a calm, calculating determination that frightened him almost as much as it reassured him.
Lock broke the silence first. "We can't stay here. If the Reiss family's guards find us near the chapel, everything will be compromised."
Grisha nodded slowly. "Agreed."
The two began walking toward the edge of the forest, the fading light slanting through the trees. For a while, they spoke little. Only when they neared the outskirts of the district did Grisha finally ask, "Lock, what will you do next?"
Lock's eyes were distant. "The walls aren't chaotic enough yet. The breach at Shiganshina was just the beginning. Marley's infiltrators are already inside the walls—they'll act soon."
Grisha frowned. "You deduced that from my research?"
Lock nodded. "Partly. But it's also what they would do if I were them. Marley won't stop until they've secured the Founding Titan. They don't know who holds it, but they know it's here. The Reiss family hides in the shadows, rarely showing their faces. To make them move, we'll have to drag them into the open."
Grisha sighed. "Easier said than done. They've spent generations hiding behind false kings and secret ceremonies. The Reiss bloodline is cautious to the point of obsession."
Lock smirked faintly. "Cowardice dressed as caution."
Grisha gave him a weary look. "You may call it that, but they're still the only ones who can access the full power of the Founding Titan. Even if you somehow gained that Titan, it would remain dormant without their blood."
Lock's expression darkened slightly. "I know. That's why Dina is the key. If we can bring her back, she'll be our bridge to that power."
Grisha nodded grimly. "Then our goals are aligned."
They walked in silence again, their footsteps crunching against the fallen leaves. The wind carried the distant hum of the city beyond the trees—voices, bells, life. A fragile peace built on ignorance.
"Tell me, Lock," Grisha said suddenly, "why do you fight? Is it for freedom… or vengeance?"
Lock glanced at him, his eyes calm but unreadable. "Does it matter? Both paths lead to the same place."
Grisha studied him, then smiled faintly. "You remind me of someone I once knew."
Lock raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"Someone who believed the future could be rewritten," Grisha said softly. "And someone who paid the price for believing that."
Lock didn't respond. The answer was clear enough in the silence.
When they reached the forest's edge, Lock stopped and turned toward the city. The sun was sinking, painting the rooftops gold. He adjusted his cloak, the emblem of the Survey Corps catching the last light.
"Uncle," he said, his voice quiet but steady, "from this point on, keep your distance. If we're seen together, it'll raise questions neither of us can afford."
Grisha nodded. "Understood. I'll continue my work in the shadows. There's still much to prepare."
Lock gave a short nod. "Then our paths will cross again when the time is right."
He turned to leave, but Grisha's voice stopped him. "Lock."
He glanced back.
"Thank you," Grisha said. "For giving me hope again."
Lock's expression softened for just a moment. "Hope isn't given, Uncle. It's taken."
Then he disappeared into the trees, leaving Grisha standing at the forest's edge, watching the light fade from the sky.
He felt something he hadn't felt in years—a sense that perhaps, despite everything, the dream of Eldia's freedom hadn't died after all.
---
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