Author's Note:
If you're starting here, it probably means you don't want to go through the earlier chapters. That's totally fine! This one can be read on its own, and I promise you won't be disappointed. Have fun reading!
The crowd's chatter faded as the music swelled. Eren stood near the altar, nerves twisting in his stomach even though he tried to play it cool. His closest friends circled around him—Armin fixing the collar of his suit with unnecessary precision, Jean cracking a joke about how he couldn't believe Eren actually managed to get married before him, and Connie trying to lighten the mood by making silly faces.
Then, the announcement came:
"Please stand. The bride is coming."
The guests rose, and all eyes turned to the aisle. Mikasa entered, a vision of quiet grace. She held her bouquet tightly, crimson scarf still wrapped delicately around her shoulders as if it belonged in this moment as much as the white gown she wore. The bouquet shimmered with a mix of lilies, roses, and carnations—symbols of devotion, strength, and remembrance.
But tucked in between them was something no one noticed at first: a flower with a shadowed hue, its petals wilted, darker than the rest, as though cursed. It didn't belong.
Mikasa walked slowly, her gaze fixed only on Eren. Her steps echoed like the heartbeat of time itself, steady and inevitable. When she reached him, she smiled—the same gentle smile that had carried her through every hell and battle.
And as the vows ended, as the kiss sealed their promise, Mikasa turned, tossing the bouquet into the air. For one suspended second, the cursed flower caught the light. Instead of spreading darkness, the shadow peeled away. Its black petals shifted into something radiant, blooming into a flower brighter than the rest. The curse had been broken—not by force, not by fear, but by love itself.
The crowd erupted in cheers. Eren laughed for the first time in a long while, that deep laugh of freedom, and Mikasa's eyes shone like dawn.
---
Days later, after the ceremony and the celebrations, a company picnic was arranged at a sprawling meadow outside the city. It was supposed to be a corporate event, but in truth it had become something else entirely: a reunion, not bound by life or death, war or peace, but by something greater.
The meadow buzzed with joy. Children ran across the grass, chasing each other with paper kites. Tables were piled with food, laughter echoed everywhere. And among them… the faces.
Faces thought lost forever.
There was Marco, sitting with Jean, both smiling in that bittersweet way—like two halves of a memory made whole. Sasha, munching happily on bread rolls as Connie tried to steal bites from her plate, only to get smacked with her fork. Hange was animatedly explaining some new experiment to Onyankopon, who only laughed and nodded, clearly having missed her endless rambling.
Levi, of course, sat to the side with his tea, arms crossed, looking like he wanted nothing to do with the noise—yet his eyes softened ever so slightly when Petra and the rest of his fallen squad appeared in the crowd, waving at him.
Not only Survey Corps were there. From across the sea came the Marleyan warriors: Reiner, standing with Falco and Gabi, watching them laugh with the other kids as if they'd always belonged. Pieck lounged lazily on a blanket, chatting with Historia, who now had her little daughter tugging at her dress. Bertholdt, tall and shy as ever, greeted Armin with an awkward but genuine smile—one that spoke of worlds reconciled.
And even Ymir, older now, joined the circle. She raised her glass in mock salute, smirking when Historia pulled her closer, as though no distance or fate had ever separated them.
Everywhere Eren looked, there were people—people who had fought, bled, and died. Yet here they were, gathered in the sunlight, as though the threads of destiny had been rewoven for this moment.
He sat with Mikasa under a great oak tree, watching it all. She leaned her head against his shoulder. "It's strange," she whispered, "to see everyone like this. Almost like… none of it ever happened."
"Maybe it did," Eren replied softly, his hand resting over hers. "But maybe it doesn't matter anymore. We're here now. Together. That's enough."
Nearby, Armin released a deep breath as he spread a map across the picnic table, explaining travel routes and plans for exploration, his voice carrying the excitement of a boy chasing dreams. Annie sat beside him, quiet but smiling at his passion, occasionally stealing bites from the food he wasn't eating.
Gabi and Falco chased after Sasha's younger siblings, their laughter spilling across the meadow. Reiner even joined, though awkwardly, until Jean shoved him into the game and the two ended up rolling in the grass like children.
"Eren," Mikasa murmured, pointing toward the horizon.
There, in the fading light of dusk, the cursed flower from the wedding day appeared again—set in a small vase on the table. But its petals were no longer dark. They shone brilliantly, vibrant with color, as if it had been reborn.
A symbol, perhaps, that even the deepest scars could bloom into something new.
For the first time, the war felt far away.
And in its place, love lingered—unshakable, eternal.
The picnic ground stretched as far as the eye could see, alive with color and laughter. Jean was already arguing with Connie, Sasha munched happily on her food, and Levi leaned against a tree, pretending to be annoyed though his gaze kept drifting back to the crowd.
Among the familiar, there were faces that made them pause. A tall boy with kind eyes who laughed softly with Armin—Bertholdt, though no one seemed to remember the name. Nearby, Gabi and Falco ran across the field with Historia's child, their laughter carrying through the air. Reiner sat with a plate in hand, smiling in a way no one had ever seen before.
But it didn't stop there. Faces Eren and Mikasa swore they'd never seen before showed up in clusters—soldiers with sharp eyes, cadets with hopeful smiles, people from Marley and beyond the Walls. Strangers… yet they felt strangely familiar, as if their hearts knew them even if their minds did not.
Every time their eyes met, there was a spark of recognition—fleeting, wordless, but powerful. It was as if they had all fought, bled, and cried together once in a story no one here could remember.
And yet, none of them carried that weight anymore. No scars, no grief, no war. Only laughter, only warmth, only life.
The entire field brimmed with people who should have been separated by nations, wars, and death itself—but here they were, together. A paradise woven from fragments of forgotten pain, where all that remained was joy.
And so, they smiled. They laughed. They lived.