The children accepted the candy silently. For a moment, no one spoke. But when they popped the sweets into their mouths, their faces lit up with rare, innocent expressions—smiles that actually belonged to children their age.
Zeke's lips curved. He let himself enjoy the sight before turning to Carla.
Carla blinked at him, puzzled. "?"
"This one is for Grisha's wife," Zeke said, holding out another piece of candy.
Carla shook her head quickly, an awkward smile tugging at her lips. "I don't need it, really. Leave it to the children."
"No," Zeke insisted gently but firmly. "In Grandpa's eyes, everyone is a child. Whether it's Grisha, or Grisha's wife, or Grisha's son—it doesn't matter. Grandpa said candy must be given to every child."
His voice grew softer as he remembered. "Before we set off, he pressed candies into my palm one by one. 'This is for Grisha.' 'This is for Grisha's wife.' 'This is for Grisha's son.' Over and over again. I couldn't ignore it. So I must deliver them."
Carla froze, her throat tightening. At last, she reached out and accepted the candy, her fingers trembling slightly.
Zeke smiled gratefully.
"Is Grandpa in good health?" Carla asked with quiet concern.
Zeke gave a small shrug.
"As well as he can be."
"Ah…" Carla's gaze softened, but she didn't press further. Instead, she carried her basket of fresh ingredients into the kitchen. "Everyone's searching for you now. But I already told the soldiers—no guests are here today. Grisha has no relatives. Everyone knows that."
She shrugged lightly, then began unpacking her groceries to prepare a warm meal for the unexpected visitors.
Zeke leaned against the doorway, silent. His thoughts drifted. He remembered: when his father had been brought inside the Walls by the Survey Corps, no one had doubted his identity because he looked human enough. But there was no way to fabricate a past.
This world was too small—one could ride across it on horseback in a single day. Tracing someone's background wasn't difficult.
So Grisha had simply claimed amnesia.
A convenient explanation. And someone with no memories could hardly have relatives.
That was also why Eren and Mikasa hadn't believed Zeke's words at first.
"I deserved that beating."
Behind him, Eren had already finished his candy. The boy's small hand crept toward the tin again, fingers sneaking inside when he thought no one was looking.
Zeke noticed but said nothing. After all, there was plenty of sugar.
Who could resist the charm of White Rabbit Milk Candy?
Still, as he watched the boy lick sugar from his fingertips, Zeke couldn't ignore the invisible wall between them. Adults and children lived on different sides of that wall. He wanted to be close, but Eren—little Eren—still preferred playing with the three warrior children rather than seeking his company.
"Maybe it will change when he grows older," Zeke thought.
But the image of a gloomy, embittered adult Eren flashed across his mind, just for a moment. The Eren who had betrayed him once.
No.
This world was different.
If Zeke could find Grisha early, if he could stop him from passing down the Attack Titan and Founding Titan, then Eren would never become that man again. He wouldn't have to bear that heavy fate.
Looking at the boy now—silly, clear-eyed, overjoyed by a single piece of candy—Zeke felt a strange happiness fill his chest.
This world could be beautiful.
He turned and headed into the kitchen. The living room belonged to the children. It wasn't his place to intrude.
Carla was already bustling about, chopping and washing. The smell of vegetables and fresh meat filled the small kitchen.
Zeke hovered awkwardly by the counter. He wanted to help, but truthfully, he had no idea how. Since his parents' exile, he had lived almost entirely in military barracks. Meals came from the army canteen. On rare occasions he had cooked for himself, but those times amounted to nothing more than boiling water for instant noodles.
"Auntie," he said softly, "may I… discuss something with you?"
Carla glanced up from her cutting board. "Hmm?"
Zeke hesitated, then forced himself to continue. "I want to take Uncle Grisha and little Eren… back with me. To see Grandpa. Would that be all right?"
The words hung in the air like a blade.
Carla froze, the knife motionless in her hand. Then, to Zeke's surprise, she smiled and said without hesitation: "Of course."
"…It's very far away," Zeke added quickly, guilt gnawing at him.
"That's fine. It's what I should do," Carla replied just as quickly.
"Maybe…" His throat tightened. "…maybe we'll be gone for a long time."
This time Carla stopped completely. She set down her knife and turned to face him, her expression soft but searching.
Her eyes—gentle, pure—stabbed him with guilt. He was the one who meant to take her husband and son away.
"How long?" she asked quietly.
"Maybe I won't come back here again," Zeke admitted. His chest ached. Then, almost desperately, he added, "You can come with us. You don't have to stay."
But Carla shook her head, voice lower now.
"My home is here."
Her parents, siblings, friends… all tied to this place. Asking her to abandon everything would be cruel beyond words.
"Let's wait until Grisha comes back to decide," she said at last, returning to her work as though nothing had happened. "I can't make that choice alone."
Zeke swallowed. "…Is Grandpa unwell?" she asked again, softly.
He sighed. He could not bring himself to lie to this kind woman anymore. "It's nothing serious. He just… misses Grisha. Always."
Carla's hands stilled for a heartbeat.
Then she smiled faintly. "Then we'll wait for Grisha together."
"Mm."
Their conversation ended there. The truth was too heavy, too cruel. Breaking up a family was something Zeke could not bear to dwell on. In the best version of his imagination, Carla would agree to come with them willingly. But reality was rarely so kind.
So, to ease his guilt, he busied himself with small tasks in the kitchen, clumsy but earnest.
For a brief time, the house was warm and quiet. The clatter of pots and the laughter of children in the other room blended into a picture of domestic peace Zeke had never known.
Until—
A knock, sharp and cold, echoed through the wooden door.
"Hello. Survey Corps," a flat voice called from outside. "Routine inspection. Is Grisha here?"
The warmth shattered like glass.
And the voice—unmistakable.
Levi.