❖ The Night Garden
Night had settled over the palace, every window resembling a closed eyelid.
But Levi could not sleep—and he did not need a reason. Something inside him kept searching for her, as if the silence of the place were incomplete without her presence.
He passed by her room.
The door was closed, yet he could feel the emptiness behind it.
From the corridor window, he caught sight of a familiar shadow in the garden: standing beneath a tree, her hair dancing with the wind, a cigarette glowing faintly in the darkness between her fingers.
He descended without a sound, one hand holding the edge of his scarf—as if he knew the night was cruel, merciless toward weakness and silence alike.
He approached quietly, without a word.
When he stood behind her, he reached out and placed the scarf over her shoulders, as though extinguishing the cold in his own heart against her back.
Levi (in a low voice carrying a hint of reproach):
"You could have frozen to death before finishing that cigarette."
Sarah glanced at him from the corner of her eye, a pale smile touching her lips.
Sarah:
"I suppose you're the only one in this palace worried about my throat."
Levi:
"No. I'm the only one who understands when a cigarette is an excuse… and when it's a scream."
She fell silent.
Calmly, she crushed the cigarette beneath her foot, as though silencing a thought that was no longer worth having.
Sarah:
"Did you come to tell me I'm reckless… or to make sure I didn't run away with Willy?"
Levi (with quiet finality):
"I came because parties are not a place for us.
Or for you."
Sarah inhaled slowly.
Sarah:
"But it's the only place where something might change without blood."
He looked at her. His expression did not shift, yet it carried everything left unsaid.
Levi:
"The team doesn't know how to behave in environments like that.
Connie won't understand greeting protocol.
Sasha will think the appetizers are part of an experiment.
And Hange… might start analyzing the chemical composition of the champagne."
He paused for a moment before adding more carefully:
"And you… might forget who you are."
She raised an eyebrow, as though receiving a dull accusation.
Sarah:
"Are you afraid I'll change?"
Levi's gaze remained steady, cold.
Levi:
"I'm afraid you'll be forced to."
He stepped closer.
The air between them was charged—not with anger, but with disguised fear.
The fear of losing something that had never been spoken aloud, yet undeniably existed.
Alive, hiding behind every word left unsaid.
Sarah whispered, almost challengingly.
Sarah:
"You sound jealous."
Levi replied with lethal dryness.
Levi:
"I'm observing."
She smirked faintly.
Sarah:
"Then observe carefully… because I'm about to step into a dance whose steps I don't even know."
They exchanged a silent look.
He did not move closer.
Nor did he step away.
But something in his eyes screamed:
Don't fall.
At last he turned away.
Before leaving, he said without looking back:
Levi:
"Do what you think is right.
But don't let anyone choose the music for you."
He left.
Yet his voice lingered in the air long after his footsteps faded.
Sarah remained standing there, looking at the scarf on her shoulders.
A distant smile appeared on her lips.
Sarah (whispering to herself):
"Perhaps I wasn't the only one who worried you, Levi."
❖ Preparations for the Party
The next two days passed as though time itself had decided to hurry—perhaps knowing that something heavy awaited them on the coming night.
Inside the palace, silence was no longer the ruler of the moment.
The corridors were alive with movement.
Voices overlapped with nervous footsteps, scattered laughter, and the rhythm of music drifting from the eastern hall where rehearsals were taking place.
Sarah stood in the middle of the hall, her features stern, her gaze leaving no room for compromise.
Beside her stood Layla—softer in demeanor, yet firm in her warm, steady eyes.
Sarah (clearly, firmly):
"Remember this well… this is not a party.
This is a performance.
A test.
And every word, every glance, every gesture you make will be read and interpreted."
Layla offered a gentle smile to ease the tension.
Layla:
"And yet, don't forget that enjoyment is part of the plan. Someone who fails to blend in reveals themselves.
And dancing, believe it or not, can sometimes matter more than speeches."
Jean was attempting to follow a few simple dance steps, but he looked like a man fighting a personal war.
Jean:
"This is ridiculous… why do I even need to learn how to dance? Isn't looking handsome enough?"
Mikasa replied calmly while executing the movement perfectly.
Mikasa:
"Because the party includes dancing.
And it would be inappropriate to stand like statues among the elite."
Connie:
"I'm pretty sure I stepped on my own foot four times already. I need shoes that prevent mistakes."
Sasha, laughing brightly:
"I love this training! It's like trying new food… you never know if it's good until you taste it."
Layla moved among them, adjusting a hand position here, correcting a step there.
Meanwhile Sarah focused on gestures, formal speech, and how to respond to expected questions.
Not everyone was pleased.
Levi stood in the corner of the hall, arms crossed, silently observing everything with a gaze that carried equal parts mockery and indifference.
When Sarah approached him, he spoke without even looking at her.
Levi:
"If you think I'm going to enjoy this farce, you're mistaken."
Sarah smiled mischievously, standing before him with confidence.
Sarah:
"Perhaps.
But as always… you'll be the best at it.
Whether you like it or not."
He didn't answer.
But he didn't leave either.
And in his own way…
that was an admission.
❖ Before the Storm – A Conversation Under Moonlight
Night had spread its cloak over the palace, and the restless movement of the day had finally faded after hours of preparation. Yet sleep had not found its way to every pair of eyes.
In the back garden, Layla sat on the edge of the fountain, her hands folded quietly in her lap, while the moonlight reflected on the water's surface as though sketching the secrets of tomorrow.
Sarah approached with soft steps, carrying two blankets and two cups of hot tea. She sat silently beside her sister and handed her one of the cups.
Sarah (with a gentle smile):
"Your usual tea. No sugar."
Layla (taking the cup, smiling without looking at her):
"Thank you… you still remember."
A long silence followed, broken only by the sounds of the night—whispers of wind and the invisible pulse of darkness.
Layla (softly):
"Do you think we're ready?"
Sarah (looking toward the horizon):
"No one is ever truly ready when the doors of politics open."
Layla turned to her.
Layla:
"I'm not talking about the training or the etiquette… I mean our souls, our hearts… are we ready to appear in a form that doesn't resemble us?"
Sarah didn't answer immediately. She closed her eyes for a moment before speaking with honest depth.
Sarah:
"When we were little, you used to say disguises were frightening… because you feared forgetting who you were beneath them.
And now… we will wear crystal masks, speak in voices that are not ours, and laugh at jokes we never truly laughed at."
Layla:
"But we'll do it together."
Sarah turned to her, the moonlight reflected in her eyes.
Sarah (whispering):
"As long as you're beside me… I won't fear tomorrow."
Layla smiled reassuringly.
Layla:
"And I won't let you break… not beneath their eyes, and not beneath your own."
They sipped their tea slowly, as if every sip tried to pause time for a moment longer.
They both knew tomorrow would not be a party—it would be a delicate battlefield, where wars were waged through glances, whispers, and carefully crafted smiles.
Yet in that quiet corner of the night, they were simply sisters beneath the same sky, hiding a shared fear… and an unspoken faith.
❖ At the Threshold of the Room
After bidding Layla goodnight with a reassuring smile, Sarah walked through the stone corridor lit by faint lamps.
When she reached the door to her room, she suddenly stopped.
Levi was standing there, leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded. His voice had not yet come—but his eyes spoke enough.
Sarah exhaled softly.
Sarah:
"I didn't see you in the garden today."
Levi (without changing his posture):
"I didn't feel like joining that circus."
Sarah opened the door halfway, looking at him.
Sarah:
"Tomorrow we'll be on the real stage. And you know that a single glance from you… can be worth more than a thousand words."
He stepped forward—not close enough to be intimate, not far enough to remain formal.
Levi (cold, yet protective):
"Just remember… don't trust Willy's smile too much. Some people smile while sharpening their knives."
Sarah whispered softly.
Sarah:
"And you? When will you stop hiding behind that cold armor of yours?"
He looked at her for several seconds before answering in a voice meant only for the one who had waited for it.
Levi:
"When the world stops asking you to be everyone's shield."
He turned, ready to leave.
But he had not taken a single step before something stopped him—not a word, but the tremor of an unspoken call.
Her arms wrapped around his waist from behind, as though she were seeking shelter from a storm only she could see.
Her voice trembled as she clung to his coat.
Sarah (a broken whisper):
"I'm… scared, Levi."
He froze.
His heart—trained to ignore every call—betrayed him for a moment.
It pounded fiercely, as though remembering that there was a woman behind him… not just a soldier.
Slowly, he turned.
He looked at her as though seeing her for the first time—not with his eyes, but with something deeper.
His hand rose gently, touching her cheek with a tenderness he had never known except with her.
Then he spoke, his voice low yet unbreakable:
Levi:
"I'm with you… and I will stay.
Even if everything else begins to shake.
Don't be afraid, Sarah."
He took her hand.
Silently, he guided her to her room with slow steps, as though both of them feared waking from something that resembled safety.
When she entered, he didn't simply close the door…
He closed the door on the possibility of her breaking.
And left behind two hearts—
one afraid…
and one that had decided to remain.
❖ The Day of the Party – Beneath a Sun Unlike Yesterday
With the first thread of sunlight slipping through the palace windows, the morning arrived unlike any other.
It was not merely a morning.
It was the announcement of a night that would be written with elegant letters and tightened nerves.
Light footsteps echoed through the corridors as makeup artists and stylists arrived, their tools glimmering under the light like knights of a different kind.
Sarah stood organizing everything with calm authority.
Sarah:
"I want each of you to see yourselves the way you've never seen yourselves before… not as soldiers, but as symbols."
Laughter slowly filled the hall that had transformed into a chamber of transformation.
The girls sat while brushes and skilled hands worked around them, while the boys tried to keep their composure through uncertain jokes.
Eren (staring at himself in the mirror):
"Who is this? I didn't know my face could look like this."
Jean (adjusting his collar):
"Don't get carried away. You still have a personality problem."
Mikasa (calmly fixing her tie):
"But we all look like we stepped out of a history book."
When preparations ended, they gathered in the grand hall before a massive mirror.
The reflection staring back at them was unfamiliar.
Soldiers?
No.
Tonight they were something else.
Symbols.
Messengers.
Hope dressed in tailored suits, elegant ties, and gowns hiding invisible scars.
Sarah held Layla's hand as she looked at the group.
Sarah:
"This is how I wanted to see you. Not because appearances change who we are… but because they reveal a strength we never allowed ourselves to recognize."
Layla laughed softly.
Layla:
"Tonight we're not just guests… we are messages walking on earth."
They exchanged glances filled with excitement and fear.
Hearts beat faster.
Feet prepared for the first step.
Beyond the doors awaited a world that did not know them yet…
But tonight,
they would not leave it unchanged.
❖ Flashback – The Hidden Throne and the Shadow We Invented
The father stood before a massive underground mural depicting a dramatic scene:
A man driving a spear into the heart of a titan.
"Helios."
The name was engraved beneath the golden painting.
Willy sighed.
Willy:
"Helios… the hero who saved humanity. How many children in Marley cried after hearing that story?
I was one of them."
His father smiled coldly.
Father:
"And I was the one who wrote that story."
Willy turned slowly, disbelief burning in his eyes.
Father:
"Did you truly believe Helios existed?
We created him. A hero of paper.
A spear that never existed.
A victory that never happened."
Willy:
"But people believed in him! Why convince an entire nation with a lie?"
Father:
"Because the world doesn't need truth… it needs symbols. Symbols never question, never betray, never die."
He stepped closer.
Father:
"Do you know who the real Helios was?
Us."
"We ended the Titan War—not with a spear, not with bravery… but with a deal. A bargain between a king behind the walls and a family that understood how to control the story."
Willy whispered.
Willy:
"And we're still living on the blood of that story…"
Father:
"Then remember this when you write your next speech:
Begin with 'In the name of Helios.'
They don't want your voice, Willy.
They want the shadow of the spear we invented."