Smoke still clung to the square like a second wall.
Steam hissed from the skeletal remains of Eren's partial Titan, ribs cracking and dissolving into nothing as heat shimmered in the air. Chunks of hardened flesh evaporated mid-fall, turning into fog before they could even hit the ground. It was quiet in the worst way—the kind of silence that came after something huge failed to kill you.
Mikasa didn't move.
Neither did Armin.
They stood beneath the Titan's fading bones, close enough that the heat prickled their skin, close enough that one wrong order would erase all three of them at once.
"Stand by!" Captain Kitz Woermann shouted, his voice sharp but cracking. "Prepare the cannon for a second shot!"
The soldiers obeyed, though their hands shook. The cannon creaked as it was adjusted, wood groaning under tension. The barrel slowly tilted—back toward Eren.
Inside the evaporating Titan, Eren finally came to.
"…Huh?"
He blinked, disoriented, staring at massive fingers that were no longer solid. They were transparent now, breaking apart like ash in the wind.
"…I did it?" he muttered. "But… it feels wrong."
The Titan's body dissolved completely.
Eren dropped to the ground, landing hard on his feet, knees buckling. He caught himself just in time and looked up.
Mikasa.
Armin.
They were right there.
Alive.
For a second, relief washed over him so strongly it almost knocked him down.
Then he saw the cannon.
"Oh," he said faintly. "Right. That."
Mikasa immediately grabbed his shoulder. "Eren. Don't move."
"I wasn't planning to," he replied, forcing a weak smile. "I'm suddenly very aware that moving is… unpopular."
Behind them, the soldiers shouted.
"He's out!" "The Titan disappeared—!" "Reload! Don't let him transform again!"
Eren clenched his fists. His mind was clearer now—too clear. Thoughts crashed into each other.
"The Titan wasn't complete," he said quickly, voice low. "I think… I think it only formed where I needed it. I was only thinking about stopping the cannon."
Armin's eyes widened. "…So you controlled it?"
"Not exactly," Eren admitted. "More like… it listened."
That didn't make him feel better.
"I have two plans," Eren continued, forcing himself to speak before fear swallowed him. "One—we escape. I transform fully, smash through, and head back to Wall Maria."
Mikasa stiffened. "Alone?"
"That's the problem," Eren said. "I'd have to go alone."
"No," Mikasa snapped immediately.
Armin looked down, fists clenched. Of course they'd fight, he thought. They always do. Even now.
Eren exhaled, then said quietly, "The second plan… is worse. Riskier."
He looked at Armin.
"If you think you can convince them I'm not the enemy… then I'll stay."
Armin froze. "Me?"
"You're the only one who can," Eren said simply. "You always were."
Armin's chest tightened.
I'm always hiding, he thought. Always scared. And they still…
Eren continued, "Five years ago—if you hadn't told Hannes to go after us—Mikasa and I would've died. I never forgot that."
Armin's breath hitched.
"…You never thought I was a burden?" he whispered.
Eren shook his head. "Never."
The cannon clicked.
Loaded.
Armin swallowed hard.
"…Then I'll do it," he said, stepping forward. "I'll convince them."
Mikasa turned sharply. "Armin—!"
"I'm scared," Armin admitted, voice trembling but steady. "But… I'm more scared of losing you."
He stepped out of the smoke.
Every gun turned on him.
He raised his hands slowly, then snapped into a salute so sharp it hurt.
"I request permission to speak!" Armin shouted.
Woermann stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "You're defending that thing?!"
"Yes!" Armin yelled back. "Because I saw it! Everyone did! That Titan fought other Titans! It protected us! Titans don't do that!"
"They deceive!" Woermann barked. "Prepare to fire!"
Ian Dietrich stepped forward. "Captain—listen to the boy. At least hear him out."
Woermann's hand shook as he raised it to signal.
And then—
Space folded.
There was no flash. No warning. No sound of movement.
One moment, the air beside the cannon was empty.
The next—
Someone was standing there.
White hair.
Hands in his pockets.
Smiling like he'd just walked into the wrong meeting.
"…Wow," Alex said casually. "You guys really love pointing big weapons at teenagers."
The soldiers screamed.
Several stumbled backward. One dropped his rifle. Another fired by reflex—only for the shot to vanish inches from Alex's face, stopped by an invisible barrier that shimmered once, then disappeared.
"W-where did you come from?!" Woermann shouted.
Alex tilted his head. "Short answer? Here. Long answer? Somewhere you'd need therapy to understand."
He glanced at the cannon, then at Eren, then back at the soldiers.
"Relax," Alex added cheerfully. "If I wanted you all dead, this conversation would be much shorter."
They didn't relax.
Woermann's face was pale. "Another one…?"
Alex sighed. "Wow. 'Another one' hurts a little. I have a name, you know."
He snapped his fingers lightly.
Several soldiers flinched.
Nothing happened.
"…Kidding," Alex said. "I just wanted to see who'd panic."
High above, on the Wall, a man watched.
Beer belly. Calm eyes. A smile too relaxed for the situation.
Dot Pixis chuckled.
"…So that's the irregularity," he murmured. "Interesting."
Alex felt it then.
Pressure.
A presence.
"…Ah," he thought. There you are.
He'd already placed a barrier around the square—thin, layered, invisible. He'd let the cannon fire. Let the fear peak.
Because chaos always summoned authority.
And sure enough—
Pixis descended from the Wall shortly after, cane tapping against stone, expression amused.
"Stand down," Pixis ordered calmly.
The soldiers obeyed without question.
Pixis looked at Armin. "What you said earlier—did you mean it? Or were you simply trying to survive?"
Armin swallowed. "Both," he admitted. "But my plan is real."
He explained the boulder. The gate. The chance to reclaim Trost.
Pixis listened.
Then turned to Eren. "Can you do it?"
Eren hesitated. "…I don't understand my power."
Pixis smiled. "That wasn't the question."
Eren looked back at the ruined district. At the people who would die if the gate fell.
"…I'll try."
Pixis nodded, then glanced at Alex. "And you are?"
Alex grinned. "Insurance."
Pixis laughed. "Good. You'll protect the boy."
Alex gave a lazy salute. "Already was."
Above them, the tension finally cracked—not gone, but redirected.
The world didn't feel safe.
But for the first time since the breach—
It felt possible.
----
The square didn't truly calm after Pixis spoke.
It only learned how to hold its breath.
Smoke still crawled along the stones, curling around boots and broken debris. The cannon crew stood frozen in half-positions, hands hovering near mechanisms they'd just been ordered not to fire. Soldiers lowered weapons by inches—not trust, just obedience.
Alex noticed all of it.
He always did.
He rolled his shoulders lazily, like someone stretching after sitting too long. "Man," he muttered, "I knew I should've slept in today."
No one laughed.
Mikasa instinctively stepped in front of Eren, her body moving before her mind finished the thought. Her eyes locked onto Alex—white hair, relaxed posture, hands in pockets like he wasn't standing in the aftermath of a near-execution.
"…Who are you?" she asked.
Alex tapped his chest with one finger. "Alex. Sometimes people call me worse things, but we'll ease into that."
"That's not an answer," Eren said, still breathing hard.
"Sure it is," Alex replied cheerfully. "Just not a useful one yet."
Armin swallowed and forced himself to speak. "You… you stopped the cannon earlier. And then you appeared next to the commander without using gear. That's not something a normal human can do."
Alex tilted his head. "Define 'normal.'"
"That didn't help," Armin muttered.
Eren looked at Alex more closely now, eyes narrowing. "You were there earlier. When I fell. You tried to heal me."
Alex blinked once. "Ah. You noticed that."
"My body healed on its own," Eren continued slowly. "You looked… surprised."
Alex gave a short laugh. "Buddy, surprised doesn't begin to cover it. I thought I was dealing with 'bad injuries,' not 'secret biological nightmare.'"
Mikasa stiffened. "You didn't know he was a Titan."
"Nope," Alex said easily. "Found out the same way everyone else did. Loudly. With steam."
Eren clenched his fists. "Then why didn't you stop me?"
Alex's gaze drifted—not to Eren, but past him. Toward the Wall. Toward the distant breach. Toward the chaos still unfolding beyond the square.
"…Because," he said quietly, "some things need to happen to expose bigger problems."
The trio froze.
Armin's mind latched onto that instantly. "Bigger… problems?"
Alex sighed, scratching the back of his head. "Okay. Cards on the table—some of them, anyway."
He looked up at the Wall again.
"I already put a barrier over the breach."
Eren stared. "What?"
Mikasa turned sharply. "You what?"
"Yep," Alex said casually. "Right when I arrived. Spatial barrier. Reinforced. Titans weren't getting through that hole unless I let them."
Armin's breath caught. "Then—then why didn't you close it completely?"
Alex smiled—but this time it wasn't playful.
"Because the breach isn't the real problem."
Silence pressed in.
Alex continued, voice calm, almost thoughtful. "Walls don't just break themselves. Someone—or something—made that hole. And then another one. Two breaches, right? That's not an accident. That's preparation."
Eren's eyes widened. "…You think there's someone behind it."
"I know there is," Alex corrected. "And whoever did it wanted chaos. Fear. Confusion. They wanted people panicking, pointing weapons at each other instead of asking questions."
Armin's hands trembled. "…So you let this happen… to draw them out?"
Alex nodded. "Bingo. If I fixed everything instantly, the culprit would just sit back and wait. This way? They'll move. People always do when plans go off-script."
Mikasa's voice was low. "You used Eren."
Alex met her stare without flinching. "I protected him," he said simply. "There's a difference."
Eren swallowed. "You… put a barrier up, but let us think the Wall was still open."
"Mm-hmm."
"And you're watching… for whoever broke it."
"Correct."
Armin looked dizzy. "That's… that's terrifying."
Alex grinned faintly. "Welcome to my work style."
Pixis' voice echoed again in the distance, issuing orders, moving pieces on the board. Soldiers began clearing a path toward the boulder.
Eren looked from the Wall to Alex. "So… if something goes wrong—"
"I step in," Alex said. "That's the deal."
Mikasa studied him for a long moment, then asked quietly, "Why tell us this?"
Alex paused.
"…Because you're not pawns," he said. "And because you're going to notice something's off anyway. Better you know there's a safety net—even if I let it slack."
Eren took a steadying breath. "You're really confident."
Alex shrugged. "I've seen worse walls fall."
That didn't help Eren feel better.
Armin hesitated, then asked the question that had been clawing at him. "…Are you on humanity's side?"
Alex looked at him—really looked. At the fear, the intelligence, the fragile courage.
"I'm on the side of people who choose," he said. "Right now, that's you three."
Eren nodded slowly. "Then… protect me while I do this."
Alex smiled, sharp and assured. "Already planned to."
Mikasa frowned. "And if the one who caused this appears?"
Alex's eyes gleamed. "Then we have a conversation."
The ground trembled slightly as soldiers signaled readiness.
Eren stepped forward, resolve hardening.
Alex leaned in close to the trio and muttered, "Alright. Giant boulder. Giant expectations. No pressure."
Then he straightened—and vanished.
Not with smoke.
Not with gear.
Just gone.
A ripple snapped through the air.
Soldiers yelped. Someone dropped their rifle.
"What the—?!" "Where did he go?!" "Was he even there?!"
Alex reappeared several meters away, perched casually on a broken wall like he'd teleported for fun.
"Relax," he called. "I'm still here. Just checking angles."
The fear didn't relax.
If anything, it got worse.
High above, unseen, the barrier shimmered faintly over the breach—silent, patient, waiting.
Alex watched everything at once: Eren's resolve, Mikasa's tension, Armin's racing mind… and the empty spaces where someone should be watching.
"…Alright," he thought. "Show yourself."
Because if someone had broken the Wall on purpose—
They were about to realize the trap was already set.