Attack on Titan: Wolfborn

Chapter XXXII: Permitted to Move

The noose hung slack against Eren's throat, rough hemp scraping skin already rubbed raw by shackles. Water dripped from the gallows beam above, cold against the back of his neck. The storm had passed, leaving the air sharp and bright, sunlight breaking through torn clouds to illuminate the devastation below.

He stood at the platform's edge, wrists bound tight behind him, staring out at Stohess as it bled smoke into the pale afternoon sky. The crowd below writhed like a single furious animal—hundreds of faces contorted with hate, their voices merging into a roar that made the wooden platform tremble under his boots.

A stone struck his shoulder, jolting him sideways. Another slammed into his ribs, doubling him over with a grunt. MPs flanked him, hands on rifles, but none moved to stop the barrage. Why would they?

Steam hissed faintly where blood welled from torn skin.

Through gaps in the seething crowd, he glimpsed the charred husk of what had been a bakery that morning. Rubble lay scattered across the street, beams blackened, windows blown out. Amid the debris, a woman knelt, cradling something small and still. Her scream carried even through the mob's fury, a ragged, wordless sound that twisted his chest.

We did this. His teeth ground together. Annie and I.

"Murderer!"

"Monster!"

He closed his eyes against the words, against the truth in them. When he opened them again, only rage remained—rage and a hot, pulsing frustration that burned through the ache of his bruises.

They didn't understand. None of them understood what was at stake.

They were allowing them to escape— What could happen then? No wall would stand. No city.

He had tried to tell them. Tried to scream the truth at every guard who shoved him down dark hallways, every soldier who spat in his face. He tried now, voice hoarse and breaking.

"She's out there!" His words were swallowed by the crowd's roar. "They're getting away! You're wasting—"

A rock hit his temple, flashing the world white. Warm blood trickled down his cheek, catching in the rope's coarse fibers.

Below him, an officer in a stiff cloak checked a pocket watch impassively, ignoring the screaming masses, ignoring his ragged words.

Another stone. Another scream. The rope creaked as it was pulled taut behind him, settling against his windpipe.

Somewhere in the crowd—soldiers forcing their way forward, shouting—but Eren couldn't focus. His vision swam with blood and fury and the certainty that humanity was making its final, stupid mistake.

*

Through a gaping fracture in the outer wall, the roar of the crowd carried in sharp and clear.

 "Kill the Titan! Hang him!"

The chant rose making the ruined structure tremble with each syllable.

At the top landing, two Military Police guards blocked the shattered doorway, rifles lowered to bar their path.

"Halt." The first guard's voice cut sharp. "State your business."

"We have to get through!" Jean tried to pass, but the soldiers shoved him back.

"Back off, son."

Marlo coughed out words between ragged breaths. "Please—Commander Dawk needs to hear—"

The second guard grabbed his arm, twisting until Marlo grunted in pain.

"Commander!" Jean shouted past them. "It's about Annie Leonhart!"

The rifle butt cracked against his jaw. Jean's head snapped sideways, copper flooding his mouth. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard a voice.

"Wait."

The guards froze. Beyond them, Nile Dawk stood by a shattered window, his uniform damp with rain and sweat. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. Eyes fixed on Jean.

"What did you say?"

Jean spat blood, words thick. "Annie Leonhart. She's the Female Titan."

Marlo found his voice, still trembling in the guard's grip. "I saw her transform, Commander. Others saw it too. The Scouts—they weren't lying."

"How can you prove it?" His voice was rough, frayed at the edges.

Jean stepped forward, ignoring the guards shifting behind them, his voice tight and desperate. "Check her quarters, sir. There's signs of fighting. Just this morning we saw her packing everything to flee before the Scouts cornered her. She's escaped. They were right—they were chasing a spy."

Nile's jaw clenched so tightly the tendons stood out in his neck. For a long moment, he just stared at them, chest heaving beneath his cloak.

Outside, the shouts from the crowd rose and fell, hoarse voices slamming against the stone walls, demanding blood.

An aide stepped forward, visibly uncertain. His eyes flicked between Jean and Marlo then the Commander.

"Sir…" the aide said cautiously. "Your orders?"

The Commander didn't answer. His gaze drifted past them, out the shattered window, down to the scaffold.

He stayed like that for a beat. Two.

Then a breath. Slow. Controlled. Barely.

"Stop the execution," he said, voice hoarse. "Tell them to stand down. It's suspended until further notice."

The aide then saluted and rushed out.

Jean exhaled hard, only then realizing he'd been holding his breath. Beside him, Marlo sagged as though his bones had gone soft.

"Get me Erwin Smith," Nile ordered, the words clipped, low, thrumming with tension. "Bring him here. Now."

His knuckles whitened against the fractured stone of the windowsill, eyes locked on the noose.

*

Nile's boots echoed sharply against stone as he led the three shackled Scouts through the undercroft archives. Their chains clanked with each uneven step. His head throbbed—forty-seven dead. Titans inside the walls. The 'Hero of Trost' and of his own MPs a spy, traitors...

The world had collapsed in under a day.

"You wanted the cadet files," Nile muttered, voice brittle. "Here."

He yanked open the drawer with more force than needed. "104th Cadet Corps. That's every file we have of the recruits from Wall Maria. Including Leonhart."

Erwin stepped forward to take them. His chains rattled. Nile grabbed his wrist.

"You knew, didn't you?" The words scraped out. "About Leonhart."

A beat.

"Yes." Erwin didn't blink.

Nile's fist struck him across the jaw. The crack echoed like a rifle shot in the archive's stone chamber. Erwin staggered a half-step back, blood blooming at the corner of his mouth.

"That's for the forty-seven," Nile said, breathing hard. "You let this city become a battleground. You could've warned me."

Erwin wiped the blood with the back of his hand, then met Nile's eyes.

"Would you have believed me?"

Silence. Heavy, bitter silence.

Nile's hand fell away. He didn't answer.

Erwin took the files and began flipping through them, passing pages to Hange and the others.

"Most of these are incomplete—probably lost when Maria fell," Hange muttered. "But look—Leonhart. Braun. Hoover. All from the same border settlement. No surviving family. No background checks."

Levi's eyes narrowed. "Sons of bitches never give us a rest. We should move now—before they get the chance to run."

Nile's head snapped up. "You're assuming they haven't already. How do you know they're not halfway to the next wall by now?"

"I don't. But after the expedition failed, I started connecting the pieces. Wolf was isolated—yet the enemy still knew exactly where to strike. Someone else had passed along our plans. So I recalled the recruits to headquarters and they're being quietly monitored."

A beat. Nile's jaw tightened.

Erwin didn't flinch "Which means they're contained—for now. If Braun and Hoover are what we suspect…" 

A knock. Urgent.

"Commander," called a soldier from beyond the door. "Report just came in—Leonhart and Wolf were seen heading southwest. Wall Rose."

Hange's eyes widened. "That's in the direction of headquarters…"

Nile froze. His mind raced.

Erwin's voice followed, quiet and resolute. "We can still stop this. Set a trap. But we have to act—now."

For a moment, Nile said nothing. His eyes drifted to the charcoal sketch pinned to the edge of his desk—a titan's face half-exposed in Wall Sina. Beside it: casualty reports, Kirstein's warehouse file. A stack of nightmares, growing by the hour.

Then—without a word—he stepped forward and unlocked Erwin's shackles. Then Hange's. Then Levi's.

"Don't make me regret this," he muttered, eyes lingering on Erwin.

He turned to the soldier by the door. "Get them their gear. Any MP who volunteers rides with them. Now."

The man saluted and ran.

"You're not coming?" Hange asked.

Nile shook his head. "Someone has to hold this together. Explain things to the Premier. Contain the press. The mob's still screaming for Jaeger's head—and I'm about to let him walk out the door."

The others began moving.

"Erwin," Nile said, voice rough, cracked at the edge.

Erwin paused at the threshold.

"Just stop them. Before whatever they unleash makes this look like a mercy."

Erwin nodded once, then shut the door behind them.

Nile stood alone, staring down at the sketch pinned to his desk—the face of a titan embedded in the wall, unmoving. Watching.

They had already seen three—exposed by the damage Leonhart and Wolf had left behind.

They'd been living with monsters. Not just outside the walls… but inside them, all along.

And the people still had no idea.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

God help us all.

*

Annie's titan form stumbled, steam venting from joints that can no longer hold. The rhythmic thunder of footfalls became erratic, then stopped. They were in farmland now, far enough from Stohess that the walls were just a smudge on the horizon.

The Female Titan dropped to one knee, then both. Steam billowed up in great clouds as the titan began to dissolve. Anja's grip loosened involuntarily - the flesh beneath her fingers losing substance, muscle fibers unraveling into vapor.

She slid down the evaporating shoulder, landing hard in mud. Her legs gave way, and she caught herself on her left hand the right useless clinging to her side.

Through the steam, she could barely catch a glimpse of her.

She emerged from the nape. Blonde hair plastered to her skull.

Anja's mind stopped.

The steam cleared in wisps, revealing Annie, her body detaching from the weakened flesh with ease, skin peeling away in places like silk. She descended the steaming corpse in one fluid motion.

Anja didn't move. Stayed in the mud, half-submerged, lungs stuck on the inhale.

Annie wouldn't look at her.

Burned sinew framed her face like remnants of a mask—red tendrils clung to her jaw, her cheeks, the sharp slope beneath her eyes. The shape of her titan still marked her, etched in raw muscle that hadn't fully receded.

"Annie…"

The name scraped out of her throat. Annie's hand twitched, half-reaching toward her, then froze in the air. Retreated.

Say something. Say anything.

"I… Please tell me what they said about you is wrong… Please, I know you didn't want to hurt anyone… Please."

Still, Annie wouldn't meet her eyes. Her face turned away, shoulders hunched.

"No… No. You didn't…"

The words came out warped, as if spoken underwater. This wasn't real. Couldn't be.

"Tell me why?!"

Her body moved before thought—left hand seizing Annie's collar. The right hand twitched uselessly, phantom fingers digging into air. The momentum knocked them both down, Anja landing on top, breath heaving, her fist shaking Annie violently.

"Why?!"

Each word tore its way out like broken glass.

"You betrayed us!"

Her fist connected with Annie's jaw—barely—but pain shot up her arm anyway. She didn't stop. Couldn't. Her body remembered something primal, rage, grief, abandonment.

But already the blows were faltering. Her strength going. Her body, broken.

Annie didn't fight back. Didn't even raise a hand. Just let the hits come silently.

"Fight back!" Anja screamed.

"I'm sorry." A single tear clung to Annie's cheek, trembling there before falling. Then another. Soon they streaked through the grime and burn scars, a quiet, uncontrolled surrender.

"I'm so sorry." Steam curled faintly from where her skin had begun to mend.

Anja's shouts collapsed into choking sobs. Her hand dropped against Annie's chest, fingers trembling.

"You don't get to do this," Anja whispered, voice raw. She grabbed Annie's face with her good hand and forced eye contact.

"Tell me at least you had a reason. Say something. Did I—was it all just…"

A lie?

She couldn't finish it. Couldn't form the shape of the words around what she'd lost.

Annie's reply came brittle, half-swallowed. "There's no good reason."

Worse than silence.

"I'm not from inside the walls," she said, and her voice gained strength by losing hope. "I came here with a mission. We… we had to break the walls."

A beat. No apology. Just the shape of history reasserting itself.

"I didn't know you when Shiganshina fell. I didn't think about the families, the lives crushed. I couldn't afford to. I just wanted to go home."

Shiganshina.

The name detonated in her mind like a flare. Her mother. Heinrik. The earth shaking. The light. The dust. The screams.

Annie had been there.

Her mind reeled—tried to construct some lie to shield itself—but the ground beneath it had already given way.

She was part of it.She helped make that happen.

Her hand slipped from Annie's face. Not sharply—just weakened, lost. As if her body, on its own, needed space to process the blow.

Anja didn't feel her limbs anymore. Just the pressure behind her ribs, the slow inward collapse.

"You were there…" she said, but her lips barely moved.

"You did that."

Who was this?

Was she ever her? Was any of it real?

"I should've stayed away from you," Annie said, eyes fixed on the sky. "I let myself… I let myself care when I had no right."

Her voice was cracking now. Fraying.

"I didn't want this. Any of this. I just wanted it to end. But I couldn't…"

Anja wasn't hearing her anymore. Not really. Her mutilated hand hovered in her sightline.

When had that happened?

She couldn't remember. Couldn't even feel it properly. Only the ghost‑ache, the trembling in her core that spread outward.

"I'm sorry," Annie said, barely audible. "For lying. For letting you get hurt. For not keeping you safe from all this."

Anja was staring at the ground, but not seeing it.

"What have I done?" she murmured.

What have we…

In the corner of Anja's vision, barely visible through tears, Heinrik or it, she couldn't tell, sat on a broken fence. Watching.

You know don't you?

Mikasa's blade—cold, merciless. Armin's eyes, unreadable as he walked her into a trap. Eren's fury. Hange's disappointment.

Monster. Traitor. Murderer.

They were right.

They'd always been right.

"There's nothing left now…"

The words barely escaped her, a whisper pulled from the bottom of her heart. Her eye blurred with tears.

She collapsed into herself like wet cloth, limbs folding in as if her strings had been cut. Body shaking. Sobs tearing through her chest. Each one stabbed her broken ribs. Everything inside her was shrapnel.

She didn't hear Annie move—only felt it. A soft shift in the mud. Then a knee settling beside her. A hand hovered, uncertain. Then two arms—hesitant, unsteady—gently draped around her shoulders like a blanket being placed, not worn.

Anja flinched—just once. A full-body spasm. But it ended as quickly as it came. She didn't pull away.Couldn't.

Her limbs remained limp, collapsed in the mud. Her brain registered only fragments, warmth. Familiarity. Hands she remembered from what felt like another life.

"I know," Annie whispered. "There's no explanation that makes this right. No reason that justifies any of it."

Then—slowly, carefully—her arms began to shift. Not squeezing, not clinging. Just moving around Anja's torso in increments. Like trying to lift a shattered doll without letting any pieces fall apart. She eased Anja's upper body from the mud, just enough to stop her from drowning in it, then let her settle against her chest.

Her hold tightened by degrees, not enough to restrain. Not even close.

"I never wanted you to get hurt," she said, voice fraying. "It's all my fault."

Some small, buried instinct in Anja tried to protest—No, you chose this, didn't you? But the words drowned before they surfaced.

"I'm here now," Annie said, almost silent. "You're not alone."

Anja didn't answer. Couldn't. But her body responded anyway—leaning into the hold, letting her weight sag into Annie's shoulder. Letting herself tremble. Letting the sobs return, quieter now.

What else was there?

"We'll figure this out," Annie said, so softly the wind almost stole it away. "Somehow. I promise."

For a time, there was nothing but the weakening rain. It lessened to a drizzle, then to a fine mist that settled on their skin like a shroud. The world had shrunk to this muddy patch of earth.

Anja's sobs had subsided, leaving only the hollow, shuddering breaths of their aftermath. Her mind, for the first time in days, felt terrifyingly quiet. It was silent. All those bad memories were distant echoes. There was only the cold seeping in from the mud below and the small patch of warmth where she was held.

It was Annie who stirred first, a slow shift of her weight. Not to pull away, but to look up at the sky. The clouds were breaking. Tears washing mud and blood from their skin, Annie's hands stayed steady—anchoring her to something that hadn't shattered yet.

*

Upstairs, Sasha sat at a table by the window, forehead pressed to the glass, watching clouds drift over the too-quiet courtyard. Beside her, a quiet game of chess between Reiner and Bertholdt played out—the soft clack of pieces marking time. Across the room, Ymir sprawled across two chairs while Christa perched beside her, murmuring something that made Ymir smirk. A few other recruits lingered nearby, talking in low voices or nodding off—but no one paid Sasha any mind.

A letter sat folded in her pocket.

She wasn't sure if she'd send it. Or if she'd go herself.

She'd already told Connie's family what happened. Months ago, when Trost was still smoke and rubble, she'd made the trip. Told them he died a hero. That it was quick. A mercy. She didn't mention the blood. How he...

She'd gone back a few times. They were close, just a ways south.

Close enough to be convenient. Too close to forget.

His little brother Martin had Connie's grin. His sister Sunny always asked when "Miss Sasha" would visit again. And every time, it scraped something raw.

Maybe she'd stop by again. Just check in.

But the thought of seeing their faces... it was like bracing for a wound.

They made her smile. And that smile made her want to cry.

She hadn't visited her own family. Not in years.

Her village wasn't far either—but it never felt close.

They remembered too much.

The weird hunter's daughter. The one who spoke funny. Who hoarded food during the famine and never said sorry.

She hadn't forgotten either. The flood of refugees after Maria fell. The storehouses running dry. The game in the forest vanishing like smoke.

People got desperate. Some stole traps. Others stole meat. A few just stared at her family's cabin like they were counting how long they'd last.

Hunger teaches you things.

To move quiet. To eat fast.

To eat whenever you can.

To hide food where no one else can smell it.

The ache of it never really left.

Neither did the way the others looked at her. Like she was wrong.

The day she left for the military, plenty made it clear she wasn't welcome to return.

"You planning to fog up that whole window?"

Sasha turned. Ymir was reclining in a lazy sprawl, legs hooked over the chair beside her, Christa still balanced close.

"Just thinkin'."

"Dangerous habit." Ymir stretched like a cat. "Speaking of dangerous, what do you think those two are whispering about?" She nodded toward the veterans near the door. "Henning's been making eyes at Lynne all week."

"Ymir!" Christa swatted her arm. "They're discussing patrol routes."

"Sure," Ymir said dryly, smirking. "Definitely patrol routes. That's why he keeps brushing her elbow."

Reiner looked up from the chessboard.

"Don't you think it's strange?"

Bertholdt glanced at him, concern flickering.

"What, Henning's hopeless crush?" Ymir asked. "She could stand there in uniform doing nothing and still turn heads."

"No, I mean…" Reiner's frown deepened. "We've been stuck here with nothing to do. No drills. No orders. But they're fully geared. Like they're waiting for something."

Bertholdt slid a piece across the board. "Maybe they're just on edge. After what happened in the expedition."

Reiner shook his head. "The Survey Corps doesn't do cautious. Not like this."

Ymir leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, you're right. It does feel off. The way they're watching us, the way no one says why…"

She paused, her eyes wide with mock seriousness.

"…They're probably afraid one of us is gonna turn into a titan and eat the rest."

She burst out laughing.

"—oof!" Christa elbowed her, giggling. "Someone's gonna take you seriously."

Reiner's jaw twitched. Bertholdt didn't look up from the board.

Christa turned to Reiner, trying to reset the tone. "Maybe they're giving us a break because we're new?"

Reiner didn't smile. "Before this, they had us training like our lives depended on it. Now nothing? Just sitting around? Doesn't feel like a break."

Christa's smile faltered. "Well… when you put it that way…but I…"

Sasha turned back to the window, only half-listening. Her family's land was just an hour's ride north. Her father would be checking trap lines about now. Her mother preserving vegetables for winter.

Connie's folks were probably tending the fields. Stockpiling for winter…

A low sound cut through her thoughts. Rhythmic. Heavy. Familiar in the worst way.

"Was that your stomach?" Ymir asked. "Because I swear, Sasha, we just—"

"Shh." Sasha pressed harder against the glass.

There it was again. Not thunder. Not her.

Footsteps.

Massive ones. Many.

Her hunter's instincts screamed before her mind caught up.

"Titans." The word barely made it past Sasha's lips.

Reiner turned toward her, puzzled. "What?"

"Titans!"

Sasha's voice cracked across the room like a whip. Everyone flinched.

A veteran leaning against the far wall looked up, frowning. "Hey, relax Braus. That's not funny—"

The door burst open, slamming back against the wall. Miche filled the frame, winded and grim. The stink of horse sweat clung to him—and something else beneath it. Fear.

"Multiple titans approaching from the south."

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then—

"Shit!"

"That's impossible—"

"How many?" asked the short-haired woman already moving across the room.

"Too many," Miche snapped. "Everyone outside. Mount up. Now!"

The woman didn't wait for acknowledgment—she was already pounding down the stairs. "I'll get Petra!"

Chairs scraped back. Boots hit stone. Ymir yanked Christa to her feet.

"Are you insane?" she barked. "We don't even have our gear!"

"No time," Miche shouted. "They'll be here in minutes."

Sasha's breath caught in her throat. "My family—they're just north of here. I need to warn them!"

But even as she said it, her mind jumped ahead. South.

Connie's village was south.

*

They spilled out into the courtyard. Horses were already being saddled, reins thrown loose as soldiers moved on instinct. Orders rang through the air.

Squad Leader Miche vaulted onto his horse. "Listen up!" he bellowed. "Once we're clear of the base, we split into four groups. Each group covers nearby settlements. Recruits pair with veterans. Warn the civilians send them toward Wall Sina. Do not engage the enemy!"

No one waited. The gate yawned open. Boots hit stirrups. In a rush of motion and muscle, they galloped out—tight formation, wheels kicking dust and disbelief into the air. Some glanced back only once, eyes wide, faces pale. The world had shifted.

As they rode, Miche shouted again—voice carrying above the thunder of hooves.

"If anyone knows the lay of the land—speak now!"

Sasha tugged hard on her reins and leaned forward. "Sir! I know the area well. But—" she hesitated, "Please, let me head south. Toward Ragako. I know people there. I have to make sure they're safe."

Miche gave a sharp nod. "Fine. But the villages in the titans' path come first. Once they're clear, you can go."

The woman with the close-cropped hair—pulled up alongside Miche, squinting toward the tree line. "They're moving faster than expected. If they angle east, they'll cut us off."

Miche narrowed his eyes. "Damn it."

He scanned the formation.

"We split now! Four groups—spread out. Don't bunch up, don't stop, remember my command. Do not engage! Just warn the towns and keep moving!"

Miche turned his horse toward the advancing titans.

"I'll buy you some time!"

"Sir!" someone called. "Going alone's suicide!"

Miche didn't look back. "I gave you an order. GO!"

They broke in all directions—hooves pounding against dirt as the soldiers split into separate groups, fanning out toward nearby villages.

Two riders pulled up alongside Sasha, falling into pace. Reiner on one side, Bertholdt on the other.

"South's where they're coming from, isn't it?" Reiner asked, voice level.

Sasha nodded once..

"Family?"

She shook her head. "Connie's. His family lives there."

Reiner's eyes scanned the treeline ahead. "Then we're going with you."

Bertholdt gave a small nod. "You can count on us."

Sasha rode harder, wind stinging her face, chest heavy with everything unsaid.

She'd get there. She had to.

Somewhere behind them, another group veered off toward the north.

"Is he gonna be alright?" a voice asked—one of the recruits near Nanaba.

Gelgar's answer came without pause. "That man's second only to Captain Levi. He's not dying today."

But Sasha saw the look exchanged between the veterans—tight, grim, wordless.

They meant what they said.But they weren't sure.

As the thundering of hooves stretched out ahead, Sasha stole a glance toward the horizon.

Please, she prayed, let some of them make it. Let Connie's family have run. Let my father have seen them coming.

*

Miche's blades sang through titan flesh. Steam hissed around him as the second one fell, its carcass collapsing near the perimeter. He'd dismounted earlier, using the trees and the walls around HQ for height and leverage. It had worked—so far.

A few titans still lingered nearby—scattered, slow. One paced just beyond the clearing below, another pawed idly at the base of the watchtower. None had a line to reach him.

He drew a sharp breath, eyes sweeping the treeline.

That should be enough. Most of the groups would be in the clear by now.

Time to move. Regroup before nightfall.

Once the civilians were safe, the next task was clear.

 Find the breach.

Movement.

His eyes snapped to it.

That titan again.

Seventeen meters. Fur-covered. Arms too long.

It lumbered between corpses without attacking—didn't feel like the others. Didn't move like them either.

The thing paused mid-stride. Head tilted. Watching.

Miche's grip tightened.

Just another abnormal. Big. Strange. He could avoid it. He just had to make it back.

He whistled sharply.

His horse turned at once, trotting toward him.

Miche was already calculating the route back when the Beast moved.

Fast. Too fast. The horse screamed as massive fingers closed around it like a child grabbing a toy. The titan turned towards him.

What—

He barely leapt aside before his mount was hurled like a cannonball. It clipped his leg mid-air—something snapped—and the rooftop vanished beneath him. He slammed into the ground, breath gone, pain knifing through his thigh. The world tilted. He was still reeling when shadow fell over him.

A small titan had closed the distance. Its hand clamped around his leg like a vise—then came the teeth. He screamed—pure panic, raw and useless—but just as suddenly, the pressure stopped.

"Wait."

The word rumbled from that beastly titan's throat. Deep. Articulate. Impossible.

He froze. Pain fogged his vision. Had he imagined it? A titan… speaking?

It smiled with too-human satisfaction.

The beast hunched before him, eyeing him with an uncanny curiousity.

The small titan's jaw clamped down again. Agony tore through his leg—

"You must not have heard me," the Beast said calmly. "I told you to wait."

Its hand closed around the offending titan's head—and crushed it like rotten fruit. Blood sprayed in a wide arc across the grass. The body collapsed backward as Miche dropped to the ground, his legs a mangled ruin. Red spilled over a patch of violet wildflowers, petals snapping under his weight.

He stared upward, dazed, into yellow eyes gleaming with uncanny focus.

"May I ask," the Beast said, its voice almost curious, "what is that weapon of yours?"

It gestured lazily toward Miche's waist.

"That thing that allows you to fly."

Miche tried to speak, but nothing came out—

 The Beast tilted its head. "Perhaps you are too frightened to formulate a response?" 

Its gaze shifted lower, toward the blades scattered on the grass. One of its long fingers traced the air above them.

"I noticed you also use swords."

It crouched slightly, it's fingers descending over him.

"Fascinating,"

Miche's breath caught as the Beast's hand hovered near his face. But it didn't strike. Instead, it grasped the metal of his gear, plucking it from him with a mechanical click.

"Suppose I'll just take it back with me."

It rose and began to walk away. The ground trembled under its retreating steps.

Miche's hand twitched.

He reached for his swords.

I have to stop it. I can't let that thing reach anyone else.

He let out a ragged scream—more instinct than strategy.

Behind him, the Beast paused. Without turning, it spoke again.

"Ah, right. You're permitted to move now."

The still titans responded instantly.

They surged.

Miche swung once—twice—cutting flesh, screaming as he did. But it was hopeless. One caught his arm. Another gripped his back. His blades slipped from his hands.

For a breathless moment, he thrashed.

Then the fear hit him—raw and absolute.

His voice cracked as he cried out, "Please—stop!"

Screams tore through the trees—then fell silent.

Blood soaked the ground, seeping into crushed wildflowers. The violet petals wilted, drowning in red.

*

Anja knelt beside a cluster of violet wildflowers. Some were strangely withered, their petals black at the edges, as if burned by invisible fire. She touched one gently with her left hand, watched it crumble between her fingers.

Across from her, the shadow of Heinrik stood half-veiled in the treeline—silent, motionless. He mimicked her gesture, crouching as if to touch the same dying bloom. She didn't acknowledge him.

"Anja?"

Annie's voice was soft, careful. Like she was afraid Anja might break again if pressed too hard.

"I'm coming."

Annie stood a few paces off. Despite the exhaustion, despite everything, they hadn't stopped moving. Now, they both wore their cloaks drawn close, hoods low. Both had removed their insignias.

"It's safe to move," Annie said. "Patrol just passed. I'm sure they won't circle back for at least an hour."

There was no fear in her tone. Just certainty—like she knew exactly how long they had.Anja didn't ask.

They walked together, Annie deliberately matching Anja's slower pace. The silence between them wasn't empty—it was dense. Full of things neither knew how to say.

"We're making good time," Annie said quietly. "Won't be long before we reach the wall."

Anja gave a faint nod, eyes forward. Nothing in her posture invited more.

Annie hesitated, then asked, "Are you okay?"

Her gaze flicked to Anja's bandaged hand, guilt bleeding through her expression.

"Yeah." Anja tried for a smile. "Don't worry about it. Stopped bleeding hours ago."

They resumed walking, but the atmosphere had shifted. Lighter somehow.

"Annie?"

"Hmm?"

"What does the sea look like?"

Annie actually smiled—small but genuine. "Where did that come from?"

"I just... Well you said you come from outside… Armin used to talk about it all the time said it was somewhere out there. This huge body of water with no walls, no borders. It sounded like freedom."

Annie's expression softened further. "It's big. Bigger than you can imagine. Stretches past the horizon and keeps going."

Anja's voice was quiet, uncertain. "What color is it?"

"It depends." Annie seemed to consider. "Sometimes green like... like spring grass. Sometimes gray. Where I'm from, it's deep blue. So deep sometimes it looks black."

Anja's eye was distant, it felt hard to picture but... "Sounds beautiful."

"It is. Cold, though. Colder than you'd expect." Annie's voice warmed. "But the sand is warm. Gets between your toes. And the sound... waves just keep coming. Never stops. It's... It sounds peaceful."

"You miss it?"

"I... I haven't thought about it... But… Yeah, I think so."

They walked in companionable quiet for a moment before Anja spoke again, softer.

"I don't know if I should go with you. What if—"

"Hey." Annie stopped again, reaching out to touch Anja's shoulder carefully. "You're coming with me. That's final."

"But your people—"

"Let me worry about that. When we get there, just let me do the talking."She offered a faint smile—steady, but her fingers tensed slightly at her side. "Trust me. It'll be fine."

Anja nodded, something loosening in her chest. "You've been trying to get back to your dad all this time, haven't you?"

Annie didn't answer, but her shoulders dipped—just slightly.

Anja's hand drifted to her throat before she even noticed. Fingers touched bare skin, and only then did she realize what she was reaching for.

"Your pendant," Annie said. "Where is it?"

Anja's fingertips lingered on her collarbone. "They took it. Said they needed to study it. Hange thought maybe it was connected to..." She gestured vaguely at herself. "Whatever's wrong with me."

Annie's jaw tightened, but she didn't slow her pace. "It was your brother's."

"Yeah." The word came out small. "Stupid, but I keep reaching for it. Like he's still…"

"It's not stupid." Annie's gaze dropped for a second as her fingers brushed the ring on her hand—simple, worn, clearly well-handled. "I do the same."

They kept walking, the silence no longer awkward but weighted with something unspoken.

Then Annie reached into her pack. "I almost forgot."

She pulled out a ring—silver-toned, worn at the edges, with a faint etching of two crossed keys nearly smoothed away.

"This... someone gave this to me in Stohess. Doctor Weiss. He said you'd need it. I think... maybe it was from your family." She hesitated. "I was going to send it to you, but… never got the chance."

Anja blinked. "My family? Who—?"

"I don't know. He just said you should have it." Annie took Anja's good hand and placed the ring gently in her palm. "Maybe he thought it'd help."

Anja turned it over. The metal felt old. Familiar, somehow. But there were no markings she could read. Just the faint trace of time.

"I don't have a chain," Annie said, rummaging in her pack. "Can I see it again for a second?"

Anja handed it back without a word. Annie found a leather cord, threaded the ring through it, then offered it to Anja.

"Here," she said simply.

Anja slipped it over her head, the ring resting just above her collarbone.

"It's not the same," Annie added. "But..."

The ring settled lightly against Anja's chest.

Anja's voice came soft. "Thank you."

"Don't." Annie didn't look away. Her eyes held Anja's, steady but heavy. "You can thank me once you're safe. Not for this."

Annie's fingers tightened around hers for just a moment. When she looked back, her eyes were bright.

"Come on," she said softly. "We should keep moving. The sea is still a long way out."

They walked on together, the ring warm against Anja's chest. For a few moments, she almost forgot they were fugitives. It felt like peace—fragile, borrowed, but real. Just two girls walking south, talking about the ocean, carrying small kindnesses into the growing dark.

Behind them, the withered flowers crumbled in the wind.