Only the blind goes into the dark.

-1-

The canopy of the dark night sky dropped even lower. The only light source in the world of winter came from the snowflakes, falling down one by one and blinking like stars. The wind, once roared its way out in the barren plains, lost its way in the forest of pine trees and snarled to find an exit in the endless silence and black mist.

Erwin Smith stood in front of the window, holding a glass of wine in his left hand. He listened carefully, either to the struggling scream of the wind on the other side of the sky, or to the sound of the fire in the nearby fireplace. One was hoarse and low, the other was sharp and clear. There seemed to be only a nuance between, or they were the same. The wind would escape and vanish in the fields; the fire would burn and vanish in the sky. They both wanted freedom.

He turned to look at the right side of his body where the other arm should have been. He stared at the wound, as if he was gazing at his past. He felt pain which the wound passed through his brain, and gave it a sigh. Then he lifted up his head again and let his eyes focus on a distant point.

Someone walked to him from behind. The footsteps were light,-light enough to break the serenity and did not sound sudden. Erwin knew clearly who that was. He could see, from the edge of his eyesight, the black hair and its gold rim which the warm color of fire gilted. They stood quietly for a moment, then Erwin spoke, "happy birthday, Levi."

Good wishes was a bit abrupt in this evening, which was, however, supposed to be lighter-probably as light as the bell hung on the door which Hanji placed during Christmas several years ago. At that time, our sub-captain shook the heavy door from side to side and laughed the world up as the bell rang. Her ponytail danced with her steps and colored lights shone beautifully in her glasses. Years afterwards the bell got rusty and could never sing a melodious ditty with the soft breeze. Its fate was like the defunct Hanji's,-with vitality lost and only a pale dead face left, as if it was giving the survivors greatest forgiveness.

Levi did not mind, though. He smiled, "Erwin, merry Christmas."

Then, silent still. Levi made beats on the floor by his boots and soon lost his rhythms. Erwin kept following the snowflakes outside the window. Several swirled in the air for a while and had no song to sing; so they sighed and rested in front of the window. No longer afterwards they would be heated into snow-broth, assembled and flow down the corrosive wall towards where they came from.

Levi suddenly chuckled like something hilarious occurred to him. Erwin sent him an inquiring gaze. "How irony! Tomorrow the very last war is taking place, and we still have the mood to celebrate birthdays," he explained and glanced at the glass in Erwin's hand, "and drink."

The man with blonde hair and blue eyes slightly shook his wine, and shrugged to show he had no idea either. Then a smile appeared on his face, "you want some?"

His reply was a sigh that couldn't even been heard. Levi ambled to the other side of the room, opened the cupboard and took out another glass.

It was the evening on December 25th, 865.

The night was darker than the wine.

TBC