It was the same dream he had been having for as long he could remember. It was always so nostalgic, as If he had actually walked through that exact part of the forest before. As if those events had taken place in some past that never happened. As if he had lived through the particular event in more than just his dreams.
He knew exactly what would happen. They would start out flying through the woods on maneuver gear, blades in hand just in case of trouble, and then land on the soft dirt, walking for a little while until he woke up. That such a small jaunt through those woods would be so painstakingly slow and fill his mind with strange longing was something he had never experienced before. He could not describe exactly what was happening in his mind. No words were able to explain the muffled, cloudy sensation stifling his thoughts, weighing down his heart. It was like he was simultaneously alive, yet not alive; in a state of trance-like being that did not exist.
As things unfolded around him, he was both a participant and observer. The sensations of rushing through the trees, pushing his limbs, forcing himself faster through the branches, came to him. Yet he was not able to control the movement itself, it merely happened. He could not move his arms or legs, and whatever happened did so without his conscious will. He was not in control of his own body, something else was propelling him forward into the known dream, yet unknown abyss. He had tried screaming before, asking what was going on, seeking an answer to his questions, but no sound escaped.
Like the Wings of Freedom, which stylized the outfits he wore in the Scouting Legion, they flew through the woods as if free. But that wasn't true. The wind rushing through his hair, the exhilaration, and the pounding of his heart, was present, but it was different. He knew he was not really free having experienced the actual sensation of sailing freely through the air. Here, he was powerless to alter course. They only went forward. Always forward amongst those densely packed trees. He wished they could change it up, or rather be able to control what was happening. See what else existed in the dream. Or perhaps even rewind to the part before they took off in the trees.
But it wasn't just the events which unfolded that seemed so hauntingly familiar. It should not have been anything but a recurring figment of his imagination, but it seemed so much more than that. There was something about the path they had taken, as if there was some meaning to where they were going, what they were doing, and why they were doing it. His dreaming mind couldn't think of any purpose, any rationale, any meaning to the happenings going on, yet the sensation remained.
The stranger was good, almost godlike, as he flew effortlessly, never stopping or looking back. He considered himself one of the best within the Legion, yet the shadow in front of him always seemed to be just that much better. He was never able to keep up. Angling his hooks and releasing the line seemed easy enough, but each of his actions was just a fraction of a second too slow to reach the person in front of him. It was not like they were fleeing from something or running towards someone; he could feel no urgency aside from the pure sensation of being airborne, wingless, through the woods. But the blur escaped his grasp every time.
Like all his other dreams, they made their way through the thick branches even as dusk fell. The shadows seemed to distort their passage through the dense forest, but even though there was not much light, he knew they would not crash. The shadow in front of him remained a mere blur. If they had been in the real world, he would have doubted his ability to see and keep up with the person in front. His legs were screaming from the exertion, and even though he knew it wouldn't happen, he didn't want to lose sight of the figure in front of him. Heart pounding from adrenaline and anxiety as they flew through the woods, they covered large distances with each leap. Then, mimicking the blur in front of him, he dropped to the ground. He had no concept of how far they had travelled before he reeled in his grappling hooks.
As always, the gas tank was half-empty from use and sweat coated his brow as they began their trek on the soft dirt floor. Jogging slightly to catch up, he matched his speed to the quick strides of the shorter, dark-haired figure. Tall trees crowned over their heads, obscuring the sight of the sun and making it difficult to see more than a few meters ahead. The forest was devoid of the usual birdsong and small animals moving about their home. Twigs cracked underfoot and he always had to try hard to keep his breaths even. Their eyes were constantly on the lookout, wary of any large shadowy figures that might jump out at them.
After what seemed to be an eternity – he was never sure how long it was, since the passage of time was distorted here – the stranger stopped and turned around. The face was blurred, features clear for a moment before becoming distorted. Even if he could not place a name to the face, he could feel an inexplicable ache as dark eyes, full of longing and pain, stared at him. Each of those pale hands gripped a blade in a strange backhand grasp. In spite of that strange grip, he somehow knew the stranger was very skilled with those blades and could take him down in an instant if they chose to. Attached to the stranger's hips and legs was a set of gear, the same 3D Maneuver Gear that all military recruits were trained on. The stiff posture and upright bearing screamed military.
There was something so hauntingly familiar each time he saw the faceless stranger with his dark green cloak and the blue and white emblem blazing on the back. Shadows fell over them as the sun set in the background and he shivered, goose bumps forming on his skin, as a lone owl hooted above them signaling that night was nearing. Despite everything, for some inexplicable reason, he could never place a name to the face or even identify the uniform. He could have sworn he had seen the uniform and the emblem emblazoned on it, yet his mind refused to cooperate. The stranger's skill far outstripped his and yet even then, he could not place a name to it.
And for some reason, he knew this person, this faceless shadow, meant more to him than they seemed.
The stranger's mouth opened and closed as if saying something, but no words came out. Or at least, he couldn't hear anything. A whoosh of wind passed through, rustling the leaves overhead as the figure slowly dissolved in the mist.
In the haze of his mind, he felt something important slip through his grasp. Reaching out, he tried to grab and hold on, but it faded once more, moving beyond him as he woke up, hand outstretched in midair.
"Hey, Armin. Whose room is that?" Eren was sure he had walked through the hallway many times, and he thought he knew every room there was in the building, but the slightly ajar door seemed familiar and foreign at the same time. It certainly wasn't where the new recruits slept or where the offices were, and only officers with rank had their own rooms. It was entirely possible he had forgotten whose room it was. Many in the Scouting Legion had given their lives to ensure victory against the titan shifters and there were many empty rooms and beds in headquarters as a result.
"Not sure. It's been empty for a while now, and the new commander never got around to assigning it. You know how they are with studying titans and everything. It's a completely clean room, too clean actually. Everyone seems to fear it for some reason." Eren arched his brow at the strange comment. Why would anyone ever be afraid of a room, because it was 'too clean?' They would have to be deranged or mental.
"Mind if I look inside?"
"Sure. We're not in any particular rush and you know how the new commander is." The blonde let out a shrug, turning around and stopping.
Things had changed radically under the new commander Not only was Hange much more informal and asked everyone to address them by their given name, a very rare thing in the military which emphasized ranks, but the new commander didn't really care much about the day to day running of the Scouting Legion. As a result, the rest of them had taken it upon themselves to train and make sure things were in order. It was a lot of work keeping headquarters clean, dealing with the horses, and managing supply runs, but they somehow made it all work. It might have been because they could all be considered veterans of the Legion, given the numerous battles they had been through, so very few instructions were needed. A few signatures were necessary, but it was fairly easy to push a page onto the commander's table and have them sign it as they multitasked.
Despite how brilliant Hange was, the former squad leader was also very poor with keeping track of time. Oftentimes, they would barge in late for meetings, being caught up in some titan experiment or something, and could easily ramble on for much longer. It was difficult to say if Hange even slept, given how they always seemed to bursting with new ideas and endless energy. Eren did not really mind given how he was typically the one running behind with errands.
Overall, though, Hange's leadership was a surprisingly refreshing departure from the somber mood that the rest of the military had when it came to titans. The new commander knew first-hand the gravity of the situation, but they were also great at alleviating the tension. Instead of treating titans as a plague and focusing on those who had died, Hange looked forward and with their scientific prowess, was focused on ways to increase combat efficiency and other things that would assist with survival. They would also often hold events in the dining hall or poke fun at things which greatly helped generate laughter and boost morale.
It had been a few months since Erwin's demise and they were slowly, but surely, picking up the pieces. The next batch of graduating cadets was expected to choose their regiments soon and the brunet sincerely hoped that there would be a good number joining them this time. The highly successful campaign to retake Wall Maria had come at much too high a cost. The Scouting Legion had always been small, but now they numbered less than a hundred. They all knew how vital it was for fresh blood to bolster their ranks, which was why they were meeting with the new commander.
Or at least they had been on the way to meet the new commander until Eren had discovered the empty room.
Pushing open the door, he entered the space. Bright shafts of sunlight streamed in, casting the small room in a golden glow. Even though the room was small, it was still more spacious than the shared barracks which he currently slept in. The brunet could make out a faint musky scent of lemons and soap, which seemed to permeate the small space. Only the bare minimum adorned the room. There was a standard military-issue bed, night table, closet, and chair. There were no personal effects anywhere. The bed was untouched, sheets neatly folded with nary a wrinkle, and seemed oddly comforting to Eren. It was a sterile, yet strangely welcoming environment. Walking over to the bed almost out of reflex, the brunet ran his hand over the cottony fabric. It was cold to the touch and the material seemed well washed, given how soft the crisp linen seemed. He could detect a hint of something's or someone's hauntingly familiar smell, but the thought slipped out of his grasp.
He must have been doing something strange, since Jean popped his head in and cackled, "Oi, suicidal bastard. Since when did you sniff beds like a priss?"
"Fuck off horse face. Why don't you go eat some hay?"
"Jean, Eren, calm down you two." As always, Armin was the voice of reason.
Scowling at Jean, Eren got up from his knees. A part of him wanted to linger in the room longer. He posed a silent question, but there was no reply. The silence seemed to sing through him, as if asking him to stay. If it was alive, and the room most certainly was not, Eren would have almost expected the space to be waiting for something or someone that had once inhabited its walls. The brunet knew of no such person, but the strange thought lingered for a moment longer as he glanced again at the surroundings, which were not that different from the lodgings the rest of them lived in. The only difference was that it was cleaner and meant for one person instead of the barracks which housed eight per room.
Shaking the bizarre sensation away, he walked out the door, shutting it behind him with a faint click. He had woken up too early to be thinking of things such as empty rooms having consciousness. Whoever had lived in that room previously was none of his business. However, the strange sense of nostalgia did remind Eren of the recurring dream haunting his nights.
For as long as the brunet could recall, the dream had begun when he entered the Scouting Legion and recurred every few days without rhyme or reason. He had not bothered to keep track, so it was a rough estimation. Sometimes when he was properly exhausted, those fleeting moments would intrude into his daydreams. Eren also had other dreams, but it was the particular one involving flying through the trees with a faceless stranger that always came to mind. He had spent so much time mulling over it, coming no closer to an answer, that it had become the new 'normal.'
It wasn't like any dreams the brunet had experienced before either. Although he sometimes had flashbacks in his sleep to other scenes that evoked a sense of nostalgia, none of them made him feel so strongly compared to the current sensations running through his veins. Eren had experienced the same thing so many times, yet each time felt novel… if that was even possible. In the moment it always felt new, as if he was living it for the first time, but a small corner of his mind told him it was a dream.
Mikasa and Armin knew about it, but neither of them knew why he dreamed of such a thing. It was probably due to stress or something, yet it hadn't faded even after Shiganshina was reclaimed. Armin joked about it being some repressed memory, but since it didn't seem to affect his day to day life or combat abilities, Eren was content to let the sleeping dragon lie.
The weirdest thing about that dream, however, was that afterwards, the brunet would find himself chasing shadows. They were like fragments of a memory, tickling at his mind. An achingly familiar whiff of black tea. The same scent of lemon and bleach that had been in the room. They seemed so commonplace, yet at the same time, it was different from the lemony soap they used or the tea they had in the kitchen.
The brunet cast one last backwards glance at the closed door, waving away the mental cobwebs haunting his mind and that eerie sense of familiarity, before heading down the stairs.