"How many wounded?" Erwin asks, gripping the helm. The metallic odor of blood and the musky stench of gunpowder saturate the air. The sun beats down on them all, blinding and brutal.
"Five. Nothing fatal," Levi, his first mate, responds. "Hange and Moblit are attending to them."
"That was a narrow escape, Captain!" pants Oruo. He wipes sweat from his brow and glugs water from a small canteen.
"It was," Erwin agrees. Too narrow for his liking. They can thank the wind for it; without the oncoming storm, they never would have been able to get away.
Levi grimaces as he examines one of his cutlasses.
"What are you thinking?" Erwin presses. Oruo jogs off to help Petra wash the deck.
"We're going to need more crew members," Levi says with a frown. "If we ever want to end this war."
Erwin stares off at the horizon, the ocean stretching out around them in all directions without a hint of land, and yet it's hardly an oasis from the war that's been raging for one hundred years. "I know."
"They'll keep coming for us until we have proof." Levi shoves his cutlasses back in their sheaths.
"I know that, too."
"I know you know," Levi says, smirking. Erwin chuckles. His arm throbs, phantom pain from where he lost an arm last year. Hange was barely able to save his life. Erwin cringes at the memory. He hated lying in his cabin for so long, with nothing to do but wait for his body to heal itself. Of course, he tried to return to the helm earlier than Hange recommended, and Levi almost ripped his other arm off.
His crew is more loyal than most.
"When Hange's finished, we'll met in my cabin," Erwin decides.
The sky starts to bloom crimson and gold before Hange emerges from the hatch, chortling and waving something that looks very much like a bloody bullet that she's probably just pulled out of someone's arm.
"Hange, that is disgusting," Levi snaps. "Dump it overboard."
"It's larger than the normal bullets!" Hange retorts. "See?" She pulls out another one from their last battle, two months earlier.
"A new type of musket?" Erwin wonders. "The Marlay still have better strategy."
Hange scowls. "I know." She pockets both of the bullets, leaving Levi muttering to himself.
They troop down to Erwin's cabin, the hull creaking and groaning as the water grows choppier. Mike, his second mate, hangs a lantern on a hook dangling from the ceiling. Light spills over the table, rolling back and forth as the lantern swings.
"We should look for a city near where refugee settlements are," Levi says. "If anyone dares to leave, they'll be ripe for recruiting."
"I heard that old buyer of ours moved to Trost," Erwin muses.
"Trost is close to—well, the royal family sometimes stays close to there," Levi points out.
Mike nods thoughtfully. "Security could be—"
"We can handle it," Erwin declares, his fist tightening. His missing arm throbs, a ghost still gnawing at him. New recruits are just a way to delay the inevitable. He grits his teeth. They have to find a way to prove the king's duplicity sooner rather than later. Or you'll lose more than your arm, and five injured will be a dream compared to what will happen to your crew.
There are already dozens dead, wrapped in their green flag with wings on it, and sunken to the bottom of the sea.
Levi nods. He places his full faith in Erwin, despite the numerous men and women they've lost over the past few years, and Erwin doesn't want to let him down. Erwin doesn't want to let anybody down.
The dead littering the bottom of the sea, all because of him, laugh, a sound gargled and haunting in Erwin's mind.
But if they had kept fighting in the king's wars, they'd all be dead by now.
"Mike? Set a course for Trost," Erwin commands.
"Promise me," Father says, his eyes streaming. "It's on you now. Get revenge for your mother."
Crickets chirp as if they're creating a melody for a peaceful, breezy summer night. But Father leans against a tree as if he can't bear to stand up. His breath comes short, ragged, and a sick sensation builds inside Eren. How could I not have noticed? "Sit down! I'll get—"
"Don't!" Father wheezes. "You can't tell—"
"What are you talking about?" Eren cries out. Father stumbles, and it's only then that Eren sees the blood streaming from a wound to his back. Eren catches him as his legs crumple, and he can't help but think this isn't how it should be, the fifteen-year-old cradling his father in his arms. "Who did this to you? I'll kill them—I'll—"
He's crazy talking. He's making no sense, he doesn't even know what he's saying, all he knows is that he can feel his father's blood on his fingers, can see things that happened five years earlier, can imagine the face of the enemy. Fury consumes him, scorching and shaking his bones. "Father!"
Father's eyes loll to the side, and Eren shakes him—no, what is he thinking—his fingers fumble towards the wound to put pressure on it.
"Please, Eren," Father rasps. His hand clutches a small scroll, rolled up. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Eren demands, looking all around them. Trees stand erect like soldiers, stoically observing them. It isn't right. Eren's chest tightens. He needs people, not trees. He needs Mikasa, or Armin—anyone—
"I'm glad," Father says as he looks into Eren's eyes. "That you look like your mother."
Huh? Eren gapes at him.
He coughs, and then the sounds disintegrate into nothing, even the crickets, and the silence screams and screams inside Eren's skull. "Wake up!" he shouts, shaking the man. "Wake up!"
Not again… not again…
"Who did this?" Eren croaks out, as if the dead can answer. "I will find them. And I will get revenge on them, too—I'll—"
"Eren?" A voice comes soft from behind the trees. He leaps to his feet as Mikasa emerges, her sleeping robe pulled tight around her and a torch flaming in her hand. Her eyes widen when she sees Grisha Jaeger on the grass, sees the tears streaming down Eren's face.
"He—"
"Who did this?" Mikasa demands, her jaw set.
Eren shakes his head. "He said—to get revenge for my mother—but I need to find them, the animals that—" She knows, she knows what this is like.
Mikasa draws her sword, the one she always keeps strapped to her waist. The sword and the red scarf around her neck are the two mainstays of her appearance. The back of Eren's neck prickles. Could whoever did this still be here?
"We need to get out of here, Eren," Mikasa states.
"I can't leave—" It's his father. And he's dead.
Someone killed him. Someone stabbed him like a pig, stabbed him because they clearly thought of him as less than human, they didn't care about him, they stabbed him, but Eren loves him. It's not right! He wants to scream, pound the grass, tear it up.
"We'll call for the coroner. He's used to being woken up at night." Mikasa's hand still aims the sword at the darkness, as if expecting the monsters that killed his father to jump out. The other clutches the fire lighting the clearing. "Especially these last months."
Eren swallows. Cold, hard rocks settle in his stomach. He can't imagine how their refugee settlement will react. Dr. Jaeger saved so many of them from the various plagues of dysentery and rashes that break out every few months.
More hope, drained.
Not all of it. Eren grits his teeth and leans over, extracting the scroll from his father's fingers. Tears run, wet and clean, down his cheeks.
"What's that?" Mikasa questions.
"I don't know," Eren says. "He said it would—help me get revenge for Mother—" But Mother died because of the invading Marlay, not because of—what was he thinking?
Mikasa tilts her head.
"Armin," Eren breathes. "Armin will know what to do."
"He will," Mikasa affirms.
"I'll kill them," Eren vows, clenching his free fist, sticky with blood. "I'll kill them all."
Mikasa steps forward. "Eren."
He staggers to his feet, nausea surging. His father stays limp, lifeless, and he can't—it's not fair—What more can they take from me? "I'll give them everything," he chokes out. "I'll sacrifice everything I have, but I'll—make these pieces of shit pay—"
"Eren, we have to leave," Mikasa says. "Now."
"They're here!"
Eren remembers that shout, remembers the way the ground shook with each cannon blast, and the sinking feeling in his stomach because he'd known, he'd always known, that the forts they set up along the coastline wouldn't be enough to keep out the Marlayan navy should they ever come knocking. Despite Hannes insisting that the battles were being fought far out at sea and that they would never dare try to invade Eldian land, Father told him. "They think we're dangerous. They won't play defense for ever."
And the horrible realization that the cannon blasts had collapsed part of the fort, that blasts were felling the town, in the direction of his house—Eren's chest tightens at the memory.
Again.
I've lost Father now, too.
Hannes came. He saved Eren and Mikasa, and Father found them as they raced away from the ruins of Fort Shinganshina. Now claimed for the Marlay.
"Drink," Mikasa orders him, shoving a cup of tea at Eren. The small shack they share comes into focus.
He shoves it away. Again, Hannes will collect the body of one of Eren's parents.
"Eat," she commands, appearing over him with her eyes blazing.
Eren glares up at her. "You—"
She shoves a piece of bread into his mouth. "Eat, and live," she says, her voice cracking.
Why? Eren wants to shout, but his mouth is full of bread, dry and tasteless, but substance nonetheless. He chews, tears falling down his face.
"If I have to shove bread in your mouth every day for the rest of your life, I will," Mikasa vows, grasping his hand. "You have to live, Eren."
It's on you now… promise me.
The door slams open, and Armin skids in, dressed in his threadbare shirt and torn britches. He halts when he sees Eren's tears, Mikasa's solemnity.
"I'm so sorry," Armin breathes, his lip trembling.
"I'm going to kill them all," Eren ekes out. "The people who did this."
Armin's eyes widen. "You don't know who?"
"Do you have any ideas?" Mikasa asks. She rises and leans against the wall of the tiny shack where they live. Their bedrolls lie on the floor, alongside moth-eaten blankets and several candlesticks. Three bedrolls.
Now we only need two.
Armin can only shake his head. "I wasn't there. Of course not."
"He came to get me late last night," Eren manages. "He said—to follow him—" Eren punches himself in the thigh. Armin jumps. Mikasa lunges. "Why didn't he go to another doctor's?" He might have lived then! Did you want to die so badly? Why would you want that?
"The scroll," Mikasa says. She doesn't have to finish. The implication is clear to Eren. It must be important.
A scream echoes outside. "It can't be true!" shrieks one of the neighbors. Eren cringes.
"I'll make them shut up," Mikasa vows, marching towards the ramshackle door with her hand on the hilt of her sword. She freezes.
"What is it?" Armin asks, alarm tinting his tone.
Eren rises. Hoofbeats echo.
"Royal riders," Mikasa says. "From the capital."
What? Eren leaps to his feet, staggering towards the doorway with the bread still gripped in his hand. All around him he sees houses exactly like his own—hastily built, thrown together out of desperation after the fall of Fort Shiganshina. And more refugees arrive each month, as the Marlay continue to attack Eldia.
Soldiers, dressed in crisp blue and white uniforms and carrying muskets as well as golden-gilted swords, sit upright on black horses. They gaze at the rags-clad refugees with contempt. Eren curls his fist again. We didn't ask for this! We didn't ask for our homes to be destroyed, for our—families—
"Don't you think it's odd," Armin once said. "That the king's soldiers look down on us, when we are the face of the suffering the war has brought, when we show them why they should hate the Marlay?"
"Don't ever repeat that," Mikasa warned.
But the words echo and echo in Eren's mind. Why do you despise us?
"Citizens!" booms one soldier, a bald man. "We bring grave word."
Eren stiffens. What else has fallen?
"King Reiss was attacked last night as he prayed in the church. All his children, including Crown Princess Frieda, were murdered, although he was able to escape with his life."
Gasps echo around them. Eren spots Hannes returning, blood smeared across his jacket and despair marring his face.
"The Marlayans have infiltrated?" shrieks an older woman.
"No," the soldier answers, his gaze scanning the crowd. "We believe it was a group of Eldian traitors, likely who thought they were acting on behalf of their fellow refugees, when in reality their anger has become a tool of the Marlay. If we want to win this war, we must unite around our king, support him in this time of grief, not allow our grievances to turn us into the enemy we are trying to defeat."
If you lived here, you might think differently, Eren thinks bitterly.
"Have you caught the culprits?" Hannes asks.
"No," states the soldier. "But we believe we will, shortly." His horse shits in the street, right in Hannes's doorway. Eren's nose curls.
"The capital is so close to here," Armin whispers. "They can't think it's someone from this camp, can they?"
"We all know they can," Mikasa says coldly as the soldiers gallop out.
Whether or not it actually is, Eren knows she means.
"I assume they're planning on searching all of our homes," Armin says.
Who gives a damn? Eren's heart throbs. Everyone's dying. Everyone's killing. It's so wrong. This war's turned us into animals.
Eren breaks away from his friends, stumbling into his shack. The scroll lies on the small wooden board that lies on the ground and serves as their table.
"It's a dark day," Armin whispers, hands clutching his head.
Eren's hand closes around the scroll. He unrolls it and blinks.
It's a map.
But a map unlike what he's seen before. It vaguely resembles the maps Eren grew up seeing of Eldia and Marlay, but it's different too—Eren's never seen that peninsula, or that collection of islands—and one large island, with an x marked on it—
"This almost looks like a pirate's map," Mikasa says over his shoulder. She crouches down.
"But that island doesn't exist," Eren snaps. He remembers the brief lessons Mother gave him, with maps of the world.
"Not according to the official maps," Armin murmurs.
Mikasa frowns. Outside, people weep, gasping and sniffling. For the Princess and her siblings, or for his father, Eren doesn't know. His chest aches.
"Eren," Armin says, in a tone that stiffens Eren's spine. He reaches out and taps the corner of the scroll.
A crest.
The Reiss crest.
The royal crest.
Eren rolls the scroll back up, tossing it away from him. His lungs freeze, and the cool air feels as if it's on fire and he can't inhale.
"He was at a patient's yesterday—" Mikasa starts.
"Which patient?" Armin cuts in.
"He usually doesn't tell us," Mikasa says, pulling her scarf over her mouth. She turns to Eren. It's a plea.
"He wouldn't," Eren barks. His lungs inflate, but he feels no relief. He's still suffocating.
"It doesn't matter," Armin says, reaching for the scroll. "Don't you see, Eren, Mikasa? If they—if anyone finds it here—and you can bet they're going to come once someone reports that the doctor was stabbed last night—you'll be accused. They'll hang you both as traitors if only to make a statement."
"We can—"
"You can't explain!" Armin shouts, blue eyes huge and terrified. Terrified in a way Eren's only seen three times before—when he and Mikasa ran back towards their houses the day the first fell, the day his grandfather was conscripted, and the day news of his grandfather's death came. "They won't give you that chance!"
Father, what have you done?
"What do we do?" Mikasa asks.
"We—" Armin hesitates.
"We have to get out of here," Eren says, determination solidifying. "We have to go."
"Where?"
"There are other refugee—" Armin starts.
"No," Eren says. "You two should. But I—"
It's on you now.
Get revenge…
Promise me… please.
"I'll take all the money we have," Eren says. "I'll buy passage on a ship." He points to the scroll. "I'm going there."
"To the island that doesn't exist?" Mikasa questions, dubious.
"It might," Armin says in a small voice.
"I'll get as close as I can," Eren confirms. Hoofbeats echo outside. "I don't have a choice." If I stay here, I'll die.
"Did he say anything about what it was for? Why this was important?" Armin presses.
"The war—something about that," Eren says, his throat tightening as he remembers his father stumbling through the woods, himself a son blinded to his father's bleeding wound, mumbling about needing to stop the war.
"This doesn't make any sense," Mikasa says. "It seems to be more of a fantasy, and the map looks like a pirate's—"
"It wasn't a pirate's, Mikasa. It was a member of the royal family's," Eren states. The full weight of what he's said crashes into him.
Father, what did you do?
Princess Frieda was the only member of the royal family who ever came to visit the refugee settlement. Eren remembers her reading stories to the children, how she held them despite the lice crawling through their hair. He couldn't have. He couldn't have.
"If you're going," says Mikasa, watching his face with hers drained of color. "I'm coming with you."
"You can't.. You should go to another settlement—"
"Can't I?" Mikasa asks. "What else do I have left? If he's dead and you're gone, suspicion will fall on me. You know it will."
His head pounds. "Mikasa—if you go to another place, take another name—"
"You're going to need someone to protect you, anyways," she continues, gripping the hilt of her sword.
"I can protect myself," Eren snaps. Her face falls.
"I'm coming, too," Armin says quietly.
Eren shakes his head. "No, Armin." Armin might have been his friend almost as long as Eren can remember, but he's not exactly physically strong. A sea voyage can't be easy for him.
"What do I have here?" Armin asks. "I can help, with the map, with—" He gulps.
"I know you can," Eren insists. "I just—I don't want you to—"
"Eren wants to protect you," Mikasa says flatly. Eren narrows his eyes at her. It's different.
"I don't think I'd be completely useless, though," Armin says, gripping his shoulders. "I can—"
"You're never useless, Armin," Mikasa tells him, crossing her arms as if the very idea offends her just as much as it offends Eren.
"I can get us horses," Armin says. "We can sell them in Trost for passage out on a merchant ship."
"You can?" Eren's jaw drops.
Armin flushes. "Not through the most scrupulous of means, I'll admit, but—"
"Do it," Eren urges, grasping his friend's wrists. "We're counting on you."
Mikasa nods. She marches over to the corner of their shack, grabs one of Father's old carpetbags, and starts stuffing clothes inside. Armin promises to return and scurries outside.
Eren squeezes his eyes shut. Just yesterday morning, he said goodbye to his father, watched him leave with his doctor's case clasped in his hands, leave for—where did you go?
"Eren," Mikasa says, tugging her scarf down so he can see her mouth. She stops in front of him. "We'll figure this out. What your father was asking. We'll find it, even if it's on an island that doesn't exist. I promise you."
Eren nods. His eyes sting.
"If you want to cry," Mikasa says as she pulls out the small wooden box where they keep their money. "You should cry. It's not weakness."
"I don't need to cry," Eren snaps. You know what this is like, at least somewhat, he thinks. This is the second time you've lost people who care about so deeply.
Mikasa turns to look at him, and in her eyes he sees her blazing determination: she won't let that happen to me. He grits his teeth.
"I wish I could," she says.
Thank you for reading! This story will be updated Mondays and Wednesdays.