How this story will work: This is story should proceed like most others, however, there will be an annex chapter that will serve to hold all the cliff notes and such. If you plan to review, which I severely hope that you do, I would advise that you not review to the annex chapter, but to the actual update, as it might affect future reviews and confuse me :)
IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS OF ANY KIND, DO NOT LOOK AT THE ANNEX!
I have included information within the annex that should probably not be there until later, but to make it easier for me, I have kept it as I originally wrote it to avoid any confusion, and therefore, hopefully avoid discontinuity errors.
Disclaimer: Attack on Titan, nor any story from which I base my fictions on, does not belong to me. I only own the plot and whatever OCs may be included, however heavily influenced by the original work.
His breaths came out in short, visible puffs as the autumn breeze sifted through his hair and tugged gently at his scarf. He stood atop a small boulder, which to his young frame seemed anything but small. Beneath him, three children sat, one of whom was taking a short nap, his arms folded over his chest, another of whom was keeping an eye on the boy on the rock to be sure he wouldn't slip and hurt himself, and the third of whom was carefully carving a stick to resemble a tiny pike. The boy could not have been more content than at that moment, because that moment had been peaceful.
"What will happen when I die?" the boy wondered in his usual curious manner, the question directed at no one in particular.
"The same thing that will happen to your parents, and to us and ours." The immediate reply came from the only girl, her stick almost sharpened to that perfect point. She paused in her work to inspect it, lightly tapping the tip to her index finger, then continued whittling.
"What do you mean? My parents can't die." The thought of his parents dead didn't seem possible. His mother was too much a part of his life to be gone, and his father too knowing. There was simply no way.
"Why not?" The boy watching him asked, his dark hair cover by a gray cap. "Why can you die, but not them? Are you not the same?"
"We are," the boy on the rock started, his words slow to roll off his tongue. "But we aren't. Mother and Father can't die before me, because what would I do without them?"
"Live." The single word came from the blond boy, whose nap was being temporarily suspended. The boy thought about this for a moment, as the rustle of dead leaves disturbed by the wind sounded in the air. Life without Mother, her light laughter illuminating his world, life without Father, what a dreary and dead existence that would be.
"Come on, kid," the girl said after several seconds had passed. She got to her feet and gestured for the boy to get off the boulder. He did so by jumping off the side, into the waiting arms of the one who was supervising.
"Do we have to do this now?" he complained, a childish pout on his young face. The girl gave no reply, but dropped into position, her now perfectly pointed stick raised to strike or defend. The boy sighed but moved into a counter stance, his arms raised to defend and strike when needed.
Without warning, she came at the boy, her movements swift as she ducked his defenses and aimed her stake like a knife to his stomach. The boy stepped back and to his left, twisting to allow the weapon to merely graze his sweater, and brought his elbow down to strike at her wrist. She predicted this and simply shifted her grip and her jerked her arm to her right, landing a blow on the boy's unprotected ribs. He yelped but did not falter. Instead, he dropped and moved closer, delivering a push with his shoulder that was meant to knock the girl off balance. He succeeded, but as she stumbled, she grabbed hold of his collar and brought him to the ground and cushioned her fall. Now she was on top, stick angled down to strike his throat or his eyes-the boy could not tell which. It didn't matter, because just as the point started to come down on him, a call was sounded.
"Stop!" The stick halted in its deadly descent, both pairs of eyes looking to the blond boy, who had called it. "She won this match."
"Again," the girl ordered. She got off the boy and returned to her starting position. The boy did as instructed, fumbling to his feet and dropping to his own stance.
This back and forth brawling went on for several hours. Every so often, it looked like victory might be stolen from the girl, but every time she pulled out the perfect counter. By the end of it, the boy was far more bruised and battered than the girl, but smiling as he remembered that he had been able to land several good blows on her as well. He was getting better.
"We should head back," said the blond boy. His nap had resumed halfway through the third round, and had ended once the second to last had begun. He rose and stretched, feeling and hearing his back crack in several places and smiling at the feeling.
"I agree. The sun is about to go down." The dark haired boy who spoke gathered his and the boy's sweaters from where they had been thrown at some point in the day, and brushed off the dead leaves and dirt.
It was the blond boy who led them out of the forest, moving at a jogging pace that was almost fast enough to be called a run. The kid did not have the trouble he had at the beginning, where it was tough to keep up for even a few minutes. Now, he kept pace with the group's strides and ended the journey with only a small cramp in his side and heavy breathing.
They had made it to a clearing, almost big enough to be called the end of the forest, but not quite. It was here that the four children lived, their homes close together in a small village. After emerging from the tree line, they parted ways, sending each other well wishes and shouts of jumbled plans for tomorrow's daily adventure.
The boy walked into his home, a small wooden building with three rooms: a kitchen, a bedroom, and a storage room. His mother and father were sitting at the table in the kitchen when he entered, neither happy.
"Stripling," his father said, using the derogatory term to help express the danger of the situation. "Do you have any idea how late it is?" The boy did not respond. He hung his head in the hope that his father will forgive him this once.
"Grisha," his mother warned. His father's look did not waver but the boy knew Grisha had heard her.
"Look outside and tell me, is NOW an acceptable time to come home, or was an hour ago? What would you have done if you had collapsed? Huh? Do you realise the situation you could have been in? Those friends of yours are no good for you, but I allow you to loiter with them because we know you have nothing else to do in this forsaken place. If I–"
"Grisha!" Carla's voice cut through his father's rant like a knife and he fell silent. "He is safe now, is that not what matters? Do not go blaming those children anymore for this, and just be happy they are all safe."
"Be happy that they are so careless? We should never have entrusted our son to them! They are no older, no wiser than he, and we all know how stupid he is!"
"Grisha Jaeger!" Carla shrilled. The two parents glared at each other, both knowing who was in the wrong but neither giving voice. The boy stood there, not entirely sure what to make of this. He was terrified. His father had yelled at him before, they both had, but never was his friends, his sole company during the long hours of the day, brought into the issue. They were his brothers, his sister, as much a part of his family as his own parents and the thought of them being slighted was infuriating. His father had no right to say such things but what could he, a child with no real consequence, do about it? He could only be grateful to his mother for at least trying to keep his comments hushed up, or at least quieter so the neighbors wouldn't hear.
"Carla, you know he pulls this stunt every time he leaves with those three. I am surprised their own parents have yet to beat some sense into their hides for having such disregard for their own and each others' safety. You know it, and I know it, that this boy will do it again and again if he does not learn the importance of coming home before sundown."
"How other parents discipline their children is none of our concern. What matters is that they have always brought our son home safe and sound–"
"Safe and sound? Carla, do you not see the state of his clothes at the end of the day? He comes back with cuts and bruises and dirt in every fold of his scarf. And have you seen the way he is always–"
The boy had heard enough. In a moment of impulse, he ran into the storage room without the notice of his arguing parents, and snatched a short metallic knife from a lower shelf before bursting out of the house once more. The darkness outside did nothing to deter his decision as he sprinted forth into the forest.
He did not know how long he ran, nor how far. He looked about in the darkness only to find that he could not tell where he was, or from which direction he came. Shivering, he pulled his scarf over his nose and mouth and huddled in the contours of a nearby tree. He scolded himself for not running to the home of one of his friends, but decided not to dwell too long on that mistake. He would find his path back in the morning, when his parents had stopped fighting and there was light to guide him back.
The darkness sucked the energy from his limbs, and his thoughts became sluggish. His eyelids drooped, heavy under the weight of the shadow that covered the land. Tonight, he would sleep with the sounds of the wind in the leaves and the call of the owls in the air. Tomorrow, he told himself, tomorrow will be better for all.
Darkness hides monsters, but the comfort in that is one could never be sure if they are there, lurking just around the bend, or staring its next victim down. One could always convince themselves that such beings do not exist or are not around. Once the light comes into play, the horror becomes real.
It was well before noon when the boy made it back to the village. The trees were still casting long shadows and his thin shoes were wet with dew. It all seemed so quiet, as if the whole village had been sound asleep despite the rising sun. That was, at least, what he told himself as he fought down the feeling that something was not quite right. Usually, so early in the day this time of year, he would hear the harsh sound of splitting wood as it was being chopped, or at the very least the general ruckus of people preparing for the day ahead. Today, there was just silence.
He made his way toward his house, the pit in his stomach growing with the increasing nearness. Unconsciously, he tried to keep his own steps quiet, but the rustle of the leaves was unavoidable and he flinched. In the distance, wings flapped and he jumped. When he whirled around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He breathed deeply to steady his racing heart and continued his uncertain march.
His door was shut. The wooden entrance was more ominous than the run down gravediggers' shack at the north end of the village. He tried the handle, only to find it locked from the inside. Frowning, but slightly relieved, he walked around to the back entrance. That door was also locked from the inside. Again, relief flooded him. If it was locked from the inside, his parents must only be sleeping, and he only had to make noise to wake them up, or wait it out.
Deciding he had had enough of waiting, the boy opened his mouth to shout, only to have his breath stop short in his throat. He had not bothered to look through a window, but the sight of something on the glass caught his eye. The relief that had made him feel so full left him and a deep set chill took over. He inched closer to inspect the panes.
At first, nothing about the scene registered. His nose picked up the coppery scent, and his eyes saw the almost black substance on the inside of the glass and the fingerprints on the sill, but none of that computed. The candle that had been burning on the kitchen table when he had burst out of the house only the night before had left nothing in its absence but tiny dots of wax. He fingered the knife in his pocket, the cool metal handle against fingertips offered a little comfort. He had to get out of there. He had to find someone.
The idea to check the other houses occurred briefly in his mind, but the near absolute silence told him he would find no better results, no matter where he looked in the clearing. His ears sang, and before he knew what was going on, he was flying past trees, his feet barely hitting the ground as he sprinted in the opposite direction he had last night. When he could go no further, he collapsed and heaved, his empty stomach producing nothing but small amounts of fluid as he vomited. His sight blurred, but no tears fell. He untangled his scarf from his neck and threw it on the ground to help cool off his feverish neck and head, but it did little good.
Once the heaving finally stopped, the boy picked up his scarf and stumbled toward a small cavern beneath a set of tree roots, just big enough for him to fit under. It was there that he curled up and waited for some strength to return to his limbs so he might continue. If he was right, the direction in which he was already going would lead him to a neighboring village. They never did have good relations with that lot, but perhaps if he explained what had happened they might at least provide him with some place to sleep for a night or so. Maybe even a meal.
An hour or two passed before the boy could rise again without falling over. He concentrated on stretching each muscle in his legs before turning his full attention to placing one foot in front of the other as he continued on at a brisk jog. Every so often, he would find a salal bush and pick a few berries, swallowing as many as his stomach could handle before moving on.
When at last he made it to a clearing, he realized a flaw in his plan, if it could even be called that. The clearing was the true edge of the forest, the trees having thinned out until no more erupted from the ground. There was nothing in the open expanse but grass and rocks; neither the village he was looking for nor a single soul could be seen as far as the horizon would show. The sun had reached its peak several hours ago, and was inching its way to where the sky and the land were separated. The boy borrowed a word from his female friend's father as he cursed his luck and whatever invisible force was determined to break him.
Beneath him, his legs began to quake, as did his hands. Exhaustion hit him hard and he collapsed into the tall grass of the clearing. It itched, but he could not find the strength to get up. He gasped as the sharp pains of a cramp drove at his calf. Biting back a cry, he focused on breathing through his nose as he slowly forced himself to stretch again. Slowly, the pain began to fade and his breathing returned to normal, but the shaking in his body had yet to stop. He gently tugged his sweater closer to his body and rewrapped his scarf so it covered his head as well as his neck. It was like that that he fell asleep, the last rays of sunlight peeking over the edge of the horizon as night once again fell over the land.
Dearest reader,
Hey all. How are you doing? I hope this chapter was not too confusing, and that at least some of you enjoyed it. I am aware that I have only dropped 2 names, but I hope the descriptions of each character told you who they were. As to why I did not name them, well, I–uh–had a really cute idea for some fluffy moments later on and I am really excited for them. If you are confused, feel free to leave a review or pm me any questions and I shall get back to you as soon as I can.
Thank you for reading :)
Until next time,
~Clumsy Owl