Within the walls, among historic things lost, were the old magical arts. It had been said, many times, that the people before the Titans lived in some contact with the supernatural. The government, deeming these arts counterproductive, banned their older forms.
New arts sprung up to replace the void. Yet, nothing beat the original as the new arts, many thought, were elaborate scams. Levi was one of these people – he could not comment on the old arts but had his justifiable doubts about the new.
Having lived in the underground, however, Levi knew that the historical magic was not dead. He did not acknowledge this fact – he presumed that these magic vendors were con artists or deceived fundamentalists.
Further research opportunities ceased to spring up (not that he took any of them) as he focussed on military endeavours.
"Levi heicho!" The voice brought him out of his thoughts.
"Yes, brat." It was Eren, as he guessed based on the voice and anxious tone. "You want to take Mikasa on a date, finally?"
"No – I…" Eren stammered. "I was wondering if we had leave tomorrow."
"Yes. We all do – it's forced."
"Great! Thank you."
"Don't do anything stupid."
"You know me!"
"It's why I said that." Levi sighed and closed his eyes. "Now leave. You'd want sleep before that date of yours."
"I-"
"Leave."
"Good night." Thankfully receding footsteps signified Eren's departure. He did not really know if there was to be a date. He did not care either way – as long as Eren's Titan abilities and Mikasa's skill did not falter, he did not care. Not that he thought Eren asked Mikasa out – he did not have the guts.
He sighed and got back on his train of thought which chugged to his primary focus. The train called at a particular memory and alighting, Levi changed his track to follow that.
He was greeted by the special ops dining room – the small, dim room with yellowing walls and a creaky table. Around the table was the default – Petra, Auro, Erd and Gunther in their seats and a hot stew steaming in the middle, next to one of the two candles keeping the dark at bay. Each team member mumbled a greeting as Levi sat and served himself a white bowl of vegetable stew.
"Heicho, what do you think comes after death?" Petra had spoken. Immediately, two things happened: a neural path triggered regret and longing and another found the time – this dinner was on the night after their fifth expedition, a disastrous failed attempt at scouting a nearby town.
"Nothing." Levi had said. Petra mused, chewing on the bland response and flavourless stew. "Why the question?"
"My family believes in necromancy."
"What?"
"The magical art of bringing back the dead." The other three men were a little shocked – it was hard to imagine the kind, pretty and innocent Petra reanimating corpses.
"Isn't it banned?"
"Yeah. It's just a belief."
"Stupid one, at that."
"Heicho, do you know about this?" Gunther asked, wondering what the enigmatic captain knew.
"Barely. It's a thing people mention when many are dying."
"It's a nice thought that when you die you're still there somewhere." Petra said, quietly.
"It's a nicer thought that we could go anywhere without Titans." Auro said, his tone greasy with a desire for approval. "Right?" Petra frowned slightly, smart enough to not start an argument.
"Yes." Levi said, icily freezing the grease before it dripped over to him.
The memory train curved its way back to the main line, leaving Levi with the word 'necromancy.' A thought began with 'what if' and ended with Petra's face.
Levi tossed and turned with that thought. Next dawn was a holiday's – the day of the dead, ironically. All that was on Levi's mind, as expected by this tradition, was the dead. He had spent a sleepless night he would have liked to explain as memorializing the dead, but a disproportionate amount was spent on Petra. It was her idea, he thought to himself.
Levi, for the first time in six years, ventured into the underground. He knew that this would be a great place to begin his inquiries.
The underground was, as Levi remembered, filthy. There was dust and dirt and faecal matter cast into a melting pot of mess. The witches of poverty and unsympathetic government stirred the searing slop, making all the parts of the underground equally disgusting. The building had spotted walls and the streets had a pavement of dirt. Levi sighed, wondering if the ends would justify such repulsive means.
The first shop Levi thought would be helpful was a bookstore. He asked the manager for the collection on historical arts. The gentleman directed Levi to a shelf, tucked behind a hidden door, where the sparse surviving accurate records of a time before Titans were kept.
Levi quickly found a book about Medieval times. If his memory served him, Isabel had read about witches from this era.
The index had the keyword and in five minutes, Levi was redirected to a mysterious 'Munich handbook.' A copy of his would complete all his research. Querying the manager got him pointed to a psychic in another underground district, further away from the camp.
Levi entered this classical scam: the mystical, "old-style" façade cast an air scintillating with magic. The interior continued the mystery through wooden, darkened finishes on every visible surface. Levi's scathing eyes found the cracks, however, and remembered that underneath the mask was another derelict building.
He had come, after twenty minutes contriving, with an offer they would barely resist: a business deal. The plan was that he would buy the handbook and sell them a fake copy. The fake was a brusquely painted-over journal with scribbling filling up the pages. At choice places were pentagrams and sketches of demons (Levi outdid himself in artistry, he thought). This, they might have even bought if he sold it as an updated copy.
The portly "psychic" wore the expected robe and jewellery – the costume of his character. He brought with him, quite conveniently, the copy of the handbook. "What can I do for you?" The vendor asked.
"I want that book."
"Never."
"I have an updated copy and I'll pay you for it anyway."
"Updated?"
"Yes."
"By who?"
"In the district of Shinshiga, there is a powerful witch who discovered simpler means of conjuring the spirits."
"Really? Who might this be?"
"You may not have heard of her – she's not spoken of frequently."
"Really? Try me."
"Hange Zoe." Levi slapped himself for coming up with such a horrible name.
"Never heard of her."
"My point exactly."
"Prove your book's worth."
"See for yourself." Levi slid the book over.
"Thanks, idiot!" In what Levi did not doubt this scoundrel would call grace, the thief began get up and to turn to the door he had entered from. Yet, before his knees pulled him up, Levi slammed the table into him, pinning him against the wall. In a start and much pain, the robber dropped both books. Levi jumped on the table and before kicking the man unconscious, warned him: "You are lucky I'm in a nicer mood. I'll leave you my book since you're nothing but a faker. For your sake, I hope you never see me again."
Levi left the unconscious man with his copy of the Munich Handbook. He hurried to his office in his camp, stopping at a store to collect salt and incense – both miraculously sold at a surprisingly convenient funeral store – one whose business probably flourished due to the nearby military camp.
He ate an impatient lunch and then did as required – bathed with the salt to cleanse himself and then lit some incense. He sat reading – the charm he read suggested waiting for the spirit after calling their name. Despite himself, he had called for Petra. He did not delve on why – she was the first dead person who came to mind. This charm seemed too simple – he was questioning his stupidity as he read more charms.
Levi woke up due to a knock. He looked around. His room, as required by his actions, was pitch black. The knocker entered. It was a cadet he gave a stern stare. "Sorry – wrong room!"
"Get gone." Levi backed away, closing his door. He sat back down and found his candle. Lighting it, he found that his incense burnt out – meaning it was around four in the evening based on its average duration. He sighed, wondering what he should do. The spirit, for the first time in his knowing her, did not respond to his call. He flipped through the book until a paper slid out.
"Dear Heicho,"
His eyes moistened. The curls meant only one possible writer – Petra Ral.
"Sorry I took a while with the summons. Next time, try a harder one – the book has a couple good ones, I've heard.
I'll be quicker now that I know what you're trying – I promise! (Waiting must be so annoying.)
Happily Summoned,
Petra Ral.
PS: Was I your first summons?"