A:N/ It's here! I've decided to begin new story revolving around "what ifs"! I hope you guys will enjoy this story as much as I loved writing and planning it! Shout out to the best editor ever, tumblr un: humanities-strongest-duo!
It's going to be a long ride!
A burdened man stood atop of the world the night before his rebellion. His handsome face remained apathetic amidst the stress that he would face the moment the sun would brighten the sky. Though of a short stature and unexpressive nature, he was due to be king at any moment. His biceps flexed as he swung his sword around meticulously, his dark blue eyes narrowing at the thought of slicing the King's neck. With a powerful strike of the wall beneath him, he felt satisfaction to feel the stone below him tremble slightly.
The formidable walls always bothered him since the moment he could remember setting his narrowed gaze on them. Their tough, cracked exterior that spanned widely across the sparse land that their damn king called "The Protectors of Freedom" was hideous to stare at, to say the least. People would always point out the grassy hills that complimented the setting sun or the moonlit rivers that shone during the starry nights—but no, he never had time to pay attention to those trivial things. It was the same shit every damn day; he might as well have just stayed underground, the very reason being that the air was no different.
It was stagnant and confined. He shook his head in dismay at the thought of it and he gripped his swords, tightly. As he stood on top of these walls, comparing the view of life and the view of desolation, a hooded figure appeared at his side from the shadows, kneeling as soon as he faced his leader's back.
"My lord," The hooded figure greeted, "We have everything set up according to plan." The hooded figure looked up in askance of what to do next and was greeted by the gloved hand of his leader, "Stand up. Also, how many times have I told you not to call me that, Erwin? It's Levi. Not some asshole of a title."
Erwin, finally revealing his face, let out a slight chuckle with a sheepish grin as he rubbed the back of his neck, "You are going to be the king in a matter of moments. I might as well start naming you with high praise."
"No, those are asshole titles, Erwin. Don't fight me on that." Levi scoffed as he sheathed his swords back into the 3DMG with a swift movement. He turned to Erwin, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, "Let's go."
Erwin slightly bowed and smiled, "As you wish, Levi."
The dawning sun was brightening the sky warmly as Grisha stood before his late wife's grave in silence. He adjusted his glasses out of habit as he tried to put his conflicting thoughts into words, "Carla…I…I wish I could've had more time." He finally managed to spit out; his hands began to tremble as he curled them into fists.
"It's been fifteen years and I still haven't found a solution, damn it." Grisha cursed under his breath, not wanting to disrespect his wife's grave, but he smiled, slightly, at the memory of her scolding tone and the warmth of her hand as she would playfully hit him.
It had only been five years since she passed away, but it felt like an eternity due to the recent circumstances.
Grisha bent down to face the headstone directly, his arms placed on his bent knees as he put his hands over his mouth in deep thought, "There are rumors of an uprising against the throne. Can you believe it? After all these years, there's finally an uprising. But you know what this means, don't you, Carla?" Grisha mumbled as he watched the light reflect on her headstone, dancing.
Years and years of research and it had been completely and utterly useless. The sacrifices and the warfare… was it worth it at this point?
He reached into his pocket, feeling the familiar contraption which had bothered him his whole life, "It's time, Carla, and-"
The abrupt sound of a trumpet interrupted him and Grisha immediately stood up, his eyes wide in panic, he gripped the item in his pocket, hard, and turned to Carla's headstone one last time.
His heart reaching a resolve at the memories that resurfaced in his mind—the sound of Carla's laugh, Mikasa's scolding, and Eren's cries. He closed his eyes, trying to relish in the peaceful moment he had for once in his whole entire life.
He opened his eyes in a flash, all traces of remorse and uncertainty gone, replaced with determination. It was time.
"I'll be back, Carla. There's some unfinished business I have yet to attend to." He apologized before breaking into run towards the forest.
"You can't fight me on this decision, Mikasa!" Eren yelled, his face conflicted with anger and desperation, "I want to support the cause! A better government for the people, Mikasa! Don't you see? I can fight with these hands!" He shook his angered fists in front of her face to reinforce his statement.
Mikasa fought the urge to desperately wring her brother's neck and beg him to listen to her. He was being ridiculously motivated for something that could end his life in an instant. Their mother wouldn't let him go in the first place, so why should she? She promised Carla she wouldn't let Eren get into trouble. She tightened her fists and gritted her teeth, If only he knew…
She grabbed his hands, forcing him to face her, and aimed to look desperate and saddened. He can't fight. He wasn't as strong as the king's army and he would just be rampaging like all of the ones who dared to fight with no skill.
Eren seemed to feel something in her hands and he turned her palms upward, immediately, before she could stop him. Her eyes darkened and her heart began to beat, rapidly, as she watched his eyes critically scan her bandaged hands, but she thoughtof a distraction, fast, knowing she couldn't lie, and began to beg, loudly.
"Listen, Eren, Mom wouldn't want you to go asking for a death wish!" Mikasa pleaded, her darkened onyx eyes trying to search his determined green ones, but to no avail. Eren pushed her hands away as he shook his head, grabbing his jacket and tugging his hood on.
When it seemed as if the stream of her bad luck couldn't widen or stretch any further, both of their heads whipped around to the direction of the sound of a trumpet blaring in the distance.
"You're not going to stop me, Mikasa. If Dad asks where I am, tell him I'm fighting for our freedom." He stated, coldly, and before she knew it, the door had opened and closed with a loud bang that rumbled the walls and her sanity.
Her eyes widened and she muttered curses under her breath as she ran to her room. He would come back after he cooled off, Eren was simple like that.
That and there were other things she had to attend to.
Rummaging under her bed, Mikasa pulled out her 3DMG and rebel uniform and began to quickly dress herself. The trumpet sounding was no drill this time, she could feel the sense of danger pumping throughout her body.
Damn it, I can't use my 3DMG. It would attract unwanted attention. Guess I have to run it, shit.
Finally re-wrapping her scarred neck with her red muffler, she stared at herself in the mirror, blankly, "Same shit, different day, remember that, Mikasa," She chided her reflection, softly. She pulled on the back of her uniform, revealing a hood that would conceal half her face.
With one last look to the bright sky, Mikasa pulled on her hood and ran.
Ayane cursed loudly as she bumped into someone's shoulder in the busy marketplace. She got up, quickly, bowing in apology, to which the young man excused her willingly upon seeing her face.
"O-Oh, it's no big deal! Might I add that you're rather pretty—"Ayane tuned the man out as she glanced behind her back, noticing dark figures that were still hiding amidst the carts. She cursed, inwardly, wondering if she could use this man as a distraction, but she shook her head to rid herself of the thought.
I can't have any victims.
"And would you like to—"
Ayane silenced him with a muttered apology as she began to move past him and conceal herself within the confines of the crowd. Successfully hidden, Ayane shifted her cloak, slightly, revealing her 3DMG was connected and ready for use.
Damn it. I can't use it here though. I have to find a place where there's no civilization.
Ayane eyed her surroundings, pushing her body through the crowd, and that's when she located the forest bordering the outskirts of the marketplace. But before she could run towards the place, a gloved hand covered her mouth and brutally pushed her against a column in a dark corner, away from public view.
As soon as the figure let her mouth free, she kneed him in the groin, smiling as she heard a satisfying thump and a loud groan elicited from her actions. Turning him around, she shoved her foot on his back, grinding his whole body into the mud, and grabbed his right arm and twisted it, earning the beautiful sound of his bones cracking.
"Who sent you?," she hissed, commanding and impatient, "If you decide to lie to me, I will personally find out and send them your head as a warning."
The man moaned his defeat and she gladly took her foot off of him and turned him around, grabbing him by his collar and shoving him up against the column where he had her moments ago, "Looks like the roles have switched, huh?" She hummed, sarcastically, pulling the man off his feet, cutting off all circulation as he began to choke. His words were of a pleading manner and she dropped him to the ground.
"Speak." She commanded, crossing her arms, as she placed a leather boot on top of his crotch in warning.
"T-The King ordered me to make sure you do your job." The man explained, quickly, his hands up in defense as Ayane's multi-colored orbs stared at him, "Please, your eyes, Ma'am." He tried to shield his gaze and Ayane tilted her head in confusion before letting out a scoff, noticing the puddle beneath his trembling arse.
"Just because I have different colored eyes doesn't mean I'm a fucking monster, you asshole." She hissed, stomping her foot on his genitals, tired of his smelly piss reeking.
"Go tell the king that everything is going according to plan and that I don't need a babysitter. Got it?"
The man nodded, quickly, and she kicked him out of the dark corner and leaned on the column, watching the shitty excuse of a man run mad. But, she touched her face, softly, her plump lips frowning. Immediately, she shook her head and made her way to the forest, grateful for the tall trees as she pulled the trigger on her 3DMG and heard the swishing sound of the wires going off as she flew towards the wall.
Eren found himself lost. Again.
Damn trees all look the same.
Frustrated, he shook his head and tried to retrace his steps while thinking of his past fight with Mikasa. She, of all people, should understand why he wanted to join the rebels. She knew what really happened to their mom. The sound of his mother's anguish pleadings combined with the sharp beatings as hooded figures with the King's insignia on their jackets surrounded her haunted him to this day. His father had been away, treating his patients, just like any other day.
Mikasa had been the one to grab a club and hit one of them while tears streamed down her face at the sight of their mother's unconscious body lying there. The gruff men grabbed Mikasa's neck and had thrown her against the wall. Eren had seen enough and remembered the gun that his father always had in his desk. Running as fast as he could, he grabbed it and shot the pitiful men who begged for their lives.
With no remorse, a ten year-old Eren killed them.
Gritting his teeth and punching a tree trunk, Eren let out a loud yell of frustration, scaring the birds that hid in the green leaves.
"Eren…?" The sound of his father's voice startled him and Eren turned to face his father, surprised.
"Dad? Hey, what are you doing here?" Eren's trembling voice didn't seem to hint at his run away from home as Grisha walked towards him, calmly. Eren's eyes clouded with confusion as he watched his father take something out of his pocket and place it in his opposite hand.
"Where's Mikasa?" Grisha asked normally, as if he wasn't trying to hide something behind his back, but Eren took it as a sign that his father hadn't gone home first to the hysterical Mikasa, so he relaxed.
Good, Dad doesn't know that I'm joining the rebels yet.
"She's at home. I told her I wanted some fresh air." Eren explained, quickly, cursing himself for his lack of control over his emotions.
Grisha raised an eyebrow, stopping a few feet away from Eren, "The trumpet sounded, Eren. I know where you're going."
Eren gulped and his green eyes widened. He dropped down to his knees, grabbing his father's pants in a pleading fashion, "Dad, please, I want to join the battle. Please let me avenge Mom. I need to avenge Mom. I need to avenge this whole damn nation! They killed her. I know they did."
Grisha bent down to meet his son's eye level, his free hand brushing the tears away from Eren's cheeks, "I know, son. That's why I'm here."
Before Eren could blink, his father had pinned him down, grabbing his arm, and Eren eyed the contraption in his father's hand. A syringe?
"Dad! Wait-what are you-?!"
Eren felt the needle's sharpness prick his skin and the feel of the mysterious liquid slither into his veins, sending a weird sensation throughout his body. His vision was beginning to grow hazy and his father's voice was becoming more and more like the sound of a far-off dream.
"Eren, Eren, I'm sorry, I really am."
Dad? Are you crying? Why? What's going on?
"I love you, son. Your mom and I will always love you. Take care of Mikasa, okay? Both of you need to take care of each other."
Wait… what's going on? Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?
The sound of an army's terrifying roar and of his father's loud cry of pain was the last thing Eren could register before the darkness shrouded his senses and threw him into complete oblivion.
Mikasa could feel the adrenaline pumping into her veins right on time. The heaviness of her gear was welcoming to her as she flew in the air, lightly jumping from tree to tree. Her leather boots not even making a sound, she felt pride as she began to unsheathe her swords. As her raven hair danced with the wind, Mikasa's mind wandered back to the fight she had with Eren and her heart tightened.
He wasn't a fighter. He never trained in martial arts, swordplay, or even the basic necessities of defending yourself.
He wasn't like her.
Whipping one of her swords in front of her, she glanced at her blurry reflection within the swords, noticing the small scratches and dents that had formed over the years.
"Mikasa, your stance needs to be straighter! Discipline your body to take the pain. Your scars should be your trophies."
Closing her eyes at the childhood memories that had been becoming more vivid lately, Mikasa landed on top of a high tree branch for a moment, pausing to open her hands and examine the thin, white lines that had appeared over the years.
"But, father, what am I training for?"
She was only ten when Grisha Jaeger revealed to her her special circumstances. She knew she had been adopted the moment she could tell the difference between her smooth, pale skin to Eren's patchy, dark skin and how her eyes slightly narrowed while his eyes were as round as the moon.
She had frozen in shock when she watched her adopted mother die in front of her. Grisha had found her crying alone in the kitchen as she took it all in and tended to Eren's unconscious body. He took her hands and patted her head and looked her straight in the eye, "Don't cry. For what's the use of crying? Next time, Mikasa, fight. Fighting is the only option you will ever have in this world."
She remembered clenching her tiny fists in determination and nodding, thinking of how utterly helpless she felt as she simply watched them kill her precious mother, "I want to fight."
The months after that, Mikasa had trained under his tutelage, watching and sparring. She had excelled in everything he had thrown at her, but one day, he had pulled her aside and sat her down in a very serious manner.
Grisha had given her a sharp, proud nod, "Can you promise something for me, Mikasa?"
Mikasa nodded, slowly, noticing the clear determination forming in his eyes.
"Eren must not know anything. Understood? You must protect him at all costs, but whatever you do, don't tell him that you're—"
Mikasa abruptly shut her mind down, not wanting to remember who she really was at that very moment, her eyes glued to her target among the forest where those detestable walls lay ahead.
"War, Mikasa, you're training for war."
A:N/ Hope you guys enjoyed chapter one! It's a bit confusing I know, but it'll make sense. Foreshadowing always wins.