In the End
It feels like a dream. Or a nightmare? Or maybe this is hell? His punishment for sacrificing all those precious lives?
They are watching him. But not with the kind of gaze he'd grown used to over the years. Their eyes are not accusingly staring down at him. They are not asking why.
Their eyes are calm. There's no judgment, no resentment. Just- acceptance.
But, this is even more painful, this is more painful than any hell he could have imagined.
He doesn't deserve it; their forgiveness, not after all the lives he sacrificed—used. He'd used his father's dream to proceed forward. An idea became an obsession, a purpose, an excuse to stain his hands with the blood of his fallen comrades, to unravel the truth of this world. Because after taking the first step forward, there was no going back. But he would never get to know the truth. Because he had to give it all up and die, die to let his excuses and lies become the truth. There was no hiding behind his father's dream anymore. He gave it all, for humanity.
There are many faces, too many to all remember by name.
You bastard.
A voice rings through the air. "Welcome home, commander."
And they salute. They salute—for him.
For him. For the man that had send them straight into the bottomless abyss of hell.
He wants to say that he doesn't deserve this. He wants to say that he's sorry. But he can't, because it is not fair, because suddenly his throat is tight, and his chest heaves. His legs buckle, and he falls to his knees.
A hand settles itself gently on his shoulder. Erwin doesn't look up to see who it is. Which brave soldier it is he has robbed of their precious life.
His chest heaves again, and something in him breaks—it shatters. He snaps like a rubber band that has been stretched out too far, for too long. Way too long.
It hurts. It hurts so much that he can't breathe.
He knows he doesn't deserve it, but he can't help it.
And he finally cries.
All the mistakes are mine.