This story centers around an original character, I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1: To You, a Lifetime from Now
Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman and Armin Arlert raced through the lively streets of the Shiganshina District. Eren bore bright red blemishes that puffed up his youthful cheeks, and a small split on his bottom lip. He maneuvered through the bustling markets and up a dingy alley, Mikasa at his heels and Armin wheezing behind. Through a few twists and turns, they emerged onto a quiet backstreet. The sun was reaching its final moments of midday, the air cooling down from the usual sweltering temperatures. Eren leaned against the house beside him, panting and gently feeling the tender wounds on his face.
"Jackasses," he grumbled under his breath. His emerald green eyes looked up the cobblestone path to see the Yeager residence, and his heart dropped.
"Your mom is going to have a fit," Armin coughed.
"I refuse to let those jerkoffs treat you like crap, Armin."
"It's alright, at the end of the day, I still have you guys."
Eren glanced back over his shoulder and smirked at his best friend. What a kid he was, always being able to find light in the worst situations. If he had to face the wrath of Carla Yeager, he would much rather have that blond coconut head by his side.
"Doesn't mean I won't kick their asses-" Eren began before a loud crash seized his attention.
The trio was startled by a boy who soared past them seemingly at the speed of light, a tuft of black hair whipping around as he sprinted by. He carried a thick loaf of bread in one arm, and a chunky string of meat in the other, darting through an alleyway and disappearing like a ghost. A shopkeeper in a greasy apron wobbled out onto the street moments later, wiping sweat from his forehead and struggling to catch his breath.
"Where'd that little thief go?" he gurgled.
Armin took a step forward, but Eren swung an arm out in front of him. Armin looked over at his friend, who raised an index finger up to his lips.
"We didn't see anything," he whispered.
Armin raised a skeptical eyebrow, but nodded reluctantly and shifted his gaze to his feet. The trio discreetly sauntered up the road past the irate shopkeeper, toward the Yeager residence. When they approached the front door, Eren fell back and shuffled his feet. Mikasa glared momentarily before reaching up and gripping the handle. The door creaked open and the three stepped inside, Eren bringing up the rear. Mrs. Yeager peaked around the corner of the entryway, and smiled warmly.
"Eren, hun, your father is looking for you," she called.
Eren sharply inhaled and shrunk back behind Armin, poking the top of his head out from over his shoulder.
"Can't it wait?" he asked meekly. "I'd like to wash up a first, I'm a little dirty.
From around the corner, an eerie silence was followed by the scooting of a chair. Eren yelped and spun around to make a break for the door, only to bump into a figure much taller than him. He looked up to see a familiar pair of thinly rimmed glasses resting on his father's nose. Grisha Yeager chortled and palmed Eren's head like a basketball, lightly nudging him away from his stomach.
"Easy now," Grisha said. "I've been waiting for you to come home."
"EREN YEAGER," Carla cried as she leaned down and snatched Eren's cheeks. "What on earth happened to you?!"
"Carla," Grisha sighed. "Can we wait to scold him for a few seconds."
Carla huffed and reluctantly released her grip on Eren, who whimpered and rubbed his throbbing face.
"What did you need to see me for?" Eren asked.
"I will on a business trip in a few days." Grisha responded, kneeling to meet Eren's gaze. "I'll be gone for a while, so I expect you to be the man of the Yeager house."
"Yes, of course I will!"
"I know you will."
Grisha smiled lightly before stealing a glance at Carla, who tapped her foot impatiently. He stood up straight and moved aside as she swooped in and grabbed Eren by the shoulders.
"Now, what did you get into this time?" she reprimanded.
"It was nothing!" Eren insisted. "Just a bunch of scumbags getting theirs!"
"When will you learn that not everything can be solved with your fists!"
The room fell still for a moment, Mikasa and Armin watching from the doorway. Carla took a deep breath before gripping Eren's arm and dragging him into the kitchen. Eren protested to no avail, and was hauled over to the sink, where she dipped a towel in cold water.
"Mom, I'm fine," Eren struggled. "Really...ouch!"
Carla ignored his objections and gently blotted his injuries with the damp towel. After inspecting the damage once more, she leaned down and rested a hand under Eren's chin, bringing his head up to meet her chocolate-colored eyes.
"Please try to control yourself," she began. "Mikasa won't always be there to save you."
"She doesn't save me!" Eren holered. "I can handle myself!"
"Fine, if you can handle yourself, then you should have no problem finding your way up to your room. Armin, sweetheart, I'm sorry the day had to end like this."
"Oh don't worry about it," Armin laughed. "I'm feeling a little tired too, maybe it's time I head out. Goodnight, Eren!"
Eren trudged up the stairs, grumbling until the slam of a door muffled his whines. Mikasa immediately bolted up the stairs after him, her ebony hair bouncing over the crimson scarf wrapped tenderly around her neck.
That night, Eren sprawled out across his side of their shared bed, and stared at the void hanging high above him. His mind seemed to aimlessly set itself adrift across a vast plane of haphazard contemplation, but strayed to a child with scruffy black hair zooming through an endless market. His thoughts barricaded themselves behind a fortress of weary bliss, grappling violently with his eyelids, but curiosity wrenched them open and held them ajar. Mikasa exhaled smoothly beside him, her chest rising and falling gently as she slept, her hand lightly draped over Eren's arm. While her dreams whisked her away through a lazy river of evocative imagination, Eren endured the inebriated purgatory of tiredness.
Armin strolled home under the evening sky, rays of golden sunshine wrapping him in a warm blanket of toasty heat. It comforted him knowing that the remaining light could guide him through the maze-like streets, suppressing any hint of loneliness that crept up his spine. Thugs and other heathens lurked within the shadowy corners of the district, like lions stalking their prey. Unknowing victims sleepily retreating to their beds after a tiresome day of labor, oblivious to the fiends stalking their drunken movements. Night offered a playground for sadistic monsters with a perverted lust for misdeeds, and solidarity among unfortunate drifters who were unable to bear the public's pitiful scrutiny.
However, for today, those trials could be avoided. Confidently stepping out onto a main pathway, cautiousness became an afterthought as Armin spotted two figures down the road. The first figure, a small girl, balanced a basket of plump vegetables in her tiny arms. The second figure, an elderly woman, sluggishly climbed the slight incline of the walkway. Her face was etched with wrinkles that conveyed a certain wisdom, one that only age deserves to bear. The pair reached the mouth of an alleyway, the rift seeming to swallow the girl whole in a chasm of uncertainties. The woman ushered the girl onward, but she stood frozen in front of the black fissure, her gaze fixated on the seemingly endless darkness. Her stare was broken by a sharp yank, the old woman wheezing as she struggled to haul her up the street. Armin smiled as they passed, but furrowed his eyebrows and swiveled around to face the abyss.
Of course there's trouble when I'm alone, he thought. The street was now unnaturally quiet, and he focused on keeping his footsteps as light as feathers.
The alleyway eerily loomed among the gold tinted buildings, a sinister reminder of what skulked within the depths of the poverty stricken district. The cautiousness that sought comfort in the rear of Armin's mind clawed its way back up, seeping through every pore and nerve. He anxiously tiptoed closer to the crevasse, his eyes wide and his hands trembling uncontrollably. The corner of the alley was now within reach, and he warily peeked around the bend, adjusting his eyes to the sudden absence of illumination. A lone stream of dull light slipped through the towering darkness, falling along the sooty dirt. Dust particles danced in slow motion through the ray of golden salvation, promising a modest blanket of warmth and reassurance. Behind the beam sat a figure, slumped lifelessly against a grimy wall, staring blankly at the sky above. A wad of jet black hair covered most of their features, falling messily over a face of porcelain skin. Their body seemed to glow with an anemic paleness, illuminating their sickly frame. Armin leaned in to focus his vision, but lost his balance and scraped his foot along the wall. The figure lowered their head and turned toward him.
"I'm sorry!" Armin yelped, whipping back around the building. "Please forgive me!"
"It's alright," came a quiet murmur. "I'd be more careful though, if I were you."
The figure appeared from behind the corner, shading their eyes from the sun like a vampire. Armin scuttled away, his heart practically beating out of his chest.
He came into view as a frail bundle of skin and bone, wrapped loosely in tattered clothing. An unwashed white shirt and filthy brown pants hung off of his body as if he were a clothesline, his arms and legs as thin as tissue paper. The skin clinging uselessly to his frame was pure and flawless, the pigment as white as snow. It was magnificently bright in the direct sunlight, radiating like an angelic form of the moon itself. Armin studied his face, noting the oriental features that adorned Mikasa so uniquely, even the ebony hair and onyx irises. His eyes were unsettling, cold and vacant of emotion, screaming from years of mental anguish. They wailed in agony without uttering a single sound, any spark of youthfulness lost with the death of his innocence.
Hopeless.
Armin smiled warily, but the boy's deadpan stare wavered his confidence.
"S-So...what's your name?" Armin asked.
"Tyrus," the boy spoke, his voice barely reaching above a whisper.
"W-What're you doing out here?"
"Hiding, what does it look like? Friggin' shopkeeper been searching for me all day."
Armin's eyes widened to the size of bowling balls, and his legs felt like jelly.
"You're that kid from before then," he blurted, mentally cursing himself.
Tyrus didn't say anything, but he raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Earlier on, some friends and I were walking, when you bolted past us. The shopkeeper was right at your heels."
Armin's eyes were plastered to the floor, but he worked up the courage to meet Tyrus' gaze. He glanced up to see a vile scowl filled with sheer hatred, like he had committed the most sinister deed known to man.
"So you ratted me out, is that it?" he seethed.
"N-No! Of course not!" Armin quickly retorted. "The idiot with me wouldn't have it."
"Well...that idiot with you understands the struggle of street rats like me then."
Armin reeled back in surprise, his fears confirmed.
"You live on the streets?"
"What of it?"
"Nothing! I'm sorry."
Tyrus' glower softened into the same impassive void as before, but it was different this time. It was distant and sorrowful, longing for an unknown desire that would never be fulfilled. Armin felt salty beads of sweat under his bangs, and wiped them clean with his sleeve. He glanced up at the rosey pink sky, and smiled in spite of himself.
"Armin, by the way." he said.
"What?"
"My name is Armin."
Tyrus looked over at him, and scoffed.
"Odd name, suits you well though."
Armin caught the hint of a smile on Tyrus' lips before he turned and began walking in the opposite direction. He watched for what seemed like an eternity, the skeleton of a child soon becoming a silhouette down the road. The sky above him morphed into a concoction of purple and dark blue hues, stars peeking out from behind the ghostly clouds as a reminder of the day's end.
I'd better get home, he thought before turning and sprinting down the street.
Eren woke with a choked gasp, startling a pair of crows from the tree branches above him. He raised his head to find Mikasa staring intently into his eyes, a tight frown stretched across her mouth. She sighed and stood up, pulling the sling of firewood back onto her shoulders.
"You were sleeping that soundly?" she asked.
"No, it just felt like I was caught in a really long dream," Eren said.
Mikasa turned and studied him.
"Why are you crying?"
Eren inhaled sharply, and blinked out the remnants of tears from their ducts. Mikasa ushered him to his feet, and the pair trekked through the outer fields of Wall Maria, making their way back into Shiganshina.
Later that evening, Armin joined them alongside the district's canal, soaking up yet another day of divine sunlight. The sky presented a balmy gradient of pastel yellows and oranges, soothing their skin and warming their backs.
Nearby, Tyrus sprinted through the streets, three loaves of bread tucked under his feeble arms. He rounded a corner and emerged out onto the canal, panting while mopping thick beads of sweat from his forehead. His eyes attentively scanned the area, searching for the fastest escape route. He faltered when they fell on Armin, who glanced up and locked their gaze. Tyrus took a nervous step back, when the earth around him shook violently. He staggered and collapsed, his senses blurred and dizzy. The ground angrily vibrated with the might of the strongest cannon blast, flinging him through the air like a helpless ragdoll. He slammed against the dirt with a grunt, gripping his ribs and spitting grit from his mouth.
Armin woozily sat up and rubbed the back of his head. He looked over to where he saw Tyrus, but only found three loaves of bread left behind.
"What the hell was that?" Eren coughed.
Armin turned his attention to the storm of noise boiling in the distance. Voices blurred together in a mix of frantic whining and stunned crying. The stomping of shoes against gravel congested the stagnant air, and the sky seemed to have burned a shade darker.
What the hell was that? Tyrus thought as he dashed through a spookily deserted marketplace. Baskets of produce and baked goods were neglected and abandoned, like their owners vanished out of thin air. Under normal circumstances, he would seize the opportunity for an easy pilferage, but the nerves churning in his stomach were like a whirlpool of hesitation. The disorder that ensued brewed with uncertainty, and the air held its breath anxiously. Tyrus glanced down at his hands to find them trembling wildly, his legs weighed down with cinder blocks tied at his ankles.
What are you doing? he thought, clenching his fists tightly.
Fight!
Tyrus looked up to see a cottage, dark and unoccupied for the day. He felt his hands along the trellis, running his fingers along the coarse ivy creeping up the framework. Boney fingers wrapped around the wood, his eyes raising to view the balcony overhead. One foot dug into the gridded structure, hoisting a pair of feeble arms higher up the siding. A second foot rose above the first, bringing the pair of arms level with the terrace. Tyrus dug his nails into the planks of the balcony, ignoring the splinters and cuts angrily lashing out at his fingertips. His legs dangled uselessly off the ground, and he took a painful breath before hauling his weightless body up over the ledge. He gasped and collapsed against the floorboards, fighting to regain his senses. His eyes stung with cloudy tears, and he forced his head to raise weakly.
50 meters, he shuddered.
The air was bitterly still, and smelled of sour ozone. A plume of gray steam rose faintly from beyond the district, and a crimson mass of gargantuan fingers dug powerfully into the top of the wall. A forehead ominously came into view from above the peak, followed by a menacing pair of eyes, and an enormous set of teeth. Tyrus picked himself up off the ground, his eyes fixated on the towering figure in the distance. A second shock wave barreled up the cobblestone road, sending tremors through every building. Windows and signs shuddered violently, and Tyrus nearly lost his balance for the second time. A massive cloud of brown smoke flooded the base of the wall, and large boulders soared through the air. Debris bombarded houses and shops, crushing screaming onlookers like ants.
The streets below roared to life with frantic crowds of shrieking residents, pushing and shoving up the district.
"The Titans are coming!"
"We're all going to die!"
Tyrus' limbs liquified and his body felt like it was frozen. The giant Titan melted behind the wall, leaving nothing but a line of steam in its wake. His eyes moved to the base of the wall, and focused on the figures drifting along the line of roofs.
It can't be, he thought. At that moment, he could feel his joints unlock, and he made a break for the balcony door.
People scattered up the district like a herd of cattle, trampling each other with the viciousness of feral beasts. Tyrus furiously twisted the door handle and, when it refused to budge, raised his foot and kicked it open. The interior of the house was dim, save for a single candle left eerily lit. Tyrus broke into a sprint, flying down the staircase and over to the front door, fumbling with the lock and yanking it open. Outside, a few stragglers stumbled past, but the street was relatively empty. He sighed with meager relief, and darted up the road, his legs feeling like they carried the weight of the world.
The gate into Wall Maria was swarmed with a frenzied mob, petrified screams echoing against the rush of panicked footsteps. Men, women and children crushed each other underfoot, their sanity replaced with untamed savagery. Soldiers of the Garrison Regiment shouted above the mass hysteria, attempting to instill order. Cannons were wheeled out and primed to guard the gate. Floods of citizens surged toward the entryway, like moths to a flame. Tyrus charged into the throng, ramming the weak and elderly aside. He jostled through the masses ferociously, pushing and shoving like a wild animal. The mouth of the gate towered over him, when a forceful jab stole the air from his lungs, and knocked him off his feet. His head slammed against the ground, and he struggled to catch his breath as shoes pulverized his ribs.
So close, he thought as he instinctively shielded his face.
The weight was impossible to bear, and unconsciousness threatened to whisk his body away to a state of lifeless ease. He could feel his eyes drifting shut, when a pair of arms scooped him up off the ground. They fluttered open to see a Garrison patch, and the stern face of a soldier. Chestnut hair sat slicked back on his head, and stubble dotted his chin and sideburns.
"You're getting out of this kid," he yelled above the crowd.
Tyrus smiled and let a stream of tears escape down his cheeks, his consciousness slipping away. The world spun out of focus, melting into a blur of watercolors and muffled commotion. Darkness overcame his sight, and his senses collapsed from exhaustion. His eyelids fell from fatigue, and he allowed his body to crumble in the soldier's arms.
"Tyrus, you must live on!"
"Your mother loved you, but I must go."
"You're nothing! Nothing but a bastard child, not even worth the soles of my shoes!"
"You'll be the first to get eaten by Titans, mark my words."
You must live on.
I'm trying.
Thank you for reading, I apologize for the short opening. All chapters after this will be much longer.
- UnlimitedHeart