A/N: This was written last year for a friend's birthday; comments appreciated~


The journey is slower than he anticipated without the constant threat of Titans, but Mike doesn't mind; it gives him ample time to enjoy the fresh air.

The only times the world smelled so clean before were when they were outside the Walls, but there were always too many other things to keep track of that he never stopped to consider the purity of the air he was breathing. Expeditions were always harried, time spent remembering strategies and staying in formation and remaining alert for unexpected circumstances, and while the crisp, clean air did help clear his mind and keep him focused when taking down Titans, he never let himself pause to relish it.

For as long as he has lived, his nose has been particularly keen, sniffing out things others find imperceptible, but the constant barrage of scents has been a hindrance as much as an advantage; there are many things he will never forget, and the lingering odors of clotting blood and rotting corpses will probably never leave his memory. Sometimes he wakes in the middle of the night choking on the scent of death and decay, but when warm arms wrap around him and pull him close, he thinks of all there is to live for and the nausea eases.

Ever since the entrances to the Walls were thrown wide open and kept that way, hordes of people have been leaving every day, old and young, rich and poor alike, everyone eager for a chance to explore the world outside, to discover the vast lands and seas that humanity can finally reclaim. Companies have been building houses and apartments further and further from Wall Maria, and brave souls have traveled further beyond, returning weeks or even months later to excitedly share wonders forgotten over a hundred years ago.

Mike would have liked to be one of those people, but he was a soldier and he still had duties left unfulfilled. After the annihilation of the Titans, the Scouting Legion under Commander Hanji Zoe found new objectives to achieve, and while one of those objectives was to travel through and map out the new territories now in humanity's reach, that was left to younger soldiers like Armin Arlert. The Titans were gone, but the chaos their existence created in society was still a very real thing.

It still is, but it has been months since that fateful day that will forever be remembered as the day of humanity's freedom, and things have died down enough that Mike has finally been able to plan what he remembers dreaming about years and years ago, when he was just a little boy sitting on the roof of a farmhouse looking at the stars, and though he is almost there at last, he still has a hard time believing it.

It is only the two of them; many other soldiers have already been on this trip. Some in large groups, some alone—it does not matter. Not a single person has reported seeing anything more dangerous than wild beasts lurking in the forests, and if the human race is able to work together, if peace is kept, no one ever will again.

Mike thought it would be a quick journey, no more than a few days' ride on horseback, but he has never really considered all that lies between the Walls and the ocean. The farmlands of his childhood are nothing compared to the sprawling plains that stretch beyond the skyline; the forest of giant trees where they nearly captured the Female Titan the first time is but a speck in a much broader world. Paths have been marked in maps, rivers and landmarks noted, but traveling it is much different from seeing it on paper, and without giants to chase them, they set a much more leisurely pace.

They brought a tent, but sometimes they are both too lazy to use it and so they sleep on a blanket under the stars. Mike points out the ones he looked at as a child, talks of his mother's stories and the songs his father sang while working in the fields, and Hanji takes them all in, wide-eyed as he was as a boy, and counters his words with ones of recent findings, the properties of the saltwater lake they camped by last night or the rock formations they passed a few hours ago.

They do not speak of the past often, and when they do, it is usually a mention of a fallen comrade more than anything else: "Levi would have loved it out here; he was always complaining about the air inside the Walls," Hanji says once; "Erwin's stood over these lands so many times; wish he'd gotten to travel them as well," Mike answers. But they have already grieved and such comments are spoken with more fondness than sorrow; they must move on if they are to look to the future they fought so hard for.

There is not much to say; there is nothing left that needs to be said. It is almost surreal, wandering the open terrain with Hanji by his side, and sometimes when he closes his eyes he remembers the days of the war, days spent fighting and nights spent living, all the times he tried not to hope because while hope spurred him on, if he surrendered himself to it he would lose sight of what was right before his eyes.

But he still hoped, and he spoke of those hopes to Erwin, to Hanji, even to Levi; he murmured his wishes and dreams into Hanji's hair, and Hanji would listen and whisper the same ones back. The war brought them together—if it weren't for the Titans, he would have been working on his father's farm since it would never have been destroyed—and it's kept them together all this time, and now that it is over, there is nothing he can hope for that isn't already in front of him.

So they do not need to speak; instead they listen: to the babbling of the brook as it rushes past below their horses' hooves, to the chirping of birds they have never seen before, to the sound the wind makes as it rustles the leaves around them, quiet and unobtrusive yet light and carefree, and Mike thinks it sounds like a promise.

Over a week passes before they reach the outcrop Arlert mentioned in his report; the rocks are brown and gray and black, nestled together in a lumpy, distinguishable shape, and Hanji sits up in the saddle upon catching sight of it.

"We're almost there," Mike says, and after that their pace picks up.

The bushes and grass lining the dirt paths carved into the ground begin to lessen; slowly at first, and then more noticeably. They are still far away when his nose detects what his eyes cannot yet: the tang of salt in the air.

The ground is loosening, little pebbles littering the firmly packed earth, and soon sand starts to fill up in the cracks between the rocks. The trees are growing more and more sparse and Mike stops to climb off his horse and tie it to one of the few trees left, but he makes sure the rope is loose and he feeds his horse before stowing a few supplies in a small bag and continuing the rest of the way on foot. Hanji does the same.

He can hear it now: almost like a quiet roaring sound echoing around them. Arlert called it the surf; it is the sound of waves crashing against the shore of the ocean. The smell of salt is heavy now, weighing down the air they breathe, but it is a pleasant weight, fresh and different.

Beneath their feet, gravel gives way to sand, soft and warm under the sun shining high above, and when he sees Hanji removing shoes he bends down to take off his own as well. The sand shifts between his toes, as fluid as water, and from the grin on Hanji's face, he can tell they both feel the same thing.

They are walking slightly uphill; ahead there is a small copse that clusters together before branching out. When they round the crest, Hanji takes his hand and together they look upon the ocean for the first time.

It is exactly how he pictured it but at the same time it is completely different: it's like the sky, people said, but made of water; it's like an entire land of its own, made entirely of liquid and changing colors to reflect what is around it, always moving, never still. As they watch, a line of white rolls towards the edge of the land, then breaks apart on the shore. Water rushes over the sand, darkening it and sinking in, before receding once more.

Around them, the world is empty. The clouds are still in the sky, the sun beating down on their faces, the sand hot under their bare feet, and the ocean waits for them below. Hanji suddenly lets out a whoop and Mike watches as the commander of the Scouting Legion, his lover, his best friend—but none of those words are even close to sufficient—throws the unmarked jacket to the ground.

"What are we waiting for?"

Nothing, he thinks, or maybe he says it, because it seems like Hanji hears him. He drops his things to the ground too and takes Hanji's hand again, and together they head into a world ripe with the scent of new beginnings.