Readers, you are no doubt eager to continue the adventure of our two heroes: Eren, and the girl who calls herself Krista Lenz. Before we can resume their story, though, there is something we must revisit first. A critical moment in time, a particular evening, that sent all these events clattering into motion.

Far, far away, miles to the east, there is a land called Gondowa. It is a place of misty hills and acred woods, pastoral, simple, idyllic. On a small farm by the ford of a river, a day's walk from the village—it was here that Historia grew up.

But.

When the men in blue suits and steel touched down in their airship… after that, nothing was the same. For Historia, there is no returning to the past. For us, though… we, the readers… shall we roll back the clock? Shall we look back at that rose-red, sun-split evening?

Six months ago, Historia was a little girl on a farm.

Six Months Prior

Frieda swung the basket as she walked. She had a good haul: mushrooms, rare herbs, and the green moss that grew in the dark of the woods and cured any kind of rash. Historia trudged after her, holding a smaller basket filled to the brim with wild blackberries and flower petals. The petals couldn't be eaten, or sold to the apothecary, but Historia liked to collect them anyway.

As the crickets chirped songs from tree to tree, Frieda stopped, a look of thought on her face. "Hey, 'storia," she said, "do you remember the song I taught you a few days ago?"

"Yep," said Historia, continuing her trudge.

"Here, wait," Frieda said. "Put this on. I want to try something." She pulled out a thin, shimmering necklace. In the center, a blue rock, with an engraved crimson crest. Historia looked up at her sister in curiosity. Frieda knelt down beside her. Carefully, she tied the necklace around Historia's neck. "Good," Frieda said. "Now—I want you to try singing that song."

"Why?" Historia felt a strange, sudden feeling of reluctance.

"It's okay." Frieda squeezed her hand. "I'm right here. I'll sing it with you, okay?"

"Okay," Historia said. With Frieda's encouragement, she opened her mouth, and quietly pronounced the first verse. "Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme." As she said it, the crystal around her neck flashed a bright blue.

"Keep going!" Frieda encouraged, as Historia stopped to look. "You're doing great."

"Tell her to make me a cambric shirt," Historia sang. "Parsley, sage rosemary and thyme. Without a seam, or needlework. Then she'll be a true love of mine."

Surely the crickets in the trees were chirping louder, now, and the crystal flashed intermittently. Not after every word, but in a sort of pattern—alien, yet familiar. "Tell her to find me an acre of land. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. Between the salt water and the sea sand. Then she'll be a true love of mine."

"Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather.

Parsley, sage rosemary and thyme.

And gather it all in a bunch of heather.

Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Yesterday grows merry with time.

Remember me to the one who lives there,

She once was a true love of mi—

And the world slipped down and away from under her. She was tumbling through the void, some burning sensation carved into her chest. Bright blue lines spread out, a gridline on a sea of darkness. She saw memories of things she'd never experienced. Faces, voices, words, pictures, gravestones. She saw towns and cities burning. She saw great shadowed figures lumbering in between the flames.

"Historia!"

She saw a man with glasses and the face of a beast. She saw rose-red blood that trickled between the floorboards. She saw the girl who held the knife that she'd cut from her own heart. She saw the boy who dreamed of airfoils as he slept. In the center of it all, she saw the flying city that dwelt within the clouds, and the things that lay within the stony walls, waiting… waiting… listening.

"HISTORIA!"

She came to. Her vision cleared, and she was back at the path by the woods, the foothills in the distance where the sun was setting. Frieda stared desperately into her eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Historia simply blinked, tried to clear the images from her head. "What happened?"

"I didn't realize it would be so strong," Frieda said. "That was the crystal imprinting on you. You're its controller now. It'll listen to you sing."

Historia shook her head. "I don't wanna sing anymore."

Frieda took one of Historia's hands and held it gently. "You must, 'storia," she said. "It's part of our family tradition. Everyone who bears the crystal must sing, because that's how you activate its most powerful spells—with verse. I promise the visions won't come this time. Give it a try?"

Historia shook her head again, a tear running down her face. In her mind's eye she saw houses melting in the flame.

"I promise," Frieda said. She wiped the tear from Historia's face, held her close and hugged her, said: "I'm sorry to make you do this. But you have to learn. It's the burden our family carries."

"You promise the nightmares won't come back?"

"I promise. I promise, I promise."

In that evening twilight six months ago, Historia stood and worked up her courage. As the sun set, and the path by the woods grew dark, she opened her mouth once again. She sang the same words as before, her voice quiet and cautious.

She trembled, stuttered—on the last verse—but finished it, bravely. As she did, the crystal thrummed, this time a low and melodic tone.

All around them, fireflies came alive in the dark. Historia and Frieda watched as the fireflies, more then they'd ever known existed, arranged themselves on the woodland path. They formed a line of shimmering light, that curved off into the distance.

"Wherever you go, wherever you are in the world," Frieda said. "If you sing this song while holding the crystal, it'll lead you to safety. It'll show you the path home."

As if on cue, Historia's stomach growled. Frieda laughed and grabbed her basket. "Come on," she said. "Let's go home and eat."

Present Day

"Hey, Krista, look," Eren said. The automobile rumbled along the gravel-dirt road. "Just past the bridge is the mines, we'll be able to hole up there for a while. I'll introduce you to Uncle Pixis. He's this nice but kind of crazy old man. He lives in the tunnels and drinks a lot and talks to rocks."

"Eren, there something I haven't told you yet," she said, over the rumble of the engine and the crunching of gravel and the sound of the wind.

"Hm?" He looked at her, curious.

"My real name. It isn't Krista. It's Historia. My true name is Historia Reiss."

"Reiss?" He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Doesn't ring a bell."

Historia glanced over at Sasha and Connie, who were chatting to themselves. It's better they don't hear this. It would only put them in danger. But Eren deserves to know what he's getting into. She leaned forward and whispered. "My family has passed this crystal down, generation to generation, for a hundred years. For a long time, I never knew why." She paused, and then continued. "In the center of a crystal is a small crimson crest. It shows a small figure, like a man with wings. When I was kidnapped, I finally learned where the crest comes from."

Eren glanced down at the crystal she held in her hands. He noticed the crest. His eyes widened.

"It's the same crest that's on the book in your study," Historia whispered. "It's the crest of the royal family of Laputa."