Chapter 11: Of Tragedies and War and Longing

Note: I'm so sorry for the inconsistencies in the plot here. You'll find a few things that differ from the 'plan' in the previous chapters. I haven't composed the entire storyline when I start writing this so a lot of things changes. Sorry again! I hope everything is clear in the end.

Pieck,

We were right all along.

The military just signs their death warrants by going in with their ambush plan on Ilhem. It's a trap, but we must continue with it. It's the only way we can know the truth. Dismantle the missile and deactivate the core. If you can't, then escape and hide. No place is safe anymore. I think, with all that we had gone through, there never is.

This will be my last letter to you before war breaks out once again.

This will be our last stand.

Paradis is not your home, but I wish you will protect it just the same.

Your friend, Armin.

Jean gulped the bottle of whiskey in one go, some drops trailing down his exposed arm and dampening the cuff of his shirt. He didn't wipe it away. In front of him, staring emptily at the dusty corners of his office, watching a spider weaving its cobwebs, Armin didn't comment either. Both were lost in thoughts, existing in the same room but not in the same space.

"How's Gabi?"

"Good. She's hiding in the Braus' farm."

Armin nodded. "Annie wants to visit sometimes. But I guess she can't now."

The silence resumed. Armin fiddled with his hands, buttoning and unbuttoning his collar. It irked Jean in a way he couldn't explain.

"Kiyomi sent me a letter yesterday. Asking about the missile and our deal with them."

Jean frowned. He assumed the ambassador was laying low for a while after their strife with the government. It was a political miracle that they were still allowed to stay in Paradis. "About Mikasa?"

"Yeah. They want her to leave with them to Hizuru."

"And what did you say to her?"

"I told her she's away."

"With Eren."

"Alone."

Jean refilled his bottle, offering it to Armin. "I didn't expect you'll downright lie to their faces. They have their own eyes and ears, you know. Soon they'll know Mikasa is not away or alone like you told them. She's with Eren, in god knows where doing god knows what."

"Eren will bring her back," Armin said. "He has to. She's in danger."

The spider on the corner dropped to the floor. The bubbles on the bottle slowly simmered away. These days, everything felt like they were going in slow motion, and Jean was frozen in this shackle of indifference that reduced him to mere spectacle. Watching the same things unfolding, as if life was a broken record staggering between play and pause.

"Yeah, but do you think she wants to go back here?"

Azure eyes met his. Not for the first time, Jean was reminded of the ocean they crossed when they went to Marley. Eight of them departed that day, with excitement and curiosity buzzing in their eyes, to finally go to the outside world and experience things they were denied of. Eight of them went, but not all came back.

"Of course. We're at war."

"A war that we're losing, against an enemy we know so little of," he exhaled. "At least we already knew what it felt to lose."

"We have to win. Eren is on our side now."

"Is he?"

Armin looked away. "He has to," he repeated, defeated.

Jean thought, this time, some were not going to return as well. Here was no longer home. Home was long gone, beneath the bloody rubbles and piles of corpses, muted in the dying whispers of innocents, shadowed by the new sun of a new era.

It was approaching dusk when Mikasa came upon a nomad encampment near the fields of Lempur, a few miles from where the edge of Wall Rose used to stand. Under the guidance of the stars, a long procession of people and wagons moved around like little spots of light. Lanterns burning steadily in each tent's entrance, small fires warming pots of food, buckets of water being passed around to feed the animals. Unknowingly, Mikasa found herself walking toward the nearest fire, the hearty aroma of food stirring awake her empty stomach and tired limbs.

One elderly woman approached her and welcomed her in a warm embrace. They didn't recognize her here. They hadn't need to. For them, they were all one, and she was one of their own. Like a family. Mikasa hadn't taste that word on her lips for a long while. She wondered if it was some fucked up version of fate that she never had one.

In the months following their loss, Mikasa had realized something. When everything went the way they hoped, they would smile and called it destiny. But when it wasn't, they'd called it fate instead. For Mikasa, both meant the same. It was her destiny and fate, unconditionally, to have this beautiful tragedy as her story.

They placed a bowl of soup in her hands and invited her to sit among them on the assembled camp, the people setting over the bonfire to share warmth and tales. Just as the rest of the world, this was a group of people who were also touched by the horrors of war, but chose not to let it linger and rot on their minds. They continued their way to the future, unlike her and Eren and the rest of their friends who were still trying to make sense of the past and present. She remembered the cabin Eren had told her—of their shared future—and smiled. It was nice to dream about the future. So long as it lasted.

"Dear one," the old lady ran her bony fingers through Mikasa's hair. "You are so young, but your eyes are old. Like you've lived a thousand of lifetimes before and all of them end in tragedy."

"I have," she replied, allowing herself a little smile. "But I don't regret any of them for happening. Only for letting them end that way. Those tragedies lead me here today."

The woman's eyes crinkled, as if she knew secrets that Mikasa didn't. "But this time will end in another tragedy."

"I know. And yet I have to do it."

The lady chuckled. "Young dreams, full of hope and love. Even the end of the world won't be enough to kill it."

Later that night, bundled in the blankets they gave her, Mikasa allowed herself to weep. Sometimes, in between one blink and another, she missed Eren, missed him so much that it started to hurt and she felt like her scar had torn open and swallowed her heart whole. She couldn't help but remember her worst nightmare, the feeling of his body emitting steam and unmoving in her arms. She couldn't help but remember another version of the same nightmare, of a gigantic hand squeezing her, the smell of her rotting flesh, the sound of ripping skin, and every agonizing second of her shredded heart trying to beat in his hand.

And when she missed him, she could only remember the pain he bestowed upon her over and over again. And her, to him. They were hurting each other and trying to blame themselves for being addicted to the feeling. She supposed she hated him for it.

But sometimes, Eren would play with the loose threads of her scarf and flick it on her face. He would send the maid to place new flowers every day on her bedstand, filled her bookshelf with Armin's favourite books so she wouldn't get bored spending days alone inside that empty room, looked at her with those eyes she adored, and ducked his head away. He would kiss her forehead and her cheek and her lips for the briefest moments, and on those days the hole in her chest closed just a little bit and she felt alive again.

And yet when she woke up the next morning with lashes crystalized with tears, she bid her farewells to the old lady and continued on her journey, to find Historia and learn the secrets of the Sigma's sealing. The promise she made to herself would be unbent, unbroken, unbound to the love she had for him, and she would rather see herself dead before she gave up.

This time, she wouldn't fail. She would put an end to all of this, to the power of the Titans, the reign of terror, the fear in the people's eyes, the destruction of her home and friends, and to the tragedy that was her and Eren.

The war never really did stop.

She thought, maybe, it never could, not when everything was still the same. Not when Eren still held the highest power in the world, not when humans could still shift into gigantic monsters, not when Paradis was still isolated from the rest of the world because no other countries had survived the Rumbling, not when a corrupted government still reigned over fearful citizens, not when her friends were still exposed to danger, and not when Eren and Mikasa still loved each other in their own bitter way.

Not when she had to kill Eren again.

But she must. Her history, Seraphina's history, her clan's history—it all came to this. Their blood—her people's blood—had trickled down steadily over centuries into her palm, and now she must wash it away with this choice she was about to make.

Listen to their story, the man had said to her in that crystal grave, and rewrite your own.

She needed to find that grave and Levi. Only then they could figure out the sealing technique which was the only way to stop the Founding Titan and returned it to the Paths. She hadn't visited the dreamworld with Levi again, their connection silent and severed ever since Seraphina possessed her, so she was really hoping Levi could actually be found.

Her plan was first to seek Historia. She knew things about the book that Mikasa was still confused about, and she'd at least had hints on Levi's whereabouts. Armin had told her the former queen was hiding in a village in the farthest west of Paradis, accompanied by Hitch for protection.

It took her a full day by train and walk, and finally, she saw the small wooden house in the outskirt of the village. It was a beautiful house, no doubt embellished by Historia's artistic taste. The garden was fenced by sturdy mahogany woods, bordering the house and a small barn behind it. The roof was somewhat tilted, several tiles chipped away from the harsh weather in this region, but there was a layer of lush grass and flowers covering it, creating a green living roof. It was a small and old structure, a huge downsize from the Palace her friend used to live in, but it radiated home. If Mikasa ever had a cabin of her own, she would decorate it just like this. Bigger, perhaps, for hosting her friends. A house for a family.

But as she trekked slowly toward it, she sensed it, the sound of metal whirling and the smell of ashes. The door was slightly ajar, and Mikasa could see the outline of a couch and a bookshelf from the gap. Nobody seemed to be inside. In fact, when she squinted closely, the furniture were covered in a layer of dust and the fireplace was barren of woods.

And then,

She felt it as needles prickling on her skin. The unfamiliarity, the looming shadows darting on the corners. A hand reached out from the shadows, aiming for her shoulders, and then another and another and another—

"Scream or fight back, and I'll slit the little queen's throat," a voice rang out from behind her.

Bile rose up to her throat as her body was pinned down on the wall, the splintered wood grazing on her skin. She didn't dare to move, afraid that the man would make true of his threat. She was unarmed and exhausted. She could definitely defeat him, but she didn't know where Historia was and if she was also in danger. She had had enough of her friends getting hurt because of her.

"Where is she?" she spat.

From her peripheral vision, she saw a few other men with rifles slung on their backs watching her carefully. Rebels, she realized. They were wearing commoner clothes and their rifles looked old and defective.

The man gripped her chin forcing her to face him. "Now, now, just be a good girl, follow us, and your friend wouldn't get hurt." He swept his finger on her lips. "Pretty girl. No wonder Yeager choose you to be his fucktoy."

"What do you want?"

He leered. "That depends, Ackerman. Do you know who we are?"

"Rebels. Do you think I'm a threat? I'm just as much as a Paradisian citizen as you. I fought for your freedom."

"Whoever said you're a threat? No… Mikasa Ackerman, you are our greatest asset. You shall give us the ultimate freedom."

Armin watched the last truck being loaded with explosives and other weapons. The government had made its final verdict and ordered the military to depart for Ilhem. Their mission, as Bodi had suggested and Floch had agreed to, was to attack the rebel's base using their newest missile, the Thundergod Missile. It was invented by Hange. The irony of it, Armin thought. Hange had created it to defeat the enemies coming for their island, not to kill their own people. Even if said people were planning to begin another war.

"Mr. Arlert, the car is ready for you. If we want to arrive at Ilhem by night, we should leave now."

He nodded and dismissed the soldier.

He knew they were coming down to this, but still his silly hopeful self had dared to dream of another solution. He didn't expect what he feared to come out true, that he would have to fight and risk his friends again. So many things he didn't expect, but the biggest one was that now his dearest friend, Miki, was in the center of it all. He almost lost Eren once, he wasn't going to lose her too. He quickly shoved that thought down.

They were relying on him. They needed him.

The war wasn't finished. The moment Historia's letter arrived to inform them about the tenth Titan power, mysterious and hidden away for centuries, Armin had known their last fight was soon approaching. He must conquer the chessboard first before he let Mikasa became one of the pawns.

Armin used to think the hero and villain cliché was obsolete. Even heroes could end up in tragedy, and villains soared in triumph. What happened afterward was often forgotten. Eren, Mikasa, him, and their friends and the rest of the world—all united and divided in the game they unintentionally created. They were all puppets trapped in an endless loop of good and evil. And amid that eternity, somehow they all forgot which role they were supposed to play.

Even when he had muted all of his senses, he could still feel her presence a phantom wound on his skin. The sweet, subtle scent of flowers in her hair when he buried his head in it, lulling him to a peace he never knew existed before. Some days, back in the Palace they called their new home, he glimpsed her styling her hair in different ways. It was longer now, just about the same length as during their childhood, and he knew it reminded her of her mother. Unlike him, Mikasa had always tried to find beauty in everything, even in the painful memories of her past. The way she grew her hair, the flowers she pressed inside books like Armin used to do before the Walls fell, the oils she used to clean her dagger like it wasn't rusted with the blood they spilled, and her somber gaze when it held his attention.

Eren was jealous of her. He always had, growing from childish insults to a silent acceptance that he could never be as worthy as her—for her.

But then when he thought about it again, it wasn't really phantom either, was it? At least, not for her.

The countless wounds and bruises he placed on her were real, blood and bones and muscles, physical matters. The tears on her eyes when he called her a slave, real, crystalline substances on her pale cheeks. The bitter look she gave him, tinted with sorrow, asking him questions he couldn't answer, all real. A reality. A detached one, but still a reality and not a fantasy he conjured to punish himself because she did in fact was punishing him.

He had her once. After all that they went through, he finally had her, with him, together, like they were meant to be all along. He had her, and now he didn't. Again.

The feather kiss of her lips still lingered on his own when he woke up and realized she was gone. He wasn't even as surprised as he thought he would be. Disappointment, sadness, guilt—and above all, rage.

Rage for her, for leaving him again and breaking her promise. Rage for himself, for allowing her to slip away and failing to protect her. Rage for the situation they were in, for separating them. And finally, rage, for he knew he could have stopped it all along but chose not to.

"Please."

He loved her. He would lock her away if it meant keeping her safe. He would shackle her to him if it meant she would always be with him. He would kill her if it meant she was never going to get hurt ever again.

"Bring her back to me," he whispered to nothing.

And then everything around him erupted. The light behind him scattered like fireflies cutting each other's flight. Beneath him, the familiar field of sand shifted and swayed. The sky spanned infinitely, and here, back in the Paths, Eren would bring Mikasa home.

The quiet didn't last long.

"Get on, girl," the man pushed her into the truck, her hand bound behind her.

"Don't be too rough on her, asshole. We need her in perfect condition."

"She already is!"

The rebels bickered. Mikasa let out a breath. She racked her brain for any gaps in their threats, any inconsistencies, that might prove that they didn't have Historia all along. It seemed too easy, the rebels acting too confident. In her experience, liars tend to hide behind their arrogance. She didn't see any baby stuff in the house and if they had Historia they must have Hitch as well. There were no signs of breaking in or struggle. And there was no Hitch. That was the biggest false alarm. Hitch was a strong soldier and even if they were outnumbered, she would've totally fought back. And if her hunch was right… it seemed that Historia wasn't kidnapped, and by the look of it, she was escaping instead. Barely, but successfully.

All of these variables to consider, and—

"Move her," the man barked.

—she was running out of time.

On the spur of the moment, her body acting on her own, Mikasa kicked the soldiers guarding the truck's entrance away. She lunged for the door, twisting her torso so she could reach at the knife in the rebel's belt.

"Bitch!"

"Get her!"

"Just drive!"

She was just about the rolled out when a man yanked her by the hair, his burly hand clenching her throat. She gasped, but managed to elbow him, earning a satisfying grunt from her attacker.

Then,

Her ears might be lying to her, but—

Several fires rang. The men froze. And the car titled sideways.

"Mikasa!"

Her eyes teared up. This was a voice she hadn't heard for a long time. They found her. They saved her.

The door was yanked open and there he was, Connie, her dearest friend Connie, the one who shared her anguish over Sasha's death, but also the one who asked her to join him in a toast toward the deceased girl. They cheered to Sasha's life, and Mikasa felt she found solace in their comfort.

"Connie?"

Another voice shouted over the commotion. "And I'm here too, Miss Mikasa!"

She couldn't help but smile. Falco, her sweet Falco. Gabi would be so relieved knowing that he was alive and well.

"You guys—"

The soldiers got over their initial shock and fought back. Connie cut her binds and gave her a blade. "You're more comfortable in using this, aren't you?" he smiled.

She climbed her way out of the collapsed truck, Falco even lending her a hand even though he was so scrawny, but she appreciated the effort and even hugged him a little. Finally, she wasn't alone anymore.

"Miss Mikasa, watch out!"

She turned around, her eyes widening over the machine gun the rebels pulled out, and in her mind she could only scream, no, no, no—not when she just finally found them.

Then, at that exact moment, the air buzzed. Ringing, vibrating. And a clap of lightning blared from the distance. Connie whistled beside her. Falco smiled and sighed in relief. But Mikasa could only stare.

There was a Titan running toward them, uprooting some trees and throwing them to the other vehicles. It roared, thunderous.

"Who…?"

She had never seen this Titan before. And maybe, maybe her guess was correct all along, and it was—