How's the final season going for everyone? Pain? It's probably pain.

Very choppy chapter, but we all do what we must. Enjoy!

Chapter Eight
The False Campaign – Part 2

The carriage ride to Tristan Durant's estate was silent. Mike, of course, never spoke more than was necessary when sober, and Klara hadn't said a word since her outburst at the meeting. Erwin would watch her on occasion, staring out the windows as the streets of Mitras passed by. Her amber eyes had grown distant and cold. She may have been with them physically, but her mind was far away.

How the nobles had embraced her willingness to go. He'd mistakenly thought that the prospect of losing their symbol would cause some hesitation on their part. Instead, they lauded it. If their hero went, surely the people would be that much more convinced to go.

Military strategy came easily to him. People…that one he was still working on.

He spent most of the ride thinking. Alternatives, tactics, anything to make accepting the decision easier. Briefly, he'd considered speaking to Zackly. If he ordered the Garrison to stand down, if Nile could be convinced, the nobles would never have the manpower to move that many people. His mission could go forward instead, and thus more lives spared.

But the possibility of its failure haunted him, as much as the very real prospect of the military's leaders being replaced by loyalists. They may have the numbers, but they did not have the skillset. And even if they did succeed, they still did not have the food.

Was a slaughter truly the only way?

Erwin was stirred from his thoughts when the carriage came to a halt, jolting its passengers. He glanced around, noting that Klara had yet to move. She may not have even noticed that they'd stopped.

He nodded once to Mike, who exited, leaving them alone.

"Klara," he said softly, leaning forward on his knees.

The young woman blinked, light returning to her eyes as she curiously took in the interior of the carriage. It truly was her first time seeing anything.

"Have we arrived?"

"We have," Erwin replied, watching as she stood. "I owe you an apology, Klara."

He found he couldn't meet her eyes when she looked at him; he was used to giving orders, things that were expected of soldiers to obey. What he wasn't used to was the very human consequences of those actions. Normally, there was another objective to more toward, a way to move on and accept losses. Here, there was just sitting and waiting.

It wasn't regret, just a broader realization of the situation.

"I suspected there would be a proposal along the lines of what we were given today. I thought that if you volunteered yourself, that would give them a reason to hesitate, but it seems I was wrong, and I have forced you into a terrible position."

Klara did not say anything for a moment, prompting him to look up again. Her eyes were kind, and she was actually smiling at him, warmly, like a mother would to her child.

She was constantly surprising him, Klara Lange, not so much for her skillset, but for her ability to be understanding no matter the circumstances. He'd been called a monster more than once already in his young command, but that always appeared to be the furthest thing from her mind, even when he was in the wrong.

"Just because I am, apparently, completely predictable, that doesn't mean you forced me to do anything, Commander. It was still my choice in the end," she said, shaking her head. "Besides, I think we both know I was going to volunteer for this no matter what. You just sped up the process."

"This isn't a mission you'll return from."

Her smile dipped, but her eyes weren't quite gone. They looked homesick.

"I suppose not. But if I go, that means someone else gets to stay, and that's all I can ask for."

She was a good person, a far better one than he was. Good people did not last long in their world. He was about to lose one hundred of them, after all.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked suddenly, remembering their first conversation. It felt a world away, in a place far out of their reach. "What was it that made your grandfather agree?"

Her eyes looked sad then. "I'm afraid of being useless, Erwin."

She exited the carriage then, and he followed quietly after her. Mike was standing on the front steps to a large home, though it was modest by Mitras's standards.

Klara knocked twice before turning back to him, a forced grin on her face. "Oh, Commander, you do still owe me for lying though. The dishes are on you tonight."

Mike snorted.

"Very well," Erwin agreed with a shake of his head.

As soon as the door opened, a young boy leapt out, nearly tackling Klara off the steps. He vaguely recognized the boy from a year ago, the one who had worn her coat and rarely left her side.

"Klara, you're back!" the boy cried, wrapping his arms and legs around her torso as she attempted to regain balance.

"Yes, I am!" she shouted back, stumbling through the front door. "You're so heavy now, Elias! I can't do this much longer!"

Erwin and Mike followed them inside, entering a home that struck him as oddly similar to the first. Of course, it was larger with fine wooden floors and windows nearly as tall as the walls, but the décor had the same style. It felt more at home here, but strangely he missed the charm of their house in Shiganshina.

Tristan Durant stepped into the entryway from the dining room, holding a newspaper. He smiled warmly at the group, but Erwin could see the suspicion in the older man's eyes. Were they really so easy to read?

"That's not true!" Elias called back. "I've seen you lift people way bigger than me!"

"Ah, you got me there," Klara admitted. She peeled the boy off her frame, only to grab him with both hands, lifting him over her head. The boy giggled and shrieked as she carried him off to another room.

"I assume the meeting did not go well," Tristan said, tossing his paper.

"No," Erwin replied, watching as Klara gently dropped Elias down onto a sofa. "It did not."

Erwin never slept more than four hours, he figured. He was always busy, and if he wasn't, he would make himself busy. That was the one issue he took with not immediately returning to Trost. While he was grateful for Tristan's hospitality, there was nothing for him to do. No paperwork, none of his books, just himself and an empty wall.

So, he'd taken a walk, quietly observing the streets of Mitras. He had never seen the buildings from outside the carriage before. They were grand, towering things that spoke of sophistication and money, but he found them dull and lacking. He preferred the modesty of smaller spaces.

He was questioned several times by Military Police patrols, noting how very out of place he looked. And every time, he was grateful he hadn't brought a change of clothes. His green commander's bolo was perhaps the only thing keep him from spending the night in jail. No one took well to outsiders in the capital.

An irony, given he knew what the city was built on top of.

When he returned, the house was completely dark – he'd even been out past Tristan's late-night reading. It must have been a trait all the commanders shared. Mike would already be fast asleep. All he had to do was close his eyes; he envied him.

But when Erwin made his way upstairs, he caught a small flicker of light at the end of the hallway. Curious, he quietly made his way past, and saw Klara sitting on a bed with Elias, a large book opened in front of him. The young boy was animatedly describing everything inside, prompted by her smiles every time he looked back at her.

Even though his father had been a teacher, Erwin remembered doing the same thing with him. He was always excited to prove that he'd been paying attention during their lessons, and his father had been eager to listen, no matter how tired he was.

Klara turned and caught his gaze, and all he saw was immeasurable sadness staring back at him.

Sunrise had always been her favorite time of day. Without fail, she'd wake up and climb the roof of her home to witness it. She told herself that one day, she would see it without a wall.

There was still a wall in Mitras, though not the kind meant for titans. Just people, so the sun rose a little earlier that day, but she managed to see it nonetheless as it cast an orange glow across the city, stark shadows lining the streets and crossing the paths of the lamplighters as they doused the lanterns.

The crisp, solid lines of Mitras bothered her. The lack of trees, warmth, and overall uniqueness bothered her. She missed her home; she missed Shiganshina.

I suppose I'll get to go back soon enough.

She gave one mirthless chuckle at the thought.

"There's a sound I know all too well," her grandfather said, standing beside her. "I was hoping it would be a few years before I heard it from you."

Klara glanced over at him and sighed. The four of them had discussed it at length when Elias had run outside after dinner. She had expected him to be disappointed with her or angry, but he hadn't done any of those things. He was quiet and shockingly calm, and that was somehow worse.

"Am I a coward for not telling him myself?" she asked.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to remember him as a happy child," her grandfather assured her. "My…my sister would pretend I wasn't even in the Survey Corps. She'd act like it was another day and tell me to pick up some bread on my way back."

Klara blinked, looking at her grandfather in a new light. "I never knew you had a sister."

"I'm afraid there are many things you don't know about me, Klara, and for that, I am sorry," he replied. His voice was actually breaking now, the emotions he lacked the night before making an appearance. "I would like to…I should tell you now, tell you everything, but I want you to be happy now, in some capacity. I don't want you to leave me with hate in your heart."

"Opa," Klara sighed, grabbing his arms. "There is nothing you could do or say that would make me hate you."

"I wish I had your confidence. That is something I've always loved about you. No hesitation, no willingness to be held back by anyone or anything."

"I can think of a few years when I let you hold me back," she teased.

His laughter was cut off by a sob, and then her grandfather was crying in front of her.

"Maybe if I had just let you go sooner, or not at all, but I feel that every decision I make leads you to your death."

Klara embraced him, strangely finding her eyes dry. "You are blameless, Opa. This is my decision. My life is in my own hands."

"How I wish that were true."

When their carriage returned to Wall Rose, the government's efforts were already underway. Throngs of refugees could be seen gathering up, being spoken to by Garrison soldiers. Wagons were beginning to take people away. She could see the fear in their eyes, and the despair.

"It will still take some time to gather everyone. A week, perhaps two. You could have remained home, Klara," Erwin said.

She shook her head. "The longer I remain, the less likely I am to go. I'd rather just get it over with, I guess."

This was what the soldier meant back on that day. She was already dead, just a corpse moving amongst the living. It was almost relieving to let go that way.

And yet, she could feel something grip her heart, a vice that only tightened as they returned to Trost.

In the end, it had taken ten days to gather most of the refugees from Wall Maria. A few had fought back, but their struggles had been useless. They only wound up being herded to the gates in shackles instead. Most, however, complied, too afraid of immediate death to resist being sent to an inevitable one. Perhaps the gravity of the situation had yet to dawn on them; perhaps they truly believed they were soldiers and not pigs sent to slaughter.

Or perhaps they had known this was coming since they were forced to leave their homes.

Outside of Trost's inner gates, tents stretched for at least a mile, a sea of canvas that made the landscape resemble winter. There was a constant buzz in the air from their conversations, even in the dead of night.

There had been rumors circulating about the Survey Corps' involvement in the campaign, but Erwin had kept quiet about it, and had ordered her and Mike to silence. The longer a soldier had to wait between his volunteering and the mission itself, the more harm it would do; that had been his reasoning. Though the silence had not done much better. Four soldiers had already been arrested for fleeing their post. One had yet to be found.

Two days before they ventured outside the gates, Erwin finally called the Survey Corps together and described the mission in full. No detail was left out, no matter how small or damaging. Klara had listened to it all from behind him, normally a position for all the squad leaders, but her status as the first volunteer made her an exception. She felt many sets of eyes on her due to the fact, and tried to ignore them. There were so many who looked at her differently as it was.

"So, they're sending us to our deaths to keep the population from starving?" one soldier asked in the silence that followed Erwin's briefing.

"Yes," was their commander's calm answer.

"We're being sacrificed?"

"Yes," he said again. "And I need one hundred volunteers to march straight into that hell."

Despite the formation, soldiers started murmuring, looking around at each other with fear and disbelief. Understandably, no one came forward. But if they did not meet a certain amount, he would have to order them to their deaths, and Klara imagined that would be worse.

"It is a lot to ask of you. Too much," Erwin admitted. Though she could not see his face, there was something strained in his voice. Subtle, yet it rang in her ears louder than anything. "You joined the Survey Corps to fight our enemy and save humanity. While the risks are high, there is always that chance of returning, but here, there is none. You will not come back. You will die."

The room was completely silent, all eyes on Erwin. It was like that day four years ago, when he'd spoken so passionately about his formation. There was something in his voice that compelled everyone to listen.

"But you will die for humanity."

He began to pace back and forth then, taking a moment to look at every column lined up before him.

"How many missions have we engaged in with little to no ground gained in our fight against the titans? How many comrades have we lost with nothing to show for their efforts other than a brief glimpse at the outside world? I cannot truly say if their deaths have made a difference; I wish that I could."

Klara wished she had gathered with the rest of the Corps. She wanted to see his face as he spoke. His eyes would glow, she thought, charged with the fervor and fury of a man who truly believes in his cause.

"But your deaths now will guarantee the survival of humanity. Your lives will be remembered, your efforts not in vain. Can any of you ask for more than that?

"And so I ask, will you dedicate your heart?"

No one moved for a long time. The room was silent, but the air vibrated with unspoken words and fears.

Slowly, Klara stepped forward, her feet heavy, like they'd lined her boots with lead.

"I will."

She looked over the wide eyes staring back at her, and did her best to not find Hanna's. Her friend would never forgive her for this.

Klara snapped into a salute, eyes forward.

Still, the silence continued.

So, they waited.

Finally, someone sighed, stepping forward. He was one of the older members of the Corps, whatever that meant for them; he couldn't have been far past thirty.

"Can't say I've never wanted to be a hero. Probably won't be leaving to much fanfare, but that's the Survey Corps for you," he said, throwing his arm into a salute. "I'll go."

Another stepped forward, a young woman with blonde hair. "So will I."

"Me too," said another man, who turned to the boy next to him. "C'mon, Frederick, I know you don't have any family. Let's spare those who do."

The boy hesitated before stepping forward.

In the end, no soldiers had to be order to their deaths. Every one of them was a volunteer.

Erwin Smith had a large pile of papers on his desk, letters to the families of the future fallen. He was writing one when she entered, looking almost haggard beside the crumpled-up rejects with unkempt hair and the top button of his shirt undone. She figured he hadn't slept; she hadn't either.

"Commander?" she said quietly as she poked her head through the slightly ajar door.

Erwin actually jumped, knocking over a few balls of paper as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "What time is it?"

"Late. Or early. Dawn isn't far off."

He sighed, glancing at the pile of letters. "I try my best to know every one of my soldiers, but as soon as I put pen to paper, my mind goes blank."

Taking that as an invitation, Klara slid inside, closing the door behind her. She'd spent the whole night on the roof, watching, waiting. Her eyes kept shifting to the wall, expecting a giant titan to be staring down at her. But the night remained silent, and so she would turn her eyes back to the open sky, and the stars staring back at her.

Sometimes, she could hear Matteo speaking next to her, describing the stories in the constellations.

She was fortunate. Elias was too young, and her grandfather was excluded due to his status. Matteo had gone to training – she'd left him a lengthy letter that could never hope to make up for not seeing one another one final time. Her family was safe. The only one in danger was the fool of a girl who always threw herself in harm's way.

One day, she hoped they would forgive her.

But she could not blame them if they didn't either.

"Well, you won't have to worry about mine, if that helps," she offered, taking a seat across from him. She'd given Isak those letters she'd been writing all week. He'd given her an unreadable look before nearly crushing her in a hug. After everything they'd endured, it was the first time she ever saw him cry.

"Yours was the first one I wrote."

"Oh."

Klara felt like she was witnessing something she shouldn't. The commander always seemed to let his guard down in her presence. He hadn't bothered with his appearance at all, but she supposed propriety hardly mattered at the end of things.

"I don't think I would have volunteered."

She blinked, tilting her head. Erwin had yet to look up from his letter, but he'd stopped writing, pen hovering over the word 'humanity.'

"As the commander of the Survey Corps, it is not expected of me to go," he continued, abandoning the project and running a hand through his blonde hair. "And yet, if I wasn't in this position, I don't believe I would have. There are things in this world that I still want to see, truths I want to discover. I would have quietly stood by as the others marched into hell."

She had to wonder if he was confessing these things due to the lack of sleep, or if he truly wished to have this conversation with her.

"Good," Klara said, surprised by the firmness in her tone. It made Erwin look up in confusion. "You shouldn't volunteer. It's like I told you four years ago: these soldiers need you. You're no good to them dead."

His face melted into something softer, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I appreciate the gesture, but I'm just another soldier, completely replaceable."

Klara shook her head. "I don't think anyone could replace you, Erwin."

He watched her for a long time before standing from his desk. "The barracks will be waking soon. You should head downstairs. We were given extra food rations. The breakfast will be something to remember, or so I'm told."

"Not sure I have much of an appetite, but I can give it a try," she replied, standing as well. It had been her cue to leave, cemented by the fact that Erwin was fixing his shirt, yet Klara found herself rooted to the spot. "Erwin, why did you tell me all of that?"

The commander paused, his fingers still holding the button of his shirt. He appeared to be deep in thought for a moment, then his eyes briefly lit, and a small smile graced his features.

"Looking for reassurance, I suppose. We all need it from time to time."

"But why me?"

"Who else is there?"

Klara bit her lip, having no answers for that. She tried to imagine Levi having the same conversation, and drew a blank.

Erwin chuckled then. "When we first met, I felt that I had to explain myself to you. More so than your grandfather, I wanted your approval. I guess I still do."

"I am known for being a tough critic."

"I've noticed."

She found genuine warmth in his eyes then.

How sad it made her.

Before she had left with the rest of her unit, Klara had approached Commander Pixis on the wall. As the commander of the Southern region, he'd felt obligated to see everyone off. He had been one of the few in that meeting who hadn't been overjoyed about her volunteering; he'd watched the others plan everything with a sober expression.

"Forgive me for being so bold, sir."

"There's nothing to forgive," he'd replied with a teasing grin. "The Hero of Shiganshina graces me with a pretty face. What more could I ask for?"

She'd suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, but his aide behind him certainly did not.

"I just wanted to ask: if anyone makes it back, will you open the gate for them? Will you let them return home?"

His eyes grew serious then, a tonal shift that reminded her of her grandfather. "I will. I promise."

It was those words that carried her down to the throng of people below, and gave her the energy to mount her horse. Around her were the other volunteers of the Survey Corps, brave soldiers all, but she could see the fear in their eyes. Their skin had paled, their grips white-knuckled on the reins. Klara couldn't keep her hands from shaking.

I am a liar, Opa. I'm afraid of so many things.

Though she refused to turn around, she could feel it: the presence of thousands of people at her back. It was oddly quiet despite their numbers. The solemn silence of a people facing the inevitable.

A bell tolled, the gongs shaking her core, as the gate began to open. Someone behind her sobbed. She heard someone else retching.

"Isn't it strange?" a man whispered beside her. "I'm always so certain I'll die on every mission, but now that I will, I think I'm going to live. I want to live. Damn it, why did I do this?"

"Keep it down," Orsen, the designated leader, hissed. "Do you want to start a panic?"

The gate finally groaned to a halt. No words were said; no one cheered. They simply began to march forward at an agonizing pace. It would take the better part of a day to empty the entire city, and even longer for them to completely disappear from sight.

Klara stared up at the gate as she passed beneath it.

I don't want to die.

The best thing about being at the front of the column was that no one could see her crying.

Her grandfather had only asked her about it once: the accident that took her parents from her. She'd thought long and hard on it, but in the end, Klara told him all she could remember was a fire and a scream.

A fire so bright, it turned the night into day. All she saw were the flames engulfing every corner. Even when she closed her eyes, the brightness pursued.

A woman screamed, piercing, agonizing.

Water splashed across her. Was she on fire too?

A man stared down at her, eyes haunted and sad.

She was falling.

She was crying.

She was screaming in pain.

"I'm sorry. It will all be over soon."

Klara's eyes burst open with a gasp.

Her head was pounding, her thigh throbbing, and she could taste blood in her mouth. Slowly, her fingers grasped at the dirt, feeling how damp and muddy it was as her hands sank into the soil. It had been a beautiful, sunny day. When did it rain?

She watched as her hand came back red, and realized she was lying in a pool of blood.

Despite the pain, her head shot up.

As far as she could see, there were bodies, a field of stillness and death with a single, tattered flag waving in the breeze.

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As my good friend knows, the next chapter is my absolutely favorite. Brace yourselves.