imagine a world
A/N: I rewatched the anime several times in the past few months, and I just had this idea and I'm running with it. A lot will change in the canon lore and history, but please let me have this. I am stressed and overworked, and I want a break from all that.
I thought about writing in third person, but then I've come to have a soft spot for writing second-person, something I never thought would happen.
You are of noble birth, pure and true to the crown. But like all other people, you also dream.
"Will you die for humanity today, or will you live for its future tomorrow?"
So you dream, you fight, and you try to survive.
"The walls guide us, protect us."
You've heard this from an early age, probably even before you were born, when you were just a babe in your mother's womb–unseeing and unbreathing. Perhaps this had been instilled from the start, from the very conception of your birth, the moment you were created in this world.
The walls guide. The walls protect.
Today, you are a child. You are young and fresh-faced, scrubbed clean of dirt and dressed in fine linen. You are of noble birth, as is everyone in Mitras, and you live surrounded by flower fields and meadows. But you've too soon realized that these fields, seemingly boundless in your eyes, do not go on forever.
"What are these walls for, Mother?"
You asked her this, after riding to the very edge of the meadows, racing against the wind and the sun. She scoffed at you, looked at you with disdain as she fixed your clothes and straightened your hair.
"What have I told you," she said as she pulled a twig from your hair, "about going to the edge of the walls?"
Nothing, you wanted to tell her, because it was true. She has only spoken about how the walls are sacred and holy, and should never be touched, desecrated, or defiled. They are there to protect, to guide. But she never told you how they would restrict, constrict, or hinder.
"The walls don't end." You told her. "Why?"
She sighed and looked at you with a frown.
"You won't understand, not yet." Then she looked out the window, at the flowers growing in the courtyard. "Not until you're older."
You blinked at her, knowing that she's hiding something. You don't understand what she meant, weren't you old enough? You're already big enough to ride horses on your own, to read books without anyone's help, to even dress and bathe by yourself, so what did she mean by that?
"I'm old enough." You argued, huffing loudly.
"No." She said, voice booming and echoing in the hall, "You aren't ready yet."
"For what, Mother?"
Before you or she could say anything else, she leans down and whispers, "Our family has a duty to uphold, and when you've come of age, you will understand."
She's told you this before. That once you've turned the suitable age, you will gain a title as a proud member of this family. You are eight years old now, and you think you can wait ten more years for it. So for now, you mount your horse and race around Mitras, against the wind, the sun, and your own shadow. It's a lonesome existence most of the time, to be the only child of your mother and father, and the only heir to some grand unknown title and duty.
You have few friends in Mitras, and even fewer that ride as far and as fast as you, because they too have a duty and they have no time to, in the words of their mothers and fathers, play with the likes of you. To which your mother taught you to reply with your head held high to meet their lowly gazes:
"Then so be it."
Because, as she had told you, you are meant for something greater and something bigger than them all.
But as you grow older, this mysterious duty never comes any nearer. It's never mentioned, not unless you ask, and no one would answer you when you ask why you're made to play certain games, attend certain events, and train in certain arts.
You are thirteen years old now, and you're the fastest rider of your age group in Mitras. In the monthly races, you've now been made an honorary judge, "honorary" because you don't really have a say in who the winners are. They've taken you out of the competition completely and placed you far and above the track. You don't see the point in it, everyone knows you'd rather be in the dirt.
"Watch. Pay attention. Tell me which horse will win."
Your mother tells you this will help you. But you can't predict the future, you wanted to tell her, and all the horses look the same. Instead, you give her your answer and explain how you came to it. You've known horses all your life, she then told you, and you've got the eyes of one–full, sharp, and open.
"The most important organ are the eyes."
The race starts and the rounds are made. You're surprised to find that you're right, the horse you picked won. Your mother tells you to do it again for the next round, and so you did. And again, the one you picked had won.
"The eyes never lie."
You wonder what she had meant by that, but then she tells you it's time to move on for your lessons. Tomorrow, you'll trade puzzle games and books for bandages and weights. You're going to learn how to defend yourself with your own two hands, she tells you. You will become strong, stronger, and you will learn how to fight and win.
"It is time we developed your physical strength, my child, it is all part of your training for the future."
You wonder what future this is, because you see no future in Mitras involving fights, much less you participating in one. But then, when you've returned home, the thought comes like a thunderclap, so loud and so present that you can't help but ask it out loud.
"Am I leaving Mitras, Mother?"
You're aware of the outer walls of Rose and Maria, and you've learned about all the other districts, their demographics, and their purposes, but you haven't yet learned of the world outside the outside. You have, however, heard of the Titans, the man-devouring monstrous entities roaming the world outside. They are the very source of fear of what's left of humanity. They are destroyers. They are the enemy. They are beings you will never–should never–ever have to meet, because you are safe here in Mitras. And you will forever be safe here, won't you? You will never leave this place, this place you already know like your own hand, your own face. This very place you've grown tired of. This place you want to get out of. This place...
"Am I going outside of The Walls?"
So now, the question is less out of fear and more of excitement. There is a certain apprehension that comes from the possibility, the curiosity. All you've ever seen and heard about the world outside Mitras and the world outside The Walls come from other people. You want to see it for yourself, taste and smell and hear the world for yourself. And if the world outside The Walls... What would the world look like?
You look at your mother and wait for her answer. There couldn't be any other reason for you to learn all those things, could there? Surely these skills are for something that isn't just in Mitras.
"It is our duty to serve the Royal Family, we are their advisers, their protectors, their confidants."
She says it like you should have understood already, and you do. The thought had been drilled into you ever since you were able to talk. This is all for the Royal Family. You have a duty to the Royal Family. But you've yet to meet any member of the Royal Family, anyway. Your mother told you that it was only a matter of time, and whether the Royal Family thinks you are worthy of meeting them.
Is that all, though? Is it your life-long duty to serve the crown within Mitras, and only that? Is this the grand part you are destined to play? Couldn't there be... something more? But you don't talk back, you know better. So you simply nod and lie.
"I understand, Mother."
You look out the window and quietly wonder which day you'll dare to ride to Wall Rose. It's bright and sunny outside, and days like this are perfect.
But when you do sneak out a little before dawn, three years later, when you manage to get past the gates and into the open fields between Wall Rose and Wall Sheena, the vastness of the world is nothing like you imagined. The books you had read told about farming lands and mountains, about the villages in the hills and watchtowers between them. They talked about migratory birds, and how the Garrison Corps spent decades training and breeding these birds to become messengers.
But you didn't expect this vastness to come with this quiet sense of loneliness. The road before you stretches far, and you feel like Wall Rose doesn't exist. You don't see it, not even if you look hard enough. And you think that this is what freedom can taste like, the wind whipping your hair, the taste of the morning dew on your skin, and the sun peeking from behind the faraway mountains.
The grass around you is colored by the sunrise and the trees around you sway in the wind. You've never felt this rush before. The early morning wind is cool and crisp, and you feel like there's no end to this. You feel like you can ride forever.
But you get tired, halfway through–or what you think is halfway, and decide to take a break for a while. You stop by a small grove of trees beside the road and lie on the grass as your horse grazes. You watch the clouds above you and think they're different from the ones you see in Mitras. They're brighter somehow, whiter, and larger.
You wonder how the clouds outside The Walls would look, if they were any different.
But when you get back on your horse and ride towards the entrance to Wall Rose, you are stopped by a Garrison soldier who says there's an order to forbid you from entering the district. But how could they know you by face, by name? How could they know who you are? This is your first time outside of Wall Sheena and–
"...from Lady Eliza Josef Klaus."
Of course it's your mother's doing. She would know better than to let you go, it seems. You look up and see the edge of the bird post atop the wall, and scowl. No matter how fast you ride, birds will always be faster than horses.
The Garrison soldier doesn't offer to escort you back–and he doesn't need to–but he looks at you with an expression you think was reserved for when you've done something bad. It's the kind of look those nobles send your way whenever you want to talk about horse races and venturing outside Wall Sheena.
It was a look of disdain.
Like you've caused trouble.
Like you don't belong here.
Like you shouldn't even be here.
So you ride back, you ride fast under the steadily rising sun. The heat pricks your skin and you think of dressing down to your inner clothes. The sight of Wall Sheena is not so welcome when it begins peeking from the horizon.
Is this as far as you'll reach? Only up until the gates of Wall Rose? And will this be your only world, the paved palaces of Mitras and the empty fields of Wall Sheena? You've seen the districts of Ehrmich and Yarckel, and they didn't appeal as much as you thought they would.
They're missing something, you thought. Something you think can only be found outside The Walls.
So when you arrive home, at some time in the afternoon, you aren't surprised to find your mother looking more furious than worried.
Of course she would be. You'd run off without even a word.
"Your course of action was predictable," she scolds you, "but nonetheless infuriating."
You don't know why she spoke that way, like she was lecturing you more than she was scolding you. Were you supposed to have done better than this?
"There's nothing out there," she continued, "nothing at all outside."
Then...
"Why?" The word burst from your mouth, "Why keep me here?"
Because you have a duty.
"Because we have a duty." She says as you've predicted, "And this duty requires us to remain inside the walls, to do more than just survive."
You're already aware of this, you've been aware of it for years now, but if duty to the Royal Family is as sacred and as special as they make it out to be... Would it still be worth living the rest of your life in this small, utterly familiar space?
"I know, Mother." You reply, frowning, "But I don't want to be kept... here."
"Keep" is a safe word, you think, when you actually want to use the word "trap" or "cage." You've seen the messenger birds fly to and from their posts atop and along the walls, and you've wondered sometimes how it would feel to fly. You've seen how birds fly up and above the walls, higher than anything you've ever seen, and wondered why they still come back.
They're homing pigeons. Of course, they'd come home.
Your mother told you that before, those birds were special. But still, you wonder, if they could go anywhere in the world, why would they choose to stay where they are?
Your mother sighs, and that snaps you back to the present.
"Neither do I. Nobody does." She says, "But we have no choice. It's a dangerous world outside these walls, what with the Titans that Ma–" She catches herself from saying something.
"...Titans that make such dreams impossible." She concludes. "But there will come a time when these Titans will disappear and our world will expand."
It sounds like a very attractive promise, one that–rather than push you away from The Walls–pushes you toward it. Titans disappearing and the world expanding? How beautiful. How desirable.
And you think it's a sign for you, when the next day a letter arrives to all noble houses in Mitras, stating that the application and recruitment for the 90th Training Corps is now open to all willing and able members of the household.
Your mother doesn't need to know what she doesn't need to know, right?
But, for some strange and mysterious reason, she does find out. And at possibly the worst time. You're seated at the table for breakfast, just starting to eat a full plate, and your father was just about to take a sip of his tea.
"You aren't built to be a soldier."
You cough and drop the fork on your plate at the surprise. Well, it wasn't that surprising because your mother, in all the years of your life, has always been straight with you. And your father, well...
He's had little involvement, really, in the things you do with your mother. He's seen you ride and race, and he knows what books you've read and what games you've played. But this duty, this ever-mysterious duty your mother keeps alluding to... Does he know about it too? Is it his duty too? You know that he sometimes pays visits to the grand palace, the home of the Royal Family itself, but you'd never thought to ask why. He'd never say anything about it either, nothing that wasn't about the palace's gardens or their ornate decorations.
"And yet you went ahead and enlisted yourself."
You watch as your mother calmly slices the meat on her plate. She isn't looking at you. Then you look at your father, who is looking at you like he's asking why.
He clears his throat.
"I'm sure it isn't anything..."
You know he doesn't like conversations like these, especially in the morning, especially when it involves you.
"And with the name, no less." Your mother continued, "In clear, legible letters. Klaus."
Did she see it? Did she read it? Did she even...
"The Training Corps..." Your father thought aloud, "I don't really see the harm in that. Might be good training for... You don't really want to, do you?"
"No." Your mother retorts easily, "Because you won't."
But...
The word hangs on your tongue and tastes bitter. The food on your plate grows cold.
"Mother, please." You start to beg. "I just want to see it."
The world. The world outside the walls. The world outside The Walls.
"And what happens once you do?"
You look at your mother and then at your father. Questioning. Challenging.
The eyes never lie.
You have to give an answer or you have to give up.
The eyes never lie.
You steel yourself for the words to come to you. You know the answer to this, don't you? Once you've seen the world, you would... Once the Titans have been rid of and the world has expanded, you would...
"I will free our people."
Your father coughs and your mother scowls, but neither of them say no. You've not yet heard of this duty to the Royal Family, but if it was more important than you want–that this desire to free and be free–then they would say something, your mother would say something.
But now, she looks at you with the eyes you've inherited, bright and like steel, and speaks with the voice of a grand noblewoman.
"Very well."
In a few months' time, you will leave this manor and the quiet walls of Mitras, and ride to the north.
"My daughter, a soldier." Your father laughs, "Who would have thought?"
"Yes." Your mother agrees. "Victoria Irina Klaus, a soldier."
There's the challenge in her voice, and you want to meet it head-on.
Just wait, Mother.
A/N: Small scenes for a small character in a big world. There's more to come.