Chapter 12: Checking In

"Come on, boyo. Let's get you out of those rags and into some comfier clothes."

I hadn't even noticed my clothes until just now. The sleeves on my shirt had been cut to just above my elbows and my pants had been cut above the knees as well. I was barefoot. How had this happened, I thought to myself before remembering. Eren. He had done this when he cut me out of my titan as a steaming torso leaving my arms and legs in that mound of rapidly dissolving titan flesh. Our abilities helped us grow back limbs but not clothes, unfortunately. That's probably where my shoes were left as well. I wonder if anybody found them after the dust settled and rejoiced at the discovery.

I feel gross. I hadn't had a proper bath or shower in what felt like ages. The quarters we lived in during our cadet training had these crude wooden stalls with rusted showerheads that only pumped out a piddle of tepid water. They were rarely used. It was the same back in Marley. No bathtubs for Eldians. That was a luxury afforded only to Marleyans. A hot bath in an actual porcelain bathtub sounded amazing. I still wondered what Harmand meant when he spoke of Eren earlier but I pushed those questions to the back of the line on my list of concerns.

Harmand stands before the iron gate and flourishes his hand like he's trying to grab someone's attention. I don't see anybody, though. No watchman's tower, no guard post, no sentries to swing the gates open for us. But as if by magic, the gates swivel soundlessly on their hinges, welcoming us to the Palace's front door. I still haven't seen anyone else around here.

"How many people live in this place?"

"Oh, I'd say just under a thousand."

"Wh…a thousand people?"

"Is it that unbelievable, boyo? When you factor in the short lifespans, the fact that there are nine new holders of the nine every cycle, it can add up to be that imposing number."

"Huh. I guess so. Where is everybody though."

"They're here. This place is just is immense that a thousand people might as well be a party of four. You could wander these halls for days and not encounter a single person."

"That just makes it sound even lonelier."

"It isn't, boyo, I swear. If companionship is what you seek then you will find it. If you seek solitude that's also readily available. Which one do you prefer?"

My preference? I've always been a loner. The silent type. Not so much a lone wolf, like Annie. I enjoy the company of the pack as long as I don't have to participate in decisions. I would go with whatever the others agreed upon. But things feel different now. I want to talk to people. I want to express opinions about things I want to hear the sound of my voice. But I also want peace and quiet. I feel so indecisive. On the border of introvert and extrovert.

"I don't know. A little bit of both, I guess?"

"That's not bad. You have a foot in both camps. I'm the same way. It seems to be a common trait among the Colossals."

"Really?"

"Oh yes, Boyo. It's like a personality test of sorts. It isn't always right but it's right enough to notice a pattern. You'll pick up on it as you encounter more residents."

The main foyer of the palace has a massive staircase that ascends about halfway up before forking into two separate sets of stairs. Harmand leads me up the main stairs and to the right. He's talking about the designs of the palace but I'm only half listening. I pay attention to the interesting bits, like the explanation as to why the palace looks the way it does; how it seems like it's constantly shifting through odd blends of different architectural styles that make no sense whatsoever and which clash aesthetically rather than complement one another.

This, he said, is due to the malleable nature of the Palace's interior, another gift from the Founder. It allows us to bend its very being to the tastes and comforts of all the residents of this place. We have people from every decade, every century, every artistic era that has preceded this point and styles change as time goes on. But some designs exist in this place that has not existed in the real world yet which we have plucked from their destined point in time and brought into this place. That would explain the spots where the angles are sharper, the furniture is straighter with fewer frills. Harmand says that this will be called minimalism. That is the beauty of the Memory Palace.

So far, my favorite aesthetic is one that Harmand says is going to be called art deco.

He shows me to my room at the end of the long hallways we had just been walking down. The door has my name on it, embossed on a golden plaque at eye level. The door itself is made of rich mahogany.

"You guys were expecting me?" I ask.

"Of course. It's the duty of the previous Colossal to prepare for their successor's inevitable arrival. It'll be you fishing them out of the darkness, next time around."

"Oh," is all I can say.

He opens the door and allows me to enter first. The room is nice and spacious. There's a bed in the corner, a window that overlooks the back of the Palace which leads out onto a grand concourse with a gargantuan swimming pool, an endless line of tennis courts, and who knows what else. It really is like the world's fanciest hotel.

I also have a private bathroom and an armoire stocked with simple clothes: shirts, pants, sweaters, shoes, and socks but Harmand says I can adjust these to fit my tastes and body measurements.

A small pamphlet and two envelopes rest on my pillow.

"What's this?" I ask Harmand.

"Oh, that's just a little bit more information on how the rules work around here. It also contains the Palace's wi-fi password. You'll need that for the Internet."

"Yes, of course. The Internet!" I reply.

"And that first envelope is an invitation to a cocktail mixer this evening to welcome you. You'll be the man of the hour. There will be top-shelf booze and all the culinary delicacies of the world your mind can conjure."

"Wow. Sounds amazing. What's in the second envelope?"

"Oh, that's for you to fill out at your own discretion. It's just information about your successor so that we can start getting their room prepared for them. We like to prepare things well in advance of new arrivals. Just fill it out and leave it at the foot of your door and someone from the welcome committee will pick it up."

"Yeah, sure. Definitely."

I sit down on my bed and stare at Harmand who smiles warmly at me. There's an awkward silence before he makes it like he's checking his watch.

"Well, it's been a pleasure getting you settled in here, boyo. I'll leave you alone for now, give you a chance to freshen up, settle in, and all that good stuff. Will I see you at that cocktail mixer later this evening? It's perfectly fine if you don't want to come."

"No, uh, I'll probably make an appearance," I say, "Should be fun."

"It really isn't. Most people just get soused, sing karaoke, and fuck."

"Karaoke?"

"The internet will be able to answer all your questions, boyo. I'll see you later."

"See you."

Harmand leaves, closing my door behind him.

I slump backward onto my new bed. It's impossibly soft. It feels so light and perfect that it can't be real. I stare up at the ceiling without a single idea of what to make of all this. When I close my eyes, it feels like I'm spinning on an out-of-control merry-go-round. I wasn't expecting anything of this magnitude. I thought that death would be the end. I almost hoped that would be the case. But now there's all this. All this living. All this time, or whatever this is. Not-time? Could I decline residency here? Could I opt instead for obliteration into nothingness?

I shouldn't be so dour; I say to myself. I should at least give this place a chance. Some people have been here for centuries. Maybe I can talk to them, get the lay of the land, figure out how it all works. Harmand said all of the warriors, new and old, reside within this place. Does that mean Marcel will be here? Does that mean Ymir will be here?

Priorities, though. Bath. I take off my clothes and throw them on the floor. They still smell like ash and burning wood. There's a mirror on the wall next to the armoire and I spend a few minutes looking at myself in it. It feels like it's been ages since I've seen my own reflection. I barely recognize the person I see standing there. It's odd to behold myself in this fashion. This is me. This is my body. This is the vessel for my soul. I rub my arms and my chest, feel my muscles, scratch my neck. Scratch around my crotch, under my balls. I'm bursting with self-awareness.

I go into the bathroom and to my delight, there is a bathtub already there. I wonder have to "conjure" it myself. I make a mental note to ask someone to help me with that whole business later. I fill the tub with warm, steaming water. I grab the pamphlet from the bedroom and bring it back with me into the tub.

The first sensation of warm water enveloping around my ankles as I step into the tub nearly makes me moan out loud. As I gradually submerge the rest of my body in the water, I lean back against the porcelain and attempt to read the pamphlet but the warmth I feel all over my body makes it difficult to focus and I stop forcing myself to read. I can always read it later.

I drape my left arm across my face and cover my eyes. The only sounds all around me are the sloshing of the bathwater against the edges of the tub and the sounds of my gentle breathing.

I briefly think about music and out of nothing I start hearing something. I shoot up into a seated position, greatly disturbing the glassy surface of the bathwater, and see a record player in the corner of the bathroom playing some orchestral composition. I couldn't say anything more about it beyond that basic description. It was soft though, slow, and not bombastic or up-tempo or whatever the terms are. It was perfect bath music, I thought. The record player had not been there before. I know that for a fact. I thought about music for just a second and it was there. Is that what it means to conjure something in this place. Is it that easy?

I must have wanted it here because I'm still thinking other thoughts and they aren't appearing in this room. I envision a cup of green tea. How I need it. How it must not be too hot to burn my tongue while still being warm. I need it in a ceramic mug with a floral pattern along the outside. I like to look at the designs on the mugs after I'm done using them. I turn to my right and see a short slim side table with the cup resting on a slim cork coaster. It's just barely steaming. The design has flowers and little painted birds fluttering amongst them.

Taking the mug into my hands, it feels real. With my free hand, I hold a finger to the side of the cup and it feels warm. I can see marks on the mug from the pottery glaze that was used. For anyone watching me I must seem like such a weirdo, sitting naked in a bathtub staring at a mug like he's never seen anything like it before. And now, the moment of truth. I have a sip. It's the best cup of green tea I've had in my life. It's the best cup of tea I've ever had, period, and I had to wait until I was dead to experience it.

I wish everyone could be here with me to experience this. I wish Reiner was here. I want him here the most out of everybody but the bathroom remains empty. I suppose even the Founding Titan has some limits when it comes to conjuring things from nothing. It was still worth a shot though.

I emerge from the tub and dry myself off before walking back into my bedroom with my tea. I take a look in the wardrobe and see the clothes that have been placed there. There are several pairs of boxer shorts, a few t-shirts, a button-up, several sweaters, trousers, shorts, socks, and two pairs of shoes. They're all very neutral colors: white, several shades of grays, light and dark brown, black, a muted earthy green. These are all colors I'd normally wear so I don't think I'll change any of them. I would like a little more blue in this ensemble though. On cue, some of the shirts and one of the sweaters turn a soft blue.

I put on a T-shirt and one of the pairs of boxers. I don't feel like putting on trousers so I don't. The invitation in the envelope says that that mixer Harmand mentioned will be at eight tonight or whatever counts as eight in this place where all of time is happening all at once. I still can't wrap my head around that concept. I think I might sleep for a little bit. Do I even need sleep now that I'm dead? I'm technically sleeping right now. The big sleep. The one that never ends.

The room gets darker, the oil lamp on my nightstand growing dimmer as I lie down. As I close my eyes my body starts feeling numb, like I'm sinking into the bed or becoming one with it. I like the feeling. I just need some time to be without the burden of my body. And if I want to be able to sleep, the Founding Titan should be able to oblige.

There's a knock at my door just as I felt like I was about to drift off. The knocking was urgent and impatient. Like whoever was knocking had some life-or-death situation that they needed me to resolve. I groaned and I had to break my oneness with the bed to get up and answer the door. It was probably Harmand or someone else coming around to see about my successor info card which I didn't even dare open yet.

I turn the lock and open the door.

"Yes, can I help you?" I ask.

"Hey Bertolt," says a familiar voice staring up at me.

My words catch in my throat before I can form a sufficient reply. I nearly cough on nothing as I stand there frozen in the doorway of this strange new place, staring at this familiar face, the first face I've seen in this place.

"Ymir…" I say, her name escaping through my lips like a nervous exhale.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" she replies.

"Yeah. I guess it has."