The symbols before her, which had revealed themselves so easily only a few weeks ago, turned their backs to her and refused to unveil what hid inside On the Matter of the Ackerman Family.
Katrine pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. It'd been so cold recently. Even as the sun beat down on the coronation parade she shivered, and in that suffocating room where she and Levi sat before three red-cheeked men, sweat beading at their temples, she felt like she'd been dumped in the Utopian snowbanks again.
She hadn't done enough, said enough, laughed loudly enough at the weak suggestions made by those three men and barked back at them when they sputtered over costs and population control and the sheer impropriety of it all, forcing the haves and have-nots to commingle like perfume and piss. Levi had. Their clear discomfort at his presence only strengthened him, and even Historia, in a dress white enough to blind them and a glittering tiara twined around golden curls, bit her lip and lowered her gaze to her clasped hands. They'd left with promises, ones that Levi was certain to check up on, possibly within the hour, but Katrine walked stiffly back to the MP barracks and locked herself in a closet to claw at air her lungs refused to hold.
When her heart had finally stopped pounding she planted herself in the barracks library, away from the Scouts thrilled at their commander's victory and the MPs unsettled by what they saw as a coup. She'd sat on that hard wooden bench for hours, as the sun disappeared beneath the buildings and the floorboards stopped creaking above her, as the candles cast black fingers over her hands and the wax formed hard globs on the desk, but the paper before her remained blank.
She wanted to know, truly. But no matter how hard she tried to think of the cipher, her mind flickered back to that young man's face, the tight O of his lips as he tumbled into the shadows; wide, glassy eyes staring back at her from behind iron bars; Anya standing over Lucian's limp body, quivering hands stained red. Katrine shuddered.
Clipped footsteps echoed to her left but she didn't look up, casting a focused gaze on the paper and tapping her pen against her lips like she was lost in thought. Of course Levi was awake at this hour, and while she couldn't imagine what he'd found to keep himself occupied, he must've wondered what the book held. Stop rushing me, she wanted to scream at him, scream at everyone. I'm trying.
A little green book still remained tucked away in her trunk in Trost. Girls at the Company raised their heads, necks exposed, waiting to be snapped like wildflowers. Bones lay unclaimed in a cell at the bottom of the earth. So many things left unfinished.
A steaming mug of dark tea appeared before her. Cuts dotted Levi's hand. For a moment she thought herself conceited for covering the gash on her face with a bandage.
"You're shivering so hard I can feel the quaking from three floors down," he said. She felt him staring at the empty page before her, maybe shaking his head. "Need to carve the letters into the wall for this to work? MPs won't be thrilled."
"I don't, I have them memorized. No milk?"
"Doesn't look like you do." He sat beside her on the bench facing the opposing direction, his hands curled around his own mug. "Never milk."
"You interrupting me doesn't help. And if anyone has milk, it's the MPs."
"The MPs can have a cow tied up in their kitchens and I still wouldn't ruin tea with it."
Katrine set down her pen and wrapped her hands around the mug, relishing the warmth that trickled into her stiff shoulders. "This place isn't conducive to decoding. Or thinking straight at all."
He scoffed. "It's true. That's why those pigs in suits can't fathom the possibility of letting people see sunlight. Breathe clean air."
"Do you think it went okay? I don't…" She picked up the pen and jabbed it into the paper, sinking the nib into the desk. "I don't think I helped."
"If you weren't there, then every home in Mitras would be stocked with their very own Underground whelp to mop their floors and polish their silverware. Even trim their ass hairs."
Katrine grimaced at the thought. She'd been adamant that no one from the Underground remain in Mitras. To the Sina districts, to villages in between, anywhere but Mitras. Because staying in that damned city meant thousands of chances for Mitrans to screw them over and over again, trapped beneath the rubble or not. "I'm not so sure anything's going to change."
"Don't be so pessimistic. When you're shoved in the dirt, there's nowhere to go but up, right?" His tone took on a sardonic note.
"How long did you live with him down there? Kenny, I mean."
He was quiet for a moment, staring into the steam rising from his tea. "Couldn't say. Took me in when I was barely tall enough to reach his kneecaps, left when I was old enough to get in a good swing at them."
"And he never told you who he was?"
"Kept things on a first-name basis."
"But what about your parents? What happened to them?" She realized she was prying into a man who kept every door bolted tight and took another gulp of tea to shut herself up.
"She's dead. No clue about the other one."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "I assume there's no one you're desperate to find? Casimir family missing its runt?"
"There is no Casimir family. I don't know my last name, either." When he raised his eyebrows, she continued. "Casimir's my father's name. He's…" In the place where winter never ends. "Somewhere."
"Any last name in the world and you picked that one?"
"I was five. They told me I needed one and it was the first thing I could think of." Levi was right, though. Any name in the world and she'd picked that one, forcing herself to constantly remember the man who clearly didn't think of her at all.
"Not bothering to check the lists, then?"
"No point. I never learned my mother's name. Besides, on the off chance that she's actually still alive, I'm sure she wouldn't recognize me." Bitterness flooded her mouth.
"You never know. Kenny recognized me and he'd been gone for longer than he'd stuck around."
She shook her head sharply. "You really didn't know? That you were this…Ackerman?" It seemed impossible that he hadn't sensed it, how different he was, a hawk amongst pigeons. It couldn't just be skill and strength that let him slice through Titans like cloth while the rest of them struggled to keep themselves alive.
"If the government has an encoded dossier on it, then they didn't want anyone to know about it. Even us." He tapped the open book with his finger. "Would be nice to know, though you keep dragging your ass."
"I'm working on it."
Levi drained the last of his tea and stood. "Forgot to mention. Queen Historia wants us to visit the new orphanage tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Katrine nearly choked on her own tea. "She didn't say anything to me. When did she tell you this?"
"After you ran out of there like you'd just shit your pants."
Katrine rubbed her eyes. It certainly hadn't looked like that. "I don't know. I need to work on this."
"Like you're getting so much of it done right now."
"I would if you'd stop bugging me." She slammed her mug down in a show of annoyance.
"Scared of a bunch of brats? Afraid they'll get snot in your hair?"
"No." She rested her chin in her hands. "I don't think they'd really want to see me. Bring up bad memories." They'd notice the bandage on her face, see the way she favored the arm that had been cut; remember what they'd been working to forget.
"It's an order, so that doesn't matter." He walked to the door, but stopped at the threshold, turning back. "Do me a favor." He nodded at the blank sheet before her.
"What?"
"When you're done. Let me read it first."
How could she deny him that? "I'll let you know."
He nodded and left.
Katrine looked back at the open book and her empty paper. She shivered again, odd pinpricks tickling her eyes. She hadn't spoken of her parents in years, decades maybe, but the words had flowed so easily. Now there was more to ponder instead of translating, so many things that piled on top of each other and threatened to bury her if she pulled one out to address it.
She guzzled the dregs of her tea, the lukewarm liquid sending a chill down her spine, and set it down, letting her finger drag along the edge of the handle. Picking up the book again, she flipped to a random page and willed herself to banish any thought that wasn't a translation of the first letter before her.
The ministers had complained that Historia spent too much time at her orphanage. One look at it and Katrine couldn't blame her.
The wind skated through a field of rippling, golden grass, carrying with it a faint trace of baking bread. In the middle of it sat the orphanage, a modest, whitewashed farmhouse circled by a barn and stables, but smoke trickled out its chimney and warmth seemed to emanate from it. Mixed with the snuffling of pigs and a barking dog Katrine heard voices, high-pitched and joyous. In the distance a group of children chased a ball down a hill, waving sticks in their hands and careening into each other, toppling to the ground and rolling the rest of the way down. One stopped, pointing to where Katrine stood with Levi and Historia, and the rest stopped too. They dropped their sticks and sprinted toward them.
"They've made up a new game," Historia explained. "They're Scouts, and the ball is a Titan. But they're also allowed to kick it, I believe? I'll admit I still don't understand the rules!"
Familiar faces came into view, cheeks flushed and foreheads gleaming with sweat. They already looked so much larger, filling out their grass-stained britches and dresses, clad in mismatched coats and scarves for the abnormally chilly fall day. Her hesitation melting away, Katrine couldn't help but return their wide grins.
"Katrine!" Willem barreled toward her, arms outstretched, and she crouched to absorb his tackle. She didn't care about his sticky hands tangling into her hair and the damp patch at the collar of his shirt. He was warm and wriggling and bursting with life, so far away from the bones and ash at the pits buried beneath the earth.
"Did you swallow a brick?" she asked. "I can barely lift you!"
"I lost a tooth. See?" He pulled away to stretch open his mouth with a great gurgling noise. "Miss Historia says dragons lose their teeth, too."
"I see. Is Miss Historia teaching you how to breathe fire, too?"
"No." Willem threw her a look like he considered her the stupidest person alive, one that rivaled Levi's. "You're late. You were supposed to visit sooner."
"I've been very, very busy, William."
"It's Willem!" He shrieked with laughter.
"Willem?" Katrine pretended to clear her ear with her pinky. "That's not what I heard."
"Come see," Netty said, tugging at Katrine's arm. "We made a fort by the trees."
"And we caught fish in the river," another said.
Releasing Willem and rising to her feet, Katrine followed the troupe, shiny clean heads bobbing along. Katrine scanned them for Anya, unable to find a flash of red amongst them. It was possible she and Sid had been taken in by a family member, but by the way that Sid had talked about their mother, it was unlikely they'd gone back to her.
A flash of blue caught her eye. There she was, flying down the path from the farmhouse, sturdy boots sending up a spray of gravel, and in the brief moment Katrine caught her face before Anya threw herself into her arms, there was no trace of the sallow cheeks and shadow of death trailing behind her, but only the smell of yeast and charcoal. "You came," Anya said into Katrine's shoulder.
"I did. You look well."
"I'm on cooking duty this month," she said, brushing her hands on her flour-dusted apron. "But Miss Sybil let me leave early."
"Was that you baking bread? It smells delicious."
She nodded, beaming. "My first loaf was hard as a rock. But Miss Sybil says I'm getting much better."
"Where's Sid?"
Anya pointed to the barn. "He's taking care of the animals." Katrine could faintly see a boy scattering seeds, chickens fluttering around his feet. "They don't make him do any other chores because he likes it so much. But it's for the best. His bread caught fire."
"And he's doing okay? You are, too?"
"Yes! Yes," she insisted. But there had to be nightmares, sleepless nights where they woke each other with shouts and whimpers.
"They didn't ask you anything? About…that place?"
"Those soldiers came once. With the unicorn, like the one you wore. They asked us a few questions." She twisted her fingers as if rubbing the blood off again. "But I told them what you said, and they left."
"Good. Now explain to me the rules of this game you're all playing."
Two sticks were thrust into her hands and she was assigned to a team, though there was no good way of telling them apart. Tiny bodies brushed by her, shrieking and giggling, and as she tried to dash after the ball, sticks poked the backs of her knees and jammed under her coat. Nobody seemed to have a full grasp of the rules and squabbles broke out, but were quickly forgotten when the ball flew past them. They found a common cause in blocking Katrine from ever reaching the ball, howling with laughter when they caused her to stumble and fall to the frigid ground.
"You're faring much better than I ever did," Historia said when Katrine dragged herself back to the cottage, exhausted. She removed and folded clean clothes and sheets from a series of clotheslines.
"They're little cheaters. They started yanking on my hair whenever I got close."
She laughed. "I've had to pass judgment over many disputes."
Katrine joined her at the clotheslines, dozens of clean white sheets flapping in the wind. Historia pulled them off with an expert hand, folding and snapping them into submission and tucking them away in her basket. Katrine took one down too, trying to be useful, and soon found herself tangled in it. She crumpled it up and shoved it in the bottom of her basket before Historia noticed, or it smothered her.
"I'm so glad you decided to come," Historia said.
"Oh, certainly. I wouldn't dare disobey the new queen's orders."
"Orders?" She looked puzzled. "I only told Captain Levi that I'd be happy if you decided to come…" Biting her lip, she turned as if expecting him to be standing behind her, preparing to smack her upside the head.
"Huh." Katrine turned too, searching for Levi. He was at the barn, stacking bales of hay with Sid, out of earshot. "He worded it a little differently."
"I don't think I could order him to do anything. I'm still afraid of him." Historia looked back at the children, smiling. "They're all too shy to say anything when he's here. But then they won't stop talking about him after he leaves."
"So they're adjusting? I was afraid they wouldn't want to see me. Dredge up bad memories."
"A few hiccups here and there, but overall they're doing well. We were able to reunite a good number with their families. But some of them, we'll never know." She folded her arms to ward off a sudden chill. "We found Sid and Anya's mother. But Sid refused to leave. And Anya won't go without him."
Katrine nodded. "Do you know what happened to Princess Helena? Well, I guess she's not a princess anymore."
"King Fritz's daughter?" Historia covered her mouth with her tiny hand. "I keep forgetting he's not the king anymore. Mr. Fritz is currently under house arrest, guarded by the MPs. But Helena slipped away. One of the MPs said she's in a theatre somewhere in Stohess, but I told him to leave her alone. More important things to spend our energy on."
Katrine pictured Helena on the stage, having sold her diamonds and spirited away to Stohess only to end up stuck in the background playing a fairy or a tree, plotting her way to the front and the spotlight. It didn't anger her. "She looked a lot like you. She could pose as a double to sit on the throne if you want to be out here more."
Historia laughed. "They already think I waste too much time here. But our future is right here." A snowflake bobbed in the air, dancing above a sheet before melting into it. Another appeared. The air was suddenly swirling with them. "Oh!" Historia started yanking linens off the clothesline. "These were finally dry!"
As soon as the ice hit her forehead Katrine whipped her head around, locating the children. They'd stopped the game, sticks abandoned at their feet and their hands raised, flat palms to the sky. Silence washed over her in a sickening wave. They didn't know. She sprinted, puffs of air clouding her vision and cold air squeezing her chest, needing to get there before someone realized the sky was breaking into pieces, about to cave in on top of them. She skidded to a stop, the grass already turning white. "It's snow," she panted. "Everything's fine. It's only snow."
But no one was crying. Only a few even regarded her; the rest stood with their necks tipped back, hands aloft like little supplicants.
"I knew that already," somebody answered.
"It's not rain?" another asked.
"No, Miss Historia said the snow was coming soon."
"Does that mean we get hot cocoa?"
Hands on her knees, Katrine caught her breath. It was fine. It'd always been fine. Why had she believed that stupid lie about the sky breaking into pieces to bury her in ice?
Anya appeared at her side, snowflakes dusting the top of her head. "Why were you running?"
"Because there's something I need to show you, that you can only do in the snow." Lying down on the ground as if it were her plan all along, she extended her arms and legs and swept them back and forth, shoveling the snow away. Once she could see the grass again, she sat up, carefully placed her feet, and held out her arms to Anya. "Help me up." With a grunt, Anya pulled Katrine to her feet. Brushing the snow off her back, she inspected her work. Much larger than the ones she'd made decades ago, but still satisfying. "See? It's a snow angel."
Anya's face screwed up for a moment, then brightened in recognition. "Oh! I see it!" She threw herself on the ground and after copying Katrine, raised her arms, waggling her fingers. Katrine hoisted Anya up and then rushed to demonstrate to the others who'd stopped catching snowflakes with their tongues to try out the new game.
Afterward, her arms burning and her coat thoroughly dampened, Katrine stepped back to watch. They were all so much louder than she'd been with the other girls at the Company so long ago, when they'd sneak outside to the courtyard when it snowed. The cool ground felt good on their aching toes and sore muscles. It was fun until one of the older girls threatened the dangers of catching a cold. Get sick and miss a day of practice, then another, and then where do you think you'll end up? They'd all rushed back inside, stripped off their damp clothes, and blew hot air on their fingers, hopping on their toes to warm back up. Katrine imagined that Historia would call them back inside, letting them warm their hands on steaming mugs of cocoa and wiggle their toes in front of a fire, all while making plans for snow forts and tunnels with blankets wrapped around their shoulders.
"He looks at you funny." Anya, suddenly beside her, broke the fantasy.
"Who?"
"Him." She pointed to the barn. Even with the sudden flurry Levi still had a bale of hay in his arms, but he'd stopped to watch them.
"Don't point! It's rude." Katrine grabbed Anya's arm and shoved it down. "He looks at everybody funny."
"Yes, but it's a different type of funny."
"Like how?"
Anya's brow furrowed in concentration. "Mama had a porcelain doll on the shelf, in a calico dress. She was always looking at it. She'd yell at me and Sid if we got too close. But she never took it down to play with it."
"I'm not a doll," Katrine said. "Is it still there?"
Anya shook her head. "I broke it and made Mama mad," she said solemnly and dashed off to the other girls admiring their snow angels.
A cowbell jangled and they all jumped. "Back inside, everyone! Boots at the door and coats by the fire!" Historia yelled, one hand cupped around her mouth and the other waving the cowbell. Like well-trained soldiers, the children rose to their feet and made their way to the farmhouse, some running while others gazed forlornly at the snow.
Anya's chilly hand grabbed Katrine's. "You'll come back to visit?"
"As soon as I can."
"You better." She grinned, then sprinted to join the others.
Katrine trudged up the hill with the stragglers. Historia stood at the doorway, counting each of the heads dashing into the farmhouse. Levi had appeared beside Historia when Katrine hadn't been looking, hands shoved in his coat pockets. After Historia had thanked them profusely, grabbing Katrine's hands and smiling tightly at Levi, they started for the stables where their horses were waiting.
"You're finishing the book tonight," Levi said once they were out of earshot.
"Yeah, as soon as we get back." He'd needled her about the dossier the moment she'd seen him that morning, gnawing on the inside of his mouth after he'd demanded how many pages were left and received a cagy answer. The reality was that she'd finished it the night before, but the thought of letting him read it then was too nauseating. If she could keep it from him forever, keep him blissfully unaware of the awful things it said, she would.
"Was there a reason why you all were flopping on the ground like fish?"
"Snow angels." When his only response was furrowing his brow, she hesitantly raised her arms. "You know, on the ground, you wave your arms and legs? It looks like an angel in a robe when you get up?"
His brow remained furrowed, his face faintly red from the blustering air. "I know what that is," he snapped after a moment.
No reason to argue with that. Katrine shuddered, her damp coat wrapping her in ice. "It was a bad idea."
"I could've told you that."
They entered the stables, which were only slightly warmer than outside. The thought of riding in the frigid wind wearing a wet coat made Katrine shudder again. "Shit," she muttered at her horse, dropping her coat off her shoulders. The possibilities of riding with it on or off were both torturous. She turned to retrieve her reins and found Levi before her, wearing the expression that came with orders he expected done. His coat hung from his outstretched hand.
"Oh," she started. "No, it's fine–"
"Take it." He shoved his coat into her hands, forcing her to catch it before it fell to the ground.
"But you'll be cold," she said dumbly. The heat of it was already melting into her stiff fingers.
"I'd rather that than hear you complain the whole way back." Without giving her a chance to object, he returned to tending his horse.
Slowly she removed her coat and draped it on her horse. Holding her breath, she slipped on his as if she were diving headfirst into murky water. Warmth enveloped her, gentle and soothing but still strong enough to knock her off her feet. She couldn't breathe, lest she inhale him and be intoxicated by his scent, pine and smoke like that night in the training fields that felt like both yesterday and forever ago, where she'd stumbled upon feelings that should never have caught flame, that should have been smothered, but still lingered in her for him to stoke.
Katrine gingerly mounted her horse, aware of every thread in his coat. The sleeves were longer than hers and brushed her knuckles grasping the reins. She kept her head down, refusing to show how the heat of it flowed through her like brandy, stupifying her, and denying herself the sight of him without it, lest the flame within her would erupt.
In her periphery, he nodded, and they started for Mitras.
"Long ago, in a land far removed from ours," Katrine read in a reedy voice from the paper before her, "a great ancestor of our very own King knelt before the decayed, dying body of his most loyal companion. The most skilled of all his guards, the swiftest, the strongest, only weak to the ravages of time itself. Yet the King's most beloved servant was no great swordsman, no archer, not even a man; only a dog, a creature that sat at his feet and ate scraps of meat from his hand. As the King stroked his hound's cheek, the creature weakly lifted its head and attempted to lick its master's hand. As the animal exhaled its final breath, the King lifted his hands to the heavens and declared: Why must my greatest friend, the most loyal creature of this earth, live and die in the span of but a few years? This simple beast is worth the lives of one hundred guards, one thousand of my people!"
Levi already knew the ending to this fairy tale, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. In fact, it sounded even more absurd the second time around, but hearing it in someone else's voice lent it credence. The room grew smaller, the space between the polished wooden table and his chair shrinking, preparing to sever him as he waited in terrible anticipation for the disgusted looks to contort Erwin's, Hange's, and Mikasa's faces when they heard the rest of Katrine's translation.
"The next day, while sitting before his supplicants," Katrine continued, "an extraordinary miracle happened. Three assassins sent from an enemy land had infiltrated the city and surrounded the King, weapons unsheathed and the bodies of his guards crumpled at their feet. For the first time in years, the King felt fear in his heart. But, in an instant, a single peasant rushed forward and struck one of the infidels with a blow so strong it tore his head off his body, toppling to the floor along with his evil weapons. The man dispatched the remaining two with similar ease, sustaining no injuries. His brutal task complete, the peasant, only a simple plowman, knelt in the assailants' blood, pressing his bloodied fist to his heart, and pledged his undying loyalty to the King."
Sure. Whatever priest wrote this must have jerked himself off while he wrote this.
"Though much of the history of the Ackerman family remains lost to the sands of time, we know that in the years that followed, the brave plowman became widely feared as an invincible warrior, and his progeny bore the same terrifying power, as if within them they contained the strength of a Titan.
"One may be forgiven for believing that the Ackerman clan is the greatest weapon available to the Royal Family. However, their blood carries one fatal flaw: their minds cannot be molded by the Founder's will. It is understandable why the King decreed this: a well-trained hound sniffs poison where his owner sees a hearty meal; the beast senses malice where his owner only hears footsteps. We cannot know the reasoning behind this choice the King made, but after generations of the unfortunate bastardization of the Ackerman line, in which members deludedly chained themselves to false masters rather than the Royal Family, our forebearers rightly understood that it was a threat to be exterminated."
The book went on to describe how they'd been killed. Poisoned wine at a wedding, firing squads, down to a crude knife to the throat. Some of the Ackermans had scurried to safety in the Underground, unaware that it would be the one to suffocate them. When Levi tried to picture it, he only saw faceless people tripping over each other, felled by stray bullets. None of them looked like he did, or Kenny. He wasn't one of them; it wasn't real.
"According to Mr. Kenneth 'Kenny' Ackerman, a major source, a member of the clan awakens his abilities in the presence of distinct danger: not to the Ackerman himself, but to a victim he believes needs his protection. It is not a decision on the part of the Ackerman, but an unignorable calling; altruistic, reckless, and wholly irrational. Curiously, not all members of the Ackerman family awaken their innate powers, instead living and dying as average members of society. Whether this is a defect of the blood or a simple coincidence is unknown, yet it certainly cannot be seen as a deliberate choice on behalf of the Ackerman. They are chained to their master, as a dog sits, stays, or attacks when commanded, unquestioning. No thought that has run through their heads has been original. They are unable to control their destinies, lacking the free will so many of us take for granted."
Levi bristled. Dog. It was an insult he'd heard before, when angry MPs or hungover Garrison soldiers didn't like being reminded of their orders. It hadn't bothered him; words didn't leave bruises. But maybe they'd known, sensed that he wasn't human but a mongrel, a botched experiment fit to be tied up and prodded like Hange had with her pair of Titans.
"There are three known members of the remaining Ackerman family: Kenny Ackerman, current Captain of the Anti-Personnel Control Squad; his nephew, Levi Ackerman, current Special Operations Captian of the Survey Corps; and Mikasa Ackerman, a cadet in the Survey Corps, whose relation to the former is unknown." The dossier listed an eerily accurate description of Mikasa and himself, down to the red scarf Mikasa always kept wrapped around her neck. He checked to make sure there were no shining eyes peering through the window. "Unsurprisingly, the most talented members of the Ackerman clan gravitate toward military positions where their skills are best suited. While it remains possible that other members of the Ackerman family exist within the Walls, they will certainly be found as their powers are difficult to ignore and word will inevitably spread to us.
"The remaining Ackermans should not be considered a threat. Despite their resistance to the Founder's will, the Ackermans are physically unable to attack members of the Royal Family; the very sight of their blood compels the Ackerman to protect them, and their own bodies reject the thought of inducing harm upon them."
Bullshit. He'd wrenched Historia into the air when she'd wavered on her orders to become queen, ignored the fear in her eyes as he demanded her to follow her orders. Dog. But he hadn't drawn blood. What would happen then? His head bursting open like a grape? The earth cracking open to swallow him?
"Mr. Ackerman himself seems pleased to remain in his role supporting the Royal Family as leader of the First Interior," Katrine continued, "and the other two are ensconced in their respective roles in the Survey Corps, where their innate sense of loyalty and obedience serve the Walls well. Despite their immunity to the Founder's will, their current use provides more benefits than possible drawbacks. Yet, one does not dine with wolves; Mr. Ackerman is certainly not be trusted with vital information, and Commander Erwin Smith serves as a protective barrier between the Ackermans and the Royal Council."
Levi's gaze flicked to Erwin. He'd sat unmoving, hands clasped, the revelations washing over him without a single visible reaction. It was hard to believe this was all news to him.
"Experiments with the spinal fluid graciously provided to us by Mr. Ackerman have yet to provide fruitful information. Our hopes for an improved Ackerman family, retaining the strength and obedience of the clan while shedding their resistance to mind control, while unsure, remain a possibility. As the younger Ackermans are of proper age, planned and observed reproduction is to be considered. Yet, with the recent discovery of a young Survey Corps cadet with the ability to transform into a sentient Titan, the remaining branches of the Ackerman family may also be left to wither away.
"While the authors of this memorandum pray it will be updated with new discoveries in due time, we humbly provide this information and our respects to our true King and the Three Sisters of the Walls."
Katrine dropped the papers onto the table and shoved them away as an awful silence settled over them; she gave Levi the courtesy of looking away. Erwin and Hange, however, gawked at him as if he were going to drop on all fours and lift up a leg to piss. Mikasa had curled into herself like a wounded animal. None of them said anything. They all expected him to be the first to speak, to acknowledge the stain of his ancestry that had apparently begun with a flea-infested mutt. He sure as hell wasn't going to give this delusion any credence. But the silence was unbearable.
"Did you know this?" he snapped at Mikasa. She shook her head, shrinking further into her scarf.
"You lived with Kenny Ackerman for how many years, and you didn't know either?" Hange asked.
"No. You already asked me that."
"That's not the point at the moment," Erwin said. "The point is to determine how much of this is true, and what that means for the both of you."
"I'm sure you knew more than we did. You're the 'protective barrier,' huh? Keep our barking under control, make sure we don't bite anyone?"
"This is the first I've heard of any of this." He leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. "But it does explain both Mikasa's and your abilities on the battlefield, which obviously exceed that of the normal soldier. Even that of the most talented soldier. It's extraordinary. You haven't ever wondered why?"
Yes. "No. What's extraordinary would be blowing away a Titan with your own farts."
"You think the Royal Council's scientists are working on that?" Hange asked, seemingly genuine. "But is this true that this isn't something you're born knowing? You obtain power suddenly one day, without any idea that it's coming?"
"It was…" Mikasa cleared her throat. "Eren. He was in trouble. He wasn't strong enough, and I had to help him. We were kids."
"From what I understand, your family had been killed by traffickers, who planned to take you when Eren stumbled upon them," Erwin said. Katrine looked up from digging her fingernail into the table.
"Yes, but that's not important," Mikasa said. "Eren was the one who was in danger."
"You were ten years old, and you killed a full-grown man," Erwin said. "Afterwards, there was barely a scratch on you. Did something make you do that?"
Mikasa shoved her finger through the weave of her scarf. "It was like…" Levi could barely hear her, her quiet voice tinged with shame and muffled by her scarf. "I knew how to move my body in a way I didn't before. And that man, he just crumpled like paper."
Erwin nodded. "What about you, Levi? Did you have a similar experience? Perhaps when you were Mikasa's age?"
"I don't remember." That wasn't necessarily true. Levi just never let himself remember it.
"You don't?" Hange asked. "I'd assume this is something distinctive in your life."
"Long time ago. Must've been pretty young."
"Can't you try?" she prodded. "Since Mikasa cares for Eren, does it require someone you care about to be in danger to activate the powers?"
"It doesn't matter," Katrine said. "There aren't enough members of the family left to determine that. What matters is that the power is there."
"Of course," Hange said. "And Levi and Mikasa's powers are obvious to us, so that part of the story is true. And it's clear to me that Mikasa sees Eren as her 'king'" –her fingers curled into quotes, speech turning rapid like it did when she started off on some rant– "to protect, so to speak. And for you, Levi, that person must be Erwin. I don't think I've ever seen you disobey him. But the clear drawback to this great power means you don't have any choice in following their orders. There must be some way to test the accuracy of this theory. Mikasa, if Eren told you to cut off your own hand, would you do it? Levi? Someone must have a knife, I can call for Eren right now–"
"Find a knife and it's going down your throat, four-eyes," Levi snarled.
"You don't want to know?" Hange's head cocked slightly, and he savored the thought of her wire-framed glasses twisted and bent, shards of glass poking out of her eyes.
"It's pointless," he said. "Because it's bullshit. You know, Erwin once asked me to take a shit on his desk to liven the place up. But I didn't, because I'm a real nice guy."
"Levi," Erwin warned. And just like that Levi's mouth closed and he stilled in his chair. He wanted to scream, split the table in half with his knee.
"If we assume this information to be true," Erwin continued, "then there is a possibility there are other kinds of families created by the holder of the Founding Titan with these special abilities. And if they do exist, they remain hidden from us. Though it's clearly impractical to start combing through family trees. Katrine, did you see anything else of that nature besides the serum bearing the Ackerman name?"
She flinched at the sound of her name. "No."
"And you didn't overhear anyone speaking about this when you were in Mitras?"
"No. Given that it's kept in code, clearly it's information that the Royal Council wanted to keep hidden. But it's irrelevant, seeing as of the three remaining members of the family, one is dead and the other two are sitting right here. It doesn't help us determine what the Royal Council knew about the Titans, or if there's any civilization beyond the Walls, or what's in Eren's basement. Unfortunate that this was the one that didn't get burned."
"Not necessarily," Erwin said. "From what we can infer from the report, it seems that the clan was established centuries ago, or enough time ago for it to be as degraded as the book claims. This can be added to the facts we know which don't corroborate with the history told to us by the Royal Council."
"And there could be more Ackermans hidden," Hange said. "Like the book said, the power remains dormant."
"Kenny told me most of them were killed," Levi said. "It's a waste of time to go sniffing around." Poor choice of words; he wanted to punch himself. "It's not like the name is stamped on our foreheads."
"Do you believe him?" Erwin asked.
"Dunno. It'd be pouring and he'd tell you the sun was shining."
"I see. Thank you for your work, Katrine," Erwin said, rising to his feet. The rest of them followed. "We'll be heading back to Trost shortly, so preparations must continue. Levi, Mikasa, let me know if you think of anything that seems important."
"You know what this all means?" Levi said to Mikasa. "We're brainless, just like the Titans that try to devour us. But only slightly more palatable." He scraped back his chair before anyone could respond, pleased with the horrible screech it made, and was out the door and down the steps in an instant, pushing his way through anyone who dared step in his path.
In an instant he threw himself into the bitter night, buildings blurring at his periphery, shadows snatching at his heels. What bullshit. It was all bullshit, some silly little story those overfed Royal Council buffoons whispered to themselves at night when they thought they heard Kenny the Ripper creaking through their doors. Why'd the old man bother working with them, anyway? Did the story have a tinge of his lies? He'd said nothing of the Ackermans to Levi, as if that erased the entire thing; Levi had just assumed that he'd sprouted from the seed of some mediocre man, a pale mash of organs with a face as lifeless as those he passed and forgotten. The only thing that would've set him apart was his paltry stature.
Kenny. Levi's jaw tightened. He would've been disappointed. Never show your hand. What do you think your enemy gains when he knows he's pissed you off? Yet it wasn't enemies he sat with, but comrades. He'd heard whispers about his strength, wondering what made him so special. Now they knew the consequences. That's physics, my boy! Every little thing you do, everything you get, someday'll come back around to kiss or bite your ass. Only thing you need to know in life.
The curfew leftover from the coup hadn't yet been lifted and the streets of Mitras were barren. Part of him hoped to run into an errant MP so he could punch him in the stomach. Everyone's a slave to something. But if all this were true, he hadn't even been able to choose what his master was! Booze or blood or pussy were choices. Kenny hadn't acted like a slave, meek and cowering. Who would've dared ordered him around?
It made him sick to admit it, caused his hands to curl into fists, fingernails digging into his palms. But there was some inkling of truth to the whole thing. Because he'd felt something, a clicking into place somewhere deep inside his soul, when rain had beaten down on him and washed the blood of Isabel and Furlan off him and into the dirt where Erwin knelt before him, Levi's blade at his neck. There's something out there to free us from this despair. Humanity needs your strength. And it had all made sense then, shadows clearing from the path before him, wide and straight and leading into the sun. It gave purpose to the lives he'd cut down, the blood that splattered at his feet, the endless cycle of days dying into nights and back again.
But it was nothing if it wasn't a choice. It meant nothing if he hadn't chosen to become Erwin's spear, hadn't weighed benefits and consequences and chosen to leave the Underground behind, the only home he'd ever known. It meant he wasn't human, with decisions and calculations and plans to make and break and reformulate. What if everything he'd ever done, every decision he'd ever made, every place he thought to take a piss wasn't his own choice but determined by some cosmic thread that had wound its way around his neck and dragged him to where it wanted him? A dog on a leash. He hadn't snarled back, tried to sever it with his teeth, but let it. He hadn't even noticed.
Levi stopped. Light poured from a multi-paned window, glittering off a chandelier at its top corner. He stilled his breath and heard the voices, light and carefree, the clink of glasses set on platters and the floating notes of a piano. Hatred swirled in his heart before he realized where he'd stumbled. The Mitras Company, carved into the stone, glared down at him and rebuked him for setting foot in such a sacred place. A slave? Not here.
He hadn't forgotten that night, the pain twisted on Katrine's face. It's like someone told me that I'd been invited to the most beautiful banquet. But you know what I found out when I got there? I'm the food. But she'd risen off the plate and fought back, remembered she had teeth and claws the chef had forgotten to remove. Maybe it had taken her a bit to gather her strength, but she'd slain her master. How on earth had he forgotten her face?
Levi took a step forward, then another, and found himself blocked. An absurdly fat statue of a swan had planted itself in the middle of the pathway to the Mitras Company. Mitrans sure had strange ideas when it came to taste. Why make a swan out of stone when it was supposed to be able to fly away? Unless it was a veiled threat: stone birds are there to be looked at, not to use their wings. Hadn't worked, though.
He and Katrine were different. That's why there could be nothing between them. And that book all but confirmed it. She was free; he was a mongrel. To him, the thought of doing anything else was alien, like deciding to cut off his own arm just for the hell of it. Underground he'd served no one but himself, traded his strength for coin, made his name synonymous with power. The thought of returning hadn't flickered in his mind; when Erwin had finished speaking that day there was no choice to make, no fork in the road but one path with Erwin at the head of it.
His leg shot out and the swan's head disconnected from its neck, soaring through the air and crashing into the window, clean through one of the panes. Shrieks and indignant shouts followed. If anyone ran outside to investigate they wouldn't find him because he'd already walked away, back to headquarters for one more night in this godforsaken place.
He'd just forget about it. Everything worked better for both him and everyone else when he didn't think, only acted. Leaving behind the ruin left in his wake, he kept walking, well on his way to forgetting the story of his name. He'd already done so well forgetting about that dark-haired woman in the alleyway stinking of shit. Her face, yellowed with jaundice and wide-eyed in fear as blood dripped down his face. Not the one he'd been hoping for. It really had been a long time ago.
Levi returned, like he always knew he would.