Notes: A big thanks to my beta reader, Jack Silver, for sticking it out with me through this behemoth of a story :)
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. of Attack on Titan is the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
Year 845, Summer
Marco lived a blessed life.
Every morning he leaned out his window to watch the sun rise from behind the hills which enveloped the village of Jinae in their embrace. Saying Marco was a morning person was an understatement – his neighbors would joke the only reason the Sun bothered to rise was its attempt to outshine the boy. It was stiff competition, since Marco radiated just as much warmth.
Thus the early waking time was never a cause for complaint when Marco would give his mother a few extra minutes of rest as he tip-toed around the house buttoning his jacket and heating up the stove for breakfast. Both cows – River and Thatch – were gifted with a greeting as cheery as what was bestowed on any neighbor. Once the cows were milked and Marco finished his other chores around the barn, he'd join his mother in the garden tending to the sugar beets and corn. His mother, Rosie, was just as industrious as her son and usually had half the weeding done by the time he joined her. She always started with the beets knowing Marco was fond of playing hide-and-seek among the corn. Her son was teetering on the edge of eleven and getting too old for that sort of thing, but for now he'd still zip through the rows on her heels and whooped in exhilaration when he was scooped up and bombarded with tickles.
Marco and Rosie were on a first name basis with every member of the village; mother and son being immediately identifiable by their dark hair and spattering of freckles. Where the pair differed was their build; Marco was already growing at a rate which hinted he may be taller than his mother within a year or so. The other noticeable difference was the color of their eyes.
Rosie's eyes sparkled in a blue-green which reminded Marco of the nearby lake on a still morning. His own eyes were a light brown and shone with notes of gold when he lifted his head toward the sun. Rosie said he inherited the color from his father. She didn't elaborate, and Marco never pressed the subject. He had his mother and an entire village of friends for company; he couldn't ask for more. Well, maybe that his mom would marry her friend Samuel.
Samuel came from Laurel Town a few hours' ride north. Jinae wasn't particularly large, but it wasn't particularly small, either. There was a cobblestone path running through the village center lined with a number of establishments built from stone to weather the test of time. It was close enough to the major road heading north that getting into the industrial area inside of Wall Rose wasn't a hassle, yet the mountains and rolling hills gave the village a sense of serenity many sought out when moving to the countryside. Samuel wasn't interested in such a change of location, so his visits were only around every other month.
Samuel and Rosie used to work together, which is how Marco learned the origin of his mother's inexplicable skill to make the most beautiful embroideries he'd ever seen. Rosie's son certainly wasn't the only one who admired her skill; everyone in the village had wall hangings or formal wear lovingly stitched with her patterns. Samuel would say Rosie had been the best of his staff when it came to embroidery and was the one who helped design many of the patches currently worn by the military regiments.
Any mention of the military grabbed Marco's full attention. The majority of Samuel's dealings with the Garrison Regiment involved textile transactions, however Marco absorbed every word spoken concerning contract negotiations and supply convoys as if he were later going to be tested on the material.
The way Samuel would huff and toss up a hand in a flippant manner dissuaded Marco from asking about the Scout Regiment. Requests to hear about the Military Police Brigade elicited a more positive reaction, the man weaving tales of the brave few who protected the King himself. Marco would go to bed on those nights with dreams of sailing through the sky using ODM gear; an object he'd only ever seen in Samuel's drawings in the soil. Being a member of the Military Police, much less even meeting one, was a concept grounded in no more reality than those dreams.
But Marco was blessed in more ways than one this year.
He was finally old enough to join the late summer hunting expedition. For the first time ever, Marco and his mother joined a merry group who rode south of Wall Rose to the genial hum of laughter and pleasantries. The hunting trips were just as much of an excuse for socializing with members from neighboring villages as it was bringing home venison and wild boar. The only thing Marco marveled at more than the new faces and bustling markets of Trost District was seeing Wall Rose up close.
Marco's jaw hung slack and he nearly toppled off his horse from how far back he leaned to take in the gleaming stone and jagged edges of the wall. They heard a shout when they exited Trost to the south side of the gate, Marco nearly fainting from excitement as the Garrison members stationed above hollered and swung to-and-fro using their ODM gear. Marco couldn't make out much of what the Garrison soldiers looked like – much less their gear – but it didn't fill him with any less awe. Marco believed there was nothing which could top that amazement.
Until he saw her.
"Papa, come to the window."
Samuel Bodt made a sound to indicate he was aware of being spoken to, but didn't take his attention off the conglomeration of tubes, pumps, and gears on the table. The square glasses on his nose were lifted to nestle in a tangle of brown hair as he squinted and reached out to push a lever. This caused a trio of metal gears in the contraption before him to let out a series of halting clunks as they spun.
"Papa."
"A moment, Sunshine," Samuel said. "I'm still not sure what the issue is between the pick wheel and the transmission gear."
"We should try putting in a different cross belt," Samuel's daughter said. "I think the ones the vendor dropped off are too wide by two or three millimeters. Seriously, though – there's a bunch of smoke coming from the other side of the wall."
"What?"
The constant clacking of the power looms running below would on occasion cause a statement or two to be misheard. When Samuel looked up, the expression on his daughter's face made it apparent this wasn't the case.
Samuel returned his glasses to their rightful spot upon his nose as he joined his daughter's side. Two sets of matching eyes turned toward Wall Rose, the sun catching flecks of gold in the light brown of their irises. Samuel's daughter, Celine, regarded the trail of smoke with an expression touched more with curiosity than concern.
"Do they have a controlled burn scheduled?" Celine asked, crossing her arms. "I wonder why the smoke looks like that. Usually it's a lot darker, right? It resembles the steam coming out of our chimneys."
Celine glanced at her father. The sudden tilt to his head caused the next inquiry she was about to make to die on her lips. She followed his gaze back out the window. Flashes of light followed by streams of yellow smoke rose up over Wall Rose. The yellow streams looked miniscule against the large cloud behind them.
"The Garrison," Samuel said, his voice soft. "What is it they're doing?"
"Hmm." Celine leaned against the window frame and squinted. "They're going south – maybe headed to the gate toward Trost? Guess it could be the river if something big is coming up. Might be a shipment of iron they need to keep an eye on or something."
Samuel looked away from the window. Strands of honey-blonde hair had fallen free of his daughter's braid over the course of the day. He reached out to tuck them behind her ears. At twenty, Celine was far too old for the gesture. Samuel was well aware she would normally protest, ever sensitive about being treated like a child because of her short stature. However, the concern sketched across her father's face seemed to push aside any motivation for protest.
"Let's go home," Samuel said, putting his hands on Celine's shoulders. "Your mother should be sending a correspondence soon. She's working a case on the other side of Wall Rose, so perhaps we'll find out what the smoke was all about."
Celine wasn't fool enough to turn down the offer of having the afternoon free. The pair took note of where they'd paused diagnosing the issue with loom #32 before heading downstairs. Nods and various hand gestures were exchanged with the floor supervisor. The man's ears were stuffed with enough wool to drown out the constant sound of the machines, and attempting to communicate in any form of verbal manner would be pointless. As a result, no clear explanation was given as to why Samuel and Celine were leaving the Bodt Textiles factory hours earlier than planned. Nor was anyone in the factory aware something was amiss until a wave of Garrison soldiers on horseback thundered past the windows toward the southwest sometime later.
Celine and her father had missed this at any rate, having already hopped on the ferry to take them west along the river. It was a route they took every day, but Celine never tired of taking in Wall Sina as the boat drifted under its massive archway. The white stone gleamed in a welcoming manner; traces of moss peeked through grooves in the rock where the Garrison hadn't yet given it a good scrub. The interior portion of Wall Sina heading into the eastern district of Stohess was lined with elm trees, their branches gifting the boat passengers with a gentle wave in greeting as they approached.
"O Avarice, thou hast to thyself so drawn my race …"
Celine turned her head to regard two women who had their heads bent toward the boat's stern; hands clasped in prayer.
A small collective claiming the walls should be worshiped as literal goddesses had popped up around Sina in recent months. Celine didn't have a lot of thoughts on the matter aside from fancying the idea of having a conversation with Wall Sina over the juicy secrets it surely overheard. There was a good chance this wasn't the kind of conversations the religious members were after, though. Celine had little use for chants about lamentation and prostrating.
"What avarice doth is here made manifest, in this purgation of converted souls. Nor hath this Mount a penalty more bitter …"
Celine felt her father's hand on her shoulder. The two praying women were forgotten entirely as she looked up and gifted him with a toothy smile.
Soon after Marco and Rosie left Trost District with the hunting party, they entered a forest called Brushwood (or Southgate, depending on who you asked). It was known to be abundant in a variety of fowl, deer, and hare which took cover in the overgrown valleys and canals. Marco had looked on in awe at the men and women who'd return to camp in the evening with a string of hares tied up by the ankles, or a young buck which would make enough dried meat to feed a family for over a week. Nothing of note, aside from a squirrel which fell victim to a simple snare, had crossed Marco's path. He was hoping to come across something grander.
Fate didn't disappoint.
The woman had arrived with the dawn, sailing through the shadows with the ease of being one herself. Marco had been one of the first to see her since he had tagged along with the other early risers looking to snag a pheasant or rabbit with their sling.
Perhaps because he was the youngest, or maybe even the luckiest, the woman from the shadows scooped him up and swung him onto the branch of a tall tree. Marco's brain hardly registered what had happened by the time the woman leapt back to the ground in a wave of steam emitting from the gear at her side.
"RUN! IF YOU WANT TO LIVE, RUN!"
The somewhat portly man at the head of the party, Ronald, regarded the stranger in confusion. "Ma'am," he said. "If yer worried 'bout an animal, we got enough heads here we can–"
Marco blinked. Ronald was gone.
There was a hand where he once was – a hand so large it couldn't possibly be human. Although … it looked human. So did the rest of the creature which pushed itself through the thicket, grasping the pile of goop which was once Ronald. It appeared to be a naked man with short brown hair and devoid of any signs of reproductive parts …
And was also roughly the size of Marco's barn.
Marco clung to the tree's trunk for dear life as the men and women below screamed and scattered away from the monster which was now stuffing Ronald in its gaping mouth. As it swallowed the bloody glob of twisted limbs, the monster's bulging brown eyes scanned the clearing. Its attention landed on Marco.
The boy began to shake as the creature lifted itself up to lumber in his direction.
"He-hel …"
Marco couldn't find his voice. The words kept being swept away in choppy breaths as the monster's hand drew closer.
"He-help. Help … so-somebo–"
The sun broke over the horizon. Its light was reflected off a pair of blades which came spinning from the trees. There was a spurt of blood from the back of the monster's neck and its head bucked up. It appeared to stare skyward for a moment before the humanoid creature collapsed with a crash.
Marco had little time to regard it before he once again felt a hand around his torso accompanied by a pulling sensation in his gut. A yelp escaped him as his arms flailed for any sort of hold. He clung to the material of a short, brown jacket and turned his head to look up at the woman holding him aloft.
Honey-blonde hair whipped around the woman's face. Her features were delicate, and she looked just as Marco had imagined the fair Queen of the Interior from Samuel's stories to appear.
"Sorry about that," the woman said. The ODM gear on her hip let out a hiss as a hook shot out and lodged itself into a distant tree. The wire attached to the hook retracted, speeding them through the forest.
"They're easier to kill with a distraction, and you were in a convenient spot to pick up," the woman continued. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "You alright?"
"Y-yes," Marco said, dumbstruck. "Yes, ma'am."
There was a shout from their right. It was followed by the shot of a hunting rifle.
"Shit."
The woman touched down to the ground. Marco's legs wobbled for a moment before steadying himself.
"Do you know where you are?" the woman asked. She watched Marco with a blank expression as he took in his surroundings. The wooded area was thick with a number of overgrown bushes and the occasional cluster of ferns. The scene looked eerily still in comparison to the distant shouts and gunshots echoing through the air.
"Um … yes," Marco said as he looked about. "I think so."
"Your horses," the woman said, her head tilting at the sound of another gunshot. "Are they in the direction of the gun fire?"
Marco shook his head. The woman nodded in satisfaction.
"Get to your horses," the woman said. "Don't send them running – just loosen as many ties as you can and saddle them up so they can get going quick. If you see another Titan, don't try to be a hero; ride in the opposite direction as fast as you can."
Brown eyes stood starkly against the pallor to Marco's face. "Titans?"
The woman reached for the gear at her side to unsheathe two swords in a flourish. She turned and leapt up in sync with her ODM gear whisking her away. There was a beat where Marco could only watch her fade into the trees with a stunned expression. He shook his head, getting a hold of himself.
Titans? Like from the stories? Aren't they only outside the walls?
A sudden thought caused his breath to catch in his chest.
Mom!
Marco broke into a run, ducking under branches and leaping over logs in an attempt to get to the horses as fast as possible.
More gunfire echoed through the air, distant shouts growing louder as Marco approached the campsite. He crashed through the underbrush to the sight of a dozen or so people flinging themselves onto the back of horses – most not even bothering to secure a saddle before thundering away. The remaining horses whinnied and shifted as they tugged against their restraints in a nervous fashion.
"Shh … shh … you're alright."
Marco approached the horses in a cautious manner, palms raised. It was hard to get them to focus over the distraction of nearby gunfire, but Marco was successful in getting four of them to calm down enough for him to get close. He tossed saddles onto the horses in the practiced manner of someone who'd been doing so all his life. Two of the horses had their leads fastened to the saddles of the other pair. Marco palmed the lead of one of the un-tethered horses before hopping up on the other. With a practiced flick of the reins, he urged the horse in motion and the rest followed suit.
The makeshift caravan wouldn't get up faster than a trot, but based on the sounds he was hearing from further up the trail, Marco didn't have far to go before running into the fray. He ducked his head, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the reins and hoped beyond hope he'd find his mother sooner than later.
The trail curved to the right and Marco was met with a crude blockade fashioned from some crates and an upturned wagon. Six men knelt behind the blockade, reloading and firing their hunting rifles at the slowly approaching target. Many of them cursed as their shaking hands caused the handfuls of shot to spill outside the rifle's muzzles.
"Get 'em in the eye!" one man shouted, looking back over his shoulder. "Blind the bastard and we'll take him down!"
The creature – the Titan – had the appearance of a gaunt man with a mustache and graying hair. It didn't flinch as the shots fired into it tore miniscule holes through its flesh. Its hand shot out in an unexpected show of speed to narrowly miss grabbing the man toward the front as the barricade was smashed to splinters.
Marco yanked on the reins and urged his convoy to turn back toward the way they came. His mother was nowhere in sight, and he'd have better luck heading around the Titan while it was distracted. He just had to leave as quickly as possible before‒
A churning sensation overtook Marco's gut.
"Here!" Marco shouted, causing heads to turn. He brought the horses to a stop. "Get on! Quick!"
The men sprinted forward. They hopped on the horses, pulling each other up and tugging the reins loose amid shouts to hurry up. Marco helped a boy not much older than he was to climb onto the saddle behind him before Marco yanked the horse around and flicked the reins.
The horse only moved a few feet before jolting to a halt. Marco pressed in his knees and clung to the horse's mane to avoid flying free as the animal screamed and bucked. The boy at his back lost his grip on Marco's shirt and went tumbling forward. The protesting screams of the horse were intermingled with the boy letting out a pained wail and clutching his ankle.
Marco turned his head in search of the source behind the horse's distress and found in horror the Titan held its tail pinched between large, pink fingers. The Titan's attention was on the boy writhing on the ground, and its other hand reached out to lift the boy by the cuff of his shirt.
"N-no …"
Marco watched as the boy fruitlessly banged his fists on the Titan's fingers. There was no change to its demeanor as it tilted its head back and opened its mouth. The motion was smooth, casual; as if the boy crying and screaming for his father was nothing more than a grape plucked from the vine. It was as if the boy meant nothing. As if the boy's entire life up until this point was meaningless.
A shift from the horse caused an item to knock against Marco's ankle. He looked down with a start to notice a knife attached to the saddle. It had likely been used in the past to cut away obstructions on overgrown trails. Today the knife found a new purpose as Marco pulled it from its sheath and plunged it as deep as he could into one of the fingers gripping the horse's tail. This caused the Titan's grip to loosen just enough for the horse to break free. Marco yanked on the reins to turn the horse about.
What … do I do?
Marco's horse let out a grunt, the spooked animal rearing up as it moved back. It took all of Marco's strength to direct it to a stop at the edge of the clearing instead of bolting away from the Titan. The horse couldn't be urged to move forward as the older boy in the Titan's grasp was being lowered into the creature's mouth legs-first. Marco gave up the fruitless action and leapt off the horse in a panic.
The Titan's teeth closed down. The boy tried to buck his legs out of the way, but wasn't successful in moving his injured leg in time. A 'crack' rang through the air as the boy's leg was severed below the knee. The boy let out the kind of panicked scream akin to what Marco had heard from a rabbit getting snatched up by a fox.
Marco had never felt so helpless. Every part of him was shaking; he knew on a base level he should run. Whether that was toward or away from the Titan he couldn't say. All he knew is that he should be doing something. Something, anything, that would save this boy's life – that would save the boy from having a meaningless death.
"I don't know where you are!" Marco screamed, squeezing his eyes closed. "Save him! Please save him! Don't let him die!"
Marco heard a thump. He opened his eyes. A massive hand was lying among the dirt and downed branches, the once-captured boy now doing his best to pry the oversized fingers away so he could wiggle free. Marco regarded this in astonishment for a moment before he turned his head.
Blocking Marco's view of the Titan was the symbol of a unicorn's silhouette atop a silver shield. The unicorn appeared to be weeping due to the blood trailing down the back of the jacket. Its source was a gash in the blonde woman's head which left her wavy hair in a matted clump. She seemed generally unperturbed as she spoke.
"I'd say without a doubt you're the dumbest kid I've met."
Marco was doing his best to keep his knees from buckling in relief. He gave the woman's back a watery smile.
The woman didn't take her eyes off the Titan. The Titan had pulled back its injured arm, remaining in a crouch as it watched her.
"Great," the woman said with a sigh. "This thing is at an angle I can't get to its nape, and it appears to be an abnormal; what luck." Her head tilted slightly to regard the boy who'd finally freed himself from the now deteriorating Titan hand. The boy was scrambling to form a tourniquet from his tattered jacket.
"Are … are you alright, ma'am?" Marco asked.
The woman raised an eyebrow as she returned her full attention forward. "That's sweet of you to ask, kid. Sorry to tell you the answer is no."
Marco's mouth stretched into a thin line. He leaned to the side to get a clearer view of the Titan, undecided if it was better or worse that it wasn't moving. "Are we …" he said, hesitant to voice the words into reality. "... are we going to die?"
"No one's immortal," the woman said. "What, are you afraid?"
The fact Marco's hands were shaking enough for him to barely keep a grip on his knife was enough to answer the question.
"Y-yes."
"That means you're brave."
Marco's eyes widened. He leaned forward so he could make out a portion of the woman's face. Her nose had been broken, and her lip split in a way that left dried blood coating her chin.
None of that stopped Marco from thinking she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. The woman was a being not unlike a great mountain or a serene lake; she was more than human.
"When you do things to help even when you're scared shitless," the woman said. "That means you're brave. Or stupid. But maybe you need to be at least a little stupid to be brave."
The woman took a step forward. The Titan responded by shifting its crouch. Steam had been rising from the stump it was cradling, and with horror, Marco noticed its hand appeared to be growing back.
"I don't think this one's going to make a move until its hand's fixed," the woman said. "Get your friend over there onto a horse and the two of you get out of here while the threat is still only one Titan."
Something about the woman's tone caused a jolt of panic to run through Marco. "I can't do that! I can't leave you here alone!"
"You know, I was thinking you'd make a decent soldier," the woman said. "But you seem to have a problem with following orders. How about this – if you don't grab that other kid now, he doesn't have a chance of getting away before that Titan comes to take us all out. His life is in your hands, so consider that carefully."
Marco shook his head with enough force to spatter his tears along the woman's jacket. "But if I …" Marco croaked, fighting to get out the words. "If I leave you here …"
The woman stuck the tip of one of her blades in the dirt. Her free hand came up to rest on the crown of Marco's head.
"What's your name?"
The back of Marco's sleeve was rough on his cheeks as he used it to wipe away his tears. "Marco," he said, doing his best to keep his voice steady.
The hand in Marco's dark hair tensed. Marco watched in amazement as the woman dared to take her full attention off the Titan to look him in the eye. A wide smile grew on her face, causing the tear in her lip to split and a new trickle of blood to snake down her chin. The woman didn't appear bothered by this in the slightest as she laughed.
"Marco," the woman said. She moved her hand to cup his chin as she looked deep within his eyes. "Of course, you're Marco. Fate wouldn't miss one last chance to laugh at my expense."
The woman placed her hand on Marco's chest and pushed him behind her. There was a slight stir from the Titan as now only its fingertips were enveloped in steam.
"Go, Marco," the woman said. She pulled her sword from the dirt as she shifted into a defensive stance. "Give my death meaning by living a long life."
Marco grit his teeth. He dashed from behind the woman toward the boy now crawling through the brush. A quick glance at the Titan revealed its attention remained firmly fixed on what it'd rightly identified as a threat. It raised itself to a standing position, and Marco's step faltered as he realized that the creature was tall enough for a grown man to barely reach its knee. Only a few of the surrounding trees exceeded the Titan's height, and the smaller obstructions were easily pushed aside as the Titan began to approach the woman.
Luckily the horse had only wandered a short distance away. A quick scramble resulted in the injured boy being heaved over the saddle like a sack of potatoes. Marco climbed atop the horse, glancing back at the woman.
"I'll send help!" he shouted. "Just hold on until then!"
The woman didn't answer. Marco whipped his head around and kicked the horse into a gallop. The injured boy clung to his back, letting out pained hisses as their ride jerked over uneven ground.
"Hey," the boy said.
Their gaze met when Marco turned to regard the boy from the corner of his eye.
"That soldier," the boy said between gasps. "What was … her name?"
Marco's eyes grew wide. He slowly turned his head forward.
"I don't know."
"Maria's Knight."
It was a noble title that had a good ring to it, which was probably how it spread like wildfire throughout the camps of refugees. Thousands of them had come spilling in from Wall Maria – terrified, hungry, and devoid of hope. However, the story of Maria's Knight was enough to give them a light to cling to.
Many had never encountered a member of the Military Police Brigade aside from the unlucky few who found themselves tangled in a serious investigation such as assault or manslaughter. The Military Police were generally held in a state of wariness and distrust outside Wall Sina; an officer knocking on your door was never a good sign.
Except for Maria's Knight, the only known member of the Military Police to not withdraw behind Wall Rose when Wall Maria fell.
The stories grew more fantastical on each retelling: she slaughtered seven Titans, maybe twelve. Some said thirty, surpassing the number of kills of the famed Levi of the Scout Regiment.
Many swore she was the physical embodiment of the Walls – her fair skin shimmering as if carved from silver stone as she descended from the heavens on feathered wings. It was whispered she healed injuries with only a touch. It was common to hear Titans ran when they saw her – one instance claimed a Titan the size of a cathedral fell to its knees and wept at her feet. Hundreds of people who'd been scattered about the small villages and wilderness south of Trost had been saved due to her efforts, some claimed over a thousand. Every creature who heard her call to flee ran, climbed, and jumped faster and further than they imagined possible. The authority of her voice was intertwined with a melody which all said they would never forget, but couldn't quite describe its haunting beauty.
"She was royalty – descended from the first King."
"Maria's Knight is still out there; don't worry, she'll purge the land of the Titans and we'll go home soon."
"I heard this tale from a boy who said Maria's Knight cut him straight from the belly of a Titan. He took up a knife and started swinging at the dozens of Titans closing in on 'em, but Maria's Knight urged him to take her horse and protect the innocent in her place. A light came down from the heavens then, and even her severed limbs kept fighting on their own as those Titans tore her to shreds. She fought for the people of Wall Maria even after her last breath."
Official reports on the incident were much different.
'Maria's Knight' was Victoria Bodt, a seasoned soldier whose wit made her a popular guard request among the nobles. At the time of the breach, she and her partner, Nile Dawk, had been on a rare assignment outside the interior to track down a group of bandits who'd been hijacking shipments of coal and building clay. Victoria had a reputation for her sharp senses and being among the best in hand-to-hand combat, so the decision to leave the matter for her to handle had been a simple one.
Victoria and Nile were blindsided by the Titans – whatever communications there were concerning the breach of Wall Maria, they hadn't reached the countryside faster than the enemy. They'd been conducting their investigation out of a small village called Larkshaw nearly a day's ride from Wall Rose. Three Titans killed an estimated six people before Victoria and Nile went into action. The Titans were defeated, but a break to Nile's leg during the skirmish left him nearly immobile. It was agreed the pair would split up – Nile leading an escort of villagers by horseback to Wall Rose while Victoria would veer to the northeast to warn the scattered villages there of an attack. An excerpt from Nile's statement included the last verified message from Victoria:
"A sour guy like you would give a Titan indigestion, so for all our sakes, don't get eaten."
Victoria's whereabouts thereafter could not be substantiated. Witness statements from members of over thirty villages outside Wall Rose (some more than four days' ride from her location) muddled any factual testimonies of her journey. The only verifiable claim was made by a boy from Jinae who had been a part of a hunting party about an hour's ride south of Trost. The boy made numerous requests for the Garrison stationed in Trost District to send aid. No expeditions outside Wall Rose were approved at that time, so no action was taken.
Victoria's alleged location had been cataloged and investigated two months later by a survey squad of the Scout Regiment. Her remains were more identifiable by the articles of clothing and gear discovered than by the state of her corpse. What could be found of Victoria was returned to her homestead in Stohess District and a small funereal overseen by her widow, Samuel, and her daughter, Celine.
The rumors and fantasies circulating about "Maria's Knight'' weren't disputed; overall public perception for the Military Police outside Sina increased in a positive manner as a result of accounts of her bravery and self-sacrifice. Victoria Bodt was celebrated as a folk hero whose tale the military was happy to spin in their favor. Even the name 'Victoria' fell into obscurity before too long, the legendary woman becoming known only by her common nickname, or simply 'Maria.'
The stories of those who had actually seen Victoria fell into just as much obscurity as her real name. It was for this reason the true account of Victoria's last stand went mostly unheard aside from a mother comforting her son as he wept for the woman who'd saved his life.
This boy never felt the need to exaggerate Victoria's sacrifice – the reality was more than enough for Marco to view Victoria Bodt as an individual only surpassed in greatness by the King. She would be his inspiration to serve others; to protect the King and his citizens to the best of his ability. It was the least he could do to ever make even a dent in what he owed to her.
No matter what, Marco was going to satisfy Victoria's last request. He was going to help as many as he could; giving Victoria Bodt's death meaning by living a long, fruitful life.
A/N: Comments and feedback are always welcome :)
If you would like to see art depicting the OC's in this story, you can find them at the end of certain chapters on AO3. Same story title and author handle!
